#in fact hes the second worst perpetrator | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

postmoe · 7 months ago

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Borisin Warhead Hoolay x Reader - All You’re Good For

: cum, piss, degradation, blood (lil bit), aphrodisiac, Hoolay is a gross meanie :( , but he’s also a powerful tyrant so :)

This was all written on my phone during sleepless nights haha I can’t fix the spacing ;-;

It’s hard being a foxian in this world run by borisins. Allies are far and few between, even amongst your own kind. All it takes is one threat, one little push and you’re being sold out or used in the worst ways.

It had been days and you’re exhausted, paranoid and running on nothing but a few berries you have yet to see if are poisonous. It’s been a few days and nothing, so you’ll try some more tonight… if you make it out alive.

You were part of a group of foxians that plotted to run from the farm you were held in, what’s started as 11 now dwindled to five as most of you were either captured and killed in the escape or gotten too sick and died along the way. It had been a plan in the making that would have been perfect, had it not been for one factor:

Hoolay was coming.

Everyone knows the visit of the borisin warhead always lead to large feasts, having most of the ‘stock’ dead by morning. It was either make a break for it then or succumb to certain death.

So, you fled. Which leads to now, having you shaking beside the campfire, fingers anxiously brushing through matted knots in your tail, and the four men now looking to you like you were a burden.

“All I’m saying is that there’s no use having dead weight when borisins could jump on our tail at any second. We all play a part in this pack, but, what do you do?” One stated as though it was a matter of fact, hand held out in expression.

It was true you hadn’t really contributed much, though one could argue you found the berries, you were the only one brave enough to try them. You did plan on sharing if they were safe; that’s out the window now. Your lips thin as you refuse to make eye contact. Trauma has rendered your vocabulary useless, you don’t remember how old you were when you last spoke. Now, only pitiful sounds are able to escape your mouth, little hums and grunts of pain.

They took this as another sign of weakness, one of the other foxians scoffing, “You won’t even make conversation with us? We want someone we can rely on, not a pet.”

Everyone seemed to have different opinions of your value, all of which lead to one conclusion: you’re useless. It wasn’t until the fourth of them spoke that anyone even considered otherwise, “C’mon, guys, don’t be so harsh, you know she’s a mute. She can’t help it if she’s… underwhelming. Females are only made for one thing after all. Surely I can’t be the only one feeling lonely.”

It was that comment that made your heart pound most of all. A debate broke out of whether or not you’d be worth keeping around for something as trivial as sex when their lives were in danger. You look to starry sky above, the smoke pluming through the canopy as you think about their accusations. You were the most quiet of the bunch. You watched one of your comrades get their head stomped in right before you and didn’t even scream. One of the men here almost got everyone caught because a centipede crawled past. All in all, it could only be boiled down to blatant sexism. Their entire lives they’ve been slaves, and now there’s a taste of freedom and they want to turn the tables.

You’re being regarded again, everyone awaiting your answer, “So, wanna spread them legs and we’ll keep you safe? Cmon baby, you can trust us to protect you.”

It was a no brainer on your part, though you’ve never been one for conflict, you were prepared to fight them on this. Exhausted, paranoid, starving. You a pop a few berries from your pocket and into your mouth, thinking this might be your last meal if things go south as you shake your head in a silent, ‘no’.

The main perpetrator loses his smirk, obviously not amused by your response. He stands and cracks his neck, “No? I think you just need a bit of encouragement, baby.”

Immediately, you stand to take the defensive against him. You wonder if you could outrun them, given that you’re all in the same state of distress. One of the first foxians stands too, holding his hand out in hesitance, “W-whoa, hold up. Don’t start a fight here. Besides, you can’t just force someone to have sex with you.”

Another stood up, following the others straps as he comes to crowd you, “No no, I actually agree here. I think she needs to show us some gratitude.”

The last one merely sat in silence, avoiding his eyes from the scene, looking visibly uncomfortable but not wanting to step in.

Your eyes darted between the two approaching and you threatened by taking a deep breath, mouth opening as if you to scream. Their eyes panicked, not wanting any sound to alert unwanted attention. Regardless of their beliefs on your voice, they didn’t want to risk it.

A slight freeze from them was all you needed, you turned tail, beginning to run when a critical mistake caused your foot to get caught on the log you were sitting on. You went tumbling down, only barely managing to turn on the ground when you were tackled by your former comrade. His hand already over your mouth as he laugh, straddling you, “See? Pathetic! You can’t even run away by yourself. You need us.”

Your hands tense as your nails sharpen, ready to thrash when the other grabs your right wrist, pinning you down. Not long after, the first one grabs your other, his instinct telling him this was better than having you fight back and alert their position.

It wasn’t until his hand trailed under your shirt and caressed the bare skin of your stomach that something truly snapped inside of you. Pupils dilating, mind quieting and teeth sharpening, you managed to tilt your head enough to bite painfully into his hand, blood quickly spilling from the punctures.

His scream was loud, startling, the one on your right wrist jolting enough for you to wrench your arm away. Just as you were about to scratch at him, he gave you a swift punch to your face, nose cracking and pooling blood over your mouth. It disorientated you enough for him to grab at your throat, holding you down, “Fucking bitch. Maybe it’ll be easier to use you if you’re not breathing.”

His taste for violence was the perfect opportunity. As his face drew closer and no one retrained you, thinking you were knocked out enough to not need it, you thrust your hands to his head, nails digging into the back of his skull as you pushed him forward and impaling his eye over your thumb.

The others stepped back now, stunned and scared, leaving you to leap forward before he could recover and drive your teeth into his throat like a wild animal. Frenzied, scared, hurt and adrenaline coursing through your veins, it was enough to drive anyone to do drastic things.

You didn’t notice the rustling of bushes, the way your comrades bolted from the scene. Too busy focusing on ripping his throat out and showing him that you’re not just some foxian that’s going to roll over and heel. Tears streaming down your cheeks as the taste of blood came rushing over you, you are going to fight, too.

Once he goes limp is when you stop clawing and attacking, sitting back with a squelch as you reach up to wipe the water from your eyes. You were drenched. Blood painted from the lower half of your face, down your throat and over your teeth. Nose bruised and broken and leaking. Nails filthy and you’re sure there is flesh under them. You’re not a killer. You never wanted to be a killer.

And then the clapping began. Thuds of heavy footsteps rush past you as you look up, paling and almost vomiting from the surprise. There’s no mistaken that the borisin that stands before you now is Warhead Hoolay, and beside him is his right hand man, Mok Tok. The pack with him was chasing down the others that ran before.

Hoolay seemed very amused, crouching down and grinning as he picked up the foxian’s head by the ear before letting it hit the ground again, “Only the strong survive. This whelp was nothing more than all bark and no bite. You, however,” he gazes back to you, standing, “I’m impressed. Even foxians in the fighting ring have more compassion. You truly didn’t hold back.”

Running isn’t an option. In the fight he had gotten a few good hits and kicks in, your ankle throbbing in pain. Not to mention the stench of blood on you. Foxians had a great sense of smell - Borisins, an even better one. Your only option is to fight, and even you know the single outcome here is death.

Mok Tok stepped around, standing behind you as he examined your state of well being. He hummed gingerly before saying, “Dine in or take away, master?”

Another once over from Hoolay had him walking over to you. He didn’t have a care in the world, hand larger than your head reaching out towards your face. It was enough for you to kick into gear, using what was left of your strength and latching onto him with all the fight you had left. Your teeth barely dug through the fur on his paw, nails only strong enough to hold you to his arm without so much as pricking blood, your legs feebly kicking into his large chest. It probably felt more like a massage than any form of pain.

You tried with all your might and the only response you got from him was a boisterous laugh. He easily yanked you off and threw you to the ground, rolling until you hit Mok Tok’s foot, “Take away. This one amuses me, see to it she doesn’t succumb to her wounds.”

In no time you had some form of metal around your neck, clasping with the rattle of a chain. You’re dragged a few feet before being hauled onto your aching souls. Mok Tok handles you with little care, tugging you to a pace you couldn’t keep up with.

…

It was only you, the bystander foxian that didn’t stand to help, and the initial foxian that tried to keep everyone quiet that remained. The lackey of the culprit you fought had been tied at the end of your chain link, only to fall to his wounds and die on the road. The borisins had snapped his portion of the chain off like it was nothing, leaving his carcass to rot in the mud.

You were at the front of the line, trudging behind Hoolay and his bitch boy with your hands cuffed in front of you, connected to a chain on the thick collar around your throat. A longer, thicker chain trailed behind you to the others, walking in a single file.

It was quiet, the night turning from black to the blueish hues of morning. In the distance thunder rumbled, promising the relief of rain to come. Your feet were filthy from the mud, having lost one flat, uncomfortable shoe days ago and tossing the other at a wild animal that tried to bite you. It turns out bare feet was only marginally more uncomfortable. At least the dirt of the road and squelch of the mud was nicer than sticks and brambles in the forest.

Every closing of your eyes almost had you tripping in sleep. You tried not to blink but since the adrenaline was wearing off, all the pain and exhaustion was coming forward tenfold. It was probably stupid, but the man behind you decided to try their luck with a conversation, “Are we-“ they coughed, their voice a lot scratchier than you anticipated, starting again when they noticed their ears pricking back to listen, “Are we going back to the farm?”

Mok Tok was the first to sneer, his scarred face glaring at him as he snapped, “You weren’t given permission to speak, whelp.”

Hoolay raised his paw to silence him, “It’s fine. Let them wonder, the smell of fear is a welcome sense.” Once the smaller borisin bowed in submission, Hoolay glanced at you from over his shoulder, his intimidating size only making you feel all the more caged in this otherwise open countryside, “The farm owner doesn’t want runaways such as yourselves. You’re coming to our den. Those who can’t serve as servants will be meals before battle.”

One of the men behind you whimpered in fear, the chain slightly rattling as they quaked. You wish you could have the energy for such an emotion. You felt yourself lagging, needing to pick up the pace if you didn’t want to end up lunch for the trip back. With a pained sigh, you skipped forward and listened as they continued questioning, “Did you search for us on purpose, or was it all a coincidence?”

It seems Hoolay was in a generous and talkative mood as he humoured, “Your previous owner informed us of the escape. Such a foolish plan, don’t you know we wolves love to hunt little foxes like you? You couldn’t have picked a worse time to…”

As Hoolay spoke you were progressively losing focus. The sunlight peeked behind a cloud and pierced your eye, a strain feeling like it was hitting your brain. Your hands weren’t low enough to see if you had any surviving berries in your pocket, food maybe being a cure. By this point it was difficult to make out the words anyone was saying.

The next moment you know is your face in the mud. It’s cool to your cheeks, comforting from the recent events. Mok Tok’s voice cuts through incredulously, “Me? Master, she is just a pitiful fox. I suggest we eat her and be done-“

“Are you questioning my decision, Mok Tok? I’ll gladly fight you over it, think you can take me in a battle,” Hoolay says, already knowing the outcome.

Mok Tok surrenders immediately, breaking off your chain and throwing you over his shoulder. Your lungs are pushed of air, and though he isn’t careful in the least, you despise how warm and inviting his fur is. It isn’t long before you’re drifting off, passing out in the hopes that this is your end and you don’t have to experience another day in this hellhole.

…

It was a long ride, your trio of prisoners thrown on the back of a wagon full of leftover foxian meat when it was established you were walking too slow. Most of it was wrapped in cloth and sat on crates with misshapen ice inside to keep relatively fresh. It only became hard to stomach when one of them got hungry.

A few borisin were striding alongside the cart, keeping in pace with the quieter man of your group. They were shoving an amputated foot in his face, laughing and urging him to try it. “You’ll never know if you don’t have a taste~”

You did your best to keep your gaze away, he may be an arsehole but you still regarded the corpse’s leg with the dignity you feel it deserves. Though your kind believes the spirit moves on, it was still hard to witness in the living realm.

It seems your ignorance of the scene didn’t grant you any relief. However, instead of the group of mutts hounding him, you were graced with the mighty presence of the Warhead himself. He held out an arm to you, fingers daintily hovering before your face, calloused skin proving their hard work in life. Hoolay eyed you with interest as he said, “What about you, small one? Have you developed a taste for your own kind?”

The stains of mud and blood still remain on you, your nose only having a brief look at once you reached the wagon of ‘goods’. If your aggressive fight had taught you anything, it was that living prey wasn��t your ideal meal. You shook your head and turned away from him, hoping he would give up this pointless endeavour.

Hoolay brought the arm to his maw, ripping the flesh and chewing loudly, as if to accentuate just what exactly he was eating. Without warning, his sharp claw drags roughly from the base of your skull and down your neck, stopping between your shoulder blades when you jumped forward in shock, the chains rattling as you eyed him with malice. Whatever he saw in you made his lips part in a smirk, then he laughed loudly, the rest of his pack watching their leader toy with you in silence. “What do they call you?”

Even if you could talk, you wouldn’t want to tell him your name.

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Oh? Even still defiant over such a simple question?”

Mok Tok was clearly more offended than his leader, “How dare you ignore our Warhead Hoolay! Master, please allow me to show this whelp just how grateful she should be-“

Sensing the growing tension, your other prisoner comrade interrupted fearfully, “Sh-she doesn’t talk, lord warhead. She’s been silent for as long as we’ve known her.”

This seemed to interest Hoolay even more. “Oh?” With ease, he jumped onto the wagon and sat opposite of you, right next to the prisoner who had spoken on your behalf. Teasingly, he caressed his face with the back of the foxian’s hand, “Then you can tell me. What is her label?”

Shakily, he looked to you as if you could help, too scared to move away from the amputated hand. You merely shrugged, then sure what to tell him, so he said what he could best remember, “I think… I think she was part of B block so… it may have been B132.”

You’re not sure with how you got away with not being branded. Perhaps it was because you kept your head down and didn’t cause trouble, mixed with the fact that they forgot. The farm wasn’t the best run, order and structure not something they’d place in their résumé.

Hoolay looked back to you, “Is that correct?”

Again, you shrug. You were told it once and then never again. The only ones who really remembered were the branded ones.

Hoolay picks at his fangs with the nails of his meal, humming in thought before tossing the arm far away into a field, “I suppose it matters not. Servants will be renamed, as will food.” Another amused rumble comes bubbling from his chest as he stands, a large paw grasping your injured face and turning it from side to side, making you wince as he growls lowly, “Food always tastes better when there’s… personality.”

You took that as an omen for your future.

…

The rain and humidity was a horrible combination, though you found yourself enjoying it more as the grime was sort of washed from your face and your wrists were lubricated from the blood that was washed down. Quietly, you had been working on wriggling your hands out of the cuffs to give you some more space to work with when you try to escape again.

There was nothing you could do about the choker around your neck, however if you could at least get your hands free then you’d have the ability to use the environment around you easier. That, paired with the fact that your chain was no longer connected to the others thanks to Mok Tok, you think you had a fighting chance.

Or else you’re condemned to be food.

It stung, the way your flesh ripped and teared when you shimmied it back and forth in the metal. The others had seen you but didn’t speak up, thankfully, not wanting any of their attention.

You felt sick with anxiety when the new blood made it easier to pull through, almost slipping out, your bones bruised and aching before you pushed your hands back in to avoid them being freed completely.

The rain had lessened, which wasn’t ideal but you could tell it would stop soon and you wanted to go with as much covering as possible. You were in another dense forest, it would be the perfect time. So, you got work, stomping your foot on the wagon to get someone’s attention.

It was Mok Tok who turned, glaring at you with a harsh, “What?” Your tail was squeezed between your thighs, jumping up and down to indicate you needed to pee. He seemed he was about to refute it when he had a second thought, turning to Hoolay and saying, “Master, the last toilet break for the prisoners was 12 hours ago. Shall we stop once more or wait until we arrive to the den?”

Your stomach dropped, did that mean you were close to their home? It really was now or never. Hoolay looked back to you, and you tried hard to show how desperate you were to go. He motions for everyone to stop, coming to you, “Fine. You two take the other prisoners. I’ll handle this one myself.” Like a giant claw - and you suppose it technically was - he grasped you by the top of your head and lifted you from the wagon, placing you down in the mud, your toes sinking into the mushy soil.

He had to nudge you to walk as you panicked. Why was splitting you up now? Every other time it has been one borisin watching you three, you were counting on that to have their attention diverted. Now the Warhead himself wants to watch you pee?

You get a considerable distance before he stops, staring at you with a heavy gaze. When you make no move he scoffs, smiling with a row of sharp teeth and a flick of his tail, “What, you can piss in front of my grunt but not me? Do I really make you that uncomfortable?” His voice lowers to a dangerous octave, “You flatter me.”

Now’s not the time to play his games. You turn around, using your tail to lift up the long, tattered dress that was uniform for everyone at the farm. Due to the first toilet break, a borisin had ripped your knickers off and tossed them so they wouldn’t have to keep doing it whenever you needed to go, so all you had to do was squat and bunch the cloth in your hands once you were low enough to reach. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing him watch you with boredom, huffing and averting his eyes lazily.

That was the best you were going to get. From this angle, it could be seen as you adjusting your clothes again, yet you were slipping your damaged wrists out of the cuffs. It was a little harder since the last time but you managed to do it, eyeing him from the side to see him focused on the raindrops off a leaf. Taking a deep breath, you bolted head on, scurrying over logs and bushes.

There was no noise behind you. As far as you’re aware, borisin aren’t silent hunters, they like to toy with their prey. So why wasn’t he chasing you? Not that you’re complaining, you hope to never encounter his kind again-

The reason for your lack of chase became apparent as you came skidding to a halt. You were at the edge of a canyon, forest on this side and a large, dusty and rocket desert on the other. Along the walls of the canyon were layers of stairs, openings, borisin. Not to mention the foxian slaves, digging and picking, holding food out to guards. Along the floor of the deep canyon is a rushing river, fast enough to be swept away should one fall in.

Hoolay casually walked up behind you, “the outside of our den. On the inside is long, winding halls and plenty of rooms. Should you get lost, there’s no telling what your fate is.” You were still in despair when he grabbed your hand, holding it up as he brought his nose down to inhale your wounds. Your fearful eyes looked to him when he licked up the torn skin, the saliva and pressure on his tongue stinging the sores which you tried to pull away from. He groaned in delight, yanking you closer to gently bite on the flesh, squeezing more blood out, “You think I can’t smell the difference between old and fresh blood? We knew of your little plan from the beginning. Even so,” his large hand slides up your back, claws tracing your spine tantalisingly and forcing you to push into his hard chest as he growls lowly in your ear, “You still tried to run from me, a bold move. I’ve decided, I’m going to keep you, personally. I will train you from a savage foxian into the obedient pet you were born to play.”

To be dismembered or to be a pet? Which is worse is hard to say. Your chattering teeth grit, the fear turning into desperate anger. Quickly, you duck under his arm to escape, only for him to grab the base of your tail and hold you in place. So you change tactics, trying to hit the base of your heel hard enough to hurt his chest and loosen his grip. However, as your foot makes contact with his torso, he doesn’t flinch and instead grabs your ankle and turn you upside down.

You’re left flailing in the air as he carries you like meat on a hook, holding your dress between your legs as you struggle so that you’re not blinded by the fabric. There really is no use. His pack watches in amusement as their leader returns with you, dropping you back into the wagon, “This one is mine. No one is allowed to touch them, understand?”

Frustrated and scared tears stream down your cheeks as they reply with a clear, “Yes, master!”

…

You’re not sure where the others went. Once you made it over the bridge and into the den, you were given to a purple borisin who commanded a bunch of servant foxians. She had supervised your wounds being treated before ordering them to take you to the bathhouse and clean you.

No one made eye contact, no one spoke to you or each other. It was frighteningly quiet, so you kept your head down as they scrubbed your ears and brushed out the knots in your tail. The tub you were in was cramped, a wooden bucket essentially. Hoses came out of the walls and a long gutter was imbedded in the ground to drain the water out somewhere. Even if it was awkward and daunting, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to get scrubbed raw by water that was almost too hot. Even at the farm, room temperature water was the highest form of luxury.

You actually felt clean for once.

Once you were done and dripping dry, the borisin from earlier reentered with a fluffy towel. She looked you over, clawed hand throwing the towel over your head, “You know how to dry yourself, yeah? I don’t know what you did but our master has taken a liking to you. Come.”

You wetly follow her through the winding halls with plaps of your feet hitting the floors, the servants behind you trailing diligently. You were too focused on trying to memorise the path that you hardly dried yourself by the time you reached your destination. A room was opened to you, chests and clothes along each wall, a mirror standing on the floor.

One glance at the mirror was enough for you to turn your head, not wanting to see yourself as the captive you are just yet; surrounded by slaves and a vicious wolf. Out of the corner of your eye though, you saw the enemy rummaging through chests until she found what she was looking for.

When she came back, she began putting golden chains on you, hanging from a gold collar around your neck, falling down your biceps, down the curves of your naked breasts, low enough to fall just past your hips. You dared another glance in the mirror, wondering if something so cold and with no fabric could still be called lingerie.

“Done. Let’s go,” she shoved at your back, the chains clinking slightly from the jolt as she pushed you out. The metal felt kind of nice, slinking along your skin with every step you took. The collar got hotter with your body heat, being a little uncomfortable but who were you to complain when you had no rights. It wasn’t until you were stopped beside her, a VERY long table with various foods and alcohols, mainly meats and few vegetables - don’t look at the foxian torso and thighs, don’t look at the foxian torso and thighs - that were slightly skewed from everyone picking at it that you felt a shot of self-consciousness. She bowed her head and addressed the warhead, “Master, she is clean and adorned for you.”

Since the day you were born, you were taught that nakedness and privacy didn’t matter. Farm animals didn’t get that decency, foxians don’t get that decency. You can count on one hand you’ve felt the need to cover yourself in front of someone, yet somehow right now, you feel like you need to cover every inch of skin and curl up in a hole to stop the eyes of their leader from clawing into you. Everyone stopped to stare at the new meat that had walked in, yet it was Hoolay that openly ogled you like you were more than just food.

You pretend not to notice the twitching under his belt, cloth moving over a large mound that you were hoping wasn’t for you. He grinned and leant forward, hooking his index under your collar and pulling you towards him, “Perfect, you’re dismissed.”

She and the slaves bowed before leaving you alone in the room full of beasts.

“C’mere,” Hoolay demands, already pulling you tightly against him, sitting you sideways in his lap. He’s so large, colossal, from his shoulder to his elbow alone almost the size of your body. He brings a chunk of meat to your lips, demanding you to eat. When you don’t part your mouth, he huffs and wedges a claw between your teeth, forcing you to open, “Relax, it is just bird.”

Sure enough, you’re inclined to agree, taking the meat from his hand so he’s no longer shoving it down your throat. As you slowly nibble on the meat, you’re lost to the words everyone is speaking around you, their language a mix of your common tongue and their own. You’re pretty confident, however, that they’re discussing about his new prize - you - and how you’ll taste.

Hoolay laughs after someone says something, easily moving you to sit flush against his torso with your back, spreading your legs wide over his thighs. You almost drop the bird meat when you see what he’s doing, releasing the confinements of his half-hard cock to hang over his leg. A low growl rumbles from his chest as he strokes it, moving it to stand hard and leaning against your tense torso. His knot is throbbing between your legs and the tip of him is poking the underside of your breasts, you can’t even imagine what he would feel like inside of you that doesn’t involve pain.

A slave comes beside him with a platter and a golden jug. Hoolay grabs it roughly before pouring the contents over his cock, the substance oozing out and over his dick like a sheer, golden syrup. He tosses the jug away with a clank, disregarding it in favour of smearing the liquid over your thigh, lightly squeezing, his giant maw hotly breathing against your cheek, “Go on. Have a taste. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

He’s so large that there’s no way you could swallow him more than his tip. You go in for a taste, holding the heavy weight below the glands to dutifully suck. The pungent under taste that you’re expecting is overshadowed by whatever he had coated his dick in. The pupils of your eyes blow wide and suddenly you’re suckling on the head like you’re trying to coach his cock to dispel more of the deliciously sweet substance.

Hoolay laughs at you, a low, growling groan emitting as his paw pets back the ears on your head, “Fffuck. That’s a good girl.” You whimper around him when he pushes you down, choking on what little you could swallow. His pre is enough to guzzle down your throat and bubble out of your mouth, it doesn’t ready you for when he cums, buckets of semen forced down your throat and into your stomach. He must’ve been pent up because even after he pulls away, he’s still very much hard. He opens his mouth beside your head, his jaw wide enough to encompass your skull if he really wanted to, laughing at the visage, “Such a tiny mouth for a pitiful creature. I wonder if the hole between your legs will be more accommodating, hm?”

You’re lifted and placed on your back, glistening in syrup and cum under the dim lighting by the candles around the room. Everyone stares in amusement as you dazedly bring your fingers to your mouth, sucking on the digits to get some more of the sweet syrup and hoping to overthrow his taste. It isn’t until you feel a rather large tongue lick up the slit of your pussy that you jerk, a string of saliva connecting to your fingers as you pull them away to gaze between your thighs.

Hoolay’s claws touched as they held one of your thighs up, out of the way for him to get a taste. You were already so wet and waiting, the desire to consume was rushing all throughout your body. Air was forced out of you when he let his heavy cock thud against your stomach, a little cum seeping from the corner of your mouth. Graciously and carefully, he slides a finger inside you and worms it around, stretching your cunt and causing you to moan, “So defiant you were on the ride here. Now look at you, arching into my hand like a pet looking for love from its owner. It feels good to give in to instinct, wouldn’t you agree?”

Even if you could talk, you wouldn’t need to as your tail swishes side to side underneath you, as though accepting his declaration. Your stomach is so full that even with just his fingers you feel you’re about to pop. Your legs fall open for him when he pushes his cock head down your slit and into your hole. You’re so grateful he helped you with the aphrodisiac, even if you wish you hated it, you know being absolutely torn apart would be too brutal to handle.

As a mercy, perhaps for being such a good girl, he takes it slow but doesn’t stop - not until he’s reached as far as he can inside you. Your legs are now propped up and of your stomach wasn’t distended from the mouthfuls of cum before, it certainly was from the massive dick inside you now. Your cheeks puff when he puts pressure on the lump he forms, “I’m impressed, little fox. Even with the amount of syrup used, I didn’t think you’d be able to hold out.”

It’s not until his hips start snapping against yours that you cringe, the movement jostling your insides, motion sickness hidden behind layers of pleasure. Your mouth is open, panting, the cool air the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. However, as ‘kind’ as he’s been, he seems to want to take more from you. His long, flat tongue enters your mouth, you’re gurgling around the muscle in this ruthless kiss. Your eyes roll back and hearing wavers as the oxygen in your lungs is stolen away.

Heavy balls plap against your arse, cum and syrup creating an odd, warm, wet sensation over your skin. You hadn’t realised you were clawing at Hoolay’s face until he retracted, his paws holding your biceps flat in the take with a heavy chunk to hold you down. Bruises were the least of your concerns as you could finally breathe again and consciousness came back, adding with a strong seizure of pleasure corrupting your body. Your clit pulsed and your pussy tightened from the euphoric buildup of oxygen and cock breeding your insides.

A round of cheers and clinking steins was heard in the background during your orgasm, but it was too intense to care and Hoolay had no intentions of stopping. The way your cunt suckled his dick was more than enough to keep him going.

Of course, it wasn’t the last time you would cum in his cock. The way he nipped at your skin and kissed you and licked over your body like he was getting ready to devour you; it all shot straight to your aroused core. Whenever you could form a single thought, though, you would concern yourself with the inevitable worry of his knot.

Hoolay’s knot was swelling to a considerable size and pretty soon you doubt you would be able to hold him. He seemed to realise this, however, because his thrusts were getting deeper and stuttering more often as his knot struggled to enter and escape your cunt. It wasn’t too soon that his hips closely hit against yours, balls tightening and jerking with every spurt of cum. His knot kept him stuck deep inside you, the low growls and groans making you tremble. Your legs were hiked and your stomach was folded, you felt like you were going to throw up as your stomach got fuller… and fuller… “Just look at you,” he grunts, pushing himself against you and making you groan, “Fucked out of your mind, at the mercy on our dinner table. Foxians like you are only good for one thing.”

You couldn’t keep it in, with the amount he was breeding you with, and the position he had you folded in, it was only a matter of time before it came back up. It wasn’t vomit, it was more like his cum didn’t make it all the way down. The semen you swallowed poured out, as though the cum he fucked into you had overflowed out of your mouth. Tears streamed from the corners of your eyes in shame and confusion, your chin, chest, stomach, legs, everything was dirty and smothered in Hoolay’s dna.

He laughed heartily at your pitiful display, cool still nestled deep in, one hand coming under the arch of your back to lift you up and rest against him. He sat back on his chair, idly dragging a claw down your spine, your skin alight with goosebumps. His voice seemed a lot more content now, “Bring out the slaves. It is time for everyone to enjoy themselves.”

You barely recognised what was happening, your consciousness slowly returning to you over time. Crying, means, laughing, scared whimpers were all present thought your minor rest. Eventually, you had the strength to lift your head, seeing you’re not the only unfortunate soul to be used as a plaything. This place truly is horrible.

Finally, Hoolay’s knot had reduced enough to be plucked from your hole. He grabbed one of the chains around you and half heartedly threw you to the floor. You were confused and struggled to push yourself up, only to halt when a hot stream of liquid hit the top of your head. Piss. He was pissing on you, making sure to cover your body in his stench. The face you made could almost be described as betrayal, save for the fact that you had no faith in him to begin with. Once finished, he lets go of his half hard cock and stares into your eyes, “Everyone will smell who you belong to. You will not be able to take one step in this place without me knowing where you are.”

All you can do is grit your teeth, nails digging into the ground. The piss makes the wounds on your wrists sting like crazy, your hair and fur drenched in both cum and urine. It stinks. The bruises on your arms were forming nicely and you can only wait to see how pretty they’ll bloom by morning.

To add salt to the wound, Hoolay pours water into an empty bowl and places it in there for beside you, “You can bathe again later, we must let it soak in so the pheromones stick.” He stands, cocking his head in admiration of his work on you, smiling wickedly, “It’s about time I got myself a pet. And I know you’ll be such a good girl for me.”

Your head falls forward in this defeat, eyes making contact with your exhausted reflection in the water bowl.

#yandere #yandere hoolay x reader #hoolay x reader #hoolay #hoolay hsr #honkai star rail #warhead #yandere hsr #Yandere hsr x reader #Yandere Hoolay hsr #borisin #hsr borisin #Yandere borisin

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theonotti · 1 year ago

Text

Pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Years have past since the Battle of Hogwarts, and through his grief and desperation, Theo fights to get back every second lost since then.

Warnings: Major Character Death (Not Theo), it's just angst lads

Notes: Been a while! But I'm back with some writing! This fic will be 3 parts in total. Shoutout to @classyartisanpizza for letting me write this idea! <3

Masterlist

The nightmares are the worst part.

It's always the nightmares.

Theo wakes with a start, his chest heaving as he abruptly sits up. It takes a moment of his eyes darting around in fear for him to realise he's simply in bed. No battle. No green bursts of light flying inches from his head. No bodies dropping around him.

He closes his eyes, running his hand down his face to rid the beads of sweat rolling down his skin. Though he forces himself to take deep breaths, his heart continues to race. The room feels so warm. Why does the room feel so warm? His chestnut curls fall over his eyes, slightly matted to his forehead, and for the briefest of moments, he considers shaving his head.

The vivid technicolor of the nightmares always gets him. Blaring realism and exaggerated memories have him waking in a panic without fail.

A hand runs up Theo's lower back, followed by a soft voice speaking in tongues and distortion. A chill runs up his spine as his fight or flight kicks into high gear, causing him to jump off the bed and point his wand directly at the perpetrator.

Daphne Greengrass stares back at him, looking mainly annoyed yet mildly confused as she wraps the sheet around her naked form. There's a long, tense silence as the two of them stare at each other, and despite knowing there's no threat, Theo doesn't bother to lower his wand.

"I thought I said no sleeping over."

His voice is clipped, a stark contrast from the sultry tone he had taken with her the night before. Then again, he doesn't ever have to work in order for Daphne to become putty in his hands. Not really. Him putting on the show just makes him feel better about using her.

She sits up slightly, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. Even in the dark, the blush that fills her cheeks is unmissable.

"You fell asleep and I-"

"That's not an invitation."

You're such an asshole, He tells himself. But he can't help it. The point of the rule was so that he'd never have to wake up to Daphne. She's not ugly, or entirely terrible to be around. But his care for her only extends to the point of what she does for him. A means to an end. And the end is to distract him from the never ending abyss of his mind and the standing void in his chest.

Besides, that spot in the bed belongs to someone else.

Belonged-

No. Belongs.

Another beat passes before Theo realises that his wand is still raised, and he finally lowers it to his side. Although he should feel worse about his overreaction, he's only a slight tinged embarrassed. It's being overshadowed by his annoyance.

Daphne takes a moment to stare at him, her eyes searching his face for the humour that never comes. A quiet sigh of relief escapes his mouth when she finally climbs out of his bed and starts to get dressed.

"What are you doing later?" She asks while pulling her shirt over her head.

The clock on the wall reads quarter till three in the morning.

Theo tries to hide his smug irritation at the fact that she's already trying to plan when she sees him again, despite his complete disregard for her only moments ago.

When he doesn't respond right away, Daphne looks over at him, throwing a sock off his floor right at his face. In another life, with another person, Theo would've found this gesture amusing, but right now, he just stares at her in exasperation.

"I'm busy."

Merlin, you're a fucking asshole.

But Daphne remains unfazed as she pulls her jeans up her legs and fastens them.

"Maybe next week then? I'm working all weekend."

And despite his self awareness, Theo just can't fucking help himself.

"I'll call you."

Now he's done it. The sting ripples through her face as she pauses all movement, her eyes falling back on him. Under her confused gaze, the temperature in the room falls, but Theo keeps his expression neutral. For a long moment, they just stare at each other in tense silence, before finally Daphne breaks the prolonged eye contact to finish putting her trainers on.

"I don't understand why we keep doing this, Theo," She says in a low voice as she ties her right shoe. It's clear she's trying to be more confident in her words than hurt, but she's failing. "You clearly don't want to commit to me or even care about me. Why do you keep phoning if you can't be bothered?"

Theo leans his back against the wall, his shoulder brushing the door frame of his bedroom. The words leave his mouth before he's able to process them, or to consider not saying them.

"Because you always come running."

Twenty years on this planet and you still don't know when to shut your bloody mouth.

Daphne looks appalled as the words hang in the air. Despite the fact that Theo's guilt is radiating off of him and filling the room at a suffocating rate, he continues to say nothing else. An eternity later, she snatches her coat off the floor and storms out of the room, slamming Theo's bedroom door so loudly that he flinches, followed by the slamming of the front door of his flat.

Silence.

Theo pushes off the wall, walking over to his bed and collapsing on top of the covers.

Silence.

As he buries his face in the pillow, desperate to go back to sleep, his mind starts to drift back to the nightmare that started the domino effect events of the evening. A chill runs up his spine for a second time as he dives head first into the dreams that haunt his subconscious damn near every time he closes his eyes.

The falling bodies.

The walls crumbling down.

The flashes of bright green flying passed his head.

The set of eyes. His favourites. Watching as the life drains out of them.

Theo abruptly jumps out of his bed, his hands trembling slightly as he walks briskly to the door and throws it open. His flat is dead silent, save the sound of his footsteps across the hardwood floor. Through the darkness, he can make out the faint outline of his black cat moving quickly across the floor towards him.

"Piss off, Shadow," He mutters to the cat. She doesn't seem to notice his hostility as she continues to move between his legs. But he's quite rehearsed in this dance at this point, and manages to cross the pitch black living room without tripping over her and falling on his face. He makes his way to the spare bedroom, the room that used to be where he worked on his potions.

That is, until more important projects grabbed Theo in a chokehold.

Unlocking the door with his wand, he quickly goes inside quickly, making sure the cat didn't follow him through before shutting the door behind him.

"Mattheo, I'm fine."

"Is the kidnapper in the room with you and forcing you to say that?"

Theo rolls his eyes, rubbing his right eyelid with his free hand as his other one stirs the brewing potion in the cauldron in front of him. His phone rests on the desk next to him with his best friend's display name taking over the screen, the call on speaker.

"You think a kidnapper would willingly keep me?" He asks as he lets his free hand drop back to his wooden desk, accidentally into a puddle of spilled potion that had toppled from the cauldron. Making a face, Theo instinctively wipes his fingers off on his jeans. "They'd return me before you'd even realised I'm gone."

Mattheo lets out a quiet laugh before saying, "You're right. I'd say we could use the break, but no one's seen you in weeks."

Theo lets his other hand drop to the desk, sighing exasperatedly.

"Mate. We've just hung out. At the Leaky Cauldron, yeah? When Malfoy got so piss drunk, he fell in the toilets and smacked his face on a sink."

The memory causes a ghost of a smile to form on Theo's face, but the silence on the other end of the phone causes it to fade just as quickly.

"Hello? Did I lose you, Riddle?"

When Mattheo speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically quiet.

"That was two months ago."

Every single muscle in Theo's face slackens.

"What? No. That can't be right. It was just two weeks ago, yeah?"

"No, Theo. It was two months ago."

Shaking his head, Theo grabs his phone, switching to check the date as he stammers whispered denials, more to himself than anything. But Mattheo is right. Two months have passed since that last hangout, and besides the occasional mess around with Daphne, which he assumes are now over since the debacle a few nights prior, Theo hasn't seen anyone else since.

Where did the time go?

You know where the time went.

"We're really worried, mate," Mattheo says in a soft voice. "I know it's been hard, but-"

"Don't," Theo barks, almost instinctively as he sets his phone back on the desk. He knows where this conversation is going, because this is where the conversation always goes.

"It's been almost three years, Theo."

Theo shakes his head, his eyes closing as the air slowly starts to syphon from the room.

"It's not- Surely I can't be expected to just forget."

A quiet sigh rings out from the other side of the phone, as Theo fights to keep his rising emotions in check.

"Of course you wouldn't forget. We just-"

Theo quickly shakes his head, not wanting to hear the same things he always here's when one of his friends decides to play therapist for him.

"Oh shit, I've just remembered I have better things to do than have this conversation."

Theo lifts his hand towards his phone, with the intent to hang up, when he heard Mattheo's desperate voice quickly calling to him.

"Meet in the Three Broomsticks tonight!"

Theo pauses, staring at his phone as his brain starts its usual war on itself whenever someone wants him to do anything that isn't rotting at home. On one hand, going out with his friends would placate them for long enough that they won't have yet another conversation like this one. But on the other handâ€¦

He's close. He's so close to figuring it out. And any time that isn't dedicated to figuring it out is, in his eyes, a complete waste.

But as he stares down at his best friend's name on his phone, he lets out a heavy sigh.

"Piss off."

He can practically hear Mattheo's smug grin in his voice.

"See you there," He says, before promptly hanging up the phone.

A heavy sigh forcing its way out of his mouth, Theo turns back to the cauldron in front of him.

You need a break.

Maybe stepping back for a night and coming back will trigger an epiphany.

Theo lets out a resigned sigh. The last thing he wants to do is step away. When he's away from the work room, he feels like he can't breathe. When he's not working or researching or planning or even contemplating, he feels like he's drowning.

In his head, he's running out of time. But with every centimetre closer he gets to the finish line, he gets another centimetre closer to getting every lost moment back.

The remaining butterbeer swishes circles at the bottom of the glass as Theo twists it with his wrist. A quiet yet fake laugh comes out of his mouth, if only to mix in with the loud, howl-like laughter surrounding him from whatever funny thing Blaise just said.

Merlin, I should've gotten a firewhiskey.

Though, he knows it would've been a bad idea. His tolerance for alcohol has grown concerningly high over the last few years, and he doesn't want to explain why he would've been fully functional after seven hard drinks while his friends would be well beyond wasted.

So he sips his butterbeer under the guise that he has an early morning the next day. If he had more observant friends, they would see through this excuse, but fortunately for him, they tend to miss a lot when it comes down to the quiet, chestnut haired lad whose mind is rarely on planet Earth.

"Oi. Space Cadet. Can you join us for a moment?"

Theo takes a casual drink from his glass as his eyes land on Malfoy.

"Give me something worth joining in on," He quips as he gently sets the glass back down on the table. The blond rolls his eyes as Mattheo and Blaise both let out a chuckle.

"We were just talking about the Harpies. Whether they'll make the cup," Mattheo explains just as the barmaid approaches with their refills. The fresh butterbeer is set down in front of Theo at the same time as he lets out his own laugh. A genuine one, this time.

"The Harpies will make the Cup the same day Malfoy stops bleaching his hair."

Now it's howling laughter from the two other lads as Malfoy slams his mug down on the table, pointing at Theo maliciously.

"Don't start your bullshit, Nott."

"I saw the bottle in your trunk, Malfoy. Third year. One never forgets."

"I don't bleach my fucking hair, and if you say it again, I'll make sure you can't see it ever again."

Theo doesn't miss a beat.

"Is that a promise?"

As Riddle and Zabini keep giggling, the alcohol already to their heads, Theo keeps his wits about him as he stares at the tip of Draco's finger that's still only inches from his face.

"Stand down, Malfoy," Blaise finally interjects. "You've become entirely too serious since getting hitched."

The silver band on that left fourth finger glints in the dim lighting as Draco pulls his arm back down towards his lap. Despite his recoil at the scolding, his eyes don't quite stop glaring their daggers towards Theo, who takes another unbothered sip of his drink.

"Maybe it helped me grow up. Someone should take a page out of that book."

Theo feels his fingers tense around the glass, the heat rushing to his cheeks.

Prick.

Absolute wanker.

Dead man walking.

If my life hadn't fallen apart, I would've been married by now. Maybe I'd even have kids.

A wave of nausea hits him at the thought. Instinctively, his eyes shift to look at the door, as his mind searches for his excuse to leave. If his shift in demeanour isn't obvious to every person at the table, it definitely is to Mattheo, who quickly clears his throat.

"Anyone hear about the hunt for whoever's trying to replicate the time turners?"

Theo's entire body ceases, his throat trapping any sound or breath from escaping, meanwhile his brain starts to race at speeds he has never experienced before. The conversation shifts to this topic as Theo desperately tries to remember how to breathe.

"What's the hold up?" Blaise questions before he empties his glass. Mattheo does the same while lifting his shoulders into a shrug.

"Whoever is doing it, they've covered their tracks quite well. But the Ministry has their best people trying to find them before they're able to muck up anything."

A quiet murmur fills the silence of the table. Sweat beads Theo's forehead as he accidentally chugs his entire glass. No one appears to notice, to his relief.

"How are they able to track that?" Malfoy asks curiously as he drums his fingers against the wood top table.

"A time turner has an Hour Reversal charm encased in the centre," Mattheo explains. "The Ministry is alerted every time one is cast, but whoever is doing it has protected themselves so much that their location is damn near impossible to track." Mattheo pauses to take a drink before he continues. "If it wasn't so infuriating, I'd be impressed."

A slight smirk crosses Malfoy's face before he says, "I take it the 'Ministry's best people' includes your team?"

Mattheo rolls his eyes, though the slight pink hue that covers his cheeks is unmissable. Despite him being nothing like his father, Mattheo has always been slightly embarrassed by his position in the Ministry. While Zabini, Malfoy and Theo all view it as a growth and a middle finger to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Mattheo sometimes views it as a betrayal, though he only mentions it after he's hit a certain point of inebriation.

"It is a job for the Misuse of Magic department, in my opinion. So yeah, the best people include my team."

Silence fills the table as everyone takes a sip of their drinks. Theo swallows the lump in his throat.

And then he speaks.

"Any evidence that they've been successful?"

The table turns to look at him, and he does his best to appear casual when he shrugs.

"Just curious."

Mattheo shakes his head.

"We'll be alerted if they actually go back," He explains. "Which will lead to their arrest, if they continue to use the Hour Reversal charm."

"Doesn't that only go back five hours?" Blaise asks, receiving a nod from the curly haired man to his right. Theo can feel the impending panic rising in his chest, but he swallows it down.

In theory, it's only five hours.

But with a little tampering, it's longer.

Not that I would know.

No sir.

"Not unless they do something to strengthen the spell," Mattheo says casually. "Like some sort of potion. Or enchanting the sand in the Hourglass."

Theo's face goes slack, and it feels like his entire body grows hot.

There it is.

That epiphany.

His eyes fall back onto Mattheo, the room glowing in a new light as a chill slowly trails down through his extremities and his fingers and toes.

Instinctively, Theo tries to stand before he realises he's in the corner seat of the booth. The rest of the table looks at him in surprise.

"Nott?" Malfoy asks as Theo uses the table and the ledge behind the seat to launch himself over Mattheo and the booth, out into the aisle, only making their shock grow further.

"Fuck, sorry I forgot. I need to- I have-" He stammers, knowing full well nothing he says will be able to explain his sudden change in demeanour. The looks on their faces are the same sort of looks they'd have if he had stripped down in front of them and started screaming like a banshee. He closes his eyes, putting his hands out in front of him as he takes a second to calm down. When he speaks again, it's with less urgency. "I need to go."

And with that, Theo turns and sprints out of the Three Broomsticks.

Before the door swings shut behind him, he can make out Mattheo's distant voice shouting his name. But if any of the lads make any attempt to follow, Theo moves too fast for them to have any sort of success. Once out of the village, Theo apparates back home.

Where he stays for almost ninety six straight hours.

He doesn't sleep. He doesn't eat. He barely leaves his office to use the bathroom. And he definitely doesn't shower.

Theo's marathon is filled with work. The spell strengthening potion alone takes sixteen hours to brew, needing close management. And that was after all of the work he needed to put in in order to put the potion together. Meanwhile, he does an appalling amount of research, scouring text upon text about how one would enchant the sand. When he comes up with next to nothing after twelve hours worth of reading, he moves on to Plan B.

He starts to create his own spells.

It's not the first time Theo's dabbled in spell creation, but it is the first time it's something that's more serious than trying to make Malfoy's farts come out as actual bubbles. (A failed experiment, much to his thirteen year old self's detriment.) But this time is different. Hanging over the desk where he works is the picture of his motivation. And every time he starts to feel like he's failing, he looks up at the picture and a new resolve fills him.

Because he can't fail.

Failing isn't and never will be an option.

Every botched attempt leads to more research. Every new piece of information brings him that much closer.

Until, after almost ninety six hours of what he thought was going to lead to nothing, the moment is here.

He pulls the time turner out of the cauldron, and he can feel it. Despite having used the tongs to pull it out from the potion, Theo can feel the silver metals vibrating with magic, and that's how he knew.

It worked.

His hands tremble in the same manner as he reaches to touch it, almost hesitant from the anxiety that is running rampant in his head. But when his fingertips graze the warmth of the metal, nothing happens. Nothing changes. He looks around the room for a brief moment before looking back down at the makeshift Time Turner in his hands.

Spinning his chair around and leaning back, he examines the creation. His mind is quick to resume his doubts that it didn't work, despite the pure confidence he had just a moment before. Couldn't have worked. Because nothing he's done in the last few years has.

And yet.

There's only one way to find out.

Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he props it up on his knee before he turns the screen on.

And then, he gives the spindle in his hand a turn to the right.

Theo can feel his heart stop as he watches the minutes on his phone go down with every tick of the Time Turner.

It worked.

It actually fucking worked.

A tsunami of emotions runs through Theo, overwhelming him so strongly that he has to turn back around to lean on his desk. For a moment, he lays his head on the desk, in the cradle that is his arms, basking in the darkness as he takes three long, deep breaths.

And then he looks up to the picture on the wall.

To his motivation. To the one he's been working for.

To the picture of you.

"Did you see that, pretty girl?" He asks in a gentle voice.

The spell hits your chest.

And the life leaves your eyes.

His voice is a little choked as he raises the Time Turner to the picture on the wall, wishing once again it was actually you and not just a moving idea behind a piece of paper.

"I'm coming for you."

#theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #harry potter #slytherin boys #slytherin boys fanfiction #golden trio era #golden trio era fanfiction

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evenmorefatallyobsessed · 1 year ago

Text

Prof. Xiao-Long AU Concept

Note this one is way longer since it did in fact win the polls

Yang Xiao freaking Long was just what her name would suggest XL, bigger then life, the center of attention and life of the party! She was arguably the toughest gal to step through Beacon’s doors. At worst she was tied with her partner Glyn.

They were the strongest duo, Glynda’s ability to bullshit just about everything with her telekinesis and Yang packing enough raw strength to shatter boulders with just a punch. Heck, they were the two time Vytal Festival Winners of Beacon’s Golden era, Even STRQ came second to them.

And that team had her brother Taiyang in it, okay, true it did have the clearance sell, looking knock off of her too, Raven definitely dragged them down… No, she was not pissed at the bandit at all, nope, not a single inch of rage for abandoning her team, leaving her brother broken hearted, she totally didn’t spend months tracking her down and wrecking every member of the Branwen tribe’s shit that she could.

Well regardless she’d gotten over that who issue with her brother’s team, graduated, spent a few years living the dream, journeying around Remnant, helping people, exploring, just outright enjoying freedom. Life had been good. But eventually she got bored of it, bored of it, turns out Yang wasn’t for the lone wanderer shtick, didn’t live up to the hype…

It got lonely, and then her brothers wife died… Summer, Summer disappeared and Tai went into a depression. him remaining teammate Qrow tried, but he could only do so much, and she knew he was avoiding spending a lot of time with them cuz of his semblance the idiot. So she made her decision without hesitation, Yang starting crashing at her brother’s place and helping him with Ruby while beating the depression outta him.

And thankfully Glyn had a job she could work, a Professor at Beacon, she tried to get one at Signal but in her partner’s own words “That School already has to Suffer One Xiao-Long, why would you curse them with two.” And hence begun her domestic life as the stand-in mom for her adorable silver-eyed niece. And Yang realized she was freaking Maternal has all hell! Like Whoa, the amount of times people assumed she was Rube’s mom was scary, and not just cuz it implied she was banging her brother.

And hey, she was a pretty great teacher too, sure she was really more a couch, and every once in a blue mom stand in for Port but hey when she did the students were a heck of a lot more invested in her telling them about her past glory. It had nothing to do with her love of high cut tee’s she swore, she was just that charismatic.

Life was good…

-0-0-0-

LIFE WAS NOT GOOD!!!! She Was Gonna Murder Thos Little Turds! Few Things were as precious to Yang as her hair, and they, her students had abused her trust! She could understand a pulling pranks, heck she still pulled them on her fellow teachers. But The Fuck! CUT SOMEONE HAIR WHEN THEY SLEPT!!!

Beacon was starting up in several weeks! And she was gonna have to show her face now! With her hair like this!

Oh She Wasn’t Fooled For A Fucking Second!!!

This Had Bitch Written All Over It! It had to be those girls who’d been giving her the stink eyed just cuz the boys she taught couldn’t pull their eyes off their bombshell of a teacher! Or Maybe it was one of those douchebag students she put in their place when she caught them claiming they’d bed her.

The fact of the matter was she didn’t technically have concrete evidence of who it was, all she did know was when she went to bed she was fine and when she woke up she felt horrifyingly light. Her beautiful locks of golden magnificent hair scattered across the ground. All she saw after that was red, too bad her partner was there otherwise she could’ve slaughtered the perpetrator, true she would’ve ended up killing a few innocent students, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good, and were they really innocent if they just sat there and let such a tragedy happen!

They were lucky her partner Glynda was there to restrain her with several dozen times gravity being forced down upon her. And now here she was in Vale, already on her fourth group of A-Grade assholes clobbered for trying to pick up a red-eyed and incredibly pissed off Yang.

She stopped before it, a salon, one Ozpin had recommended, and one whose life and current state of function was on the line. Because if even an inch more of her remaining beautiful hair was ruined there would be hell to pay.

On the plus side they all seemed to know who she was, a negative is that that also meant every stylist was hesitant to do said firey dragon’s hair. She couldn’t blame them but if someone didn’t hike up their skirt and do something soon she’d-

“Ma’am, th-this way please, our new hire offered to do you hair.” Her eye twitched, a new hire, what the hell, she was ready to tear into him before a voice cut in.

“Hey can you calm down please, your kinda scaring everyone.” She blinked before looking up and meeting eyes with a fellow blonde. A guy around her student’s age, one who was standing up, facing her down with a stern look.

Your scaring the kids her with their parents, she noticed that in fact he was right as she saw some kids looking at her and backing away. And… She suddenly felt terrible. And when she went lack she heard it, a relieved exhale leave her fellow blonde, looking his way she met the boy’s gaze and felt a bit embarrassed. Leave it to her to go and get worked up and have a kid around her niece age tell her off.

The boy examined her, or to be more precise her hair and she saw his eyes narrow with recognition.

“Prank gone wrong?” She growled.

“No, I think it went just how those little shits wanted it to.” He blinked before shaking his head.

“Well then guess they could count their lucky stars they didn’t do that to a sister of mine or they wouldn’t live to regret it.” That made her smile.

“Oh trust me, I intend to do just that.” The blonde chuckled, shaking his head.

“Well hopefully not with your hair like that you won’t, kinda hard to instill fear in them while their laughing at the result of their prank. C’mon, let’s fix that.” Turning her made his way to a chair, expecting her to follow as he walked confidently to it. She blinked again, well, the new guy was definitely interesting, few people had it in them to sass her while her hair was so much as touched let alone ruined like this.

“Hey you just gonna stand there and gawk or do you want me to fix your hair.” She couldn’t help it, nobody talked about touching her hair.

“If you mess it up I’ll mess you up blondie.” Instead of the usual whimper or retreat the blonde boy… smiled?

“’Snort’ You sound just like my sis Beryl, relax, I have experience with styling long, blonde fine hair okay, your in good hands.” She rose brow, but slowly started to make her way to him. Noticing a picture of a boy and seven girls stuck up in his station.

“Whoa, is that you with all your cousins or something?” He laughed.

“Sisters actually, and I’ve done each of their hairs more times then I can count.” Okay, she was willing to risk it, at the very least the kid had experience. So she plopped herself down and let him do his magic… Okay so she might’ve had to stop herself once or twice from decking him when he touched her hair.

But hey his small talk took her mind off it, heck she only threatened him once when he pulled out the clippers. The boy seemed totally in his element. They talked about tons while he worked his magic, washing, shampooing and clipping her hair.

Eventually she begun asking how long he’d been doing this, she was surprised when he admitted this was his third and last week at the place. Something about needing extra money and having picked up several jobs before he hopefully got into his dream school. She couldn’t get much more details outta him, the boy was very cagey about it.

Finally thought he moment of truth came out and she saw… A pretty good looking cut, a bit shooter then what she’d come in with but not bad. In fact she was sorta digging it! Huh? Who’d’ve thought she could pull off a short due just as epically as she could a long one.

She grinned the boys way, walked up to him and gave him a full on huge, lifting the blonde up in the air as she did. And suddenly he went from her confident sassy groomer to a flustered, confused mess of a teen as socially awkward as her own niece.

It was honestly kinda endearing, guess he was the sort who just got in the zone when it came to doing their job. Well not like she was gonna complain he was so freaking expressive now it was actually kinda hilarious not to mention a bit adorable. She teased him once or twice, and got the boy to fluster pretty bad before she gave him a big fat tip that hit the triple digits. Hey her hair was a treasure, he earned it in her not so humble opinion.

And so she walked out and made her way back to Beacon, all smiles and snark as usual, much to her fellow staffs relief… Until the next day. Where she realized she couldn’t style her hair the exact way the guy had! Made sense, she never had short hair after all!

She made a mad dash back to that salon… Only to find out he wasn’t working there anymore… WHAT!? She had to all but threaten the boy’s name outta the manager! Yes! She threatened a civilian, but this was important! And she got exactly what she needed, a name.

Jaune Arc.

She rushed to Juniors, needing to use Vale’s best info broker to find out the single most important information in the entire kingdom… Why the hell did he go on about Torchwick and White Fang when she said that. Obviously the info she meant was on the blonde stylist!

He blinked at her, and then asked about the name again… Then went pale. And then called Jaune over, apparently one of the jobs he was working also happened to be here as a bartender. One look at her and he flustered going all red face… Yeah, she did dress up, she was in a club after all, had to look good. Glad to see she still had it, not that it was ever up for debate.

Anyways she had him now, made her demand had him promise to teach her how to do her hair, and until then would have him do it. She’d pay him obviously, she wasn’t a monster, and a guy who could actually style her glorious hair was worth his weight in gold.

He told her she’d have to wait till his break, she was about to drag him off as her waiting simply wasn’t a option, until he offered to give her a free drink, a thanks for the huge tip she gave him yesterday. Well, she was already in Vale so why not… And again he shocked her!

Seriously what had she been drinking up until this point? Cuz it sure as hell wasn’t a Strawberry Sunsrise compared to the one he served her. She was about to ask, but he seemed to pick up on her question and gave the answer of ‘Seven sisters’ which just sorta answered it, guess a few of them liked drinks.

And he was back to being mister focused on his craft, sassy and cool as a cucumber… She just had to mess with him. Wasn’t hard, just a little shake here, a suggestive pun there and a wink or two and the boy went cherry red.

It was the best time she had out in a good minute, and then slowly, things started to relax and she fell into that age old troupe of shooting the breeze her the bartender. Talking about her brother and niece who’d get into Beacon this year and how freaking proud of her she was.

It was great, fun, and she was… tipsy, so maybe when his break came around she chose to drag him to the dance floor for some fun instead of out to do her hair… And once again he surprised her with another skill of his. Jaune Arc, could dance.

He even dared suggest he was better then her… the nerve. She had to prove to him wrong, she just had to. So they spent his whole break dancing, drinking, laughing and just having fun, and one stink eye from her and Junior let her new young buddy take the rest of the night off.

And then everything went dark and she woke up in a bed, naked… Oh no.

Then she realized thank Oum there was no blonde boy right by her, instead her Scroll had a message, saying how he’d taken her to one of junior’s rooms to rest after she’d gotten wasted. And how he swore he left the room when she started to strip…

Yeah, that sounded like her when she got three sheets to the wind, he also sent her a message about how to do her hair. She asked Junior about the blonde but the guy insisted he was just a temporary hire.

-0-0-0-

Well, it was time her baby niece’s first day was upon them! It took everything she had not to charge up grab little ruby up in a huge and completely embarrass her in front of everyone of her potential classmates.

Yang might’ve been wary of Ozpin when he first suggested it but still, she was aiming to enjoy this, to watch her niece, thrive in Beacon, to make a name for herself and have the best experience she cou- And she exploded…

Then some little white haired bitch started hounding her niece! She readied to walk up there and clobber the uppity brat. But before she could the spoiled brat left when some other goth looking chick got in the way. The black themed kid left too, leaving her poor niece all alone looking miserable!

She readied to make way only for the last person she expected to show up.

“Jaune?”

-0-0-0-

She stood with Ozzy and Glyn watching things go down in the emerald forest, watching her niece having the misfortune of teaming up with the bratty Schnee. But there was also someone else who interested her, Jaune Arc, AKA her personal stylist, bartender and clubbing escort to be the next four years of Beacon.

What could she say, the kid was a man of many talents that she very much appreciated. She’d looked his files over, and yep… Guy had fake transcripts, so that’s why he needed all that extra scratch. Still though, considering they had a ex-terrorist in their roster this year she couldn’t view it too negatively, heck Qrow had been a freaking bandit.

Also, the kid really wanted this, I mean guy let Ozzy launch him into the forest… without aura! Yeah that was a shocker, the fact the kid was even willing to fight Grimm with having aura much less knowing what it was spoke volumes to his bravery, stupidity too yes, but mostly bravery. And hey, when the cereal girl herself unlocked it turned out he had a bunch.

Yep this year was shaping up to be a interesting one.

-0-0-0-

Glynda didn’t know what to think of how Yang was acting, given she rarely knew what to do when it came to said brawler, but moreso today the usual, Yang was acting quite perplexing, well more then usual. Focusing on miss Rose she could understand, the woman all but raised the silver-eyed warrior after all. But her interest also seemed to focus on a second individual as well.

Mister Arc, a student she still had doubts about, but who also seemed to gain her partners attention, she sighed for the poor student. She didn’t wish her partner’s teasing on anyone, much less a seemingly easy to fluster first year like him.

Oh well, she supposed sacrifices had to be made for the greater good, a happy or at the very least entertained Xiao-Long mean much less collateral damage for the school and free time for herself. Perhaps she could offer him a bit of favoritism for such a burden, he did have a lot of aura, she supposed she could give him advise on control of it, he’d need it in case her partner ever tried to spare with the poor thing after all.

-0-0-0-

Okay, this was not good, Yang had not expected Jaune to be in Beacon, much less for him to befriend her precious niece and be such good friends with her… What was this kid? He could, do hair, make drinks, dance and could even be a reliable man when the chips were down if him turning back to help against the Deathstalker was any indication.

Seriously, the kid didn’t even have aura for a full hour and yet he turned to face a grimm most huntsman would think twice about facing much less potential first years. And all for some strangers… Yep she didn’t care if his transcripts were real or not, Jaune earned his place in the school with that bit of bravery there.

She nearly laughed when he was declared leader of his team, not cause it was funny, kid was the obvious choose, he was quick the decide, enact and didn’t hesitate. Hell, he had no actual training and yet when the chips were down he lead three people he didn’t even know the name of into battle.

Ozpin would have to be blind not to pick him, at the after party she made her way right to him ready to tease him to high heaven. But instead caught him talking to one of his sisters, well her her wife and… And. AND THE MOST ADORBLE THING SHE’D SEEN SINCE BABY RUBY!!!

Apparently, it was his nephew Adrian! So yeah she sorta cut in and got involved, talked to his sister, baby talked his cute nephew and informed said sister that her little brother was on the fast track to being a kick butt huntsman. What? you didn’t it so many checkmarks with her and not get a few benefits for it. Yang Xiao-Long was the kinda teacher who definitely played favorites, and Jaune Arc was certainly one of them.

-0-0-0-

Yang did not know what to do… Well, that wasn’t true, she knew exactly what she wanted to do, or to be more specific… Who.

How had it come to this!? Seriously, she just didn’t know what to do… Okay, maybe she should back up a sec and explain. So she, Yang Xiao-Long, Huntress extraordinaire, hottest teacher in Beacon (Okay… Maybe Glynda and her were tied) was lowkey crushing on one of her students…

No! It was not Blake! She didn’t get why Port assumed that? Nope, she had found herself thinking of and gioving extra attention to Jaune, yep, Jaune, mister fake it till he made it. HE JUST CHECKED OFF ALL THE THINGS SHE WAS LOOKING FOR IN A GUY!!!

Yeah, she was surprised too, as it turned out, you didn’t need to be a huge giant of muscles like Yatsuhashi or that transfer student Sage. Nope, lean was good too, maybe not Lie Ren lean but a nice in-between. And Jaune Arc hit that sweet spot, heck he was decently built even before Beacon, it was just more like a farmboy than a actual knight. But now, ‘heh’ Yang very much approved his teammate Nora’s insistence on weightlifting.

He was blonde! Which yeah maybe that wasn’t strictly necessary for him to catch her eyes but it didn’t hurt. He got along with her niece, heck he was her first friend in Beacon. And he was brave, something she knew when he turned back to help his team against that Deathstalker during his Initiation.

He proved it again though about a month later when he saved Cardin Winchester against a Ursa Major, now that said a lot about him. While his team ran for their lives Jaune stood his ground and fought to save his bully… the threatened him to not mess with his friends… Yeah, that was when she realized he was on her radar.

More then that he checked off things she didn’t even know she was looking for a guy, he was good with hair (though not his own if that mop of blonde was any indication), dancing drinks, And Oh My God Cooking! The Boy Could Cook! Again Thank Oum For His Sisters and Mom For Forcing Him To Learn Those Glorious Glorious Domestic Skills! But More Then That thank Mama Arc for giving him that ass!

And she was perving on Jaune again… Great. Ugh she needed to settle this already, heck she wasn’t even able to hide it anymore. The Staff totally made fun of her over it even!

But like, she didn’t wanna be all weird, plus the blonde liked the little icy no tit princess, and she was in a mood again… Was she really jealous of a teenager who was built like a ironing board… Yes, yes she was and that more then anything else infuriated her.

Heck he was on a team with Pyrrha-Obvious-Nikos! At least Yang could accept losing to the spartan! Okay… Maybe lose was a bit much. After all if she went for it she would nab that blonde up in a second. So why didn’t she?

Cause, cause she was a teacher… Y-yeah, that was it, totally not because she had cold feet, and never been in a relationship that lasted more then a weekend… Gods Dammit.

And then she stumbled upon it, Jaune and her partner training, Glynda had taken a shine to Jaune, not at first, her partner was pretty peeved about the whole Transcripts thing. But after a few weeks her favorite student (Ruby being the exception) had used his Arc charm on her.

Glyn was a bit softy underneath all that stern strictness of her’s. Wait? Was she… checking him out? Yep, Glyn was focusing pretty hard on her blonde Himbo’s ass… And she was touching him! WAIT WHAT!? Glyn Didn’t Touch People, She didn’t need to with her semblance! Why Would She… OH THAT BITCH!!!

That’s right Glynda had been benefiting from Jaune’s talents as much as she was, actually he was also helping her with paperwork apparently (something about paying her back for the aura control lessons) NO NO NOOO!

She was not losing Jaune To Her Partner and the stick up her ass! Yang never thought of herself as the jealous type but here she was, going into her room and grabbing some of her risqué clothes… Yeah they were pretty old, she at least went up to cup sizes since she last wore this to… Perfect.

Now all she needed was a night to alter them, thank Oum she was used to sewing cause of Ruby. And she was ready, and as she stepped into class, ready to teach unashamed and with a cocky smile on her face she looked to her mark. Jaune Arc much like the other boys in her class was staring just like she wanted him to.

Yep, Yang Xiao-Long might’ve been scared of screwing up, of causing issues for Jaune or more importantly Beacon and the moral implications of a teacher screwing her student, but that all came second, because more then that she refused to lose to anyone. And now that Glynda might be in the competition she wasn’t gonna hold back.

#jaune arc #aged up #prof. xiao-long #yang xiao-long

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eelhound · 9 days ago

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"There is one very Buddhist part of [The White Lotus, season three], however: its plot. The Buddha taught that our suffering is self-created, and the characters are caught in a web of truly self created suffering. Their incredible wealth and privilege and comfortable surroundings — replete with every kind of mental and physical therapy — only help to illustrate the fact that the suffering that they’re living through is entirely of their own design.

The characters are enmeshed in greed, hatred, and delusion, which are known to Buddhists as the three poisons. And the characters manage to violate the five traditional Buddhist training precepts in their behaviour. The five precepts, whose disregard is said to bring harm and regret, are not killing, not stealing, not lying, not committing sexual misconduct, and not taking intoxicants. The characters murder, steal, lie, engage in sexual misconduct, and abuse alcohol and drugs, often all within the space of a few minutes.

Tim Ratliff, for example, committed fraud (greed) and is now losing his mind from fear of the consequences (hatred), which he is escaping in sedatives and whisky (delusion). It was stealing that landed him in this situation (second precept) and his lying (third) and substance abuse (fifth) are prolonging the crisis. His son, Saxon, driven by sexual greed and shallow egotism (delusion), leads himself and his brother into trouble with his obsession with unethical sexual conquest (fourth precept), fueled by alcohol and drugs (fifth), which ultimately culminates in incest (fourth). And so on.

One of the driving tensions of the plot is also authentically Buddhist: will the characters succumb to the urge to be violent or not? Will Tim kill himself, or even his whole family? Will Greg, a wife-killer in hiding, kill Saxon, who he thinks slept with his wife, or Belinda, who knows of his crime? Will Rick kill the man he believes murdered his father? Will Gaitok succumb to Mook’s pressure to be ambitious and violent for the sake of career advancement?

This last tension animates a tragic Buddhist tale embedded in one of the flashier plot lines of this season: that of Gaitok and Mook. Gaitok is a mild-mannered security guard who avoids confrontation and violence. He is infatuated with Mook, a beautiful Thai girl who herself has more of a thing for the burly tattooed bodyguards who shadow the hotel’s owner. Gaitok attempts to be more aggressive, to get a promotion to please Mook, although he confesses to her that he thinks violence was condemned by the Buddha and is wrong. Ultimately, Gaitok shoots a fleeing murderer dead, thus winning a promotion and Mook’s love. Their mutual disregard for his true, more honorable character promises a life of future misery for them both.

In another scene, the brutality of muay-Thai boxing is juxtaposed with a voice-over of the ajaan saying, 'Remember this: every one of us has the capacity to kill. Buddhist scripture condemns violence in every form. Violence, aggression, anger, stem from the same source: fear. The only good faith response is to sit with your feelings. Violence does spiritual harm to the victim and the perpetrator. Buddhists believe: always non-violence.'

If I knew nothing about Buddhism watching The White Lotus, I would come away with the idea that it is a peaceful religion that promotes stilling the mind, non-violence, and acceptance of life as it is, and whose meditation teachings are commensurate with the pop-mindfulness stuff one can hear in any yoga class or meditation app. I would also believe that it promotes spirit above form, and detachment from self, and that it promises that all beings come from one universal consciousness to which they will return at death in a peaceful homecoming. Not the worst presentation of Theravada Buddhism, to be sure, but far from a wholly accurate one.

When it comes to the plot, however, the show delivers Buddhist insights in spades, serving up hefty doses of teaching about the perils of violence, along with the poisonous nature of greed, hatred, and delusion and the chaotic consequences of killing, stealing, lying, unethical sex, and intoxicants. The show might not be true to Thai Buddhism, but it’s true to life."

- Matthew Gindin, from "The Buddha In 'The White Lotus,'" Arc, 8 April 2025.

#matthew gindin #quote #quotations #the white lotus #white lotus spoilers #buddhism #suffering #dukkha #storytelling

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jahtrashh · 9 months ago

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I saw your take on Zuko and like I agree so much. this fandom either idolises him or hates him and I always found that sooo weird. same goes with characters like Jet who are somehow treated like perfectly functioning adults by the fandom and held accountable of their actions as if they were grown men. and that’s so freaking weird. the point of Zuko’s redemption arc is that his arc isn’t linear, he makes mistakes, learns from it, makes up for it. as for Jet, although not a big fan of the way the writers handled his death, he’s literally being seen as an unredeemable monster, as if worse that characters like OZAI OR ZHAO by many fans and… just… how ?? why ?? they are both 16 ?? like yeah, they did so much bad stuff, they did really messed up stuff but they are also quite literally products of their environment and a freaking 100 years war. how is Zuko, fed with propaganda, on a ship since he’s 13, with a freaking general as his only paternal figure at that time, surrounded by men twice his age who are also either soldiers or at least army related, and still 16 at the time, suppose to be a “nice guy” archetype that does nothing wrong. like please be for real one second. and don’t get me started on Jet. whole village burned to the ground, orphan, had to raise so many kids, probably grew up in extreme poverty. ofc he’s messed up. ofc he’s violent, blinded by rage. but again, 16 !!! HE’S 16 !! it kills how people don’t realise that teenagers (especially teenage boys) are anything but mature, collected and emotionally rational. like bfr.

but in the atla fandom ig saying this would make me a zuko/jet apologist. whatever that means. as an adult i just see a bunch of messed up kids in the middle of the war, and that’s basically it. at best i feel bad for them, at worst i pity them.

Say it louder for the people in the back. I don’t know how to dumb it down enough for people to wrap their damn head around how these are in fact, also, teenagers involved in war. The world is in shambles during war, right and wrong are easily blurred during those times, and it takes a very special person to be able to differentiate between the sides without getting too caught up in what they believe is right or wrong.

Zuko could’ve stayed a racist, imperialist, dipshit. But by the end of the show, he turns into just a simple dipshit who accepted his life changing 180 with open arms. Yes he said some insensitive shit to aang about his beliefs and mocked his anti-violent views even when he joined them in season 3, but AGAIN, not only was he still learning how to be a decent human being, he was also blinded by his own hatred of his father, mixed with the very much pro-violent nature of the fire nation, PLUS the lack of education on Aang’s culture and philosophy which was AGAIN, taught around PRO-PA-GAN-DA the FN created. All of which, takes time to unlearn. On top of figuring himself and who he was, which is what most teenagers, more often than not will have a whole crisis about ALONE. I honestly don’t know how people expect a redemption arc to go, we’ve all had to learn how to be better about things, and the progress isn’t going to be liner nor will it always be easy. That is human nature. That is LIFE.

And on Jet’s case, why do people think it’s such a terrible thing to make some characters who were victims of war crimes, to be angry, to lust for revenge against the perpetrators, or be irrational and violent. THEY HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO. The FN took the last bit of Jet’s life that he barely even had and stripped all of that completely away from him like the savages that they are. Why is it a terrible thing to be angry at people who didn’t think twice about the families, the sense of community that his village had? I agree that Jet was going too far when he was trying to take it out on innocent people, but can you really blame him? He didn’t have an adult to help him out on the importance of emotional maturity and how to be angry at the ones who actually harmed you like Zuko did, and even if he did, teenagers won’t be emotionally matured TRULY until they develop into adults. He had to be the mock adult for the kids younger than him, he didn’t have time to decode himself and better his actions because he was too focused on protecting the freedom fighters and himself against the FN’s abuses.

People don’t realize that this is not babying them, or being so called “apologists” this is called understanding why these two are the way that they are. Why are they like this? And it’s so much to take in and talk about at once that you’d need an entire college level essay to completely break down and comprehend how deep war can affect not just adults, but teenagers and children. Those two groups don’t have true moral compasses, so the environment and circumstances can really impact and easily mold their minds to fit the standards in said situation in order to survive it. This is called self-preservation. A more than common trauma response.

I mean seriously, I heard someone say they can understand Zuko hate but not Iroh hate, when he has in fact, done much worse than Zuko has ever done in those 3 years at sea. I love Iroh, but he’s an adult, why are we choosing adults over traumatized and war-fed teenagers who mainly comply in that shit to seek approval from their actually psychotic, genocidal, narcissistic, and abusive father that would dispose of them if they didn’t fit his standards? Why are we quicker to blame the teenagedvictim of the FN’s attacks and cruelty, than the actual people, adults, who conducted the attacks?

Are we truly regressing as a fandom? The show wouldn’t give them their traumatic experiences and talk about their abusers if they wanted the viewer to antagonize the victims. Goes to show that the loudest voices screaming “irredeemable monster” and “they want people to feel sorry for him” never truly know who these characters are and how they operate, they need everything spoon fed to them which is very unfortunate. The real irredeemable monsters are right there in their face and they choose to look somewhere else.

It’s so obvious how people in this fandom pick and choose who to feel sympathy for, when they all needed it.

#avatar the last airbender #atla fandom critical #atla fandom problems #atla meta #atla zuko #atla jet #zuko meta #jet meta #these kids need help and it kills me how Jet won’t ever get that #jet deserved better #zuko deserved better #they don’t deserve the treatment they get in this fandom i swear #Zuko literally redeemed himself in front of everyone’s eyes and yet they still treat him like he will always be what his past says he is

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francisinthehouse · 8 months ago

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hello tumblr i have just finished reading The Spirit Bares Its Teeth by Andrew Joseph White and i need to scream my thoughts about it into the void

spoiler warning for the entirety of this book, i want to tell you to read it blind but i should ALSO tell you to read the content warnings because yeah, this book is dark and it pulls no punches in depicting horrible shit (this is not a criticism. i love it, but not everyone will and i understand that)

OK RIGHT OFF THE BAT i love Silas as a character so much, as an autistic person i think this is the most seen/understood i have ever felt reading about another autistic person in fiction.

i love you Daphne I was so ready to hate her when she was introduced and then the second she came out to Silas she stole my heart, i'm not trans but that scene almost made me cry.

i would kill for the groundskeeper i hope he knows that, never said a word but he might be one of my favorite characters in the book. wherever he is i hope he's doing well.

i desperately want to know more about the Braxton's girls. what were their lives like before the book, did they have families, did they miss them, did they try to fight back against the horrors they faced there only to become numb to them. what about the girls who managed to leave, what happened to them, what is happening to them.

i love Mary and Frances, but i'm never going to recover from the emotional damage they did to me. i KNEW there was something between them when Mary was introduced but then the scene in the basement happened and i sobbed uncontrollably. i will NEVER get over Frances haunting Mary's ring and Mary calling Frances her wife in the epilogue.

what the HELL happened to Charlotte. we know she's in Braxton's for being a feminist, what kind of hell did they put her through for her to become the way she is in the book?

Harriet Johnston. holy fucking shit, Harriet Johnston. everything about her scene fucking broke me. i can't even ask what she did to deserve that because nothing she could have done would warrant that.

the bathroom scene. anyone who has read the book knows what i'm talking about. Isabella i am so sorry. the fact that Silas was able to save her, that she WOULD HAVE SURVIVED had Headmaster not caught her. the tragedy that she died so close to the climax, that she was so close to surviving and escaping but that the climax also would have never happened if she did survive. she was dead no matter what, and she deserved so much better.

Mrs Forrester is such an interesting character to me. she's just as much a victim of the system as she is a perpetrator of it, and in a weird way i love the fact that she isn't redeemed by the end. also how poetic and tragic is it that the first student of Braxton's dies with it?

George sucks, he can fuck off and die for all i care. over and over he was given the choice to do the right thing and every time decided not to because it would have made HIS life harder. Elsie deserves a better husband, Silas deserves a better brother. he's not even the worst character morally, but i can't even say that i hate his guts because he has no guts for me to hate at all.

i am fully prepared to ramble more about this book when i can form coherent thoughts, i am trying but my brain is still spinning at light speeds and the words are not coming out right. i am so normal about this book

#the spirit bares its teeth #the spirit bares its teeth spoilers

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ranger-trauma-tourney · 3 months ago

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Round 2, Matchup 3

*Remember, this tournament isn’t about which Ranger you like more, it’s about which Ranger has a more immediate need for therapy.

Propaganda under the cut

Sky Tate

“If Sky had gotten therapy after his dad died, half of S.P.D. wouldn’t have happened.”

“S.P.D. is Sky just getting progressively more traumatized as the series goes on. First he doesn’t get to be the Red Ranger (which he shouldn’t have gotten at the time), which means that he’s probably internally feeling like a failure due to the fact that he’s not Red like his dad and he puts his entire self-worth on being like his father, Then turns out he has one person that he’s able to smile around, and that guy FAKED HIS OWN DEATH AND SHOT HIM. Then he’s getting progressively better, and then Reflection comes around and he has one single emotion because the worst day of his life was mocked and that allows his father’s killer to fucking escape. Please for the love of god someone force him into a psych eval HE NEEDS HELP. Plus he’d probably be less of a sexist prick if he wasn’t so focused on living up to his father’s legacy and coming up with reasons why he should be red so it’s a net good for society.”

Karone (In Space/Lost Galaxy)

“being taken from her family by a ugly horrible freak, becoming a villain against her desires, eventually getting brainwashed then learning she almost killed her brother and her dad died protecting her (idk what happens in lg i only watched in space)”

“Kidnapped by the guy who tried to genocide her people; survived a second genocide; was a child soldier; child abuse; the comics had a government try and kangaroo court her for it; plus more.”

“The perpetrator trauma must be crazy bc imagine fighting against these guys and finding out one of them was your brother all along and you were trying to kill him not to mention everything else that she did that she now regrets”

#Sky Tate #power rangers karone #Karone #Karone power rangers #power rangers lost galaxy #power rangers spd #power rangers in space #power rangers

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notdiabolika · 6 months ago

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A Halloween Celebration?

The night an indo-caribbean got lost in a vampire’s ball.

Gift for @krispycremecake. Exchange planned by @diabolik-lovers-weekly.

| Featuring: Shu x Indo-caribbean fem reader x Subaru.

[ ! ] Contains: swearing, biting and blood.

The heavy wooden door, adorned with a strange symbol, had been carelessly left wide open that night, October 31st. Purposeful or not, the fragrant smell of the ball invades the street, attracting curious glances into the hall where the ominous figures circle. — What are those youngsters doing? Listening to classical music, above all… They are not young. — It must be a funeral for the living! Not alive either. — Halloween wannabes. However, it is, in fact, Halloween. But for anyone young and alive, looking for a Halloween party, this seemed like the place to go. It was only strange when the door closed behind them…

My time in Japan, up until that point, had been splendid. The streets ranged from the most colorful and illuminated by technological standards — like the nostalgic Tokyo — to more isolated, although equally special, places, like Kanashimashi.

Japanese customs and streets are different from those in the Caribbean, in some places they are equally crowded, although oriental architecture has a more minimalist style of housing outside of large metropolises. At least, that's what I thought, until I found this little city treasure and a loose invitation to a gala ball with Halloween props. I didn't even know it was celebrated here, much less planned my visit with this in mind. But I, as a curious person, am more than prepared for a night of mischief that will sweeten my taste buds.

— Excuse me — I barely enter the party before the doors abruptly close behind me, giving me a scare that almost makes me lose my balance.

The eyes that fell on my figure were… intoxicating. I have to confess: my outfits are a bit simple compared to others. I just wear a black floral dress, exaggerated stitching details on the sides and hem, as well as heavier makeup, drawn to blue — a hurried parody of Corpse Bride, which in the middle of production turned into something. It happens to all of us who work under tight deadlines.

Seconds pass, but the vast majority of guests look at me as if I was a seven-headed animal, walking towards the red table, full of sweets filled with scarlet dye. I've never seen any of these before. Maybe it's something from Japanese culture.

I extend my hand to eat some sort of crooked cupcake, which I imagine is on purpose, ignoring those who stare at me and whisper with pure stubbornness.

— What are you doing?! — the poor cupcake goes flying, scattering on the polished floor. The perpetrator of the attack is a tall man, almost six feet tall, albino, frowning, with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. — Do you have issues?

The words catch in my throat, a mixture of surprise and hatred forming. But I choke on them, his hand tugging at my wrist and making me stumble across the room to try to keep up with his quick steps.

— What the hell… — he even has the audacity to hold me by the waist. — This is the worst thing that could happen today!

That "little" dude, who doesn't look more than eighteen years old at most, is not only rude but also shouts. So I shout back.

— Stop dragging me, mate!

The only response I get is a snort. We crossed a large corridor until we reached the door at the end, with a small window giving a view of the garden outside.

— Shit, locked—

— Hello?! I'm talking to you. — I pull his arm as he tries to move my hand away. Our bodies are almost pressed together as I look him straight in the eyes. — Do I look like a dog to be taken wherever you want me to go?

Those crimson eyes, filled with stormy emotion, turned to me. A flash of guilt. His tense posture gives the impression that the boy is about to jump on something (or someone) without thinking twice. However, that hustle gets a brief glimpse of respite when he stops and looks at me.

Even the rudest of boys could make my face burn with embarrassment by staring at me as intensely as this albino is staring at me. And he's not kind at all.

— Tch, it doesn't matter what you look like. — He turns his pale face away. For someone who has such bold talk, his skin and face have some very delicate features. — And if you want to know, it looks like someone is choking you.

— That was the concept! — more or less.

With one last breath, he opens a random room and barks his orders.

— Come in here, and stay until I find the key to the back door. — He sounds like he's punishing a disobedient child, although I'm sure I'm too old for that. I frown, crossing my arms — Don't make noise, and don't attract attention. And get on with it! Or you die.

The words hit me like a punch in the stomach, a human weakness that runs up my legs and makes me turn to that abnormal figure with a mix of confusion and genuine fear.

Is this a ball… a meeting of criminals?

— Why would I even trust you? — I take a step back, his expression changing to pure frustration with the slightest movement of mine that opposes him. — As far as I know, this is a Halloween ball.

A loud, amused laugh erupts from his thin lips, although his voice is thick and full of irritation.

—Halloween?! Look, I'm trying to help you here. — Suddenly, he turns his back. — But if you don't want to, that's fine! See what happens and how it ends. When I find a way to get you out of this place, I'll be waiting, right here.

In a flash, I realize: that boy has just disappeared, right under my nose. I feel around the walls looking for some kind of clue, magic trick, or smoke signal. This has to be some kind of prank, right?

Maybe I'm just in a weird roleplay group…

I laugh but then cover my mouth. No, that's not what I believe. But I would love it if it were true.

I decided that instead of trying to get back to that ballroom, maybe one of these rooms around me could help me. It's not possible that there isn't ONE single window to jump out of in such a big place, because the one the stranger wanted me to enter didn't have one.

The first doorknob is locked. The second is stuck. An event house completely locked to the public, perhaps? Or a simple inconvenience that disrupts my life. The third doesn't even move. I was hoping that the fourth attempt wouldn't decide to give in, because of the popular Japanese superstition that the number four had a direct connection with death. Well…

Guess which of the doors opened.

The dark and cold room really surprises me. None of the furniture is particularly interesting, all covered in a thin layer of dust, similar to what a storage room would be like. The view, however, is soft and bluish — the result of the full moon night outside, mountains in the background framed by the rounded window.

I walk towards it like a dragonfly floating towards the nearest light source. And in this thousandth of imprecision…

… I stumble.

My eyes close reflexively, hands reaching forward and collapsing against the floor. The rest of the fall is cushioned by flesh, a soft grunt below reassuring me that, whatever this is, it's alive. Although strangely cold.

—Haa… why does this always happen to me…

The deep voice resounds in the air, slurred and lazy words from someone who has just woken up and doesn't even think about getting up. The man below me seems to have stepped out of the most distant fairy tales. Blonde, blue eyes that shine so softly that it's as if a firefly had landed between his eyelids and decided to live there. His entire face has a sleepy, dreamlike air that is difficult not to look at.

But of course, he's still a stranger sleeping in an empty room — and his clothes aren't too shabby for him to be in this situation out of necessity.

— You smell like Subaru. And you're a human being… what a peculiar combination for a closed ball like this. —Yet here he is, babbling things I don't entirely understand. When I try to stand up, his hand gently pulls me back. — No. Since you decided to fall on me, now you're not leaving anytime soon…

I don't particularly mind this turn of events.

—What is going on? I just came to take a look, and suddenly this guy… Subaru started pulling me.

At this point, I've convinced myself that the Halloween fun party I saw in the pamphlet is not the same as this one and that, apparently, I need to get out of there as quickly as possible. But I have a very strong curse called curiosity. Also, if it's something illegal, maybe I should run away and tell the police.

— Heh, you don't know much, do you? — the tone is mocking at first, but the soft and carefree expression begins to wrinkle over time, seriousness enveloping his bright irises. — This is a celebration between beings of the night, to congratulate the birthday of our demon king.

Oh, right. It's a sect thing.

Some pretty disturbing thoughts start to flood my mind as I think about what kind of atrocities happen at parties like this. An unpleasant shiver runs down my spine.

— I know… — nothing. — And why don't let me go out the front door instead of the back door, if that Subaru really wants to get me out of here? It doesn't make any difference.

I think I'm having my worries and anxieties ignored when those long lashes cover his eyes, but the low murmur comes quickly:

— Magic. You must have walked into the place of the human we were waiting for and the door closed by itself. It's definitely the last scenario that would cross my mind in a situation like this. Skepticism would never allow it, and it was about to double: — A shame that the only one who has the keys left, looking for Yui. The other vampires will show no mercy if they catch you here.

And with this speech, finally, everything makes sense again.

— Vampires? — assuming it’s not a codename for crazy cultists… — The mythological creature?

His brow furrows again.

— What else would we be talking about?

I fall beside him, laughing like a child on the night of mischief;

— Oh, stop! Mythical creatures roam a ball conveniently open to everyone, even if you say it was an accident, and a handsome young man — the compliment was completely acidental, too — is the one who appears to save the night and remove the person who accidentally ended up here. What chapter of the RPG campaign are we in?

His laugh follows mine, though it's nasal, pure entertainment at my expense.

— You don't believe vampires exist?

— Imagine if there were creatures as fast and fleeting as vampires. One would notice the same faces walking around a small town like this. — A pretty useless argument to have out of nowhere, but what else could I do if I had to wait until the door was opened? — How boring. Everything about this party is just a big prank. It would be cool if they had actual real vampires.

Sure, lip service, but who cares! They are not real.

— And if there were, would you let them bite you?

Still, that story that if I stepped outside, I would have my neck chased by vampires. How cliché.

— Oh, sure. — Irony dances across my lips. I lift the hem of the dress with my hands as I rise from the floor, straightening the wrinkled fabric and making it smooth again. — Now excuse me, I have better places to be.

Praying that the white ghost with red eyes wouldn't appear, I walk around the strange lying man in order to reach the door — until I realize that he's no longer there.

— … Well, you said it. — He pulls me back into a hug. — Don't blame me for listening to your own words before you leave.

The voice behind me surprises me a lot, but no more than the lazy canines that prowl in the space between my shoulder and my neck. The fright makes me shiver due to the sudden cold contact. He's so sharp… Much more than I would be comfortable with imagining that supernatural beings are nothing more than literary tales and stories to scare spoiled little children.

— W-wait a second—

I can almost imagine him smiling as he brushes a strand of my hair away, his princely lips resembling the curve of a demon pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

— You know, it's a really bad night for something like this to happen… the full moon makes us all a little dizzy. But don't worry. I won't let anyone take you from here.

The explosive presence appears accompanied by an equally unexpected slam of the doorknob against the wall — which even has a hole in that exact same place —, nothing in the hands. No set of keys, absolutely no way out of this hell.

— Agh… Shu! What are you doing?! If it wasn't enough that idiot Reiji disappeared with those keys…

Shu. That being moves its teeth away from my skin with some reluctance when it sees the new apparition in the room, staring at the albino over my bare shoulder, due to the model of the dress. His chin slides down, resting against my arm as if he were an innocent, sleepy human. However, I don't think I will find anything like that today.

— It's useless. Unless you want to break the fixed windows and deal with the costs dictated by our father, nothing here opens. — Subaru opens his mouth to argue, but his shoulders slump, as if in the end he finds that his (apparent) sibling is right. —Which means that if we want to protect such a mortal, we will have to stay inside.

My heart feels like it's going to jump out of my mouth at any moment. Maybe I'm having some kind of psychosis, but I swear that before I look, fangs are sprouting from those same rough pouty lips. He looks like an even younger boy as he grimaces and closes the room's door.

— It that serious? I didn't want that. — With a conflicted expression, he covers his face with his hand, walking towards the window to look outside. — It seems like this never ends… it was a bad idea from the beginning, with the shitty weather outside.

I don't think I've ever seen a moon as full and perfectly round as that one. It makes me more aware of my surroundings, beyond the cold air, the small warmth I transmit to the man hugging me, my rapid breathing having to find a spot to calm down.

— I think it's a better alternative than letting vampires walk the streets on a night like this and take anyone as prey… at least, I think that's what that guy wanted to prevent tonight, as the king. — Shu mutters. — And as for the moon… Well, I guess we can't be expected to be able to hold ourselves back in such a situation.

Subaru turns his head immediately, eyes wide as he grabs my arm in an anxious instance.

— Tch, what are you, a forest beast? — suddenly, that guy doesn't seem so angry anymore. The tone is low as if generated from genuine… concern? — What if this attracts more attention and they want to hurt her?

Everything around me is so clear, too nitid to not be real. At that moment I realize, despite the exasperation and his breathless tone, that Subaru really doesn't seem to wish me any harm. He's just irritated and wants to help.

— I didn't want to say it like that in front of a stranger, but… I think just by the way you look at her, I can tell that you haven't had anything to drink in a while.

Shu manages to make the man even paler than he already is, and afterward, a persistent blush covers his cheeks.

— So what?! I can hold on a little longer…

I stay quiet, just wanting to see where this goes.

— You were always very stubborn. — The blonde shakes his head again. — Come on, she said she doesn't mind.

— She did?! — the flustered one sounds almost jealous.

— Just accept the proposal…

One hesitant and the other insistent, their shoes meet the toes of my flats, both looking at me with an untainted yet restrained thirst. My breath seems to catch in my throat after being looked at so intensely. I know I should be scared, still thinking it's all part of some cruel joke…

But if vampires exist, I will never find any where I live— not in a place with an average of thirty degrees during the summer, anyway — and I would never have an opportunity as curiously peculiar as this.

— I'll let you both... try that, I suppose.

When both lips rest above my collarbones, I just close my eyes. I want to feel what it's like without seeing it.

The piercing pain comes quickly, makes you grunt, but soon emerges into anesthetizing relief. Impossible to explain, but it's as if butterflies lodged in your stomach and made you believe that the pain never existed. As if you were floating, with two men supporting your weight as gently as the faint bite of their fangs.

I lose track of time briefly. I just know it's over when I see Shu walking away from me, satisfied with the small feast. A pleasant silence ensues.

— Better? — the blue eyes turn to the red ones, which quickly avoid his.

— Tch. I don't know, whatever…

I end up laughing a little against the worn fabric, leaning against the hothead's chest who still holds me for a few seconds before letting me go. Touching the walls, I sit on a chair to the side.

— I think I need to eat something salty.

And all I saw in that room were sweets…

— It's ideal… — the sleepy man soon leans towards a chair on the other side of the table, sliding down until he appears to be almost lying down. — I think you should go get some sweets, Subaru.

— Hah?! Why me?

It turns out that that strange situation I found myself in soon turned into almost… a date. Subaru, very upset, went out to get a tray of snacks in worrying shades of red.

—Is this… blood? — I ask warily, moving away from the table at the thought.

— Hmph… no, just snacks from the demon world and an excessive amount of ketchup. — Shu whispers with notable disinterest. — The appetite of some vampires is stimulated by the color red.

Curious, I pick up some peculiarly shaped fries and dip them in ketchup. It crackles in my mouth with its crunch, but it's neither greasy nor too salty.

— I think it's ridiculous… it just makes you hungrier.

Subaru's blunt comment makes my chest tighten a little.

— Eat with me, I'll feel bad eating alone.

Another typical nasal laugh comes from the blonde, probably noticing the irony in my concern after being bitten by two vampires at the same time.

— If you feed me, maybe so.

— Hey! That's not fair- I want some too.

I have been trying to find the username of this person [@krispycremecake], but haven't found it on Tumblr! If someone could help me I would be very greatful.

Wish everybody a good night 🖤

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom #diaboliklovers #subaru sakamaki #subarusakamaki #shu sakamaki #shusakamaki #diabolik lovers x reader

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marshmallowprotection · 1 year ago

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here's one thing I could never understand about GE-Saeran...

why does he feel such a strong need to repent for what Ray but more so, what (Suit) Saeran did? I understand the guilt and shame he carries...but I feel like he's misplacing a LOT of responsibility onto himself, blaming himself for acting out in the ways he was made to

Saeran never had any interactions with normal people, outside of the church and the cult...he never knew what was normal- what was okay. He had no means to understand what was healthy! He was held under the threat of physical (elixir, cleansings) and emotional (gaslighting, manipulation) violence to act a certain way.

I guess what I'm saying is...how is that his fault? To act in the way you're being forced to, under the threat of such extremes? His capacity to be responsible for his actions is incredibly different to someone like V or Rika, as examples! It hurts so much to see him carry so much agony over what happened...when he, quite literally, had no other choice.

I absolutely believe both Ray and Saeran understood that they've done wrong! But how much accountability should we really put on them and not those who threatened them into being that way?

Okay, so, in particular, when it comes to this situation, I think it's so important to say that he's holding on to what he did to the player.

There are definitely things that he can't be faulted for, but there are also things that he can be faulted for. You can be a victim of violence and also a perpetrator of violence.

What both Ray and Suit Saeran did to the player wasn’t okay.

There is no excuse for those actions and GE Saeran would never want you to excuse either one of them for what they did to you.

Trying to erase what they did would upset him because you shouldn't gloss over anything that happened. Yes, neither of them was in their right mind, but that doesn't mean it should excuse the horrible things they did. There's nothing wrong with forgiving him because people do forgive Saeran, and understand that the situation was complex, but don't let yourself believe they weren't complicit in some of that violence.

That's a huge core of what happens in the after ending. You bring up conversations about what happened in Mint Eye and so does he. Anytime you bring up something that either one of them did that wasn't okay, he owns it, and he doesn't beat around the bush.

He promises he will continue to be a better man as long as you want him around, and as long as you want to give him a second chance to do so. You're not obligated to forgive him. You don't have to forget the things he did.

I can point out numerous examples.

You're right in saying that he was under a lot of pressure to do things against his will, but as you can see in these images above, you can see him on the fact that he did those things and he will never excuse his actions by saying he was under the threat of Elixir or Rika.

He does not want to say anything that tries to make light of what happened because there is no way to make light of those things. You can understand why he did what he did but it'll never change the fact that he did it and it hurt you.

You can accept his apology, you can welcome him with open arms, and you can tell him that you understand why he did what he did. He will appreciate that but he needs to learn how to forgive himself for what he did even if you forgive him.

Part of the reason why he goes on a journey to forgive the people who hurt him is so that he can learn how to forgive himself.

Because, at his worst, at the lowest Suit Saeran and Ray fell, they became an amalgamation of all of the monsters they could imagine. To be cruel and survive in Mint Eye was to become the devil, and the only devil they knew were the people who hurt them. Suit Saeran, in particular, wore a suit because that's what Saejoong wears, and his words became a mixture of both Rika and his mother's torture as he tried to become "the strongest in Paradise."

He took bits and pieces from all of the people who hurt him to make him somebody who could be the worst monster of them all to never be heard ever again. It wasn't healthy and it wasn't the way to protect himself. But, he didn't have a choice, and he had to do something to survive and protect you and Ray.

He decided that if he could forgive the people who hurt him, he could forgive himself for repeating those angry words to somebody who never deserved to hear them. Nobody deserves to hear those words that were slung at him and he shouldn't have repeated them at you. He even acknowledges that the words may not have been intended for you but they hit you all the same.

We can understand from the fourth wall that these characters are victims and that they don't deserve to blame themselves for the things that they have suffered. However, it's important to not act like neither of them wasn't guilty of doing something wrong. You can be somebody who's done both good and bad.

Nobody is totally perfect, and nobody is completely evil, the world is just shades of gray, as opposed to black and white. GE Saeran wants to be held accountable for what he did wrong.

When he says that he wants to take ownership of his actions and hold himself accountable, he means for the things that he actually did wrong, not for the things that were done to him. He's not beating himself up and saying he is to blame for everything that happened to him, but he is owning the fact that he did things that aren't okay.

In part, I also think he wants to hold himself accountable for any of the cleanings he might've been put in charge of, too.

Ray manipulated you to bring you to Mint Eye, lied, and pressured you to stay with him. Even if you understand that he is a victim, it doesn't change the fact that he did those things and they weren't right. People tend to gloss over what Ray did in comparison to what happened later with Suit Saeran, but Ray is complicit in wrongdoing, too.

If you learn more about Ray, you understand very quickly that he had an idealized version of you in his head. He became infatuated with the idea of you. Rika told him that he could take anybody for the job, and he began to fantasize about a future with you as soon as he discovered you, and that wasn't healthy.

From an outside perspective, we can understand that for a long time, you were the one good thing in his world, even if it was just an idea of you, but it doesn't excuse the stalking.

If you love him and give him a chance, you show him that real life is better than any fantasy. He starts to turn against everything that was pushed on to him, and he damn near comes close to undoing the cult manipulation until he's thrown into the basement after you kiss him. He began to fight as soon as he realized that the outside world could be worth fighting for as long as he believed in those kind words you said to him after you gave him a chance.

God knows you didn't have to give him a chance. But, you did, and he doesn't want to ruin that. You can love him and forgive him for what he did, but if you truly love him, you should own the fact that he was not wholly innocent.

For most people, it's easy to understand what Suit Saeran did that was wrong. Screaming at the player, withholding food from them for nearly a day, locking them in a room with nobody to talk to, taking away access from the messenger, and leaving you in a perpetual state of fear for two days and some change.

He did a lot of awful things and even if you understand why he was doing those things, I.E the fact that he was tortured to believe that the only way to survive was to be the strongest monster in the room, and as long as he is worse than every monster he's ever met, then nobody will ever be able to hurt him.

Even if you were to say that he told them not to bring you food because he was paranoid about them drugging it, it doesn't change the fact that you had no way of knowing that was his intent, and neither did he until much later. That hurt you. Even if you understand why he lashed out the way he did, it doesn't change the fact that he hurt you.

Intent doesn't matter. If you hurt somebody, regardless of what your intention was, you need to do something to make that right and you need to hold yourself accountable. At the end of the day, if you do something bad to other people regardless of your intent, you need to own that mistake and work to do the right thing.

The path to hell is made with good intentions, after all.

We shouldn't excuse wrongdoing because they've gone through agony. GE Saeran would never want us to excuse anything Ray or Suit Saeran did. Don't gloss over it or try to make it sound better than what it was. Don't try to excuse what he did because he will never excuse his actions.

He wants to face the consequences of those actions and if he has to face judgment for those actions, he'll take it every time because it's the right thing to do.

He wouldn't want anybody to say that he didn't do wrong because God knows he did wrong and to say he didn't would be a slap in the face to how much work he's done so far to do the right thing and hold himself accountable. Do I think he kicks himself a little bit more than he needs to sometimes?

Yeah, I think he does, but I am proud of him for being willing to talk about what happened and own his actions.

But, hey, while I'm at it, if you want to hear AriahTea's original lyrics for Endless Struggle and I Am The Strongest, that might make what I'm saying even more clear here!

GE Saeran wants to hold himself accountable and we should respect that. Even if you understand the situation with all of the nuance involved, and respect the fact that the world is painted in shades of gray instead of being just black and white, it's okay to admit that those two did things that weren't okay but you forgive them all the same. These characters are not inherently good or evil, they're filled with major complexities, and the more we can do to learn about this fact, the better our perception of media analysis can be.

Part of the reason why this character means so much to me is the fact that he is willing to own up to the fact that he's made mistakes and that he wants to be better.

He's able to end a toxic cycle by acknowledging that he no longer wants to be a part of it and will choose kindness to the bitter end. We can acknowledge that he was pushed into a corner like a wild animal and some of the things he did were a necessity to survive, but we can also acknowledge that it hurt him and the people around him as well.

That doesn't mean he doesn't experience anger and hatred in other emotions that may not always be pretty. But, it means that no matter how bad he feels, he would rather choose to be a better person than stoop to the level he did before.

Saeran would rather die choosing to love and forgive than to hate and scorn.

#mod kait #mystic messenger #mysme #saeran choi #character analysis #mysticmessenger #mm #choi saeran #ge saeran #saeray #saeran mystic messenger #saeran mysme #saeran mm #mysme saeran #mystic messenger saeran

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rabbitcruiser · 17 days ago

Text

National Oklahoma City Bombing Commemoration Day

National Oklahoma City Bombing Commemoration Day is celebrated on April 19 annually. This day aims at honoring the deceased, injured, and volunteers when the devastating event occurred. Two anti-government extremists — Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols perpetrated the terrorist attack. They did this with white supremacists and right-wing terrorist sympathies. The bombing happened at 9:02 a.m. at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, and killed at least 168 people, injured more than 680 others, and destroyed more than one-third of the building.

History of National Oklahoma City Bombing Commemoration Day

Timothy McVeigh, an ex-Army soldier and security guard, parked a rented Ryder truck in front of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City on April 19, 1995. He decided to commit mass murder there. The bomb was a powerful one. It consisted of a deadly cocktail of agricultural fertilizer, diesel fuel, and other chemicals. McVeigh got out of the rented car with the bomb inside, locked the door, and headed towards his getaway car. He ignited one timed fuse, then another. At 9:02 a.m., the bomb exploded.

A third of the building had been reduced to rubble in just a few seconds, with many floors flattened. The surrounding area looked devastated. More than 300 nearby buildings were damaged or destroyed; dozens of cars were incinerated. The consequences to human beings were still more devastating: 168 souls were lost, including 19 children, with several hundred more injured.

It was the worst act of terrorism in United States history. The F.B.I. quickly arrived at the scene to support rescue efforts and investigate the facts. There were clues in the area they found. On April 20, thanks to the rear axle of the Ryder truck, the vehicle identification number was traced to a body shop in Junction City, Kansas. Employees helped the F.B.I. quickly compose a composite drawing of the man who had rented the van. F.B.I. agents started to show the sketch around town, and local hotel employees supplied a name: Tim McVeigh.

National Oklahoma City Bombing Commemoration Day timeline

1995The Bombing Occurs

On April 19, 1995, the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City is destroyed by a terrorist attack.

1997Terrorists are Tried

The bombers are tried and convicted.

2001McVeigh is Executed

McVeigh is sentenced to death, and executed by lethal injection.

2003Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building is Replaced

The Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building is replaced with a 185,000-square-foot building.

National Oklahoma City Bombing Commemoration Day FAQs

What components' symbols are used in the Oklahoma City Memorial?

There are nine rows, each representing a floor of the federal building where the field is now located. Each chair has the name of someone killed, and smaller chairs stand for the children.

How old was Timothy McVeigh when he was executed?

He was 33 years old.

Why is it difficult for the United Nations to draft a definition of terrorism?

Mainly because the characteristics of terrorism are hard to define. Many member countries harbor terrorists.

How to Observe National Oklahoma City Bombing Commemoration Day

168 seconds of silence

Information

Post on social media

168 people died in the bombings. The nation joins 168 seconds of silence to honor those people.

Learn about terrorist attacks and bombings. Learn how Oklahoma City recovered from this devastating event.

Write a post on social media to raise awareness about this commemoration day. Do not forget to use the hashtag #OklahomaCityBombingCommemorationDay.

5 Terrorist Attacks In History

AMIA bombing

U.S. Embassy Bombings

September 11 attacks

Christmas massacres

7/7 bombings

It occurred in 1994 in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

It occurred in 1998 in Kenya and Tanzania.

It occurred in 2001 in New York, United States.

It occurred in 2008 in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

These occurred in London, killing 56.

Why National Oklahoma City Bombing Commemoration Day is Important

It is a day to remember

It is a day to raise awareness

It is an opportunity to address threats of violence

This day is perfect for remembering those who died not only in the Oklahoma Bombing but also in any other terrorist attacks. Many people die in this type of attack.

This day is also helpful in raising awareness about the problem of terrorism. Security issues affect almost all countries.

Awareness is crucial to disrupting terrorist plots to avoid future attacks. Governments should be committed to holding accountable those who perpetrate such attacks.

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damiantriton · 2 months ago

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This is not a suicide letter

It was going to be, but it's not. I packed my things, quit my day job at the hostel where I was staying, and travelled as far away as I could afford. This was my last shot at being happy before saying goodbye to this cruel world on the anniversary of the second worst day of my life - the day I was born. After a thorough research of painless suicide methods, I decided to overdose on medication and go to sleep, hoping I would never wake up. I found comfort in the thought that I would be missed. The last handful of people I’m still in contact with know what I’ve been through and it most likely wouldn’t surprise them that I finally gave up the battle with crippling lifelong depression. They would know the final nail in the coffin for me was getting raped. Since that day, I have pretty much lost all my remaining will to live.

When I received the investigation outcome of my case, I instinctively knew it was being swept under the rug. From the way they titled it, it was clear to me they were handing me an excuse to ignore the evidence and close the case. The consequences of brushing aside a homeless gay sex worker’s accusation are next to none compared to consequences and resulting implications of discovering a heinous organised crime perpetrated by the very people which the state appointed to prevent and detect such crimes. I told my friend, who was aware of my suicidal tendencies, that this might just be it for me. I don’t want to live in a world where the police can get away with raping me and who knows how many others. He said, why would I waste my life because of somebody else’s crime? And somehow that made me see things differently. Giving up the fight now would mean letting them get their way. And that’s the last thing I want to do.

It is with intense displeasure that I am going to once again relive and describe the most painful and dehumanising experience of my entire life. I almost wish I had instead sustained drug-induced amnesia like the investigators assumed I did. But I know I will never forget this. I still get flashbacks. The trauma follows me everywhere I go and creeps back into my mind whenever I start to believe that I could be happy again one day.

At the time, I lived in London, where I worked as a cleaner. I had attended a few porn shoots in Prague before in November 2023 and I was still in touch with the agent. My porn career didn’t go as well as I hoped, and I had to return to full-time work. I asked if there was any more work for me and they offered me a new scene, nearly a year later, which I accepted. It was an opportunity to return to porn and continue building on it. I booked a flight to Prague for 8th October and a return flight on the 12th the same week. I arrived on Tuesday evening and was accompanied to the clinic the next morning for a blood test, as my last STI test results were from over a month ago. There was some sort of technical accident and my sample was one of the last ones they accepted before the interruption. The results were available hours later at the porn shoot location, as expected, but they were inconclusive. This meant further testing was required, and I could not fully participate in the scene.

The next day, 10th of October 2024, I was feeling very low. I got paid an eighth of the original rate for only masturbating in the scene, which I spent on cosmetics in DM Drogerie opposite Karlovo náměstí. There was a cannabis shop next door selling shroom gummies with an illustrative image clearly resembling psilocybin mushrooms on their menu poster. As it later turned out, the image was misleading as well as the title, with magic mashrooms being routinely referred to as shrooms. Sadly, I did not pay attention to the Latin name of the mushroom - Amanita Muscaria, which is in fact a poisonous mushroom. One of the first things I was taught about mushrooms as a kid in school was to avoid it. Had I been told its Czech name (Muchomůrka červená), I would not only have never even considered purchasing these edibles, I would have reported them to the police for selling a poisonous substance. Obviously, they used a loophole by claiming this product is not meant for consumption, despite its edible form.

I had a decent amount of experience with psilocybin and I felt in that moment it would provide a much needed fresh perspective on life and spiritual guidance, as it always has in the past. Having previously done research on its positive effects during clinical trials for treatment of chronic depression and suicidal ideation, I gravitated towards it as a natural alternative to the conventional treatment involving antidepressants. I have tried several antidepressants in the past, and I always hated how they made me feel lifeless and zombie-like. Despite some cautionary tales about psychedelics, I have never had a bad trip from consuming psilocybin and I was confident that, over time, it will help me significantly improve my mental health and get my life back on track. Not being fully aware of the laws surrounding it in Czech Republic, but having been able to obtain it legally during my last trip abroad, I assumed it was available here under the guise of a decorative product.

I spoke to the cashier about the presumed magic mushroom edibles, which he confirmed they were, and I showed him a chart for psilocybin dosage asking about the content in micrograms. He vaguely pointed at the chart, saying it should produce the desired effects at such-and-such amount. I purchased three packs containing three gummies each, and I ate one entire park in the nearby park. From my previous experience, I knew to expect the effects to begin in 1-2 hours’ time. Most psilocybin users and experts advise that the best way to ensure a good trip is by finding a safe natural environment. I walked from the park down to Charles Bridge, because I wanted to be near the water. From there, I walked to the nearest park/island called Kampa. By the time I entered the park, I started to feel extremely nauseous and confused. I immediately knew that something was wrong, because I have never felt this way before.

I messaged my friend to say I was unwell. My brain felt like a carousel. There was a firefighter van nearby. I walked over to the person next to it, told him I was feeling sick, and showed him one of the last two packets of gummies I had. He nodded, apparently having seen this before, and said that I will be sick for a while now. I tried to sit down on the nearby bench, but I couldn’t keep still. I kept standing up and sitting down, holding my backpack, feeling my heart race and panicking. In retrospect, it was clear to see that I was experiencing a drug-induced seizure. Soon, a group of school kids arrived at the van, possibly for a fire safety training, and the teacher approached me asking me to leave, as I was obviously drugged. I staggered off to a nearby restaurant by the river. I could barely speak or walk. I fell over and hit my face on the curb while I was trying to make myself throw up, displacing my front tooth. One of the restaurant workers asked me if I wanted them to call me an ambulance, to which I nodded and lost consciousness shortly after.

Next, I find myself on a stretcher with a catheter attached to my arm. I was still feeling lightheaded, but I was more aware of my surroundings. There were two men in there, a paramedic and a police officer, having a conversation. They talked about me as if I wasn’t there and I hadn’t realised at first that the faggot and prostitute they were referring to was actually me. When it hit me, I didn’t understand how they knew I was gay and how that was relevant to me needing medical care. I also thought, I’m not a prostitute, but what makes them assume I am? They talked about how I must have been taking a lot of dick. I started to feel very uncomfortable. Then they mentioned some Italian guy that needed an ambulance last time and what they did to him. I immediately understood they were going to do the same to me. I tried to remove the catheter and stand up, at which point I was seized and forced to lie down on my stomach.

I was strapped to the stretcher with my hands cuffed behind my back. My jeans were pulled down and so was my underwear. Someone injected me with something and I could no longer feel my lower body. I started begging them not to do it. The paramedic asked me if I had any friends or family in Prague. I said I had nobody. I said I came from London. Then someone walked up behind me. I could feel them climb on top of me. I thrashed around, screaming and crying and begging, to no avail. They were holding me down and I kept trying to break free the whole time. The handcuffs were tightening around my wrists until it felt like they were cutting into my flesh, yet I wouldn’t stop squirming and twisting. I kept begging them to stop and saying I was in horrible pain. It went on for so long that I felt like I was stuck in an endless time loop. When it stopped for a little while, it then started again shortly after. At some point, I’d reached a conclusion that I had died and gone to hell where I was being tortured by demons for an eternity. I couldn’t think of anything I’ve ever done to have deserved this. I kept screaming the entire time. When I finally accepted that pleading with them was useless, I started calling for God to save me. Someone responded that God won’t help me here. I thought it would never stop. The ambulance was stationary the entire time.

When it finally stopped and the ambulance door opened, there was a middle-aged bald man in a uniform standing there. I could also see someone walking in the far distance of the park. I realised we haven’t left Kampa. I asked to be let out for some fresh air and instead I was offered a sick bag, at which point I screamed for help, saying I was raped and asking them to call the police. The door was shut immediately, and someone laughed and said there was no use for that because the police were already here. I started begging again. I worried they would continue raping me, so I told them about the inconclusive test result and said I might have HIV or syphilis. Unsure if that would dissuade them, I asked if they could use a lubricant because I did not want to get hurt. The paramedic said there was no need to worry about that now. I was told if I cooperate, I will not be charged with drug possession. I could tell they went through my backpack and found the THC edibles, which I had purchased legally.

Then the ambulance set off. I was not told where we were going, and I started panicking. I heard the paramedic saying that I am like a tiger, I shouldn’t be so with it after such a high dose of whatever I was injected with. It seemed they didn’t expect me to be fully aware of what was happening to me. Once they saw I would not keep it to myself, I began wondering what else they could do to me. If they could get away with raping me, could they also get away with killing me? I pleaded with them, saying I wouldn’t tell anyone. The whole time, the paramedic was trying to calm me down, asking me to cooperate. He told me to tell the doctor everything when we arrive at the hospital. I didn’t understand why he would want me to do that, so I reassured him I won’t tell anyone when we get there.

As soon as I was wheeled in on the stretcher into the hospital hallway, I started screaming for help. I was convinced they were going to take me into some hidden back room, inject me with something, and euthanize me. The restraints were removed, and I was trying to escape. There were patients sitting in the hallway and there was someone at the reception desk. I screamed my address and my full name multiple times and I said they were trying to kill me. The stretcher tipped over and I fell to the ground. Two police officers immediately tackled me and held me down, while there was another younger, anxious-looking officer kneeling next to me, who wasn’t touching me. Someone exclaimed that he just pissed himself. Then I was injected with something and I quickly lost consciousness.

I woke up restraint in bed in the intensive care unit with an IV needle in my arm and electrode pads attached to my chest. It was 6 or 7 PM in the evening, according to the clock on the wall. I was naked underneath the hospital gown. There were other patients behind the curtains to my left and right, and there was an office in front of me. A nurse came, and I asked when I would be released. I was told that we need to wait and offered a jug to urinate in when I asked to use the bathroom. Later, the nurse informed me about the results of my blood drug screen test and told me off for being stupid enough to experiment with fly agaric. That’s when I first found out what substance I had actually taken. There were also traces of THC in my blood from an edible I had consumed the day before, and traces of opioid, which I assumed were contained in the tranquilliser.

A couple hours later, I was told that I will not be released until the head doctor examines me the next morning, and so I was determined to stay up all night. Remembering how the paramedic wanted me to tell the doctor all about the rape, I was intent on not doing exactly what the person who got me raped advised me to, and did not tell anyone the entire time I was at the hospital. My conclusion was that they would either deem me delirious and postpone my release, or I would be taken to the police station. I asked the nurse on duty whether they could untie me and give me my phone. They could see I did not pose any danger and so agreed, but warned me they would call the police if I tried to escape. I immediately took photos, messaged several of my friends, sent them my location and told them everything I remembered about the incident.

The next day, after the head doctor examined me and proclaimed me mentally and physically stable enough for the release, a lady approached me to ask if I had insurance. I explained I was only insured in the UK and I had no travel insurance, as I did not expect to require medical care during my 5-day trip to Prague. When I accepted that I was responsible for the hospital bill, I got back my clothes and my backpack. The only thing that was missing was my underwear. When I asked for it, I was told it was nowhere to be found and that it may have been disposed of by accident. They suggested I can use the shower before I go, which I respectfully declined, saying I would rather shower when I get back to my accommodation. In order to be released, I had to sign a debt acknowledgement form, and we agreed I will pay it off in instalments, as I did not have enough finances at present. We exchanged contact numbers with the lady who had me sign the forms and later that day I called her and told her I was raped in the ambulance.

My friend advised me to go to the British embassy the next day to get help with reporting the crime, and so I went there straight from the hospital. I rang the doorbell and told the person on the intercom that I lived in the UK and I needed to report a crime. They said they cannot help me, because I was not a British citizen. When I arrived back at the hostel, I spent the next few hours talking to my friends and trying to cope. One of my friends lived in Prague and offered to accompany me to the police station to report the crime if I did not feel comfortable going alone, which I declined because the thought of dealing with colleagues of the perpetrators or even the perpetrators themselves was terrifying. Instead, I contacted the British rape support line and told them every detail of the incident that I could remember. They advised me that if I did not feel comfortable reporting the crime at a local police station, I should wait until I return to London and go to the police there, which I said I would much prefer. They asked if I had showered yet and I said I did not. They told me it is crucial that I do not shower until I attend an appointment with the sexual assault referral centre. It was Friday the 11th and my return flight was the next day.

As soon as I landed in London on Saturday at 7 PM, I called the police and arranged an appointment at a local police station, where I arrived around 9PM. Two female officers took me to a private room and began recording my statement, and after a while they handed the case over to two male officers, as it was the end of their shift. Approximately 2-3 hours later, after finishing my statement and answering all the questions, I went to the bathroom to collect surface samples from the assaulted area and to get changed and hand in all my clothes that I wore during the incident as evidence. The police then drove me home. It was around 2AM.

Over the next several days, I was off sick. I hadn’t showered since the incident on Thursday the 10th until my appointment at The Havens on Monday the 14th, where I underwent a forensic examination for sexual assault. The clinic staff collected all the necessary samples and swabs, as well as photos of all the bruises all over my body. Consequently, I got tested for STIs in light of the inconclusive blood test that I underwent in Prague, I attended a dental appointment for my displaced front tooth, and I consulted my doctor regarding my cracked ribs from the officer kneeling on my chest.

On 6th of November, I received a reference number for the case transfer. This meant all the collected evidence was now being sent off to a Czech government agency dedicated to investigating the crimes of Czech police, called General Inspectorate of Security Forces (GIBS). Both police and GIBS are Czech law enforcement agencies. The only contact I have had with them was when they emailed me on 25th November requesting consent to release the medical report from my hospitalisation, which I provided. I was already aware of what was in that report and I described it in my statement. None of it contradicted any of my statement. The agency never asked me any questions about the case.

On 11th of February 2025 they sent me an email with a document titled ‘Notice to informant’. It outlined the conclusion of their investigation and informed me that the case was now being closed. There was no mention of the rape kit. They claim they reviewed security footage from the scene of intervention, personal security cameras of the police officers and the ambulance itself. However, they did not specify whether the ambulance footage had captured the entirety of the intervention, and they failed to describe exactly the content of said footage. Instead, to disprove my statement, they used witness statements of the restaurant staff that did not actually witness the assault, and the statements of the perpetrators themselves. Based on these, the investigators alleged that the use of force was professional and adequate because I was uncooperative and aggressive. The perpetrators claimed my statement was ‘absurd, absolute nonsense and a lie’. Honestly, I don’t know what else did they expect the rapists accused of rape to say.

They questioned that I did not disclose the incident to the staff at the hospital (where the paramedics work), or that I did not report the assault locally (where the police officers work) when I already explained in my statement why I did not feel comfortable doing so, if that wasn’t obvious enough. There was no explanation for why I was lying on my stomach and not on my back while I was still having a drug-induced seizure. There was no explanation for why the intervention took as long as it did when I was already restrained and unable to resist the entire time. There was no explanation for why my underwear was disposed of by the hospital staff that undressed me. Instead, they focused only on the fact that I was drugged, which I had already described in my statement from the very beginning. They disregarded my entire statement due to me being under the influence of a substance ‘generally know for their hallucinogenic properties’, yet there was no expert opinion on what specifically these properties were and whether, considering the consumed dose, it was at all possible for me to regain awareness at any point during the incident.

All it took was making sure the security footage from the place of the assault was available at full length, from my admittance to the ambulance to me being wheeled into the hospital. Ideally an expert would have reviewed it and confirmed it was not manipulated. And if that is not the case, that alone should compel the investigators to make use of the forensic evidence available, which they ignored entirely, because they chose to believe the statements of the perpetrators themselves. If they had nothing to hide, they may have easily offered to have swabs taken and tested, but they did not. They assumed I was a prostitute. They did not know I hadn’t had sex for weeks prior to the incident. I went all those days without showering, knowing that was the only way to convict them and that without that it would just be my word against theirs. Now the most concrete piece of evidence in the entire case is likely being thrown in the bin, because they just concluded I must have been too high to really remember or understand what was happening to me.

I call into question the legitimacy of this investigation. Disregarding the only available physical evidence in favour of the perpetrators’ statements alone makes no sense. It is a known fact, proven time and time again, that abusers are attracted to positions of power, because it provides them with the resources to cover up their abuse. This is the entire reason an agency that investigates police crime even exists. The officers know the crime investigation protocol from the inside well enough to manipulate evidence and are able to intimidate their victims, which they undoubtedly would have attempted had I resided in their country. Most of all, rape perpetrated by the police, although particularly hard to prove, is not at all unprecedented.

I have decided to open up publicly about my case, because the official channels have failed me. I know there were other victims, and I’m worried that there will be more if the investigators do not tighten their protocol and start taking rape reports of any kind seriously. At the moment, I cannot afford a lawyer, as I can barely afford a temporary roof over my head and food, and even that won’t be for too long. If anyone with a legal background would like to send me any advice on the case as a gesture of goodwill, I would be eternally grateful. I’m well aware that my hospitalisation debt, which I had already started paying off, might be deemed as a motivation for the entire accusation, therefore I focused on the concrete evidence. I also intend on paying off the debt as soon as I regain income, but I refuse to pay for the ambulance in which I was raped. And to add to that, I want everyone to know that herein: I EXPLICITLY DISSENT TO RECEIVING AMBULANCE CARE EVER AGAIN EVEN IF MY LIFE DEPENDED ON IT.

I am hoping my story will reach as many people as possible to help raise awareness of police crime, improve the effectiveness of its detection and lead to more respect for all the rape victims that were dismissed and let down by the system. Now I know I have survived all of this for a reason. I went through hell, so that I can dedicate my life to making sure others won’t have to.

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istherewifiinhell · 1 year ago

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[thing im thinking about all the fucking time] i have my g1 megs tag as 'hold that man who is a gun' in honour of funny thing said by someone not prepared to watch an 80s cartoon where a man does in fact hold another man who is a gun. but rather its my tag for the SPECIFIC vibe of. well. when he is held. as a gun. but its a tag i cannot rb posts into cause its apparently TOO specific a vibe.

youd think well, hes a man who is a gun. techicnally this puts him semi under popular tropes of 'living weapon [person dedicates their life to the purpose of violence]' and 'living weapon [person who is objectfied and wielded in violence (comma, literally)]'

but do u know what the god damn problem is. [not with the tropes just with me wanting populate this tag] the gimmick with the first is often about like. regret and remorse. oh theyve become a weapon but life is so much more than that. oh theyve done horrible things thats sad. and worst of all [again for my purposes] now lets heal them from this. lets see them not be this thing any more.

this does not work for my purposes cause. well. He's a gun. and hes a gun cause he wants to shoot people. hes pretty good at it when hes not a gun too. im positive in the grand scope of tf land theres A Megs who fits that kinda vibe. you know. the war is long. or its over. and hes left with the thing hes made of himself. but, to use a phrase from my fav tf toy review. g1 megs is Bad Bastard. hes a warlord. hes a goddamn cartoon villian. the only thing that ever forces his hand imminent treats to his life. which are usually, 1. whatever planet hes currently on is moments away from collasping, imploding, or exploding. 2. literally the most powerful forces of raw power or malevolence in the setting.

thats it. at all other times he seems pretty cool and of his own volition of the whole. Being a gun thing. also he tends to solve those other problems also by Being a gun. a gun that can talk and negotiate and compromise when needed but. still. the necessity of Being the Gun is pretty strong.

the second trope, the mismatch is completely on the objectivified versus object part. if someone is literally objectived and wielded, they are no longer in control, but they are still the instrument of violence. if metaphorical, perhaps the location of violence, the means of violence, but not the true perpetrator. either way. often a feeling that the body is not their own.

but with megs its like, yeah he turns into a hand gun! not a tank. or an automated cannon or turret (thats galv. aka purple megs, which interestingly is him being reformated to one of those malevolent forces will). so hes is an object. that other people can hold, and fire. someone else infact, needs to fire, (well give or take for loose continuity). but the thing is, this is not really a predictament that OTHER people put him into. hes a Man. who is a gun. part of his body is that he is also a gun. he can choose when he transforms, and Be a Gun. And then held, and fired. the depiction of it is usually quite authoritative. and just personality wise. hes not gonna let people forgot that HES THE GUN.

and i mean. to address the holding. specifically to single out oppie. thats someone who is supposedly. less about this whole shooting everything business. i mean. dont get me wrong he very much has a gun and uses it often. its War and hes the Good Guy™. but well he is Not a Gun, and he would not Want to be a gun.

so like. what u have is instead this dynamic of a very bossy gun that takes delight in Being the gun, that sometimes needs to throw himself into the hands of a guy who in the perfect world wouldnt shoot anything.

now granted. extant examples of this are more like 'shoot thing into space' or 'shoot the thing before it explodes' than, more pointed violence thats posed by the presence of The Gun. but go with me here. vibes.

The gun is the means of violence. But to be 'willing to pull the trigger' is to be willing to allow yourself to be the cause, the catalysts of that. so really it is the person who is NOT the gun who becomes implicated in the violence. he is forced to under circumstance, but not, importantly, literally forced, controlled or otherwise overriden.

and ofc. also regarding the intimacy of this arrangement. to complete this act of violence is to hold another person, or to fling yourself towards them and be held. completely fitting into the hands. but its a choice to be held and a choice to catch. and in showing this in smooth and compotent action, implies the not just physical prowess but automatic cooperation and perhaps comfort in the circumstance.

and The Gun is completely fine with this whole situation and is probably gonna laugh at the guy who isnt a gun and say something funny and innuendous as soon as possible.

#some shit #its not called cisformers #collasping on a chaise cause i CANNOT infact make everything about blorbo from my shows. im trying.#UNFORTUNATELY thing that those bad machinmas got so right was having a like. retired megs that was not regretful or remorseful at all #he was just kinda a bored shitkicker fucking around in an abandoned gladiator ring fighting for fun. completely confident in and happy abt #his ablity to do violence Better Than everyone else. and ingeneral was just kinda a tactless asshole.

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havocdream · 9 months ago

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Unheard and Unseen - Six

Summary: After the worst attempt on her life, Vintra must deal with the personal and political damage that threatens to make her lose votes on her bill. Faced with the problems that have arisen, she'll have to make risky decisions.

Word count: 10k

Notes at the end of chapter

Chapter Five -> No safe place

Masterlist

Worth more dead

Vintra was unable to think things through clearly at that moment. Everything going on around her was simply facts in motion: she walked, her guards followed, one step in front of the other behind the sergeant, one inhalation after another exhalation, blink after blink. Her ears still heard that annoying incessant beeping, and it wasn't until Hunter stopped in front of a building that she realized they were somewhere else, away from the Senate.

“Come in here, please,” Hunter requested quietly. Behind the door, darkness reigned. Vintra stood in place for a moment, and turned to examine the area. As she did so, however, she realized that there was only her and the two clones escorting her. Her ederian guard was gone.

“Where... are my guards?” she asked, a bit confused and as if just waking from a long waking dream. Hunter removed his helmet and approached her.

“At the Senate Building, they are inspecting your office and will be gathering information about possible perpetrators,” Hunter reminded her. “I mentioned it to you before we left,” but the senator didn't conjure it up, her mind a chaos of images, sounds and words.

However, she remembered perfectly well the person for whom she was still intact after that attack, and it didn't take much instinct to understand that the sergeant wasn't there to trick her and eliminate her in a place far away from everyone. He had just protected her, and if she couldn't trust him at that moment, there was no one she could trust.

Vintra stepped into the darkness of the room, and waited in it for a while, clinging to the short light that crept through the door. As it closed behind both clones, the lights in the hall finally came on, causing a startle in the senator, who had to cover her eyes from the ambush of overwhelming glare from all directions.

“This will be your shelter, Senator. You’ll be evacuated here after suffering a high-risk attack, while we clear your apartment, office and transports,” Hunter spoke, in a voice that seemed choked after something for Vintra. It wasn't, in reality, but her hearing had been damaged after the loud explosion earlier.

“Understood,” she said, but she didn't hear her voice leave her mouth. Her head suddenly tilted, and the rest of the room seemed to rise on the left side and sink on the right, like her head, and she lost her balance a little. She felt arms hold her from behind, and watched the sergeant turn to see her instantly with alertness. She saw him approach her and felt his hands on her face. He seemed to be searching for something.

“Senator!” shouted Hunter as he saw Vintra's gaze not leaving the ground. At that moment, he smelled blood in the air, though not much, and the type of smell gave evidence of what body part it came from. Hunter turned the senator's face carefully and saw the blood running from her ears. “Tech, get over here and examine the senator. Auricular blast,” he hurriedly informed his brother over the communicator.

“Was it an explosion or detonation?” Tech demanded to know that crucial detail, as he needed to measure what kind of risk they were talking about based on the duration of the blast.

“Explosion,” his voice was steady, but he sounded as if he had just recovered from a startle. And he had. For a second, he thought the senator had been injured and he hadn't noticed. Wrecker sat her down on a couch nearby, and Vintra clung to the arm of the piece of furniture for support, as if afraid she would be off-balance without it.

“Okay, I'll be there in a moment,” Tech reported, relieved that this was a case where it was the middle and outer ear that was damaged, and not the inner ear as in the case of a detonation. But he had to go and run a diagnostic on his datapad to make sure the senator's health was okay.

Hunter found a couple of rags on one of the furniture in the place and used them to wipe the blood dripping from the senator's ears. He knew she wasn't necessarily in danger, and that it was a normal reaction to the recent explosion. But he couldn't deny that seeing her bleed was unpleasant. He should have prevented it; it was his job to stop such scenarios from happening. And he had failed at that, almost even failed at keeping her alive.

Tech applied the medicine in Vintra's ears and ruled out possible infection or damage to the deeper ear area. He reassured Hunter that it was too unusual and quite an unforeseen scenario for them, as the origin of the explosive remained uncertain. He informed him that the police could find nothing to help them explain how this had been possible.

Vintra was sleeping thanks to the injected bacta, with her ears covered by medical earmuffs to protect them from sound waves, as they remained sensitive. A couple of meters away, the clones watched and discussed the pieces they had.

“According to the database, if I run the three variables we know about to narrow down a list of suspects I get several results. There are hundreds of systems where you receive some degree of military training, physical and intellectual. Also, we don't know if this is a complementary operation,” Tech reported and displayed the list of senators or representatives of the systems that could be behind the attacks on Vintra. Hunter shook his head.

“It would imply too many exposure risks, and so many involved would surely have reached the ears of the senator's network,” the sergeant proposed, dismissing the possibility. “This is a bold conspiracy, with too many perpetuators it wouldn't be hard to keep track,” Tech nodded and added it to the variables.

“Which implies we're talking about someone with a background in strategy, given those conditions we get three results: the Kreomida Senator, Vice Admiral Stass, and the Chief of Staff of the Senator of Stoco Axtria,” the three faces appeared on screen, and Hunter made sure to remember them all well.

“Hmm... make sure you provide this information to the senator's contacts personally, I don't want any leaks with this,” the sergeant ordered the goggle one, who nodded and proceeded to put away his equipment. “Have’em monitor their movements, communications and meetings,” was the last thing Hunter said to Tech before he left the scene. Wrecker turned to look at his brother.

“You can't question a high-ranking official just because,” he reminded him of the complicated processes for even approaching one of the Republic's leaders. “None of our evidence would be admissible,” and he was right, as it was all off the record.

“I don't want the data to denounce them, it’d be a waste of time. I only want them to know who to deal with,” Hunter replied, in a tone of voice that thrilled Wrecker enough to smile and chuckle knowingly. “That someone was able to place an explosive inside the Senate Building without leaving a trace is...alarming,” commented Hunter, who turned to look at the bed at the back of the room where the senator was resting. “Her residence and the Senate have already been invaded, it's probably not just any assassin after all,” he pointed his chin at her, and Wrecker turned to look at her.

“Are you worried?” the big guy scoffed, to which he proceeded to tap him playfully on the shoulder. Wrecker kept forgetting that his innate brute strength sometimes hit harder than he thought it would, so Hunter shot him an irritated look as soon as the pain in his shoulder surfaced. “Relax, there's no one in the galaxy that's going to do anything to her with us in charge,” he bragged, proud of the skills they as a squadron had. Hunter frowned.

“Yeah... you're right, unless...” he mused aloud, an idea beginning to form in the front of his mind.

“Oh...” Wrecker stopped in his tracks, aware of what he had said and that the threat towards the senator indicated that these were people with power in the government.

“Yes, unless that person has the power to reassign us.”

She felt her body heavy as her eyes opened and she regained awareness of its functioning. Vintra tried to use the strength in her arms to pull herself up, but her joints and muscles were still adjusting to the pace of a passing bill. She stifled a snort.

“The vote,” her lips and voice acted almost automatically. Her cheek still pressed against the cool fabric of the pillow. She had no trouble remembering previous events, but her immediate concern was the state of that plenary. So much was her concern for this one that she barely noticed the sergeant's presence behind her.

“The session was postponed, the building was locked down and at the moment there is an ongoing investigation to find the person responsible,” she heard the clone's raspy, gravelly voice behind her, as if drowned out. Vintra didn't move, she pondered the information he conveyed. “You suffered a traumatic ear injury from the blast, I assume you haven't been around many,” was an obvious comment, but Hunter couldn't keep it to himself. Vintra was still too tired to wind him up anyway.

“Any clue as to who might’ve done this? Or how?” she chose to ask, and after finding some strength in her body, she slowly rose from the bed and turned to the sergeant, who was standing cross-armed beside the furniture. She removed the earmuffs protecting her ears from her head and felt a slight burning in her muscles as she stretched them. He watched her, looking for any signs in her movements or brain and heart activity that would indicate further injury. He felt relieved when he found no indication of such.

“The police are still drawing a blank. We, on the other hand, have a list of suspects,” Vintra rubbed one of her eyes and let out a weary sigh. “But maybe it's best for you to rest and we'll talk about it tomorrow, we're already tracking these people,” the clone assured her. Vintra frowned and shook her head, as if forcing herself to wake up at once.

“I'm fine, you take care of it,” she told him, at the same time rubbing her back neck and stretching it from side to side to regain her normal motion. It was until then that she paid attention to the room they were in.

It wasn't very large; it could barely encompass half of her bedroom. There was a couple of feet from her bed a rather worn brown sofa, with nothing else around it. On the sides were trunks, she didn't know what was inside them. In one of the front corners was a table, like a workshop, and in the opposite corner was a desk with a computer.

At the back and in the center was her on the bed, which was not very big and not furnished with silk or satin. It was a makeshift place, but necessary as far as Vintra understood. She couldn't get fussy.

According to Hunter, they’d be there until her guard inspected the three places of greatest risk to her at that moment, so if she wanted to work she would have to do it there, alone with the sergeant, since apparently Wrecker was in charge of inspecting the surroundings of the warehouse to keep everyone away from it.

Hunter, for his part, had to admit that he hadn't expected the senator to want to get back to work so quickly. But she wasted no time and headed for the desk in the corner. Her hair fell unkempt behind her shoulders to the middle of her back. Her makeup far from looking untouched, and even her posture seemed to be affected by an invisible weight on her back that she struggled to bear.

It was the third time Hunter was unaware of the woman in front of him. He knew Vintra saw her own vulnerability and that it terrified her, he also knew there was a tired person like the one before him now, and he knew she was someone who didn’t take her victories for granted and felt happiness at receiving justice. Not to mention the woman he had met first: the senator of absurd ideals and misguided prejudices that carried herself with pride and authority. He thought he didn't know who she really was.

So, he watched her. What was it about her that he really disliked? He didn't sympathize with politicians because of their jobs. They lived, dressed and ate very comfortably without risking anything. They were the most powerful individuals in the galaxy, a bunch of useless wordsmiths whom his squadron could take out in a single night. For Hunter, to be given so much importance to such weak beings was a joke. He could have no respect for people who spoke about subjects they barely understood. War? Poverty? Discrimination? What did they know about those subjects beyond theory?

And Vintra was a representation of that, after all she was part of the Senate, and she had already communicated several of her ideals to him.

However, Vintra's smile after the court hearing kept popping up in Hunter's mind. A genuine, touching joy that some of the rain of justice had fallen upon such an unfortunate civilization as the druadan. As if Vintra truly believed in what she was fighting for, as if she cared about the lives of the unheard.

It was almost midnight on Coruscant when Vintra entered her apartment again, followed by the escorting clones. Her guard remained in the hallway, vigilant against any intruders. Tech was back at the control center, and Crosshair, from the top floor, kept his attention on the buildings and commanded the rest of the guards scattered around the city to inspect the interiors of the buildings he considered suspicious. It wasn’t going to be a quiet night.

The senator, looking to keep her mind occupied, prepared some snacks for herself and her security team, as none of them had had time to eat anything. Wrecker was the one to go and hand them out to the rest, so Vintra was again left alone with Hunter as she settled in at her desk in the main hall.

She’d had to respond to mails from the Supreme Chancellor and many other senators and friends concerned about her condition. In each of her responses, she was unable not to mention the sergeant who had done a splendid job in protecting her. Vintra felt that, although it was the job assigned, she owed her life to him. She had nearly been blown to bits, and he had prevented it. She considered herself someone capable of handling herself, who could stand up to her own strengths against anyone. But in that matter, she was sure she owed every breath to the clone, for there was no way she or her guards would’ve acted as he did.

“I'm afraid I haven't thanked you for saving my life,” Vintra's voice was subdued and shrouded with a halo of nervousness. Hunter turned to look at her, curious as to what he was hearing. He hadn't expected, at all, that the senator would say something similar.Her expression couldn’t hide deception, though Hunter would’ve picked it up just the same. Her purple eyes, even with the dark sky peering through her hideous windows, flashed a lavender hue, full of genuine gratitude interposed slightly over a shadow of horror. And a shy smile tugged at the corners of her pink lips.

He could answer her wrong, ask her if she trusted the clones now, or let her know that there were worse situations on the front lines that weren’t settled by negotiations. But he didn't want to.

“It's my job, senator,” Hunter explained to her, for it was the truth. He had saved her for no other reason than because it was his mission. Not because he considered her important, or even because he held her in esteem. He appreciated her gratitude, but it wasn't necessary.

“Still, I'm alive because of you,” she insisted, not undoing her expression. It was beginning to be annoying to Hunter, for he had little inclination to undo it if she looked and spoke to him like that, as if she owed him every heartbeat now. As if the reason he could still see her there on her desk in front of him was him. “Thank you for protecting me.”

The Senate Building had been locked down by Coruscant police due to the ongoing investigation into the unidentified explosive and a possible assassin within the higher ups. All workers in the building would be questioned over the next few days, as pressure from the citizens of Coruscant and the press demanded the officers and detectives find a responsible party soon.

“Detective Brimer, can you assure the people of Coruscant and Ederon that you will find the person responsible for the attempt on Senator Selana's life?” a reporter's voice could be heard outside the building, as he chased after the distinguished detective in his sixties, his black hair beginning to be bathed in the light of the sunset of life.

“Crowds gather outside the Senate Building, as well as around Senator Selana's residence, over concerns about the Helcander System representative's health—”

“...Selana. The surprising ruling in favor of the Supreme Court towards the Senator's proposal could have triggered the fatal attack—”

“...these moments when we as citizens must ask ourselves, how much longer will the Senate allow these attacks until they decide to do something?”

The noise of reporters' voices on every news channel was interrupted by the silence of a room that seemed to want to expel screams of anguish and terror. She could almost touch in the icy air of it the rumble of an invisible explosive, as if that was the only way to notice it before it was too late.

Hunter watched the ederian's reaction as he turned off the news hologram, almost startled to be met again with an eerie silence. He knew it was normal for her to seek out noises to keep her mind occupied in these moments, the silence was easy for her mind to fill with sounds that reminded her of the scariest moment of her life.

It was a response to fear he already knew well. He wanted to criticize the senator for being inexperienced in the real danger soldiers faced every day to protect not only someone like her, but civilians and innocents in separatist invasions. But he couldn't do that, because it didn't taste good to take the pain of those innocents, even hers, to invalidate her political arguments. That could be done another way.

“Your team is ready to see you, Senator,” he informed her rather quietly, unable to raise his tone a bit more in case it overwhelmed her.

Vintra had spent most of the morning engrossed in the dining room of her apartment in front of the datapad looking for updates on her attack the day before. She was beginning to become obsessed with listening and reading the news as they came out, waiting for answers to come from reporters, with exclusive images of key police findings, concluding with a close-up of her attacker's face.

But nothing like that happened, and the thousands of events in the galaxy, which also demanded the attention of the population, soon began to creep into the reports of each channel, and somewhat overshadowed the one that was taking over all the interest of Vintra at that time. It even seemed that the police, the more they investigated, the further away they got from having an answer as to even how an explosive got into the Senate.

“Well, send them in,” she replied amid a weary-laden sigh. She hadn't slept again, her mind filled with yet more worries and fatalistic scenarios. Her own corpse had popped into her mind so many times she could’ve sworn she knew what she’d look like if she were killed in any way possible, and impossible.

However, as soon as the door to her apartment opened, Hunter witnessed the senator's change in appearance. That morning she wore an elegant light blue silk dress, long to her feet, but the agony of her face and her slouching and slumped position in the seat prevented her from wearing it with distinction before, not even her hairstyle, an updo of locks that made them look like doughnuts above her head, managed to lift the fine image with which she was assimilated in public. But as soon as the voices of her team began to fill the room, and the sergeant turned to see her to take his place behind her back, he observed the woman who emanated so much respect in her bearing and expression. Her straight back and high chin, with eyes wrapped in determination, gave her a confident and authoritative air. As if an attempt on her life was not reason enough to terrify her in the least.

Several “It's a pleasure to see you alive,” “I'm glad you’re okay,” “We were so worried,” and “How are you doing?” began to be heard as the crowd of people entered and saw Vintra. Four of them remained near the senator, they were holding large datapads and seemed eager to talk to the team leader.

“Thank you for your concern, I assure you I am in perfect condition thanks to the services of the sergeant and his squad,” she pointed out to Hunter, who was assailed with a multitude of stares at that instant. “The police will take care of the rest, so please make yourselves comfortable and let's get the day started,” she ordered, and immediately the dozens of heads rushed to take their respective makeshift stations to begin bringing the senator up with the latest events. Her two living rooms were filled with people at computers and datapads, her dining and breakfast room the same. Several took seats on the floor, and even left the door open for those who had to stay in the hallway.

A young ederian woman, whose brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her lilac eyes were trapped behind the crystal of square glasses, approached the senator and handed her a datapad. “I’ve put together the points each would like to discuss with you, senator. I've highlighted in red the ones that are most pressing, and each is referenced with a link that takes you to the reference material. To the side,” she pointed to the side of the screen, “are the contacts of certain representatives and individuals who have requested a meeting with you at your earliest convenience,” the young woman explained in an enthusiastic tone of voice. Vintra's eyes scanned the entire file.

“I see that Senator Karg Haan has requested a meeting, did he say what for, Geni?” asked Vintra to her assistant. She shook her head.

“He called quite a bit late last night, around ten o'clock. He said he wanted to speak with you, but I let him know you weren't available, just like you told me to answer every call,” Vintra nodded. “He asked me to tell you to contact him as soon as you can,” she concluded.

“I'm not sure I want to deal with him now,” the senator complained quietly and with a grimace of disgust, “he probably just wants to throw at my face that I almost got killed. Well done, Geni, thank you,” she complimented, and Geni took her place in the pentagonal dining room, ready for the notes she’d take from each of the senator's meetings. “Okay, people, I haven't managed to catch up with all the news, but I saw that we lost Nuremir and Wanthor Co. stocks went up overnight, what did I miss? Why is the reaction so mixed?” asked Vintra to her team, in a voice that surprisingly made itself heard among the pile. A hand was raised on the main couch in the apartment, to indicate that he had the answer.

A long-eared, sapphire-eyed man stood up; he wore a black tie-dye suit. “Forg Wanthor gave a statement yesterday before the market closed about the supplements provided to the clones in Nuremir, which had been tested at his facility, and which not more than two months ago were checked at Kamino for clone trainings, and all was well. His conclusions were that the short time they had in Nuremir to familiarize themselves with this new model worked against them, Senator Burtoni has already started working on her bill for the approval of more clones and more budget for Wanthor Co, they hope to use what happened in Nuremir as proof that they need more soldiers and money for weapons and armor,” Vintra listened, but needed one more second to try to understand how ridiculous it sounded to her.

“So... three hundred men die, an entire planet gives way to separatist control, and what Forg proposes is that we give him more money,” Vintra's purple eyes scanned his entire apartment, every person inside it. “What's the response from the press, what are the political blogs saying?” another hand shot up, a dark-haired, pink-eyed woman.

“There is discontent with the clones and to those who oppose the increase in the war budget, most businessmen have threatened to cut off credits and contact with certain government lines in protest, they are asking for more money,” she opined, and caused Vintra to frown and bring her hand to her chin, as she tried to think of how to address that problem.

“Tover, how about the progress on the health budget?” she asked and turned to a middle-aged man with violet eyes. The man, excited to answer, pulled out his datapad and walked over to Vintra with the screen full of scrolling graphs.

“The response is excellent, Senator Kelvos' bill has come to fruition. Twenty percent of the hospitals in the galaxy have decreased the population dying from lack of care and waiting, it remains for the rest to report progress or implement the new guidelines,” Vintra held up the device, her gaze reflecting relief as she looked at the data.

“Same answer with the bill for decent housing?” she asked the same man, he nodded with his whole body.

“The infrastructure of the new colonies on the chosen planets has endured even after a tropical storm on Vanaro, the project's investors have proclaimed in favor of continuing their contributions, they’ll be giving a fundraising gala next week, needless to say you will be among the guests of honor,” the plump man commented with a contagious and friendly smile. Vintra returned the gesture.

“Very good job, Tover, I want the press talking about this and comparing the benefits of allocating government money to causes like these and not tawdry excuses. Wanthor Company is incapable of providing quality equipment that will ensure the safety of soldiers and civilians, they just want to take people's money for their own self-interest, as the quality of their products clearly reflects that they don't care about the lives of those facing the real battlefield,” a couple of people began typing the senator's words on their computers. Vintra turned to look at one of those standing behind her.

“Deren,” she called for her Chief of Staff, who came over to her as fast as he could, “Geni placed you first on emergency, what do you got?’ the man with short brown hair and brown eyes handed her a computer, and Vintra looked for support at her pentagonal table, in the middle of other people doing their work right there.

“The Senator of Jogonar took advantage of yesterday's incident to talk to some senators who abstained from voting. He won three votes against your bill, Vintra,” she blinked slowly and the tension in her jaw hinted that the news bothered her. “Karg saw this yesterday, he's furious and wants to talk to you,” she snorted.

“I'm really in no mood to deal with him, will he stop supporting me?” she questioned, she didn't feel like listening to the annoying voice of the Zinari Senator, but he was one of her most important votes. One vote from him equaled almost twenty more from other senators he had influence over. Vintra was in no position to lose a single one.

“I have it on good authority that he met yesterday with Senator Liepin, one of those leading your opposition,” Vintra muttered a curse. She turned to the rest.

“Before I turn my attention to Karg, anything I should know?” she asked her staff, and a slender, blue-eyed woman stood up from the meeting room.

“Thandaria suffered a devastating earthquake two days ago, cereal and grain productions have stagnated. Scael and I,” he pointed to Vintra's Chief of Economy, “have reviewed the damage and contacted some organizations to cover the economic impact, but we need you to approve it and issue a message to the thandarians.”

Vintra took a chagrined stance, the news from Ederon's neighboring planet, and part of the system she represented, was alarming to her ears. “Thank you, Lira, I'll do that as soon as we're done here.”

“I can redact it for you if you need it, senator,” Geni spoke immediately behind her. Vintra shook her head.

“Thank you, Geni, but I have no problem with doing so. I want them to hear my words,” Geni nodded and returned to her seat, waiting for the senator to ask for her help with something. “Scael, show me the report, I'll read it while I talk to Karg.”

The appointee obeyed and handed Vintra a datapad with an endless report. But, before Vintra went to her room, she was stopped by one of the men at her back, with ashen hair and a deep blue gaze.

“Vintra, we need to talk,” he said in a voice somewhat low, but audible to her. Her gaze was invaded by a shadow of dread.

“If this is about Druad, this is not the place...” she began, but stopped as she saw the man deny.

“You're not going to like it,” he warned her. Vintra raised an eyebrow.

“Come with me,” she cocked her head toward her room so the two of them could talk quietly alone. “Deren,” she called to her Chief of Staff, who complied with his superior's order. As soon as the senator's staff watched the three most important figures on the team head off to have a conversation behind closed doors, they knew there was something to be alarmed about.

Hunter followed the senator and the other two into her room, and signaled Wrecker to keep an eye out for movement in the rest of the apartment. He wasn't sure what he was going to hear among the higher-ups in the Helcander System, but the look on everyone's faces implied that it couldn't be anything good.

For a moment, he wondered if he was going to be an accomplice to something illegal and shady.

Vintra closed the door and shot a nervous glance at the sergeant, who was wearing his visor and whose expression was impossible for the ederian to discern. She noticed that both gentlemen on her staff were watching the clone, unsure whether to speak in his presence. Vintra stepped between the clone and the ederians.

“Sergeant Hunter and company are bound by law to respect the confidentiality of any encounter I have while serving as bodyguards,” Vintra turned to look at the clone, whose posture stood firm behind her, as a way of warning and reminder that his ears were to be deaf, even if it was something illegal or highly secret. “Speak, Mavan,” Vintra ordered as soon as she returned her gaze to her Intelligence Chief.

Mavan Stent was probably the most important ederian in the Helcander System, second only to Vintra. He oversaw the largest information network in the galaxy, so he knew more than Vintra in almost every aspect. Their close relationship made Ederon an untouchable planet, and Vintra's presence in the Senate twice as threatening as that of any other senator.

That had been Tech's summary to his brothers when he explained to them how Senator Selana's office was made up. Now that he had him in front of him, however, the man's blue eyes didn't seem to offer the same feeling as the senator's purple ones, almost always shrouded in assurance, able to make her gaze weigh on one. Mavan didn’t convey self-confidence at that moment, rather he looked nervous. Vintra, who knew him so well after so many years, noticed this instantly.

“Prenegan Lethan published an article in the Daily Coruscant about...” he pulled out a datapad and read the headline in front of him, “’The civilian duty to understand why they go to war’, it’s an interview with Senator Carsen... your biggest opponent.”

Despite his nervous, almost vulnerable posture, Mavan's voice came out eloquent and steady, without a hint of hesitation or fear as he reported the bad news. His thick eyebrows, almost drawn together by the seriousness of the moment, now made him look like someone who could face Vintra's impending wrath, which Hunter knew was increasing with every second she delayed in responding. Her heart and brain activity were racing faster than usual.

No one dared to lift a finger, until the only female voice in the room made itself heard. So much so, that the people outside the building might as well have heard it too.

“What the fuck is this shit, Mavan!” exploded Vintra, unable to contain herself any longer. Her flawless and serene facade was thrown overboard, but she didn't much care. Vintra could be herself with her two most trusted men, and it hadn't even been a day since she'd come face to face with death.

She was in no mood to control herself.

Mavan swallowed saliva and lowered his gaze, aware that there was no escape from her rebuke. “We have no idea how they evaded our net, Vintra, apparently they met a few days ago at a rest—”

“I don't care when they met! Why is it on my desk now?!” Vintra raised her voice again, wrapped in anger that was reflected in how the blood began to rise to her face. The way her face crumpled furiously, and her arms moved so roughly, made for a rare sight to see for Hunter, who had never seen the ederian in that state before, either in person or in pictures. “What good is a giant information network to me if it can't foresee the most damaging attacks on my agenda? Why the fuck is an allied newspaper covering my opposition?”

“We intercepted their calls—”

“I don't care what you found out, Mavan! The damage is already done!” pointed Vintra at the headline on the datapad, her voice surprisingly sounding increasingly annoyed. “This already happens to be something I must take care of; do you realize I don't have time for this? There's a whole planet I must take care of, a stack of emails to deal with regarding crises in Helcander, an endless list of senators to convince... and now I have to face the press, deal with Prenegan and, worst of all, do your fucking job.”

“Vintra, let me handle this, I know you have too much on your hands and this is my mistake, I—” Mavan tried to explain, but Vintra stepped in again, after sighing and taking a hasty breath.

“You can't take care of this,” she raised a hand towards him, as if she wanted to stop him right there, even though he hadn't moved. “Read between the lines, Carsen doesn't care about Prenegan or the article, he just wants to destroy the foundations of a teetering tower, and he found his ideal victim,” Vintra put her hands on her hips and paced a couple of times in her room. “You can't deal with this, it's an attack directly at me and requires my side of the court,” she shook her head, the anger evident in her posture. Both ederian men looked at each other, intimidated by the superior's reaction. “A damn insignificant article to him, but the equivalent of a finger amputation to me,” Hunter watched the senator clench her fists, starting to notice she did that to keep her anger at bay. However, that reaction was far from one she would’ve had with him, Hunter didn't even imagine seeing her like that was even possible.

“I've got the rest of the press debunking Prenegan, Vintra,” Deren spoke at last, his datapad at hand and a stack of windows with emails open. “Ederon's network has filtered millions of junk publications to dull and sink the article, we can see to it that it doesn't reach the surface,” he proposed, but Vintra denied, her gaze in front of her windows, toward the city.

“You know it's no use, not in Congress,” the senator closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Her back was suddenly starting to ache, burdened with tremendous trouble that was getting bigger and bigger with every second. “Is Karg aware of this yet?” she asked, she received an affirmative answer from Mavan.

“Mav, yesterday I almost got killed inside the Senate, and today Prenegan's ass felt like fucking with me... I have twenty votes at stake, all because my powerful information network doesn't have the relevant fucking information, I—” Vintra stopped talking to catch her breath that had gone out of her in speaking so fast, and the short pause made her think better about the words coming out of her mouth. Her enraged posture was soon replaced by tense shoulders and hunched back.

“Vintra, I know you have too much on you, I don't mean to burden you with more. I'm sorry for disappointing you,” he apologized immediately, his voice low and full of honesty, with cautious steps closer and closer to her, facing the windows. “I know I can't remedy this, but I'll try my best to keep it from happening again. Go see Prenegan, let me handle the winning cards, you just show your face to him,” Vintra chuckled.

“'Just show your face', it's the face that’s shown the one that deals with the tomatoes thrown, with the bullets that hurt...” she claimed as she turned to see him. The two were face to face, Vintra had to tilt back her head to meet the gaze of her Intelligence Chief. “Give me his file, I have no choice,” Mavan widened his eyes. “I can't let the rest of the press think they can do the same, and I can't let Karg see that I'm not capable of handling a crisis either, not after yesterday's bombing. Right now, Mavan, I'm the weakest senator in the history of the Galactic Senate, almost dead and an editor out of control, and on top of that giving in to my own frustration,” she shook her hands and took in more air. It was as if she lacked tons of it to think straight. “Give me his file. If he's got the balls to shoot an arrow at my back, he better have the balls to take the barrel head-on.”

“I've got the police report, you want the details?” spoke Tech into Hunter's channel. He had to repeat himself when he didn't get a response after a while. It wasn't usual for Hunter to find himself distracted in the middle of service, but that case was unprecedented, his body simply reacting on its own to the shock of what he had just witnessed.

“Send me the report,” the sergeant replied as quietly as possible, as if he didn't want to be in the field of vision of Senator Selana, who was pacing back and forth in her room in search of appeasing the gurgling of her blood. Mavan and Deren had already left the room, and only the two of them remained. It wasn’t the first time he had been alone with her, but on this occasion, he felt some pressure, for Vintra was genuinely frustrated, and her words came out sharper than the knife resting in his arm sheath.

Vintra hadn’t only been terrible to one of the two people she cherished and trusted the most, she had also been unfair and firm. Despite her anger, she made a decision amid the chaos, the reins of the situation seemed to be at bay in her hands, but so tight that it felt like blood was going to be spilled, and not hers.

Hunter realized that, despite being a clone, a recipient of the senator's distrust, and a soldier, an image that represented what she seemed to detest most, he’d never been treated like that. And it didn't take him long to decide that he didn't want to either, because those reins looked so well held in her favor. He didn't know how, but Vintra seemed to know what she was doing every time, as if there was no way to beat her.

Faced with an image like that, even a soldier like Hunter didn't want to be the unfortunate one to receive her anger.

On his datapad, the police report finally arrived, and he took the opportunity to read it while Vintra continued her internal debate around her room. His experience as a sergeant had taught him to know what specific parts to look for to tie up loose ends on his own, so it didn't take him long to review the very long report for clues.

None.

Unknown weapon, untraceable, and irreplicable. Hence, unknown attacker. Inconclusive findings. “A crappy job,” Hunter thought as soon as he saw that that’d be it on the part of the security agents, as if they didn't care that there was a killer on the loose inside the Senate, as if they didn't care about the reception of the populace, or Congress itself, by leaving things like this.

Unless, indeed, they didn't care. Why would the police have the luxury of doing that?

“Senator, I have Karg on the line,” Vintra's assistant said behind the door, after knocking on it three times. Vintra turned to look at the door and an angry growl came from her throat.

“Perfect, just what was missing,” she whispered to herself. “Plug it into my channel,” Vintra requested in a bad tone as she walked to her desk and readied her hologram communicator. Hunter put away his datapad and blocked the senator's figure from any point outside her windows.

She looked up at him, both eyes invaded by visible red veins due to her recent bout of anger. Vintra let out a sound somewhat between a snort and a derisive laughter. “Sergeant, at this point I'd rather you step aside and let a gunshot stop me from taking this call,” she tried to be sarcastic, but after she finished saying that her face turned grim, and her brows furrowed in confusion. “No, no... it's not true, that’s it's not true at all,” she shook her head, and looked at him with concern. “Forgive me, it was just yesterday that you saved my life, it's—”

“I already told you it's my job,” he replied, a little irritated that Vintra thought she owed him something, like respect, for following the mission requirements to the letter. But he realized belatedly that his tone had reflected his annoyance, he could tell by the way the senator returned her eyes to him, incredulous at the audacity of adding fuel to the fire burning under her skin.

“Maybe to you it's a simple mission, trooper, but from my point of view it's my life. My future, my struggles, ambitions, dreams. I’m the daughter and friend of other beings with life and feelings, and the representative of an entire planetary system. Just because I’m worthless to you doesn't mean I’m unimportant to someone!” Hunter pressed his jaw as soon as Vintra's gaze filled with red veins around her purple orbs again. “I'm the one who appreciates having it for another day, it's up to me to decide whether I'm thankful for it or not, not you. I already know you're just following orders, so, if I feel like spouting a million ‘thank yous’, your job requires you to swallow every single one of my fucking 'thank yous' until I feel like it. If you don't want them, don't save me next time, will you?” she lashed out at him finally, still engulfed by the flames of that chaotic day.

Still, far from receiving the level of cruelty that Ederon's Intelligence Chief got.

Hunter wanted to respond, unsure if he wanted something hurtful to her to come out of his mouth or back off for the moment. He wasn’t pleased that the senator was taking it out on him, but he understood that she was dealing with problems several times bigger than the rejection of her thanks for saving her life.

However, he didn’t manage to articulate a word before the hologram image of Zinari Senator Karg Haan appeared in the middle of the senator's desk, his stubby face scrunched up in grimaces of displeasure. Vintra shifted her posture immediately, as if she didn't want to show any sign of frustration at him.

“Vintra,” he said in a leisurely, menacing manner, his voice so deep and husky that it pierced to the bone in discomfort and vulnerability. It was no wonder for a zinarian, whose giant bodies in height and width, along with their six upper limbs, gave them a frightening and unsettling bearing. Vintra sketched a smile, probably one of the fakest she’d ever shown in her life. “Have you seen the chaos since yesterday?”

“Karg, we're taking care of it. Part of what makes my administration so powerful is that I can deal with anything, anything—”

“When you told me about the majesty of your work and your team, I expected something more menacing, Vintra. You assured me of an image more powerful than armed clones, and all I've seen is that you do nothing different from the tactics of a twi'lek prostitute in the casinos of Coruscant, by now we might as well start calling you the whore of the Senate as we watch you grovel among so many hands trading votes for something else,” Karg burst into a laugh that didn’t infect amusement, and Vintra's chin quivered a little, just a little, at such words. Her smile didn’t fade, and her shoulders remained high, as did her chin.

Hunter stared at her, as if he didn't know what to expect for the next few minutes in the face of what he had just heard.

“Karg, there’s no need to insult me,” she said in a firmer tone, though still sweetened with politeness and diplomacy. “I am sorry that my style of offense doesn’t meet your standards, but it has given you excellent reception with the general public. Are you going to deny that I haven’t given you an advantage in these upcoming Zinari re-elections?” she challenged, her chin tightening as she closed her mouth with each pause. “A name as prominent within the Senate as yours that shows sympathy for my speeches about the justice we must seek, the one your office touts for another six years,” Karg chuckled again, but this time he shot the ederian a look of disgust.

“See, Vintra, I gave you my vote because you went after my voters and sponsors. You sweetened their ears with your progressive bullshit and your childish speeches about peace and love, you sold them the absurd idea that being on your side will make them Druad heroes, and you gave me no choice but to join in your favor... I saw your guts and your ambition, and you told me I wouldn't be the last one to fall the hard way,” the zinarian's index finger pointed at Vintra's chest, and she felt it like a real stab that turned her stomach in disgust. “But so far, I've only seen cowardly moves, disguised by the press as diplomatic talks to achieve peace... you want negotiations, treaties and signatures, please... stop acting like an idiot child and open your eyes! Take out your dirty cards and the much-feared power you boast so much about and give me an image that projects strength,” suddenly, an image appeared in the middle of both, inside the same Karg hologram. It was from the Senate Building chambers, minutes after the incident, as her guard was transporting her to safety.

Her face was horrified, her posture emanated terror and vulnerability. She swallowed saliva as she watched the images.

“The police said it was impossible for anyone to have been saved, and here I am,” she defended herself with some pride. Karg removed the image and approached her.

“No thanks to you, Vintra, you made sure to tell everyone how heroic your bodyguard was in saving you from a certain death. A clone, should I note, who just proved you wrong with your proposals and contradicted yourself in your struggles.

You oppose the clone army, but you go and turn to them to guard your ass as soon as you get scared. You act tough and untouchable because you survived an attack, when it has been a clone who has overseen your security. When it's time to face death, you freeze and offer this poor reaction to the cameras. And while you cry about how grateful you are for your life, three abstaining votes proceed to change against you, the Daily Coruscant allies with Carsen and you lock yourself in your apartment to do absolutely nothing,” Karg's tone was beginning to sound even worse than the one with which Vintra had rammed Mavan minutes before. “If you were going to give me all this trouble by surviving, you might as well have jumped with open arms into the explosive and saved us all this mess, politically you're worth more dead.”

Vintra stopped breathing, because if she continued, she was going to let out a sob. Not of sadness, but anger. Her patience had run out, but for nothing in the universe could she give in to her emotions. There was more at stake than her pride and feelings, she had to swallow her vomit and show herself serene and understanding. Karg required a great deal of tact and infinite capacity for insults and blows.

However, as soon as she was about to say “I'm sorry”, the horrible feeling of being just that, the whore of the Senate, invaded her. Lowering her head and swallowing Karg's cock to keep the votes, because she was incapable of doing it otherwise. Because there were druadan lives at stake that were worth more than her dignity.

But she couldn't tolerate it anymore, because Karg didn't even care about those innocent lives lost, much less the fate of an entire planet. She didn't want to apologize to the man who had called her a whore and who had just told her she was worth more dead.

And that just happened to be a lousy day.

“Tell me something, Karg, are you going to stop supporting me or not?” the change in Vintra's tone of voice made Karg frown when he heard her speak to him like that. It wasn’t a sweet voice, it was demanding, almost irritated.

“No, Vintra, my voters—” she interrupted.

“Do me a favor and stop doing it, then. Take your twenty votes with you, I don't want them on my list of allies. I got tired of pandering you just to keep your votes, I—”

“Are you out of your mind?! Without my twenty votes you're lost,” he shouted with fake laughter. Vintra wrinkled her nose, and the look wreathed in living fire burned hotter than ever.

“Without your twenty votes, without you, without your fucking planet and your idiotic, manipulative voters I'm perfectly fine, you misogynistic, incompetent piece of shit. I've maintained diplomacy between negotiations and defended my ideals so absurd to you and yet I've gotten more allies and bills passed in seven years than your worthless ass has in fifteen. It’s my consideration that has you in that comfortable chair in your apartment on Coruscant and not back in your mud hole you call home world. You think I don't know of your squandering of public funds on gambling clubs or whorehouses? Of your seven non-legitimate children and your former secretary's accusations of murdering her husband out of jealousy of you?” Karg's face threw off all defense of haughtiness and assurance, and Vintra did not hold back.

“I have the Court on my side, irrefutable proof of the Republic's crimes with Druad, early negotiations with separatists to withdraw troops on the way, and excellent skills at persuading senators of any caliber, plus a network of information that puts me at an advantage from all of you. I've had enough of giving you the importance you don't have on par with me, so take your vote and the other twenty and do with them whatever you want, in less than a week I can double them, something you're not going to accomplish even with an army of senators facing death with brave and strong faces,” Karg scrunched up his face, his eyes so alight with anger they could have terrified anyone else.

“You stupid little bitch of the—”

The image of the Zinari Senator disappeared from her desk, her patience had worn thin. Silence exploded in the room like the loudest of sounds, and Vintra came face to face with emptiness after a heated encounter, with the realization that inside her there was too much noise to bear the absence of it in her ears.

She rested her arms on her desk and buried her face in her hands. Karg's insulting words still haunted her mind, and pierced her heart and gut with a searing pain. Perhaps what he said wasn’t true, but her perception was so blurred that it was impossible for her to distinguish where such a truth or lie began or ended. In fact, she couldn't think. Her head was a mess, part of her was looking for the responsible of the explosive, another part was thinking about the people of Thandaria, another part about Druad, part of her was homesick, another part about Prenegan, another part about Karg and so on and on.

She wished for a break, but knew it was an impossible wish with so many important matters depending on her. Lives that depended on her raising her head and dealing with it. She was a Senator of the Republic, and she had to act like one.

After a brief massage of her temples and eyes, Vintra locked her gaze on the clone at her side, who blocked any threatening points from the outside and thus protected her life. Hunter caught the senator's gaze on his chest, unsure of what she saw there, perhaps some mark on the armor, or nothing, and her gaze wasn’t even there with them, but far away from the present.

“Is that Wanthor Company armor, sergeant?” she asked suddenly, after a while. Hunter looked at her, confused. She looked terribly tired, sad and hopeless. But also determined to get on with her work.

Hunter couldn't help but feel sorry for her at that moment.

“No, Senator, we elite squadrons receive equipment from Kerper Company... our armor additions mean more costs for Wanthor in their production, so Kamino has an agreement with Kerper to supply only the commando squadrons and us,” he explained, without moving from his position. She frowned and closed her eyes, as if they were heavy as she held them open and took in the light.

As if she was trying with all her might not to shed tears in front of him.

Hunter wanted to leave her alone and give her privacy, but inside him something felt wrong to see her sink into Senator Haan’s words and leave her with them in her head, with no one knowing the horrible things he had said to her. And while her response had made her regain her dignity, that didn't erase the rest from her memory.

“What... what do you think of Wanthor Company's armor?”

When Vintra opened her eyes again, the sergeant was now facing her, hands resting on the desk and leaning toward her, who was sinking deeper and deeper into her seat, her gaze now nervous before the scrutinizing eyes of the clone, who was looking at her earnestly from the other side of the table.

“It's worthless shit,” he said, in his deep, husky voice, so deep that it might be the first time it sounded so serious to the ederian. Vintra didn't take her gaze from his. “Just as the Zinari Senator's opinion and votes,” he cocked his head in the direction of the device displaying Karg's hologram. Vintra didn't move a muscle. “Yesterday at the courthouse, at the entrance, amidst the shouts of the people... I heard several say 'thank you for protecting her,' many even in between sobs,” he confessed quietly, without taking his brown eyes off her purple giants. “If you cause that reaction in the citizens of Coruscant, I don't doubt the response is similar in Ederon, Thandaria, Yuren, Vancron and Qaoxia, as well as Druad, Senator,” Vintra's gaze softened as soon as she heard that, moved to learn what the citizens were shouting outside the Court to the clone charged with her protection. “Even if I or anyone else has reservations about you, you answer to only those who’re thankful that you’re alive, perhaps because you’ve had an impact on improving their quality of life. I'm sure they don't think you’re worth more dead,” Hunter watched carefully as the senator's face softened her muscles little by little, and he could almost see her brain slowing its activity as she listened to his words. He nodded toward her, though it seemed more like it was to himself. “And to be honest with you, I don't think so either.”

He had been wrong before to disparage saving her life for following orders, as if it were a matter of not letting dirt stain a ship's glass. But for her, and for millions, Hunter had secured more than just his mission success rate. Jobs, homes, health improvement programs, and possibly freedom from hostile fire on Druad were all part of what Vintra stood for on Coruscant. There were people who were impacted by whatever happened to her.

Contrary to him, a being designed on commission to serve a cause that required him to be dispensable so that others more valuable, like civilians, wouldn’t be. He’d die on some overly suicidal mission for whatever reason, and no one but his three siblings would care who he would’ve been. It was something every clone accepted, to die nameless and without memory, only to serve a greater good of which they wouldn’t be part of.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Vintra's lips, she was grateful for the unexpected words of the clone, who had witnessed something so humiliating and out of control. And she wanted to say something back, wanted to thank as many times as she could for her life, for her safety and for his words.

But three knocks on her door prevented her from doing so, and then Geni's voice saying, “Prenegan agreed to see you this afternoon in his office, Senator.”

She looked at the sergeant, her expression calmer now that his words overshadowed Karg’s ones.

Her smile turned into a challenging grimace. “One asshole down, one to go.”

Chapter Seven -> Unholy to democracy

Thank you for reading!! :)

Ohhh I'm very excited for what's coming, I'm a little bit advanced in the story and I'm giggling on the things that are coming. I just watched HOTD and feel a little inspired on some things, I really want to share what I've come up with and hope you like it!!

I'm currently working on the translation of the next chapter, so it'll be up in a few hours!! :)

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