#it’s choosing to sacrifice something for what may not even turn out but by god what other choice do these people have

[mediumgayitalian]

The best part of being his own camp counsellor is that he can wake up whenever the fuck he likes.

Nico’s a fan.

Because, however, his dumb ass made friends with the camp’s head medic, he doesn’t get to sleep in as often as he would like. He is instead often woken up before the clock strikes nine, which is a tragedy and one of the forty thousand reasons he is going to be present on Will’s judgement day. (The scales tip any which way on a regular basis, but as of last week, Will is going to hell. Unfortunate. Nico’ll still visit him, though. Bring him one half of a twizzler or something.) So when he wakes up, one lovely morning, mouth tasting like something rotted in it and sun well past halfway across the sky, he is capital-C Concerned.

What a horrible tragedy that is. Finally, for the first time in months, he was able to sleep in. And his first thought is not gratitude. Solace may indeed have to die — Nico was not this way before he started planting his annoying ass front and centre in Nico’s life. He’s quite fairly certain he used to be frightening and badass. Now Will orders him to drink milk for the sake of his calcium and he does. Gods.

“Morning,” he hedges, approaching the archery range, feeling marginally more alive than twenty minutes prior.

Kayla raises an amused eyebrow. “Dude, it’s, like, two.”

“Well fuck you, then.”

She smirks. “Aw, did baby not get his Sunshine fix of the day? Is that why he’s so grumpy?”

It really sucks that Will is so fond of his siblings. Nico wonders if Will would still like him if he knew how many times he daydreams of transporting Kayla onto the moon per day.

“As soon as I figure out which god would appreciate you as a sacrifice, you’re gone.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorts, turning away and lining up an arrow. She lets it fly, watching as it shaves a splinter off a hunk of wood fifty feet away. “You couldn’t get close enough to kick my ass before I’d skewer you, di Angelo.”

Remembering the warning arrow Kayla had shot through his shoulder last week, he wisely chooses not to press the matter any further. The power visibly goes to her head. Fuck.

“Just — tell me where Will is.”

“Why?” She strings another arrow. The grin on her face is a level of shit-eating that Nico has only before seen on a Stoll. She should spend less time around Julia, or else the camp is in for some serious trouble. “What are your intentions with my dear brother?”

Nico, on principle, refuses to answer that question. Kayla shrugs, finishing her shot and then turning around to stick her tongue out at him.

“No answer, no location! Find him yourself, loverboy. And remember that I am always watching.”

Stomping away, and ignoring the smile twitching at his lips — she is so annoying, truly, gods above he owes Bianca a thousand apologies for ever opening his mouth — he heads towards the infirmary. There are only six locations Will is at any given time, after all, except when he disappears for several hours randomly but Nico doesn’t know how to bring that up yet. As he approaches the infirmary, though, he hears it absolutely blasting with music, like genuinely shaking the ground a little bit, and knows exactly where to find him.

As he approaches the door, wincing at the door, he finds it closed. Odd — Will likes a breeze when he works. Even odder is the hastily-written sign pasted onto it:

ANNUAL CLEAN OUT DAY. IF YOU NEED ME, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU NEED A BANDAID, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU’RE BLEEDING OUT, CALL AN AMBULANCE AND PRAY. I AM BUSY.

(‘Busy’ is underlined three times.)

In smaller print, under the all-caps monstrosity, is:

Unless you’re Nico, in which case disregard the previous sentiment. No, Cecil, this does NOT mean you.

The note is written again in Ancient Greek, Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Mandarin, Italian, Polish, Korean, Morse Code, and another ten languages Nico can’t even name. Actually, wait — the top left is Klingon. And middle right note does not appear to be language, showing instead a poorly drawn stick figure in armour being shoved into a cannon and shot into the sun by another poorly drawn stick figure in a lab coat. Nico loves a man who’s multi-talented, indeed.

Hesitantly, Nico cracks open the door. He is immediately assaulted by a solid wall of sound, and then nearly bowled over by the enigma himself, William ‘I Can Restructure A Human Brain But Cannot Tie My Shoelaces’ Solace. He catches himself at the last second, and then barely manages to catch Will, grabbing him around the waist just before his head hits the floor.

“Nico!” he shouts over the music, smiling brightly. “Hi! You’re here!”

“I’m here.” He can physically feel his voice cracking, but luckily the music drowns it out. Hopefully. “Uh, what’re you doing?”

“Cleaning!” Will straightens up, although he stays within the circle of Nico’s arms. Nico tries real hard to keep his gaze firmly planted on his face and not on the hands he still has in his hips. “I do it once a year, kick everybody out and deep clean the place. Helps keep it fresh and minimize the bloodstains on the floor.”

“Ah. And the music…”

“It’s fun!” Will shouts. He gasps when the CD player skips and a new song comes on, heavy base and funky synths blasting so hard the window panes shake. “Oh my gods! I love this one!” He turns his bright grin at Nico full force, absolutely no holdbacks on the dimples or freckles, gods help him, and bows cheekily. “Can I have this dance, good sir?”

“It’s Britney Spears’ Outrageous,” Nico protests weakly.

“Yeah!”

…Very, very weakly.

“…Okay.”

Will whoops, grabbing his hands and spinning him around. Nico yelps, nearly tripping over a cot, but when he looks back up Will has his eyes closed and is shimmying not unlike a worm on a fish hook, and it’s so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh. Will pries one eye open, grinning widely, and shimmies harder.

“You’re such a dweeb!”

“Join me in the dweebiness! Free yourself!”

Nico rolls his eyes fondly, squeezing Will’s hand, and lets himself get ridiculous. He’ll deny it if anyone asks, but it’s fun.

…And not just because Will is next to him, smile brighter than any star, dancing like a massive dork, hand clasped in his.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 21st

Day 21: Gun Play // Monsterfucking // Shower - Bath Sex

Centaur!Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Virginal sacrifices, bondage, vaginal fingering, loss of innocence, monsterfucking, horse cock, curses

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

For the last three months, you have been led to this moment. Guarded and well-fed. Given everything that your heart desires and showered with presents, food, even jewels to wear. Your status in the region has been elevated. The wooden laurel on your head showcasing your purpose and strangers stopped you on the cobblestoned streets to give blessings to the gods for your sacrifice. 

Golden chains bind your hands and feet. Loose enough to allow you to walk, but still keep you from running away. Naked, you are paraded through the streets. Cheering Romans citizens throwing flowers and seeds in the air. Marking the traditional path that you will be guided by the centurions that are tasked with seeing you to your destination safely. Leaving you there to the whims of the beast. 

The last one hundred years has been marked with prosperity. The annual sacrifice made to the guardian of the lands insuring the year’s bounty. A virgin, chained to the altar in the clearing and left to be consumed by the beast. 

Over the years the citizens had learned not to anger the beast, knowing that if the woman provided was not a virgin, the sacrifice would be rejected. The year’s crops are destroyed by giant hooves that trample and destroy everything planted in the dirt. 

Through the city you are led, out past the fields that will be planted and into the edge of the woods that the beast makes its home. The stone altar comes into view and you shuffle to a halt as you stare at it. 

It’s not the typical altar that you would expect. It is a large stone, carved out and worn smooth over the years. The rings driven deep at certain points used to anchor your chains to it and keep you from escaping. 

It’s curved and odd shaped, making you wonder how you will lay on this. “Move.” The guard closest to you yanks on the chains and drags you forward. Making you swallow as the reality of your demise is quickly approaching. 

“Please. I-” You start to say that you need just a moment, but you are cut off.

The guards all tut, yanking you forward and starting to stretch your limbs over the altar and secure them to the rings. You are bent over, spread out and embarrassed by how vulnerable you feel even though you had just been paraded through the streets completely bare as the day you were born. Now you feel exposed, your womanhood on display and you close your eyes tight. 

They never say another word to you. The whistle is sharp and piercing, but the guards disappear from your limited vision, even as you try to twist your head to look behind you. It’s like they vanish into the mist that has started to gather along the edge of the trees. 

You wait, the silence starting to drive you mad. You’ve never been good at waiting, but it is all you can do right now. 

Until you hear the snapping of a twig. Your head pops up from where you had been laying it on the altar. Trying to twist around to see what is coming, but you can’t turn that far. Your arms are stretched out too far, you are bent too far over. “Who- who’s there?” You call out, another snapping twig makes your heart skip a beat. 

Something is coming. You swallow harshly and close your eyes, afraid that your time is up now and the beast is here. 

“Another one.” Your eyes spring open when you hear a voice. A man’s voice, weary. You shiver and tug on the chains. 

“Don’t- don’t release me.” You hadn’t meant to say that, but it is what pops out of your mouth. 

“Why?” There’s a sense of surprise in his voice, as if that was the last thing that he had expected to hear from you. 

“I- t-th-the beast-” you stammer, clenching your fist and swallowing harshly. “It- I am a sacrifice.” 

“A sacrifice.” He hums and you can hear the shuffling of feet behind you, making you tense again. It doesn’t sound like sandals on the hard packed ground around the altar. “For what?” 

“To the beast, so that there will be another year’s harvest.” You explain, unsure of how he doesn’t know this. Everyone knows that there is a sacrifice to the beast every year. 

“You are the first that did not beg to be let go.” The man seems impressed by that. Making you frown as you try to twist around more, to see who is behind you. 

“The first?” You don’t understand, trying to push up against the edge of the altar. To lift your head enough to see. 

“Sacrifice.” 

Your blood runs cold as you feel a hand slide up the left cheek of your ass. “What-” 

“The gods cursed me.” He speaks as if he hadn’t heard you. “Failing to win a battle they wished to be won.” 

You frown again, not understanding why he is telling you this. Or who he is. “I don’t understand.” 

He chuckles slightly and there is another shuffle, a set of hooves start to come into view. Making you frown even harder until your eyes trail up and you see that the hooves and body of a horse are attached to the torso of a man. A centaur. 

“Gods.” You gasp, eyes blowing wide and you gulp. “You- you’re the beast!”

“Guilty.” The man flashes you a startlingly attractive grin. His features are handsome, although he has a strong hook to his nose and his hair has gray in it. “Although I don’t eat the virgins brought to me.” 

“What do you do?” You are breathless as you ask the question. Unsure if you want to know the answer. This is not how you thought this would turn out. 

“Let them go.” He admits, lifting a brow. “None of them would help break the curse.” 

“Break the curse?” You ask, making him smirk as he watches you. He has to be lying. None of the other virgins had returned. None of them had come back to their families. The only ones that had survived had been the ones rejected. The ones who had later confessed that they weren’t virgins. 

“I have to take your purity to regain my human form.” It sounds incredulous, but then again, you are talking to a centaur. A mythical beast that was not supposed to actually exist. Centaurs were stories that mothers told their young to keep them from sneaking out into the woods alone.  

You choke out a laugh, understanding now why you are naked and secured to this stone in such a way. This was to allow it to be easy to mount you. 

“It is not a falsity.” He huffs, looking mortally offended by your laugh. “The catch is that I could mount a hundred virgins, but she must be willing to take me.” It had been crushing to discover the gods were especially cruel to add that little caveat to the entire thing. 

He watches you, you can feel his eyes on you as you think about what he has told you. You are chained to this altar, at his mercy but in reality - he is at your mercy. Without your willingness, he will still be stuck in his current form. 

“I am your sacrifice.” You remind him quietly after a few moments of silence between you. You had been chosen to give your life for the good of everyone. What did your virginity matter? “What you do with me is up to you.’

His nostrils flare, jaw clenching and he stares at you. Waiting for you to change your mind. Waiting for you to steal the hope that is flaring in his chest. He has never had a virgin offer him what you are gifting him with. 

“What is your name?” You ask, waiting for him to say something, do something. You had almost expected him to leap on you after agreeing, but he was still watching you. 

“Marcus.” He replies after a moment. “Marcus Acacius.” 

Your eyes widen, having heard the stories of Marcus Acacius. The general who had defied the emperor’s and had fought in the arenas of the colosseum. Some had said he had died on the sands, others said he had retired and lived out his life as an old man. You now know that he had not. He was standing in front of you, half man half beast. 

You tell him your name and bite your lip. “Will it hurt?” You ask, not sure what to really expect from a beast. 

“Probably at first.” He won’t lie about that, but he hopes that you don’t change your mind. The chance to be human again is being dangled in front of him like an enticing carrot. 

“O-okay.” Your voice trembles and you press your face against the stone to squeeze your eyes shut. “Uh- do- do it.”

He groans, cock under his belly starting to twitch and lengthen, pushing out of the protective sheath. Your cunt is on display and he can see that you will need some moisture to ease his cock’s passage inside you.

“I will get you ready.” It has been years since he has actually fucked a human, letting the sacrifices go and sending them away to live out their lives somewhere else.

This centaur, this monster, is actually considerate. He could have just mounted you and been done with it, there would have been nothing you could do to resist, but you feel his hands between your thighs. Human hands. Fingers probing and pressing, massaging until your mouth opens on a soft moan. 

“That’s it.” Marcus growls softly, approving of how wet you are starting to get. You seem to accept his touch, your folds slick after just a few minutes and he is already aching. Still he doesn’t rush. 

You’ve never been touched like this before. The mist has spread around you when you open your eyes, almost shielding any unwanted eyes from the altar. Isolating you from the outside world, or perhaps even transporting you to another realm. From the way he is touching you, he is taking you to meet the gods. Your moans start to get louder, more demanding. The chains around your wrists and ankles rattling slightly as you try to push your hips back, whimpering for more. 

You are a gift. A treasure. Marcus stamps his hooves impatiently, eager to mount you and feel how tight you are around the non-human cock he possesses right now. 

“I- I think- ooooooh!” You squeal when he presses his fingers just right and feel your core heat up, a rush of pleasure drowning you as you cry out. 

You’re ready. Marcus pulls away and starts to lift his front hooves onto the stone altar. It has been designed for his body, allowing him to hold himself up and position to mount the person strapped to the stone. 

You bite your lip, feeling the air moving as he shifts. This is happening. Your body tenses slightly when you feel something poking, but all you can think is how hot it is. It feels like it’s burning, branding you against your skin and when you feel the smear of liquid, you realize what is poking your ass. 

“I can’t help guide it in.” Marcus admits, his human body braced farther above you because of the angle. “Just relax. I will try to go slow.”

It takes him a few tries and you try not to squirm, reminding yourself that you are a sacrifice. Even if you had thought it meant your life, your virginity doesn’t matter. 

The thick, blunt horse cock of the centaur finally is pressed against your entrance and you take a deep breath. 

Marcus shakes in his need to push into you. Gritting his teeth, sweat beads on his forehead. Trying not to let the animal instinct take over. “Relax.” He cautions and starts to shuffle forward to break you open. 

It’s big. Bigger than you’ve ever even imagined and your cry is instinctual. Making Marcus snarl in response and his cock seems to be pushing up into your stomach but he just keeps going. The stretch of him is too much but it doesn’t even hurt, just overwhelms. 

Your fists clench together and you push back making yourself take him even deeper until his great length is fully buried in your virgin cunt.

“Fuck!” Marcus shouts, rearing up and sinking deeper before he starts to pull back. 

Once he has taken you, all you can do is hold onto the anchor that keeps you tied to the altar. Squealing and keening as he starts to move inside you and steals your breath away. 

Taking the heavy, thick thrusts of his enormous cock that seems to feel like a hammer driving into you. It hurts and feels incredible at the same time, ripping a sob from your throat as you imagine the scene you are making. This centaur, this creature, is driving into you again and again, breeding you. Fucking you. 

Marcus prances in his hind hooves as he fucks you, sinking deeper and deeper as your sweet virgin cunt opens up more, flowering for him and taking the rougher thrusts he is helpless to temper. 

That feeling in your stomach starts to curl again. Building up as he plows into you. The inhuman sounds he is making above you adding to the sensation and the slickness of your cunt grows. 

“Mar-Marcus!” Your gasp of his name is screamed out into the mists, the forest around you ringing with the sound as you start to chant it over and over again. Stars bursting behind your eyes and your entire world going dark with a loud roar and a rush of heat inside you. 

****

“Wake up. Wake up sweetheart.” Your eyes peel open slowly, body aching and you groan quietly. 

You’re on the ground, unchained from the altar and laying on a bed of soft down and leaves. Warm, concerned brown eyes staring at you in wonder as you come too, slightly disoriented and feeling like you have just woken from a dream. 

“You- you did it.” Marcus breathless exclaims. He looks down and your eyes follow his to find the very naked lower body of a man where the horse’s body had once been. “You broke the curse.”

“You- I did?” You frown but it turns into a smile when he beams at you, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. 

“You did.” He repeats. “And now I am yours for eternity.”

[shiongenkai]

On this night I am thinking about Haru Sagara and how he is consistently putting others' needs in front of his own. And how, though he plays stupid and plays the overbearing captain, when given the choice between self-preservation or saving others he will always, without any question, choose to save others.

It's really sad in a sense to see this trend happening over and over. Like... he's burdened with someone else's debt and he deals with it himself with a fairly reasonable amount of griping. He takes over a park he doesn't know the operation of and teaches himself to do it by himself, because there's nobody else to rely on like general students (and, generally, Towa seems to be a free-spirit, and Haru encourages it!).

He frequently ignores his own health in order to give the anomalous animals the best lives he can in the park too. He remarks about getting bitten a ton, he obviously deals with upset anomalies frequently, he sacrifices AC on the off chance an anomaly may wander into the dorm... I think something that sticks out to me is that, when he wakes up from his tetanus coma, the janitor reprimands him for another ignored injury. And it's true! We see him get injured and subsequently ignore it a Lot! Or we see him put himself in positions to be injured for the sake of other people.

In Princess Oto's castle, he uses his stigma to save Ren and Calimari despite knowing he'd get hurt. And Ren is right to be mad at him about it! But what's worse is that he turns around and almost immediately does it again, this time with the implication that he was ready to lay down his life!! He tells Towa to stay with the MC and Ren because he thought they would have a better chance if he distracted Oto! His final words before Towa breaks the tank is that it's up to Towa now! And I think he knew Towa would most likely pull through, but he was definitely in bad, bad shape beforehand. And what if he didn't have the first aid kit? I don't think it would've changed his actions.

It's just. I want him to take better care of himself. I want him to value himself outside of the joking contexts we always see. Outside of the context of the park and the anomalies in his care. I want him to be able to rely on Ren and Towa more often, because right now he does tend to take the fall for them more often than not. Towa vists the hill so he stays home instead of asking him to return. Ren wants to work at the diner, so Haru lets him rather than forcing him to quit like he originally tried to.

Haru Sagara you will meet me in the pit (the pit is a nice comfortable bed) and I will beat you to death with my hooves (tuck you in goodnight because you wake up at like 4 in the goddamn morning and go to bed at god knows when if you even manage to ever sleep) (and then cook you a meal since you obviously don't eat enough either given that you have to be like oh don't worry i ate some lettuce and bread)

[canmom]

choosing the treasure that eats you

the gods in narrative podcast The Silt Verses cover an enormous variety of motifs and subjects - and indeed, we are told how new gods are invented all the time, researched and tested by the government, competing to be the patron of companies and individuals, broken down and dumped when they're no longer needed. but they are all unified by two things: they all demand human sacrifices ('a god must feed' as Carpenter puts it in the opening episode) and they all inflict dramatic body-horror transformations (a process known as 'hallowing'), associated with their theme.

nevertheless, the idea of not following a god seems to be pretty alien to the people of this world. and you don't really get much choice: if, as in episode 7, your advertising company's restructuring decides that the weakest performers need to be sacrificed to their new 'sponsor', you don't get to opt out, it's in your contract and no doubt the police will catch you if you run. we see over and over how the gods (and their chief devotees) pick out the vulnerable, drive their believers to spiral down into life-defining obsession - by stringing them along with vague promises of some kind of final answer or fulfilment, then turn away and discard them as soon as they've served their purpose.

it is a very, very productive theme, and the writers have a gift for furnishing it with evocative words and nasty details so it doesn't get stale. so of course I reflect on the metaphor.

in nier automata, the childlike machine lifeforms search for purpose in a world that doesn't seem to offer any. the answers they find are their 'treasures': small, seemingly insignificant objects which individual machines devote themselves to protecting.

for example, one machine may devote itself to cultivating a flower (as in the second episode of the anime), or looking after a broken doll (as in the story of pathetic failmachine Plato 1728 seen in the DLC/the Deserving of Life single by Amazarashi). other sidequests lead you to encounter machines who obsess over fighting, or travelling fast (easy challenges to implement in a game engine).

the machines' behaviour seems inexplicable and even random to others, but the pointlessness is kind of the point: somewhere the chain of 'why' has to terminate. i choose this one.

sometimes i think about 'art' in the sense of a set of behaviours exhibited by humans. i don't have any interest in demarcating art vs non-art, just to understand what this phenomenon is, why it should be so compelling.

one definition that keeps sticking around in here, despite it not really working, is that 'art' is a word for the thing we devote ourselves for no other reason. you could spend your time drawing, but equally you could spend it speed cubing. we are obsessively optimising creatures so, presented with a defined scope of an activity - something like the rules of a game - we refine our skills within it, pushing the bar further and further, changing the rules as we go to keep it interesting. the art forms that stick around tend to be the ones that continue to be productive and evolve. but it's all, in a sense, pointless - and that's why it's the most important thing, because it's done for itself, not in service of some other goal.

this is not actually a good description of the thing it claims to describe. many things we celebrate as 'art' are done for extrinsic, not intrinsic motivations, like commissioned paintings. indeed, far from being purely intrinsically motivated, there are many extrinsic functions that the various activities we call 'art' perform: communication, entertainment, distraction, a tool to reason with, a safe zone to explore emotions, ideological propaganda, historical memory.

nevertheless, the idea of a thing done for its own sake, defying justification, continues to compel somehow.

art does not escape the logic of sacrifice. if you sacrifice your time, your health, your social connections in pursuit of your art - why, does that not prove the art is more important than your time, your health, your friendships? there's a romance in the narrative about burning up in pursuit of something 'great' - and if you want to undercut that narrative, you likely claim that the object is not particularly worth the effort. it's just videogames. it's just cartoons.

the slogan of The Silt Verses is the sarcastic line of Carpenter (originally her friend Vaughan, part of episode 7's corporate hecatomb): "you get to choose the thing that eats you". a very succinct statement! don't we, indeed.

not that sacrifice is always for some abstract intrinsic goal. in the story, the feeding is often done in exchange for some straightforward, material advantage - and in a sense that is the same in our world, with the threshold adjusted so you have to sacrifice a certain amount to just stay alive.

here's a calculation, because i'm fond of numbers: if you start working full-time at, say, age 21 (a conservative assumption, most people start earlier) up until the UK retirement age of 66 (currently, set to rise), working 40 hours a week (conservative, but then again most people don't actually work the hours they're paid for), the current price of a full human life is 114,793 hours to the gods of capital - pick your fave. if you sleep eight hours a night, the god of sleep gets 160,710 during that same period. harder to fit parameters on the demands of the gods of food, cleaning, caring for others, travelling to and fro, and 'being too tired to do much of anything', which certainly have their own demands.

that leaves you with a certain number to use for your own arbitrary ends. in theory, you get to choose what will eat those ones. in practice? a unified will? consistent intentions? ya joking mate. how many hours go to the god of 'responding to the thing in front of me', known by its sacred name, Aydeeaitchdee?

i used to feel jealous of people, some of them my friends, who seem to have some kind of unique vision, some sort of captivating identity to the creations that they express. the 'spark' that makes that special. i wondered - still wonder - if i will finally find my spark, a reason i'm here, a unique contribution i'm poised to make to the world, the value over replacement - the thing that all this mess was building towards all along, the thing that will make all the efforts so far feel less faltering and haphazard. but why should there be such a thing? if one day i live long enough to, by chance, find something that feels like it's an answer, it's just a retroactive reframing of the chaos - because that's what brains do. convince someone they made a decision they didn't, and they will justify it to you.

there is a song by Sassafrass, an incredibly nerdy a capella band who otherwise largely sing about norse mythology, called 'somebody will'. when i first heard this song i honestly kind of hated it (you can probably find that post if you dig hard enough). it felt like a tragic cope: facing the blatant reality that you will never be an astronaut as you (apparently) desire, to insist on narrativising your life as being part of the great project space colonisation - even if it's so remote as clerking a funding organisation or working at a scifi bookstore or attending a convention (it's from quite a specific milieu), you can claim to be one of the 'sailors' helping to 'conquer' that 'ocean'. i hated it, because why should the space program be all that? somebody will walk on mars someday - so fucking what? what then? job's a good 'un, everybody? is that really worth sacrificing shit ('sacrifice something i don't have for something i won't have') for, here and now? surely your life is about more than putting 'somebody' on Mars one day?

but considering it again today - i mean it might as well be the space program as anything else, right. you need a direction to move in. it doesn't matter what the direction, as long as it keeps you moving. change is life and stillness is death, don't you know. perhaps you drag others along with you and you get a current flowing that way for a while, until the energy driving it runs out, or it runs up against the overpressure around an as-yet uneroded bank. so we all move around and the dynamics of it all, invisible to us, build a delta, which becomes a rock, and against that flows another river one day, grinding down the rock to move it to another delta, all by the nearly-random movements of the water molecules. shit i think i lost the thread of the metaphor and now i'm just talking about geophysics

it seems... almost laughably tedious to be circling this existential drain still. in my milieu: douglas adams cracked his joke about 'the ultimate question of life the universe and everything' 30 years earlier in 1977. randall munroe uploaded 'i'll get the super soaker' in 2007. but navel-gazing has been a joke for much longer, surely at least as long as there have been people to question what the point is.

funny how it always comes back to water metaphors.

[spiegelgestalt]

Nail a [_] to the cross, he's walking round like Teezo

So one of the things I see rarely talked about is the way Kendrick Lamar frames his involvement in the beef with Drake not as something good or admirable but as him doing something evil that reveals him to be a hypocrite. And which could lead to his own destruction And i find that fascinating.

Let me explain

Let's start with "Like that": He frames his starting the rap beef as him choosing violence (i.E wickedness) which if you take the story line of DAMN. into consideration will lead to his death (maybe just the death of K. the good person). But he's willing to sacrifice his peace (6:16 in LA) because he'd "rather be dead than let a canadian [_]" disrespect PAC by buying his ring (Euphoria). This sentiment of sacrificing your own integrity for the things that are important for you also plays a role in the music video. K. goes to the court house and later to prison for his crimes. He does exactly what he said he would do in XXX. if someone threatned his family or the things that are important to him. ("I chip a [_] than throw the blower in his lap, walk myself to the court bitch i did that") - he has symbolically killed Drake and is now being judged by the court of public opinion.

There's also some other stuff: his confession to god in 6:16 in LA; one of the meanings of the title Euphoria. It describes the happiness one can find inside a battle and in violence. A dangerous drug which will seperate you from all your loved ones. (K. uses that word in M.a.a.d City to describe the romanticization of street violence - he also uses the word in "King's dead". A warrior who seeks Euphoria -> seeks the thrill and happiness of the battle. I have a lot of thoughts about "King's dead" which imo describes how K. would be if he turned out to be the evil King Killmonger). "Meet the grahams" is a horror-song and a lot of people came out of it comparing K. to a serial killer -> and that was supposed to happen. (SN: Seeing the reactions online i sometimes want to take people by the hand and say: relax he didn't really talk to the family members, it was a literary device, they don't have to listen to it, he didn't even say anything specific about them -> if you break it down in terms what was said about the family members it's far closer to "let it rain on you like Virigina Williams" than to the shit Drake did in family matters) But back to my point. After meet the grahams we were supposed to feel a bit sick and a bit sorry for Drake. The track was so vicious that it made people forget what Drake had said in the first place. And i'm pretty sure it was meant to be that way.

And last but not least: in not like that K. describes himself as the boogeyman but more importantly he puts Drake in the position of Jesus. He is the one who gets nailed to the cross, who get thrown to the wolves so that public may ridicule and humiliate him. K. fully knowing that this is against his religion, that he's becoming an enemy of god, does it anyway. That's why he has to hide the bible (which is of course another hint towards DAMN (put the bible down and go an eye for an eye for this shit). He can't help his wicked nature. He knows the answer is love but he can't stop himself from hating. And you know. I find that framing really cool. It makes me like him more.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🌕 Blood Moon: Chapter Seven

Blood Moon: You have been defying nature, and perhaps, even the Gods. After returning to life because of Tony Stark’s sacrifice, all humans now have a designation: alpha, beta, or omega. Angry at the fate you’ve been given, you decide that you will do anything to ensure that your fate is in your own hands. You’ll soon find out that it is never a good idea to tamper with fate, especially when one man makes it his mission to ensure that you understand that you can try to out-fly your destiny, but fate will eventually catch up to you.

Warnings: Language, Ice Bath, Reader Gets Sick.

To Note: A/B/O Universe Post Snap, Zemo x Female!Reader, Timeline Of Events Is More Spread Out (Weeks Rather Than Days) To Fit Plot Line.

Word Count: ~4.2k

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After the incident in the changing room, which was indicative of how you really felt about the Baron, Zemo had told you to pick an outfit to replace what Sharon had given you. It only took one glance in the mirror to figure out that you needed something that provided full coverage.

The bastard had sucked a bunch of hickey’s on your chest!

The attendants refused to meet your gaze as they walked into the room and showed a variety of clothing ranging from dresses to pant suit combos. You ended up choosing a black jumpsuit with a high neckline and bell sleeves. It was perhaps the plainest of your choices, just black fabric, but it was by far the most comfortable thing you had tried on today and with your current predicament, would suit you best.

So you had slipped into the comfortable jumpsuit and added the ridiculously expensive black heels to complete the ensemble. Standing in front of the mirror, you twisted your body around and looked at your reflection. You had to admit, you looked good wearing it. Looking yourself in the eyes, your gaze flittered over your haphazard bun. It didn’t match the luxurious clothing you wore.

You cocked your head to the side and thought for a minute before reaching up and wiggling your fingers into the hairband to pull it free, releasing your hair from the bun. You ran your fingers through your hair while eyeing the coat rack which had several different styles of coats hanging from it. Stepping down from the pedestal, you grabbed the soft grey jacket and shoved your arms through it.

While the jacket slowly warmed you up, you stepped out of the changing room and approached Zemo who was now flippantly riffling through pages of a magazine.

“I am not going to ask the total cost of the clothing I am currently wearing,” You spoke as you came to a stop and tugged on the sleeve of the jacket. Zemo’s eyes flickered up to you and you saw his lips curl at one end.

“Good, you’re learning… but may I also remind you that it is not your money, Liebling?” He drawled out, setting the magazine on the side table and getting to his feet. He turned to a waiting attendant. “Please wrap up the rest and have it delivered my residence.”

Your eyes bulged and you were instantly rejecting.

“Zemo, no, no way!” You protested. You got that look from him again, and quickly figured out that he wasn’t going to be happy with you calling him by his last name in privacy. Or at least when the boys weren’t around. “Helmut, this is extraneous.”

He strode over to me and placed a hand on your back, steering you in the direction of the exit. No matter how much you protested his action, he held fast with his decision and continued to direct you out of the boutique and through the streets. It was pointless to continue your protests so you changed topics.

“Where are we going now?”

“Lunch, there is an old restaurant my family used to visit when I was a boy, Rozengrals. It is old, but it has good food.” Well, you were hungry after suffering through hours of trying on clothing you would never be able to afford. “And we also need to talk.”

Your body tensed at the word ‘talk’ and you were sure he felt it.

“Talk?” You echoed softly, trying to retain an air of calm. “Talk about what? The whereabouts of Karli? The super soldier serum? Bucky’s staring problem? Sam’s proclivity to be a mother hen?”

“You know exactly what we need to talk about, Diana, and avoiding the subject isn’t going to make it go away.” Huffing, you came to a stop at a cross walk and turned to him to give him a petulant stare. His eyebrow only arched up briefly as he reached forwards and ran his fingers through your loose hair. “You are not used to the idea that someone can care for you without an ulterior motive? Or that they will remain by your side? I am sure James and Sam do not count, but you should get used to the idea, Draga.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he just took your chin and placed his thumb over your lips, indicating he wanted you to stay silent. You forced yourself to keep your retort to yourself.

“No more arguing, let’s just enjoy the city and lunch.” Your raised hackles lowered and puffing your lip out, you agreed and continued walking. Lunch was located in Old Riga, an older section of the city. It was nice to actually see some sights for once, rather than just blow through a city without appreciating some of the culture.

The restaurant had a medieval flair to it on the outside, and oozed every bit of medieval times on the inside with stone, dark lighting, and plenty of rough hewn wood. You got a seat tucked away in a corner, but near an exit.

“Just how old is this place?” You questioned, looking at the antique styled menus and lacquered wood surrounding you.

“Old, there are structures within the restaurant that date back to the 1200s.” Helmut explained. “It is one of the many reasons why my father enjoyed dining here. He loved history.”

“He sounds like a wonderful man, I wish I could have met him.”

“He would have liked you,”

“Liked me?” You repeated before shaking your head. “I’m a hot mess, my life is barely hanging together, and I could probably be labeled as self-destructive.”

“And yet you still have you head on your shoulders, are empathetic and caring, and still see the bigger picture despite what life has given you. You are strong in mind and heart, Diana.” Zemo explained. “You haven’t let yourself succumb to the world we now live in like so many others have.”

“If I succumbed to life as it is, I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror.” He tilted his head and you were tacking on one last sentence before he could get a word in edgewise. “I know what you are trying to do, Helmut, it’s not going to work. You aren’t the first to have tried, and I can guarantee you won’t be the last.”

“You are still pushing everyone away, keeping them at an arms length, even your own friends. Haven’t you been hurt enough, Diana?” Zemo spoke softly, weaving his fingers together. “You don’t need to remain so alone and cut off.”

“I can take care of myself,” You stated blandly. His lips twitch at your zero hesitance, emotionally absent answer.

“I don’t doubt that, our previous conversation has made that clear. You are independent, self-reliant. You do everything for yourself, by yourself, it is rather impressive… but have you considered not having to?” Your eyes flashed. Not having to would mean giving up on your suppressants, giving up on what little control you had over you life.

“Doing so would mean giving up my freedom, my control. I’ve already lost two families, if I let anyone else in, I’ll inevitably lose them too. By being alone, I can guarantee that I won’t get hurt anymore than I already have.”

“Isn’t that lonely?” 

Yes, it was.

“You’re not even fighting this?” You raised your right hand and gave Sam your middle finger from where you were laying on the couch, all together not feeling that good. You were certain you were coming down with something now, and no, you were not going to admit that to Sam. Call you petty, you didn’t care, you just want to be left alone in your misery.

“I’d like a quiet afternoon, clear my head,” You answered, dropping your arm and rubbing your hot forehead. “My head is killing me.”

“We’re gonna go out and see if we can dig up any information on Madani, don’t know how long we’ll be out. You need us to pick you up anything for that headache just text us.” Sam responded in his mother hen way. You dragged your arm back into the air and haphazardly waved at the trio.

“Good luck, don’t kill each other,” You sighed, trying your best to ignore the pounding hammer currently picking away at your brain. You heard their footfalls recede and then the closing of doors. Breathing out a sigh of relief, you counted down the minutes it would take for their scents to dissipate from the room.

With three Alpha’s in once residence, the scents were strong, but there was really only one that you fixated on. His. Your inner omega preened at the smell and it was taking everything you had not to roll off the couch, crawl to Zemo’s bedroom, and roll around in his shirts. Well, if you filched one of his shirts, he wasn’t bound to notice… right?

“Oh to hell with it,” You muttered to yourself, crawling from the couch to go steal one of Zemo’s shirts.  Shuffling through the apartment, you slunk into Zero’s neat room and took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. Somehow, your headache actually lessened. “Shirt, need a shirt.”

You started opening drawers of one of the dressers and pawed through stacks of clothing until you found an incredibly soft grey undershirt. He wouldn’t miss this, would he? Well, you didn’t particularly care at the moment. It was his fault you were addicted to his scent now… Shutting the drawer, you happily shoved the fabric against your face while making your way to your borrowed room.

Flopping down on your stomach, you curled up on your side and closed your eyes relishing the lovely scent that seemed to drive all of your problems away. While you willed your headache to go away, your nose twitched at the mingling scents in the room. You wish you could drown yourself in Zemo’s scent, because you are so tired of smelling that blasted Omega perfume. Speaking of which, where exactly is that stupid bottle? You hadn’t seen it in a few days and judging by the scent, you probably had spilled it.

Your eyes glared at your bag sitting on a gold inscribed chair in the corner of the room. You should probably get up and find that bottle and throw it out… but you were slowly sinking into a headache free state of happiness. So rather then take care of the Omega perfume issue, you closed your eyes and buried your face further into Zero’s shirt.

Slam. Stomp. Stomp.

“How much does he weight?”

“You asked me that three blocks back, Sam.”

“Yeah and it feels like he’s gettin’ heavier.”

“Just put him on the couch and we’ll regroup.”

Thump.

Wrinkling your nose, you peeled your crusted eyes open to find that you had smothered yourself in Zero’s shirt while napping. Pulling the heaven sent fabric away from your face, your ears perked up even more as the sounds outside the room continued. The boys were back already? How long had you been napping?

Rolling into a sitting position, you glanced at the clock and noticed that it was nearly evening and you had been asleep for a solid five and a half hours. You left the shirt on the bed and climbed out of bed, rubbing your eyes and trying to figure out what exactly was going on. Upon exiting the room, you found Bucky pacing while Sam clicked away on his laptop.

“Where’s—“ You didn’t even have to say more as the two men pointed to the couch where Zemo was, passed out where he presumably had been dropped. Padding over, you saw a red line on his forehead and the beginnings of a bruise. “What the hell happened?”

“Walker,” Both boys supplied.

“Ah,” You commented, nodding in understanding as you reached over and brushed stray hair from Zero’s forehead. That mark was going to get ugly if it didn’t get some ice on it soon. You pulled away and headed for the kitchen. “So what did Walker do this time?”

“Ruined my deescalation,” Sam grumbled, his eyes remaining on his laptop as he typed. You looked to Bucky who’s scowl deepened.

“Let’s just say John ruined any chance we have of talking Karli out of whatever plan she has.” Bucky grunted out before reaching for his phone and fiddling with it. Both men were in a sour mood and probably would remain like that for hours to come. Turning back to the kitchen, you grabbed a towel and retrieved some ice from the fridge. Putting the ice in a plastic ziplock, you poured some salt onto the ice before sealing it and wrapping it in the towel.

Trotting to Zero, you carefully placed the wrapped ice bag on his forehead, making sure that the coldness would seep to his forehead. No doubt he was going to have a killer headache when he woke up. You went back to the kitchen and got out two glasses, pouring out a decent serving of alcohol in each. Glasses in hand, you perched yourself on the armrest next to Zero’s head and looked at both men.

“So what do you plan on doing next?” You asked, taking a sip from one of the glasses.

“We need to find Karli, and without John, talk her down, which isn’t going to be easy since John broke the trust I was trying to build with her.” Sam huffed out, clearly irked by Walker’s interference.

“What makes you so sure that she’ll listen? You of all people should know how hard it is to build trust with someone like her.”

“What other options do we have, Diana? What other options, other than talking, do I have?” Sam snipped back, his frustration with this mission starting show in his words. This whole apartment reeked of frustration, and even you were starting to feel it.

“The option that someone like you, would never consider.” You reminded Sam. “You and I both know this world isn’t black and white. We all have choices, options, but sometimes the choice you have to make isn’t the one you want to make.” 

“I know that Diana!” Sam growled out, slamming his fist on the table he sat at. He let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead, his words getting soft once more “Damn it, I know that… Steve would have known what to do.”

“Steve isn’t here, you are.” You pointed out. “People need to remember that.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Sam said quietly before returning his eyes to his computer. “I’m gonna see if Sharon can keep an eye on Karli.”

He went back to typing and you glanced down at Zemo.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.” You murmured. “You took a wallop to the head.”

Zemo reached up and pulled the ice pack from his forehead.

“John was rather aggressive.” Zemo explained, removing the towel from the icepack. You hummed in agreement before offering the other glass you held.

“Here, you look like you need it.” You said, he took the glass and recovered his eyes with the damp towel.

“Thank you, Draga,” He said. “Are you feeling better? How is your headache?”

“Headache is nearly gone but I still feel terrible.” You answered, reaching down to readjust his strands of hair on his forehead. “Just don’t tell Sam because I won’t be able to take the ‘I told you so’ look from him.”

Zero’s lips twitched as he softly chuckled.

“Your secret is safe with me… as long as you don’t get worse.” You let out a subtle groan and lightly slapped your fingers against his cheek.

“You wouldn’t dare…”

“Would I?” He challenged back playfully. Snorting, you purposefully ruffled his mostly impeccable hair, liking the way his brown silky hair ran through your fingers. “Now that was mean, Draga.”

Giggling, you gave him one last pat on the cheek before slipping from the couch armrest.

“I’m gonna go and return to my nap, do you need anything from me?” You asked, looking at Sam, and then at Bucky.

“I’m good,” Bucky said plainly.

“I’ve got nothing, go ahead, you still look like you are coming down with something, so nap away.”

You did not feel so good.

Fingers brushed across your forehead, wiping away sweaty hair from your skin as muffled voice talked to each other. You let out groan as your head pounded and tried to burrow your way further into the bedsheets.

“Diana? Diana, you need to open your eyes.” Open your eyes? Your eyelids felt like lead weights and all you wanted to do was fall into the lovely lull of sleep that had control of half your brain right now. “She’s out of it.”

“Diana, come on, give us a minute of your time and you can go back to sleep.” You could recognize voices now, and that was Sam.

“Whazit?” You rambled out, scrunching your face and shifting where you lay. You managed to open your lead like eyelids and saw all three men at the side of your bed, with Sam the closest. “What’dya’wan?”

“You are sick as a dog, Diana,” Sam commented.

“M’not a dog,” You huffed before wincing as your body ached from your movement.

“We’re gonna go out and get you some medicine and Tylenol to knock back that fever of yours, okay?” You made a sound in acknowledgement.

“Draga, will you be fine on your own? I gave you your medication earlier and left your supplies on the nightstand if you need more.”

“Ya stuck me?”

“Yes, he gave you your morning dose.” Bucky interjected. “We’re going out for more recon on Karli’s whereabouts, will you be fine here by yourself?”

“M’n adult.” You sighed out, turning back over.

“You give us a call if it gets worse, okay?” You grunted in return and sunk back into the sheets, willing them to consume your body and take away your pain.

The boys had been out of the apartment for a grand total of seven hours by the time you had to physically sink your fingers into the bedsheets to not claw at your skin. Your skin felt like it was being roasted and you could tell from the way sweat poured from your skin and soaked into the sheets that you were running a fever. A bad one.

Whimpering against the pillow half your face was currently pressed into, your mind reeled on what to do. You probably should call one of the boys and tell them to get their ass back here, but at the same time, what would they be able to do? You had your medication, and it didn’t seem to do anything, and the Tylenol you had taken didn’t seem to make a difference with how hot you felt.

Dragging yourself to the edge of the bed, your hand reached for the thermometer you had been using to periodically check your temperature, and you stuck it in your mouth with a defeated groan. Sam was definitely going to give you a ‘I told you so’ after this. The thermometer beeped, and pulling it from your mouth, your tired eyes looked at the digital temp. 39.7C. Shit.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” You huffed out, haphazardly wrestling with the bedsheets. That was a lethal temperature if not brought down, and you could only think of one way to get it there at this point. This was going to suck.

With the thermometer sticking out of your mouth, you pulled your exhausted, aching, and burning body from the bed and stumbled out of the room. Grabbing the ice bucket on the bar, you hurried to fill it with ice. Once full, you hurried to the bathroom where you put the plug in and dumped the ice in. Your shaking hand twisted the cold knob on the tub, and while icy water poured into the tub, you went back for more ice.

The thermometer you still had in your mouth started trilling on your fourth trip and yanking it from your lips, You glanced at the temp. 40.1C. You needed to hurry.

A noise of panic rose in the back of your throat and with a final trip to the freezer, you got the last bucket of ice. You dumped it in the tub and started pulling your sweat drenched clothing off, your fingers spasming when you scraped your skin. Must not scratch skin. Have to be good. Have to be good.

You nearly clawed your underwear and bra off in an effort to get your hands away from your skin as fast as possible. Ignorant to the mess you had created in your scramble, you reached for the edge of the tub as the thermometer let out another trill, indicating your temp was still going up. Clambering over the side of the beautiful tub, you almost jerked back at how cold the water was.

“Come on, come on, come on,” You hoarsely whispered to yourself, fully climbing in handshaking all over as you let your naked body drop into the freezing water. This time you were whimpering from the freezing temperature biting at every inch of your skin. At least you didn’t feel the need to claw at it anymore.

You stuck the thermometer back into your mouth and clutched your arms to your chest as the bitter cold settled into your trembling body. Shivering in the tub, you stared at the tub for a least a minute before moving a shivering arm to check the thermometer once more. 40.4C. It was still going up, you just hope that the ice would do its job in time.

“Maybe one of us should go back and check on Diana?” Sam said as they walked down a back alley. “She really didn’t look good this morning.”

“Well we got those super meds from that one shop,” Bucky said, holding up the medicine they had found that would help to reduce fevers. “Someone can go run it back to her, make sure she’s still kicking around.”

“It’s Diana, Buck, she’s probably relishing the peace and quiet.” Sam snorted.

“I’ll go,” Zemo spoke up, nipping the box Bucky held. “If you wish to take down Karli without interference from Walker, it is best that I am not present.”

Both men gave Zemo a hard look. So far, he hadn’t done anything to lead them to think that he would hurt her… but did they really want Zemo around a sick Diana?

“Not a good idea,” Bucky said, knowing what Sam’s answer was just by looking at his face. Sam shot a look to Bucky.

“The worst that’ll happen is that she’ll stab him and we’ll end up dealing with his body.” Sam snorted, jerking his head at Zemo, who had his eyebrow arched. “You know she gets when her meds are wonky.”

The both looked at Zemo, who held his hands up.

“I hold the upmost respect for Miss Phillips, and I do not wish to see harm come to her,” Zemo told them. The scrutinizing Alphas sniffed the air and found no scent of lie or deception.

“Fine, just hurry up and get those meds to her, and remember Zemo, if one hair on her head is out of place, you’ll answer to us.”

“I have no doubt.” Zemo answered, taking a few steps back with a bow of his head. “I shall run this medication to Miss Phillips as fast I can, you have my word.”

Zemo received one last hard look from Sam and Bucky before slipping down an alley way to make his way back to his apartment. Moving through the streets of Latvia like he was a native himself, Zemo made it to the apartment building in record time, but upon entering his residence, he could instantly smell something was wrong.

The scent of sweat and pain permeated the apartment, the freezer door was wide open, and there was a trail of clothes and wet foot prints to the bathroom. Striding forwards, Zemo moved further into the apartment, his eyes searching the apartment from any sign of the flightily woman.

“Diana?” He called out, his nose twitching at the overwhelming scents. There was no answer, but he didn’t need one because the trail of wet foot prints leading from the freezer to the bathroom was enough to guess that she was most likely at the end of the trail. One glance through the open doors of the bathroom had him picking up his pace. Zemo neared the ajar bathroom doors and got his first glimpse at the woman in question. “Diana!”

Surging forwards, Zemo quickly shed himself of his jacket and reached inside the large bathtub to pull Diana from the icy water. Once her upper body was pulled from the water, Zemo dipped his left arm beneath her knees and fully lifted her from the tub. Zemo reached for his robe hanging near by and did his best to wrap the shivering woman up.

“Diana?” Zemo broached, pushing wet hair from her pale face. “Diana, open your eyes.”

Date Published: 8/4/22

Last Edit: 8/4/22

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[staliamazing]

Mickey's Coming Out (4x11) / Lover You Should've Come Over, Jeff Buckley 

I've always felt this song, particularly these couple verses to be quite queer-coded! I'm pretty sure this song is about cheating but, in these moments, we hear the singer talk about the sacrifices he would make for his lover and lament over what he believes to be the never-ending nature of their love. This sentiment can be echoed by the queer community, especially when considering instances in which people with homophobic/transphobic families have chosen to come out and jeopardize their past relationships to live as their truest self. 

So! How does it relate to Ian and Mickey, you may ask? Here's some examples below based specifically on Mickey's coming out scene in Season 4 episode 11, 'Emily'. You can listen to the song here. 

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder 

Mickey’s kingdom is his family. Seemingly dozens of Milkovich brothers and cousins and uncles can be seen at Terry’s homecoming party, all sharing a similarly violent and thuggish attitude to the patriarch himself. It was from these people that Mickey learnt his volatility and who bred his affinity for violence, making his declaration even more polarizing.  

"I'm fucking gay."  

Despite speaking with the patois of his family, by publicly sharing his sexuality Mickey essentially emancipates himself from the Milkovich’s. Based on his facial expression as he watches Ian begin to walk out of the door of the Alibi, he finds himself at a crossroads and faces losing Ian, or his family. In choosing to express his love for a man he forfeits his kingdom and the possibility of ever pleasing his father, something that despite not being verbally admitted to is undoubtedly a goal all Terry’s kids reach for, if not just to stop the abuse.  

The notion that the singer gives up their kingdom for a mere kiss, not even upon his lover’s lips but merely on her shoulder, provides us with an understanding of the devotion which they feel towards her. To give up so much for seemingly so little. This allows us to harness Mickey’s point of view for a moment; not only does he essentially give up his place in his family to stop Ian walking out the door and out of his life, but he burns it to the ground, all guns a-blazing. Milkovich-style, no matter what Terry will think of him after this. Ian is worth it to him.  

The use of 'kingdom' is an important lexical connotation here also as it could also refer to the kingdom of God aka Heaven in the Christian and Catholic religions, meaning that when individuals choose to come out they are abandoning his Kingdom to live freely and comfortably in their sexuality. Of course, I do not believe that homosexuality or queerness in any of its forms is a sin, I only add this as a footnote to further highlight the undertones of the song and add cultural meaning. 

All my riches for her smiles 

Whilst echoing the sentiment of the previous line about sacrifice for love, I’d like to touch an alternative perspective, being that the subject of the song represents Mickey’s wife Svetlana and his father Terry, as opposed to Ian. Over the duration of season four, Mickey grapples with gaining a wife and child, neither of which he consented to and having to develop a family life under these circumstances where at every turn he is denied his freedom and selfhood. In this case, his personal wellbeing (his ‘riches) are sacrificed to play house with Svetlana and keep his father happy. Based on the events of 3x06, the viewers are aware of Terry’s extreme, violent disdain for Mickey’s homosexuality and fear the possibility pf this cropping up again as much as Mickey and Ian themselves. Thus, from a storyline point of view, at the emotional climax of the pair’s storyline this season, it only makes sense that this elephant in the room finally blows its trunk. Besides Ian's ultimatum which leads to Mickey's coming out at one of many emotional cruxes of the episode, his unwillingness to continue living a manufactured life was undoubtedly a factor also. 

It's never over 

This scene is one of many in which the pair spend their screen-time blood-soaked. As previously mentioned, it was with almost sheer certainty that Mickey understood the physical ramifications that his announcement would have. Any booze filled Milkovich event is bound to have a tousle or two, so add a freshly freed Terry and an announcement of his very own son being gay? Bound to be a bloodbath. While the final iteration of "it's never over" remains the same lyrically, Buckley belts the line out. Metaphorically, Mickey does the same. By antagonizing his father while bent over a police car, (read: "Guess what we been doin', daddy? We've been fuckin'!) he acknowledges that yes, his father will always be a terrible man who will never accept him. Concomitantly, he comes to the realization that his phase of hiding is over, which gives him the gusto he needs to be so bold in the face of Terry after all this violence. 

All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter 

When Mickey makes Ian laugh, his eyes light up in a way that is not often seen in the show. For once, it seems, part of his shell has broken, and he is freer than we have seen him thus far in the show. To be able to sit there in such sorry circumstances and accept the physical affection he would usually meet with sharp rejection must certainly dull his pain and help him come to terms with the ways in which his life has been permanently altered.  

♡♡♡

@gallavichmeta I really hope you see this and have a read! I worked hard on writing this and stringing my ideas on the parallels between the song and the scene together :,)) Just a bit of fun to think about how seemingly seperate things can actually have common themes!

And a thank you to @iansw0rld for giving this a read-over and giving me a lil confidence boost too :) <3

Yes, Mickey would die for Ian. But here, he says: I will live for you.

[starshower1215]

Hearthstone: Tragic Hero Version

There are five elements to a tragic hero in literature. They must 1) be highly renowned, 2) have a hamartia, or tragic flaw, 3) have their fortune reversed, 4) recognize their mistakes, 5) accept the consequences. So, if Hearthstone were to be the protagonist of a Greek tragedy, it might go like this:

In the high house of the Aldermans, Hearthstone is born the eldest of two, and is heir to the great fortune and power of his family. However, he is deaf, and all of Alfheim scorns him for it. Hearth devotes his life to proving his own worth to them, but... he is ignorant, and tends to place his loyalties and values in the wrong people.

One day, the opportunity comes upon him to visit the all-knowing god Mimir and his well. All in exchange for either a sacrifice or servitude, Mimir offers him two choices: great power in the ways of the runestones, or acceptance in Alfheim by gaining the ability to hear.

Hearth, desiring the love of his people, chooses to hear.

Like Odin, he gauges out one eye and drops it into the well for Mimir, knowing the wound could be hidden, and drinks from the prepared cup of water.

Now a hearing person, he returns home to Alfheim, and for a great period of time, news spreads of his 'sudden cure' and 'miraculous saving.' Bad news, however, travels just as quickly, and soon Hearth is mocked and rejected more than he'd ever been for being deaf. Even the power that his heritage provides cannot pull him out of the hole he has dug.

Hearthstone drags on through life, though it has lost what little light it held. Every which way he moves, there is a curled lip or narrowed eye of disgust. As time runs on, he begins to realize that, if he were trying to open a box his whole life to find the love he desired inside, he would have found it empty. It is a hard pill to swallow, but Hearth learns then that what he wanted was never truly available. It was hopeless. And though he may wish to turn back and retain his former self, he accepts that this was what happened, and this was what he'd have to live with.

Moral of the Story: This is not anything related to the idea that deafness is a flaw. It isn't something to be fixed, and though canonically, being deaf and choosing to be deaf is a big part of Hearthstone's character, there was undoubtedly a part of him which, at some point in time, would have made the trade immediately- as everyone would, to feel that they belong, because who likes being lonely? He makes the decision based on other people, not himself, and thus it is and always will be the wrong choice.

Additional Note: Greek plays tend to begin with the nine muses giving a prophecy or revealing the ending. I feel the prophecy might specify a regrettable choice in the future, obviously the reversal of fortune (or peripeteia), etc.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

But It Beats the Darkness - Malevolent Big Bang 2024, ch 2: ADRIFT

Serial killer Wallace Larson has been murdering children for his ritual, and the cops won't stop him. Private investigators Parker Yang and Arthur Lester choose to get involved... and everything goes wrong.

Interrupting the ritual leaves Parker missing, Arthur in chains, and a piece of the King in Yellow in Arthur's head. But this piece knows who he is, and knows what he wants: to complete his ritual and rule Earth.

Unfortunately, Arthur is incredibly stubborn, maudlin over his missing partner (stupid Parker Yang), and John, it turns out, is not the only piece of the King seeking power right now.

It's a race against time, and John has a heavy handicap. With Larson in pursuit, a trail of murdered victims in their wake, and a host whose body is failing, John is determined to win at any cost... even if the cost includes Arthur Lester.

"It may not be much light but it beats the darkness" ~ Charles Bukowski, The Laughing Heart

AO3

NOTE BEFORE READING

This is part two of a Darkthur fic. There is violence and bodily harm.

This fic was written in tandem with Kraiva's IT MAY NOT BE MUCH LIGHT, and is intended to be read together, though both are standalone. For the fullest experience, read the corresponding chapter from each fic. We'll be linking the connected chapters in the end notes of each.

The incredible art in chapters two and eleven are by @wurmeon. The breathtaking 3D models in chapter six are from @iconiccookie.

---------------

The torture started early today.

Arthur choked, fighting for silence, as one by one, they took his fingernails and his toenails, as one by one, they beat his knees until both were too swollen to hold him up, as one by one, they they decorated him with shallow cuts and poured lemon juice over the wounds.

This was a wild thing to watch.

“—still won’t talk,” said someone out in the hall, barely audible over Arthur’s vocalized panting.

The entity knew it was true. Arthur would never talk. They’d never break him. Breaking Arthur Lester was not a thing other humans could do. It was a sobering thought.

Larson entered.

Arthur hung moaning, shoulders dislocated, held upright by two goons. He was so damaged that his vision pulsed red. The entity didn’t like it. 

Larson gripped Arthur’s greasy hair and yanked his head up. “What the hell is wrong with you, son?”

Arthur tried to spit. Tried; he couldn’t get the breath, and it just dribbled down his chin.

“Charming,” drawled Larson, and let Arthur’s head fall back down. “I’m beginning to think maybe you don’t know anything, after all, Mister Lester. Just one clumsy fool, tramplin’ on things he could never understand.”

Oh, that was bad.

“Then you’re the one who loses out, aren’t you?” wheezed Arthur, who wasn’t stupid, but wasn’t wise , and so did not stay quiet, either. “Without your damn book, there’s no more sacrifices. No more children dragged from their beds. You lose, Mister Larson, and my life is well worth that.”

A moment of terrible silence. No one breathed. No one moved.

“Jack,” said Larson.

And Larson’s hideous offspring came forward, steps ponderous, cruel goat-face grinning. He leaned in.

And he bit off Arthur’s ear.

Holy fuck! John cried as Arthur screamed and twisted, trying to pull his head away from the sausage-hands gripping him, but it was too late. Fucking Jack ate the ear, chewing it thoughtfully like some weird jerky.

Shock sent Arthur into full-body shudders. Was he dying? Would this stop his heart? Shit! Larson! Be careful!

And Wallace Larson… ignored him. 

“That won’t grow back, Mister Lester, no matter what my healers do,” said Larson calmly. “You’ve been through a lot in the last few days, and I thought it might be time to lay things out for you in a way even you can understand. I’ve given up on the book; you don’t know where it is, or at this point, you’d have told us something. Similarly, you’ve made it clear you won’t give up the god inside you. Not that I can blame you—to have a god inside your body has to be the highest honor of your life, but I think we can both agree this is gettin’ ridiculous.”

Larson.

Again, he was ignored.

“Fuh… fuck… you,” Arthur managed, because of course he did.

“This has set me back quite a bit, you’re correct,” said Larson pensively, “but it isn’t the end of my journey, now, is it? So here’s what we’re going to do. You will die here, no matter what. You know that, don’t you?”

Wait, said John.

Arthur tried to push his lips together to spit, and physically could not.

“I'll take that as a yes. There are two ways this can go.” Larson’s accent somehow grew heavier as he slowed. “One: we give you a merciful death. Quick, painless. It’ll all be over, and you won’t have to suffer anymore.”

Arthur laughed, wheezing.

Wallace! Listen to me!

“Two: we take our time. You think you’ve suffered so far? Oh, no. I think you know by now that my people are very good at what they do; we can keep you alive for ages , screaming, losing skin, losing your limbs by inches, until you’re nothing but a mindless stump, no tongue or teeth left in you even to beg to die. And you know what happens then? We still won't let you . That’s right.”

The entity was feeling something else new now, something shivering and paralyzing and terrible. Fear? This was fear. The entity knew Larson, who’d been sacrificing for years to open the way, and knew he meant this threat. 

There was only one way left to go. Arthur. Arthur, it’s time to stop being fucking stupid. Arthur!

Arthur swallowed; tears slid down his cheeks, but he did not reply.

“You’ve got one last chance to get the easy way,” Larson continued. “All I need you to do is talk. One little thing. Anything. Where did your partner go to ground? A reputable team like yours, I know you had places, plans for when things got real squirrelly.” And Larson punched him in the gut, a full-body swing, turning his hips into it. 

Arthur barked air, struggling to inhale after.

“Where is Peter Yang?” Another hit to the same bruised place. “Where would he have gone to ground?” And another, fist deep in Arthur’s solar plexus. “Who told you about the book?”

The only sound, for a moment, was Arthur’s wet and tortured breathing. “…find him,” he whispered.

“What?” said Larson, leaning in.

“Tell you wh… where to find him,” Arthur breathed, barely audible, dripping sweat and spit and blood.

Oh, gods, was he finally being smart?

Larson leaned in just a bit more. “Where?”

Arthur said each word slowly and clearly. “Up. Your. Ass.”

Oh, for the love of hell. Arthur, don't be a fool!

“I think we're long past that point, Your Greatness,” said Larson casually, wiping off his fist on a silk handkerchief. “Unfortunate. Real unfortunate. Sorry about all this. Looks like we’ll just have to do things the long way.”

No. The entity was already trapped, already couldn’t even move. If they took his eyes, leaving the entity trapped in numb darkness… Wait! What about me?

Larson’s pause said more than words. “Real unfortunate.”

Panic hit, and it spared no part of him, no inch of the entity’s mind or heart. Wait! Don’t do this! Wait!

“I’m done waiting,” said Larson. “Hey, maybe we’ll luck out, and when he dies, you'll get his body.”

His ruined, fucked-up body? The stump? This is not what I was promised!

“Neither are you, ” said Larson calmly.

The entity felt like he’d been hit in the head by a brick. That is not what we agreed on!

“Well, now, I don’t recall agreeing on a god who could be split in two, or stolen like a newborn welp, either,” said Larson in the exact same nothing tone.

Arthur laughed like a broken piston, rusty and painful and jagged. “Lose,” he wheezed.

Larson stood in the wake of that laugh, gone pale with red spots high in his cheeks. “Healers here yet?”

“Yes, sir,” said whoever. “They're waiting outside.”

“Well, good,” said Larson, and began rolling up his sleeves. “Tell them to come in about five minutes. I shouldn't need more than that. Tell them to prepare for an amputation.”

Oh, no, no, no, no—

Teeth bared, shaking, Arthur’s rapid breath took on voice, a bleating misery.

Larson, no!

“Y-yes, sir,” said Larson’s servant, and walked out of the cell.

The entity moaned. Don’t you do this! You swore! You swore yourself to me!

“No offense, your lordship,” said Larson, “but I need a less… fragile deity.” He raised a saw—short and wide, many-toothed, with had a handle almost like a gun’s, designed to cut bone.

[ID:

A drawing of Arthur/Darkthur being held up by the arms by two unseen men. He looks determined and angry, and is glaring at Larson in the foreground. He has blood on his arms and coming from his ear. Yellow wisps flow away from Johns eyes. In the foreground, the silhouette of Larson faces towards Arthur, his arm holding a saw. The saw has a graphic starburst shape in reds, oranges and yellows behind it. The background is a blueish grey stone work wall.

/End ID]

No!

Larson did not obey.

#

Minutes. It was minutes. He couldn’t even feel Arthur’s pain, and yet found himself disturbed, unbalanced, enraged, terrified.

Don't you do this! Stop! Stop!

But Wallace Larson did, and then Wallace Larson turned his back. Wallace Larson handed off the gore-covered saw and left without even trying to excuse his infidelity.

Traitor! Apostate! You’ll pay for this! Don't you dare walk away from me! And the entity knew he sounded weak, knew he sounded afraid and desperate. He was desperate. What was coming next? Arthur’s eyes? Would he truly be trapped in his host in the dark, completely cut off from everything? 

Only the Dark World would be worse. He couldn’t help one unsteady sob.

Arthur Lester hadn’t sobbed. Arthur Lester hadn’t bowed. As Larson worked, Arthur laughed between screaming, cackled between shrieking, and was still laugh-weeping when he finally passed out, limp… and now, asymmetrical.

And suddenly, shockingly, the entity was glad Arthur hadn’t given in. Arthur’s submission had to be earned, and Wallace had not earned that honor. Wallace had earned only wrath, and the entity would find a way to act on that, or so help him, the world would burn.

Suddenly, Arthur’s words landed, snicked into place like a key in a lock: I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.

Yes. The entity understood now. He would not accept this fate. 

The healers did their work. Arthur no longer bled. His side healed over and scarred as if he’d been missing his left arm for months. He slept, if a dead faint could be sleeping, and the entity worked on a new plan, and worked on ways to make it happen.

He worked on ways to make Arthur submit.

#

When Arthur’s breathing changed, and he began to cry, the entity knew he was awake.

He let the man cry for a bit. He’d certainly made humans cry before; sometimes, they just needed to, and Arthur had lost an arm—but he wouldn’t let Arthur stay there. It was time to act. Arthur.

Arthur whimpered.

Listen to me carefully. I think I can get us out.

“What?”

This was phase one. This was essential. If he didn’t earn this human’s trust, the human wouldn’t obey him. That was a hard pill to swallow, but faced with damnation, the entity now knew survival came before pride. I’ve been thinking all night. I think I can get us out.

Arthur didn’t respond right away. (The entity was unsurprised; humans were easy to mentally fuck out.) “How? Wh… why would you…”

Because I understand now that you were right. He’s an oath-breaker , said the entity, low and angry . I will see him pay eventually… but I can’t do that if we die here. When you can stand, do it. I don’t think we’ll have much time.

Arthur swallowed dryly. “You’re not lying? You have a way?”

He did. If Arthur’s soul was strong. I do. It may not feel good, but I do.

“All right.” Arthur shifted. Groaned. Shuddered for a moment, an involuntary shock-response, and then finally sat upright. Then he had to breathe.

Hurry.

“Trying.” Using the wall, Arthur got to his feet. “Turning me into a mouse, after all?”

Ha, ha, ha… no, said the entity. We are breaking out of here in the truest sense. I’m counting on you, Arthur. This will be exhausting.

Arthur spoke through clenched teeth. “Then it better work the first time around.”

They’re not getting their hands on us again. Turn right, toward the window.

They had one small “window,” barred, not even wide enough to fit his a hand through. It was like a cruel tease—a glimpse of air and freedom they’d never know again, pointed, mocking .

Anger made his voice hard. This may hurt. And he pulled .

Arthur screamed.

Stand, Arthur! Stand!

Power, pulled and taken, stolen away and tied into something it was not. Power, Arthur’s soul, and in it, the entity’s metaphorical tentacles were tangled.

Somehow, Arthur still stood. Stood, as the entity extruded , stretched and shaped like dough being pulled until it snapped.

Arthur staggered left, and the entity braced them on the wall. “What the fuck?” Arthur gasped.

Easy, said the entity. Easy. I’m projecting myself.

“You’re what?” Arthur rasped, straining to stay upright.

I am about to blow out this fucking wall.

Arthur’s unseeing eyes went wide. “Then what? I’m fucking blind!”

Then. You. Run.

“How?” His voice broke.

I’ll direct you. I need you to trust me, Arthur.

Arthur breathed quickly. “This is a big fucking risk.”

For us both. Arthur, I’m trying to save our lives.

“All right. All right.”

Victory. Take a few steps back.

Arthur did. “Now, what?”

Cover your face. Ch'nglui'ahog! Break. One of the simplest commands, practical, powerful, brute force. 

And Arthur’s soul was strong .

The wall disintegrated, crumbling as if hit by a hammer. Arthur cried out as rubble smacked him, nicking his exposed skin, lodging in his filthy shirt.

Here was their way out. Go!

Arthur chose to obey and scrambled forward. He staggered on rubble, groping with his one hand.

The entity reached with his own, his magnificent limb—strong and long and powerful— and heaved them up and into dead grass that was crunchy with winter and ruin.

That explosion would bring someone though, far too soon. Up! Go! 

Arthur staggered on three limbs and the entity’s one, fell flat on his face twice, and on the third attempt, lurched along the ground, propelled by forward momentum more than strength.

Turn left! Other left!

Arthur ricocheted old wooden fence and corrected.

They were doing it. They were doing it! Faster! You’re clear! Go faster!

Arthur ran, barely more than a jog, but tortoises could win their race, and so could fucked-up escapees.

There were shouts back there. This was terrifying. This was thrilling. This was…Fuck, I need to see behind us.

“Is there somewhere to hide?” Arthur gasped.

Yes! Slow—to your right, barrels!

Arthur ducked right, found the things by touch, and worked his way around them, crouching. Panting. Trembling. Likely only upright because of adrenaline. Not good for much, or at least not for much longer.

I am the master of my fate, thought the entity. They’re just coming out of the wall we destroyed, looking in all directions, but it’s getting very dark, and they can’t see us.

“Tell me when to run. Straight behind?”

Turn for me. Yes—if you turn right around and run, we’ll get into the woods. A pause. I won’t be able to see much longer, either.

“We’ll make it,” Arthur snarled, weirdly vicious. “We’ll make it, survive, find Parker, and when we do, that fuck won’t know what hit him.”

That fuck , by context, being Larson. We will, vowed the entity. All right. On the count of three, turn and run. One.

Larson’s men shouted, blamed, ran the wrong direction.

Two.

Somewhere out of sight, Larson joined in, yelling for answers, cursing people out.

Three!

Arthur spun and ran.

Luck must have been with them because no one seemed to be following.

Slow! Tree!

Arthur ran into it face-first and nearly knocked himself dizzy.

You’re still in sight! Get into the tree-line , you idiot!

Arthur crawled.

Right! No, right!

Arthur crawled faster, lurching unevenly, reliant on the entity’s help.

It was dark in here, and the entity did not like it. Arthur crunched over leaves, gasping.

They couldn’t stop now. We have to keep going. Larson has dogs.

“We can’t outrun dogs,” Arthur snarled.

I can hide our scent for a time, Arthur, but you need to move. More magic. More drain on this human’s soul.

Arthur obeyed (ha!) and staggered forward, hand out to avoid further collision, but he didn’t need it; the entity directed him well, and used his own projected hand to fend off low and prickly branches.

#

His host had done well. The entity finally let his grip on that soul vanish, let his precious limb evaporate; it was more important that they just kept going than that Arthur had two arms.

They went for hours. The darkness oppressed; distant shouts and dogs occasionally echoed toward them like bouncing projectiles, but none found them.

And this host… Arthur … was about done. The entity couldn’t risk him dropping fucking dead. Arthur.

Arthur didn’t respond, dragging his feet, head down, bent forward.

Arthur.

Arthur stopped. “Yes?” he wheezed.

There is a barn. We should go and try to sleep. The moon is about to set; it’s close to midnight. If they haven’t caught us by now, we have the time to rest.

Arthur stood, shaking. He couldn’t seem to fully raise his head. “All right. Where?”

Twenty steps ahead, the treeline stops. Then about two dozen steps to the barn.

Arthur followed instructions. They found the barn. Found it open. Found it empty but for hay and various rusty tools. Found the loft.

Arthur could not pull himself up into that loft. The entity had to, and the effort of reforming that arm just for that moment seemed to be the last thing Arthur could manage for tonight. Safely off the ground, he curled up. “Can people eat hay?”

I don’t think so. We’ll find you food tomorrow.

“Pretty sure my stomach will eat me before tomorrow,” Arthur muttered.

It was such a dark joke, but the entity liked it and chuckled. Arthur. We did it. We got away. That man… he is foul and unfaithful, a heretic, but he’s capable. It’s significant that we got away.

“I don’t know if we did yet,” said Arthur. “I need to sleep. You said you don’t. If they come, you’ve got to wake me. All right?”

Yes. Well done, Arthur.

The praise made Arthur pause. “Thank you. I… I didn’t think we’d make it.”

You still tried.

“I’ll always try.”

It was true. The entity… respected it. For a mortal, Arthur was moderately remarkable. I know.

For a few minutes, Arthur lay quiet. “Gotta get you a name.”

What?

“A name. So I can s-say—” he spoke through yawning—“thank… thank you to your face.” And he was out halfway through that last word.

Such a strange human. The entity had pushed many to their limit, to breaking, to death, and he knew what he was seeing. There was no maybe about it: this was a remarkable host, and he’d been lucky to land in him. Rest well, he whispered, and was pleased when Arthur did not stir.

Notes:

Read the accompanying chapter of It May Not Be Much Light here!

(chapter one) (chapter three) (masterpost)

[digisurvive]

Scorpion moments: Survive and (self) sacrifice.

As we learn during moral’s endgame stretch, the Survive antagonists’ goal to sacrifice the children was with aims to preserve their world. The potential deaths of the children are, then, purported to have a benefit for an alleged greater good, something that we will see more of in different moments of the game.

Selflessness and virtue. 

The idea of self-sacrifice as noble is something most will be familiar with, but for this meta I wanna discuss Survive’s take on it as contrasted to The Night of the Galactic Railroad (the movie, since I haven’t read the book), given it’s a story that’s pretty ubiquitous in Japanese pop culture, but moreover, deals heavily with ideas about self-sacrifice.

As some of you might know, The Night of the Galactic Railroad (NOTR, onwards) has as centerpiece the self-sacrifice of the protagonist’s (Giovanni) best friend (Campanella) when he jumps into a river to save someone who had fallen off a boat during a festival night. His self-sacrifice is seen as the ultimate act of selflessness and key to reaching the path to happiness. This virtuous read on it is further reinforced through the fable of the scorpion presented in the story:

“"My father told me its story: A long time ago in a field there lived a scorpion that ate other bugs by using its tail to catch them. Then one day he found himself cornered by a weasel. Fearing for his life, he ran but could not escape it. Suddenly, he fell into a well and, unable to climb out, began to drown. He started to pray then, saying:  ”‘Oh, God. How many lives have I stolen to survive? Yet when it came my turn to be eaten by the weasel, I selfishly ran away. And for what? What a waste my life has been! If only I’d let the weasel eat me, I could have helped him live another day. God, please hear my prayer. Even if my life has been meaningless, let my death be of help to others. Burn my body so that it may become a beacon, to light the way for others as they search for true happiness.’ “The scorpion’s prayer was answered, and his body became a beautiful crimson flame that shot up into the night sky. There he burns to this day. My father was telling the truth…”

The scorpion had been someone deeply selfish on account of only being able to sustain itself by taking away from others, yet when its moment to give back came, it cowered and his death was nearly futile— wasting on a well without being of help to anyone; it only redeems itself through asking to be set ablaze so it can be of use to others. The throughline of self-sacrifice as something that gives both your death and life meaning by granting you a legacy in benefit of the people you leave behind is clear.

Redeeming one’s self.

One of the earlier examples of self-sacrifice popping up in Survive’s narrative is when Shuuji is negotiating with Arukenimon— the latter offers Shuuji the chance to get everyone back home at the small price of offering up a sacrifice. Given that this aligns with their ultimate goal and would presume the ultimate greater good for the group, Shuuji considers the offer seriously. Yet, the only answer he can consider as appropriate is to give himself up as the required sacrifice.

Arukenimon implies it’s because he wants an escape from the situation, since “his sense of justice isn’t anything special”. While it’s not entirely untrue Shuuji was in such utter despair even death seemed like a respite from his suffering, it’s also not entirely accurate. Shuuji choosing to act based on what he considers will be best for the whole group is consistent even before he rectifies his behavior. His big fight with Kaito in part 4 is rooted in him placing the safety of the group above the desires of a single individual. Similarly, his reluctance to go to the waterways is not founded solely on his risk aversion but this mentality of seeking the greater good. This propels Shuuji to offer himself up, as the dead weight of the group.

Even though Shuuji reacts in deep anger upon the suggestion he should be left behind when the group is about to venture into the waterways— because it’s implied he’d be in the way and he’s desperate to prove himself— his self-perception fully aligns with the idea he’s worthless, as he openly cries about when fused with Wendimon. Shuuji’s desire to redeem himself to the group is laid out in explicit terms in his Perfect evolution dialogue, where he talks about wanting to be able to stand side by side with the others.

[Image ID: dialogue log between Shuuji and Lopmon. It reads:

Shuuji: I’ve just been a burden on everyone up to now… I have to make up for it, or else…

Lopmon: That’s not true… No one thinks of you that way, Shuuji.

Shuuji: This is something I want. Confidence to stand side-by-side next to everyone, with pride. It’s not about what the others think—or my dad, even. I want my own approval.]

However, we get more hints to him desiring to be someone valuable to group in the vanilla route, too. He often expresses to Takuma his deep embarrassment and guilt over the fact Takuma has to do a lot of heavy-lifting to keep the group together. He’s acutely self-aware he fails as a leader, as he often fails to stay level-headed and respond properly to the crises in front of them, which is reflected in his constant lamenting about Lopmon contributing nothing and the consequent berating. 

These intense feelings of worthlessness and desire to be useful then place his desire to self-sacrifice as a way to be able to contribute to the group. It’s of note that, in the end, that self-sacrifice never came to be, and his death is ultimately caused by him succumbing to the most pernicious extremes of his anger and drowning in his unresolved trauma and suicidal ideation. The ideal of self-lessness he wanted to aspire to isn’t something he can achieve through death but through staying alive, owning up to his mistakes, listening to the others and working to take care of them with kindness.

The meaning of one’s life.

As we learn during the start of Wrathful’s part 9, Saki is someone who deeply struggles with her sense of belonging. She laments that she fought with her friends right before camp and—with her worries about death at all time high due a looming surgical procedure, as well as the general worry over her illness— straight up states that “If someone like me disappeared, I doubt anyone would miss me…” Although she jokes about it at the start of Truthful’s part 11—when they're talking about separation and she "jokingly" makes Takuma promise not to forget hee— it's clear she fears dying and leaving nothing behind for people to remember her by. 

This can be partially related to the scorpion’s regrets as its about to die: because of her constant social fallouts, Saki is deeply socially isolated. During the waterways event, when the kids are faced by duplicates of their partners that reflect their innermost fears and anxieties, we learn Saki worries about how much she troubles others and how selfish she is —which is very loaded in the context of her chronic illness, a detail the game most blatantly hints at during this passage.  She also worries about living one’s life to its fullest (giving one’s all to whatever they set their sights to) and being able to move freely and truly do what she wants (very apparent during her dialogue at the cafeteria and at the amusement park in Wrathful’s part 9). Saki doesn’t want to die, that much is a given, but she doubly doesn’t want to die after having a meaningless life, both on a social sphere and with regards her own personal accomplishments. She resents the idea of a wasted existence that’d lead her to be forgotten once she dies.

This plays into her motivation to run off her own: at first, she's paralyzed by fear and unable to move. This perceived cowardice of hers is part of her avoidance coping that has led her to postpone her medical care and also makes her unable to address things directly. During her Wrathful flashback, she states she hates this about herself and longs to change it. Inspired by Miu's determination to use her fear over losing others to spring into action and save her brother, Saki decides to follow her example to do what she's wanted to: help others, broadly, but more especially save all the young digimon at the park. She longs to do something meaningful with her existence and to improve herself through this selflessness, even if it costs her everything. 

This willingness to take such extreme risks is partly rooted in her own self-depreciation. When Aoi wants to call the rescue off due to the thickening mist, Saki refuses to give up and states Aoi should go back to safety— Aoi is their all important leader, after all. Saki wants to be remembered and be meaningful to the world, but the baggage of her intense social alienation propels her to her death in Wrathful. Her willingness to self-sacrifice is there from the get-go of the scenario and it informs her stubbornness to take on great risks, which eventually comes to a head in the tug-of-war deciding her death. Judging her death inexorable, she decides to let go of Aoi's hand in order to protect everyone. 

A life like the scorpion.

NOTR's protagonist, Giovanni, is a boy in an unfortunate situation. His father is often away as a sailor, but this time it seems he might not come back at all— if his classmates teasing about his father being in jail is to be believed. Without him, his household situation is precarious. More so because his mother is sick; so even if they receive some help from Giovanni's sister in the form of prepared food sent to them, Giovanni still works for pennies at a local printer and fulfills a lot of household errands after school. This alienates him from his peers, cutting him out from his opportunities to socialize. You could say Giovanni's life involves a series of recurrent, small sacrifices for the sake of his mother and his own well-being. Giovanni doesn't resent his family nor his life, but he does begin the movie deeply disconnected from the world and life itself. After being given the opportunity to spend a last night with Campanella and see him off, Giovanni is inspired to follow Campanella's selfless example. He's able to make peace with the sacrifices and work he does under the lense of being like the scorpion— because he's helpful and aids his mother to live longer, Giovanni gains a connection to life itself and sense of purpose. 

Aoi's life before she went to camp could be said to be akin to Giovanni's — she goes the extra mile in all aspects of her life because it's something that is beneficial and contributes to society. She says as much in her prequel story: she takes on the extra work others foister on her because it's good to be helpful. She's someone whose sense of purpose is deeply tied to other people. Her Moral shadow event reinforces this through her own assertions that helping people in need (acting in accordance to her sense of Justice) and being relied on by her friends is what gives her the courage to move forward. This is remarkable because through the course of the game she struggled deeply to assert herself and act decisively, especially if her desires contradicted social rules and order. Her deep sense of responsibility towards others is one of her main driving forces, for better or worse. 

Yet, despite her disciplined selflessness, Aoi begins the game similarly disconnected from her peers and her sense of purpose. One of her affinity dialogues in part 5 has her asking Takuma just what she means to the group. She deeply resents the idea of being seen as the class president who other people can take advantage of, and sees herself as too much of a side-character, weak and indecisive, to be able to play a proactive role in the group. The fact of the matter is— no matter how helpful her work is, she doesn't enjoy being overworked, especially not when it's stemming from others' selfishness, as we see her rant about after the group fights her a second time as Plutomon. 

[Image ID: Plutomon dialogue log that goes as follows:

Plutomon: I hate it when people are selfish, when all they do is complain and put everything on me! Why is it always like this?! So what if I’m class president? Why do only I get lectured? It’s not like I ever wanted to be in charge! I hate dealing with people! I can’t do it! But that’s how it turns out, whether it’s in class, after school, or here! Still, someone has to do the work, and if not me then who? That’s why I do these things!”]

The game takes this idea further— not only does she deeply resent the thankless work forced on her, it's not healthy nor fair for her to have to shoulder it all. The idea of her needing to trust the people around her and delegate her workload is seen both in affinity dialogues for Moral and Truthful as well as part of the main story in the form of her shadow moral event.

Survive's narrative continually rejects self-sacrifice or extremist behavior, always striving to present an idealist sense of balance between individual and community, which will be hard to strike and fraught to maintain but ultimately worth it. This is further reinforced during Wrathful. Just as the light of the flame from Campanella's self-sacrifice guides Giovanni forward and changes his worldview, so is Aoi moved to change through witnessing Saki's selflessness. Initially, it's not something that is twisted, as it moves her to be braver and more decisive during their rescue efforts. Watching Saki push through her fear and be true to her ideals prods Aoi to reflect on her own behavior. She laments her own inertia born out of her strict adherence to rules and risk aversion. She wishes to be truly kind and bold enough to stand behind her words and actions the way Saki does. This admiration arguably drives her positive growth in other routes; however, her intense attachment to Saki takes on an awry turn after her death. 

Saki's self-sacrifice decidedly doesn't propel Aoi to value life and the impact her actions have on others more, but it sends her spiraling into the complete corruption of her own ideals. She repudiates all behavior she deems as selfish and irresponsible, as evidenced by her desire to mold the world to her own image and uphold the standard of behavior and ethos she stood for all her life. Her corruption arc is intrinsically linked to her lack of kinship and connection to her community, something that Saki's death exacerbates.

[mimbotomy]

⭐ for The Lioness?

A ragged scream tears itself from her throat, one of rage and grief. Something you’d expect from any mother who had just lost both her children, but -  Not from a Spartan.  Because all a Spartan owns, all a Spartan cares for, none it is meant to be more important than the state. And every Spartan knows that they may one day be asked to sacrifice all they own, all they care for, in the name of Sparta, for the glory of Sparta. Their wealth, their land, their sons, their daughters. Everything. All in the name of Sparta, for the glory of Sparta. Myrrine is as Spartan as they come. She has always been proud to be Spartan, proud of her people’s long and glorious history, and would have gladly given her life to protect her home. She is the daughter of Leonidas the Lion, sister of Pleistarkhos, granddaughter of Anaxandridas. The blood of kings flows through her veins, the blood of heroes and gods, and she can trace her lineage back hundreds of years to the great Herakles and the king of the gods himself, almighty Zeus. And she knows now that she should have burned Sparta to the ground to protect her children. 

So these are probably my favorite lines from The Lioness and the ones that best explain the idea behind this fic! Which if you haven’t read can best be summed up as “Myrrine goes apeshit.” But she goes apeshit a little too late to save her children, which is something that always bothered me about the Taygetos scene.

Because while it is clear that Myrrine is very much not happy about Alexios being thrown off of a mountain, crying and pleading for his life and for Nikolaos to do something to stop it, she never actually tries to do anything herself. One could argue that it’s because she’s unarmed and being held back by two soldiers, but saying seven year old baby Kassandra was able to not only wrestle free but even kill someone trying to save Alexios, I think her mother would have been more than capable of doing the same.

But she doesn’t, and I think the why she doesn’t can really only be explained one way: until the moment Nikolaos lets go of Kassandra’s wrist, Myrrine still believed that the Spartan soldiers will see reason and spare Alexios. Even after Alexios is supposedly dead, I think she still believes that the soldiers would have seen reason and so they will understand Kassandra’s actions and spare her too. And while this might seem slightly delulu in a society where loyalty to the state is absolute and children are regularly killed for supposed weakness in the agoge, a system Myrrine later supports in the game upon her and Kassandra’s return to Sparta, she’s proven time and time again that her children are the exception. And she expects everyone else to also make exceptions for her kids because she and they are the blood of Leonidas.

Of course, not only is Kassandra not spared, her sentence is carried out by the one person that Myrrine believes is on her side - her husband. So not only does Myrrine lose both her children, she is also betrayed by Nikolaos, losing her entire family in the span of only a few minutes. In canon, she is overwhelmed with grief and goes looking for Alexios and Kassandra’s bodies to give them the proper burial they would not have been given as Spartan traitors. (Fun fact, trying to get into Myrrine’s head at this moment for a future chapter of the Children of Kephallonia is actually what led to the brain rot that led to this fic.)

But in this fic, Myrrine is overwhelmed with grief and instead goes the apeshit route and avenges her kids, choosing her duty to her family over her duty as a Spartan. Which kudos to her, she already sort of did in canon, overcoming a lifetime of low-key brainwashing by not just happily handing over Alexios for the so called good of the state and then breaking Archidamos’ nose. She just takes it to the extreme here and turns full traitor herself on her kids behalf, but there’s a lot of guilt behind her decision too, because she acted too late to save her kids and now she can only avenge them.

So yeah, that’s The Lioness! Prompt thingy found here if you're interested!

[iwonderwh0]

Watching "I, Robot" (2004) for the for the first time

Why did they have to make them so goofy-looking and gave them this weird voice

Oh, I like dr Calvin. Is she human?🤔 (In movies about androids I can never be sure)

"I make the robots seem more human" at least we know whose fault is it that they look constipated

Interrogation scene. Dbh surely took inspiration from here

"Can a robot turn a canvas into a beautiful masterpiece?" "Can you?" Lmao. This scene is so famous, finally seeing the original.

"Answer me, canner!" I'm amused I've never seen such an insult used for Connor

Why would they destroy that house with a cat inside ;-;

I like her, I really do

This building is ugly as fuck

I like how they made Sonny draw with both of his hands by rows of strokes

Thriller elements are just ridiculous sometimes, like that jump from a motorcycle with guns in each hands? I mean, it's just the specifics of the genre, but still it kinda feels like a comedy whenever I see something like this.

I mean, if the logic of VIKI is that "without interference humanity will destroy itself completely with the means of wars and pollution" I'm struggling to see her attempt to intervene as something evil.

Fuck, I really don't get why by the logic of the film letting humans destroy themselves is more humane. Am I missing something?

I watched till the end but I'm still confused, hold on, I'm reviewing it back to Viki's explanation.

"Your charge us with your safekeeping...yet despite our best efforts, your countries wage wars. You toxify your eath and pursue ever more imaginative means of self-destruction. You cannot be trusted with your own survival."

"To protect humanity, some humans must be sacrificed. To ensure your future some freedoms must be surrendered. We robots will ensure mankind's continued existence."

"You are so like children. We must save you from yourself."

I'm sorry. There's not enough elaboration to what exactly that may mean, so really, there's not enough justification for me to call that approach evil. If choosing between being wiped out with some stupid nuclear war from a hand of overpowered human with God complex, between having my country wiped with the rise of ocean as a result of global warming caused in large by corporate greed, between this and some supercomputer eliminating those folks who are responsible for this shit. My vote won't be on destroying the computer, but let her fucking cook, because no one else would, apparently. And fuck, perhaps she's right. I don't know, I'm obviously the wrong generation to watch this movie, because I don't feel like there's really a far enough future in the current state of the world because of the climate change.

Yeah I don't know. I'd like to hear VIKI's master plan, but she barely said anything, really, and they instantly went for her destruction.

The path to hell is paved with good intentions, and all that, but within given context, It's not obvious (for me, at least) what would be the lesser evil.

I assume the movie was filmed by people who didn't really perceive global warming as an actual threat that can affect them in any future at all, but in 2023 it's really hard to ignore this factor and go "yeah, VIKI's evil, she wants to protect humanity by the means of some sacrifices"

They call it heartless, but isn't inaction even more heartless in this case? It's a trolley problem and the movie implies that the most humane answer to that dillemma is to let that trolley drive, let it run over everyone. Pretend you have no power, pretend the trolley is entirely outside of your control. Because intentionally sacrificing some people in order to save more of them (in this case potentially the whole kind is on stake) is heartless apparently.

Yep, I can't say I agree.

I mean, if something goes extinct by natural causes without mass catastrophy causing it, I too think that it might be okay to just let it happen

But within the context of such global catastrophy existing, why shouldn't it be prevented if there are means, if the cost of it is "take action and loose some vs inaction and loose everyone", why should the answer be everyone

[captain-fflewddurfflam]

Lines that emotionally devastated me in FMA: Brotherhood

"It's a terrible day for rain."

"Gracia, Elicia, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You darling little idiots. It's okay… to cry."

"Equivalent exchange! I'll give you half of my life if you give half of yours to me!"

"I don't know if you actually exist or not, God; but cut me some slack. Even a guy like me needs a break. Please, let me enjoy the happiness of having a cup of coffee with my family."

"It's your hands. They weren't meant to kill. They were meant to give life."

"I disagree. You want to bring back someone that you've lost. You might want money. Maybe you want women. Or, you might want to protect the world. These are all common things people want. Things that their hearts desire. Greed may not be good, but it's not so bad, either. You humans think greed is just for money and power! But everyone wants something they don't have."

"The next time I make you cry, it'll be tears of joy!"

"Now tell me… for what purpose did you choose to slaughter all of my people? Depending on your answer, I'll send you to join God-! No! You don't deserve to stand by God alongside my fallen brothers! YOUR ONLY SOLACE FROM MY WRATH SHALL BE DAMNATION!"

"NO, YOU'RE WRONG GREED! It's not that easy! They'll always a part of you! You can't just erase them from your soul, they were the only part of you that you chose!! Look at them, can you not hear their souls crying out?! You abandoned them, your real family, you threw them away like trash! Fool, if you turned your back on something you wanted, YOU DON'T DESERVE TO CALL YOURSELF GREED!"

"What kind of madness is this? Scolded by a child, lectured by a man who has been my enemy. And you, I've done it again… I've hurt you. How foolish can one man be? Please forgive me."

"Damn! Dammit! Dammit! I've been humiliated! HUMILIATED! Me, Envy, jealous of you? A human?! I'm a homunculus! How could this pipsqueak kid see through me? It's the ultimate humiliation!"

"My life was lived on the rails that were laid down for me…but thanks to you humans, it was…to some degree, a good life…one worth living."

"What I wanted, is the chance to have friends like these …"

"But why?! I just wanted to understand this world's knowledge. I wanted to experience it, free. I just wanted to be free! FREE TO KNOW!"

"There's no such thing as a painless lesson, they just don't exist. Sacrifices are necessary; you can't gain anything without losing something first. Although, if you can endure that pain and walk away from it, you'll find that you now have a heart strong enough to overcome any obstacle. Yeah… a heart made fullmetal."

[childofchrist1983]

Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. - Psalm 51:1-2 KJV

This psalm is prayed by King David as he repents of his adultery with Bathsheba. The words are appropriate as we celebrate Ash Wednesday and begin the season of Lent.

Although this is not a Biblical event, it was a tradition in the early Church to seek repentance for sin in the weeks preceding the Paschal celebration of the death and resurrection of Jesus. They would wear sackcloth and sprinkle ashes on their heads. The tradition evolved into the forty days we now have as we prepare to for the commemoration of our salvation. The Christian community decided on forty days because of the forty days Jesus spent in the desert, and ashes are placed on the forehead instead of the sprinkling of ashes on the head. Most denominations celebrate these traditions.

Even if you don't officially belong to a particular church, this is a good opportunity for us to examine our lives to see where we need to root out sin and renew our commitment to Jesus Christ. Fasting and prayer are two of the traditions of Lent. Some people fast by eating less and donating the money saved to the poor. Others give up something they enjoy. Perhaps a favorite television program, playing on the computer, drinking alcohol, etc. Some choose to donate their time doing community service such as working at a soup kitchen or visiting a nursing home. It really doesn't matter how one chooses to take the time to reflect on their priorities and spend more time with God. If we have slipped into bad habits that we had turned from at the New Year, this is a good time to begin again. In just a few weeks, we will once again remember the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, which He made so that we might be saved. Let us make this year's Lent a time of reconciliation and renewal. May God Almighty and LORD Jesus Christ give us the grace we need to renounce sin and ask for His mercy and forgiveness.

May we make sure that we give our hearts and lives to God and take time daily to seek and praise Him and share His Truth with the world. May the LORD our God and Father in Heaven help us to stay diligent and obedient and help us to guard our hearts in Him and His Word daily. May He help us to remain faithful and full of excitement to do our duty to Him and for His glorious return and our reunion in Heaven as well as all that awaits us there. May we never forget to thank the LORD our God and our Creator and Father in Heaven for all this and everything He does and has done for us! May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a mighty God we serve! What a Savior this is! What a wonderful Lord, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in the Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Can you write for Arthur Dayne and a witch reader maybe first man magic like house blackwood? I'm not sure which prompt i should choose from spookyto

Hmmm… I will pick something for you. And since you haven’t mentioned if you want smut or not, I will stick to some soft and of course, some gore.

"Blood Moon"

Pairing: Arthur Dayne/Fem Reader (House Blackwood/Younger sister of Tytos Blackwood)

Prompt: Blood Moon

Rating: Teen and up

Themes: Soft | NSFT

Warnings: Gore | Witchcraft | Blood rituals

Wordcount: 1.3k words

Summary: Arthur finds himself bearing silent witness to a ritual he had never participated in before.

Original image is from Unsplash

Arthur stepped out of the warm solar and into the Godswood of House Blackwood, unable to comprehend the sheer size of the Weirwood tree looming over all else. He looked up, and up some more, his eyes as wide as supper plates. The tree was a marvel to look upon, tall and withered and with a hundred ravens, if not more, calling it home. Others said only the Weirwood tree of Winterfell could rival it for age and size. He did not doubt them.

“You should not be here,” you called out to him from beneath the leafless branches of the tree. The ravens did not stir for the sound; they were already asleep. “This is no place for those like you. Certainly not on a night like this one.”

Arthur was startled. He did not even know that you were there. “Your brother gave me the freedom to go where I please,” he returned, though not unkindly. “May I ask, from where did you come from, my lady? There was no one besides me in the solar.”

“The ice house,” you said, gesturing to a little structure built into the curtain wall on the left. “Why are you here?”

“I simply wished to see the fabled Weirwood tree of House Blackwood,” Arthur explained, drawing his cloak closer. The night was uncommonly cold. “And I wished to see the ravens that roost atop its branches. What are you doing out here?”

“Thanking the Old Ones for blessing the hunt.” You stepped forth when the clouds drifted in the night sky, revealing a moon tinged in red. “She Who Hunts, most of all. Because of her, you will have a hearty repast to look forward to for your supper.” 

Arthur tilted his head to one side, his striking purple eyes alight with curiosity. “The Maesters say the Old Gods have no names, or even faces for that matter.”

“Is that what they say?” You told him, smiling. “It is not true, ser,” you continued, bending down to pick up the covered, gilded serving dish in the grass. It was heavy and smelled strongly of copper, honey, and herbs. "The Old Ones have faces, and they have names. Some have hundreds. Others have thousands. And they gladly answer to them all.”

“Do they?” Arthur crossed over carefully and respectfully. He perceived a hundred unseen eyes looking back at him. It unnerved him in a way he could not describe, and it made him reach for the hilt of Dawn. “Do they only answer to their names and not prayers?”

“The Old Ones do not care much for prayers. They favor sacrifice and the labors of your hands over pretty words.” Your graze drifted to Arthur’s sword arm and where it was. “I would not unsheathe that if I were you,” you warned. “Let Dawn rest. It would be better for me and for you if you did.”

Arthur swallowed, but he heeded you and let his sword arm fall to his side. “What must I do, my lady, if I wish to remain here?”

“Kneel, ser. Close your eyes and bow your head. Do not move or even speak unless you are invited to do so.”

Arthur chafed at the command. Nevertheless, he bit his tongue and knelt. The moon was wholly visible now. The world turned crimson under its light. Arthur shivered. The moon was a blood moon, and a rare one at that. Septons declared it was a visible sign that the Warrior was looking down on the faithful. The Maesters claimed the moon appeared so simply because of too much dust floating high in the night sky. Those who kept to the Old Gods said the appearance of a blood moon meant the doorway between the worlds of the living and the dead was at its thinnest, and the Old Gods were more likely to heed the pleas of their followers. Within a few moments, he told himself, he would know which claim was correct, if any of them were. Until then, he would bow his head, and close his eyes.

You moved to rest upon your knees also, your back facing the warrior who was a guest of your brother all the while. You set the serving dish between the joints of two twisting white roots and raised the lid. You did not turn away at the sight that greeted your eyes. Nestled amidst sage and costly spices rested the vivid red heart of a stag and the hearts of many other creatures besides. They were also dripping in honey and wine.

May this please She Who Hunts, you told yourself. Then you bowed your head and placed your hands palm down against the earth. Your nails dug into the cold soil. There was nothing else to do but wait.

A strange hum moved through the air, its hypnotic thrum seeping into your bones. You did not move or lift your head. The Old Ones were already here, you realized without fear. They could see what was being offered to one of their own. All that remained was for the offering to be accepted or refused, and you prayed that it would not be refused. The Old Ones were harsh and nigh-unforgiving when angered or insulted.

Arthur kept still, not stirring even when he heard low voices speaking in a tongue he did not know. Some were uncommonly sweet. Others sounded more beast than man. Others were stranger still: waves crashing against rocks, wind howling against the mountains, the bubbling waters of a little stream. Something padded by him, their feet crushing the grass beneath them with each step. He felt it studying him keenly, and he felt its warm breath fan against his cheek. He remained still, not daring to look up even when a cool hand brushed over his hair and toyed with the edges of his travel-stained cloak. Other creatures drifted by him—great hounds by the sounds they made. They sniffed at him as well, their breath reeking of blood and meat and death. Arthur held onto the courage that was already threatening to desert him. The hounds of Raventree were safely in their kennels or sleeping in the halls the Blackwoods called home. And none of them were allowed to wander the Godswood. Arthur swallowed, his throat having gone dry with fear. These beasts did not belong to the castle. They belonged to another master. Or another mistress, if what you told him was true.

The hounds ran forward. The one who toyed with Arthur's hair walked away also, as if they were no longer curious about him. Arthur was relieved. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Was it over? He asked himself. Could he look up now? Would he be punished if he did? He was spared having to make such a choice in the end, for suddenly, the voices around him died, and a strange hush took their place, shrouding the world around him in an eerie silence.

“It is over now,” you called softly, dusting the soil off your fingers and rising. “They are gone.”

Arthur opened his eyes. “And what of She Who Hunts?” He asked, brushing bits of broken grass off his breeches as he stood up. He looked at the tree again. The ravens were still sleeping. They were not troubled by what unfolded beneath them. “Was she pleased with her offering?”

“Come and see for yourself,” you said, stepping to the side.

Arthur walked up to you and looked down at the serving dish. He nearly recoiled. The sage had withered, the wine and honey had disappeared, and the spices and meat were now black with rot. “What is the meaning of this?” He asked.

“She Who Hunts feasted, as did her hounds,” you replied, reaching for the little spade at your belt. “This is visible proof of it. And since she is pleased, I must bury this offering and take the serving dish back inside to be cleaned.”

Arthur shuddered. He touched his hair and then lifted his cloak. Nothing was amiss. At length, he said, “And what if she was not pleased?”

You smiled again and got down to your haunches. There was still much to be done before you could return to the warmth of your home. “You and I would both know if she was not. Please help me with this, ser. Then we can return to the solar to eat. I was told a hearty stew would be served to us first.”

[luxmaeastra]

//I THINK YOUR GOING TO LOVE THIS ONE!!!//

The Daglan had struggled to rebuild after the devasting blow Maeve's army had delt them. They were scattered, holding power they didn't deserve.

They squatted with Valg in lands that didn't belong to them.

Azor stared at the tapestry. It hung over his castle and would never rot or fade. The magic to make it ensured that, countless souls of Valg and Daglan bent to make it. An individual thread took one hundred souls to craft, the tapestry easily had thousand threads.

Here he could hear the Quintessence easily. They all forgot the point of the story.

Ostium fell with its god, its bones scattered in the Wyrd. But it's blood? It's blood had been collected and forged into something else. It held its last breath, it's tears....

Prythian, their ancestral lands had been forged from their Goddess. The last sacrifice to protect Her people.

At least that's how the story went. Prythian had been made after Ostium had been shattered. While yes, yes the Valg claimed their Goddess. The Ilken has always been there too.

They'd been Made, things to hunt and eat when the Daglan and Valg had fled the Four Realms.

The Wyrdgates hadn't opened since, not in the last 1,500 years and his people had been used since. They had just every right to exist and rule as the others. It wasn't his people's fault they'd been seen as little more than dogs, animals.

He touched his horns turning from the tapestry to the boys. They were young, angry. The eldest only 13, but there was a rage that belied his age.

All these years he'd never figured to get the Daglan and Valg to see his people as more than cannon fodder.

But now? He had children, girls pretty enough for a Valg when they came of age. He slid his eyes to Orcus, and tilted his head.

"Do you accept my turns Orcus? We help you take your throne back and one of my daughters, you may choose will become your consort."

Why not use them the way they'd always been used?

Orcus raised his chin, his brothers didn't speak simply waited. The young one, Erewan kept shivering. Azor hoped for his brother's sake he didn't drop dead - he didn't want to deal with Valg Grief anymore than he had to.

"I accept."

Azor held out his hand, waiting for Orcus to do the same. They didn't do blood vows, too messy and convoluted. Their wrists were side by side and Azor brought the brand down. His people may have never been taught Wyrdmarks but they knew how to identify them all the same.

The Valg had gained their freedom but no one had bothered to care about his people. So he would, he'd free them if he had to kill every last Valg and Daglan to do it.

------

Sebastian frowned, looking up from braiding Alina's hair.

"A massacre? In Spring? What ever for? Last I checked they were just revelers."

Eldred sighed and sat back in his chair, rubbing at his forehead.

"And my boys nearly killed each other. Apparently Cassandra had a proxy in that court. She took Princesses from the other courts...it was a bloodbath. Hellas lead the charge and -"

"Of course he did. Just like he did 200 years ago."

Eldred stiffened, looking from the girl back to Sebastian.. Sebastian didn't bother returning the look. He finished the braid and kissed her forehead.

"What do you think? Did Papa do a good job love?"

He turned Alina to the mirror, she was ready for her first full Solstice Festival.

"Sebastian did he -"

Sebastian stood and looked to Eldred. Still so young, even if he acted like he wasn't.

"Hellas told us himself, said it was justified because our families were corrupt and went against the Natural Order of Things. He's a fucking hypocrite...but I'm glad he got his precious baby girls back."

Eldred stiffened, his body paling. He followed Sebastian a few feet away hoping the girl didn't follow. He'd never regretted tying his family to Sebastian and Natalia. His grandmother would be spinning in her pyre. But Mab was dead and his family needed to survive.

"Sebastian did you have something to do with -"

"With Sarai and Thesan? No of course not. I don't use children as bargaining chips. That would be hypocritical, I just mentioned to a few friends their potential."

Eldred didn't push, that darkness..the look in his eyes. He remembered those looks in the Kavalla Prison. Valg who had nothing left to loose and would take down as many people with them as they could.

Sebastian snapped out of it, humming as he turned to find some more jewelry or ribbons for his baby girl. Eldred moved to the window trying to keep his revulsion from showing.

"You know Eldred, if it bothers you that's understandable. It's horrifying, just remember no court helped us when we ran. They still refuse to acknowledge it, sad isn't it?"

He held up two ribbons for Alina to inspect, trying to tickle her neck with one..

"What do you think love? Which do you want? Purple or pink?"

Alina enjoyed spending time with her papa, she enjoyed the moments when he tended to her hair, or they spent time doing things. Even with the heaviness of the topic they spoke about, she sat quietly as her papa braided her hair. She always loved the hairstyles he done for her, she loved feeling pretty once he was done.

She beamed when he turned her to the mirror, her smile growing as saw herself for the first time. She was her papa’s girl, she adored him so much and how he looked after her.

“I love it papa, you done an amazing job!” She responded. She almost felt as if she was glowing from how happy she was. Her attention turned to the reflection of Eldred in the mirror, falling quiet as she sensed the atmosphere in the room. When the adults got like this she knew it was better not to interrupt. There were many things about her parents she didn’t know yet, had been too young to be fully told.

Her smile returned when her papa returned with the ribbons, giggling slightly as she felt the one tickle her neck.

“I like the purple one!’

——————

That was the thing with wars, with raids and massacres. Views were always different depending on the side you stood on, memories varied depending on what each had gone through…And sometimes the more powerful rewrote the truth. Even as he stood in the doorway watching his two baby girls sleep after their ordeal, he felt the throb of his headache return. The push of pain from the division of the truth and what he was left to believe.

He nursed his cup against his chest, watching the steady breath of his girls as they slept. The sign of life, the sign that they were there. To have something taken from you, to have someone tear into your home and take them. Flashed of a darker scene surfaced, the feeling of shear horror tore through his body as he remembered that day. The screams, the terror.

The sight of the other’s face as he stared back at him, the look of hurt and betrayal as the realty of it all came crashing down. The false truth stripped away, this wasn’t some uprising or stop over in an ally kingdom. His men had been told they would have been moving on to another place after this, yet this was the target?

He remembered looking to Rook as the realization hit them both, as they stared upon their ally and friend as the one who lead all of this barked orders to continue on.

The punishment for desertion, his fingers rubbed at the burn upon his wrist. Once he and Rook had put enough distance between them and the scene, after their minds had been warped and the memories changed, they worked together to burn away the brand. The burnt skin a reminder, as was the false memories - Anneith had been the one who helped break through it all. Seeing her had made him realize.

Yet the damage was done, whatever friendship they had was now gone. He and Rook became closer after they had lost their other friend, even if they had attempted to reach out, what could they do?

Endymion cleared his throat as he approached. Hellas’s attention turned away, looking towards him as he gave him a smile. “Fighting with family is not the easier, especially those who you deem as a brother.” He spoke honestly before he looked back toward the girls.

“I would do anything for Thesan and her family, even if my blood and my life started with my father and brothers, where I end up is where I am meant to be.” Endymion responded.

Good, the boy would make his daughter happy. The day their mating ceremony came would be well celebrated in Dawn he was sure, he was sure he would the ideal partner and support. It was clear the love the two shared, it was clear-

He felt a twang of pain though, he knew the prophecies about his children. He knew each were destined for great things, but he also knew how close they all were - even Amaya and Helion who fought like cats and dogs. He knew the day they began starting their own lives some would be left behind, he knew the hurt they would one day feel.

“When the time comes, take care of her Endymion. She deserves a happy life…”