#it's not like i can deny this of merit or truth

[mikkolas]

the unfortunate truth of the matter is that god is a game of thrones fan and went wouldn't it be so funny if we made a hockey guy JUST like robb stark. and then connor mcdavid was born

[melliemell]

Pairing: Jouno x reader

Contents: SFWish, interrogator jouno, reader has a mind control ability, improper use of tea, CW for noncon and dubcon elements but nothing too major, he's an ass and there are consequences duh, Approx 2.8k

The problem with having an unconventional ability–

–is that it rarely goes as you planned, yes, but boy does it do good for entertainment. 

“My, you seem to be in good spirits today.” Jouno sipped from his teacup leisurely before resting it back down on the saucer. The audible clink of porcelain rang in the small room like a ripple. You swallowed the sound up as your heart thumped fast suddenly. Your eyes bore into where it rested in his hands. 

Tea. He brought tea. 

“Such a shame to waste it all up in here, wouldn’t you agree?” he said. Jouno smiled at you then, lips pulled in a pleasant, almost friendly expression. And entirely fake. 

He was tormenting you and enjoying it, yet he had no idea what he’d just done. None at all. You could fall into hysterical laughter then and there just by the thought of it. The…

The opportunity.

Hopefully… soon. Yes, soon. 

The hunting dog came here from time to time. Trotting in, chair in toll and all. But it was hard to draw an exact pattern. The small white room you’ve been confined to seemed suspended in time and devoid of all life. Except you– its sole occupant for, hmm, days? Definitely days, but how many weeks? You had to give it to them; their tactics of extracting information were very creative, in an unpleasant, cruel type of way. Your eyebags were proof enough of it.

Maybe they were hoping the isolation would bring about your betrayal of the Agency. Sooner or later you’d give in and beg for freedom. It was a close call, you couldn’t deny it. It was taking its toll on you, and that’s why… it had to work. Now. If not now…

“Can’t I enjoy your company without your jabs?” you said, forcing a calm demeanour. “We both know you won’t be letting me out anytime soon.”

“Quite observant, aren’t you?” Jouno said, voice pleased. “I see you’ve had some time to ponder.”

You held your tongue. The first time Jouno came here, all smugness and not a filter to his mouth your fist flew right through his face, the small white particles dispersing before they rearranged into his twisted grin. You could barely stand him then. Now he was merely a pest. An entertaining one, yes, but still unpleasant.

You really didn’t like him.

“All I can do here is that, thanks to your wrongful accusations,” you said evenly.  

Jouno laughed, light and completely devoid of merit. “Your loyalty is admirable, I’ll give you that. Actually I’m impressed by it.” He leaned in. Even with his eyes closed you felt him bore into your soul. “I’ve always upheld the belief in equal devotion. And yet here you are, completely forgotten by the ones you’d give all for. Left to rot away. A shame.”

You couldn’t deny it, Jouno was really good at jabbing right where it hurt. Yet his visits were the only form of stimuli you got in here. He might be the only thing keeping you from completely losing it, yet he never failed to struck at your nerves, playing you like a fiddle each and every time.

You held your ground, you did. As hard as it was. But this time, he needed to feel like he was winning if he were to trust you enough for your plan. Or fall for it.

You looked down, keeping still.

“What’s the matter?” Jouno probed, the bastard enjoying this. “I apologise for my frankness, but I can only offer the truth.”

“Shut it,” you said quietly, voice honeyed with self-doubt to the fucking moon.

Jouno only hummed, raising his cup for another sip. 

Your eyes followed the entire movement; from his firm grip over the handle to the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. Forcing your body to react as strongly as it could brought a strain, but it was worth it. Jouno might be blind but he relied on his other senses to read his opponents. Every detail counted.

He had to pick up your signs. You were going to force him.

You saw his lashes flutter, head cocked to the side as though observing you. You held your breath.

Finally… “In that case,” Jouno said, straightening up with a lazy stretch. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to our little chats but since you wish me gone–”

Your heart dropped, panic engulfing you. “No,” you said before you could stop. “Please don’t go.” 

Damn it.

“Oh?” Jouno swirled the tea around in his cup. That smile was back in place, spreading wider by the second. “You change your mind so quick lately; this place really has a bad effect on you.”

You bit back your reply. It’s what he wanted, after all. You could do better than that. 

“Well you should up your game on the decor, it’s depressing just looking at it.” You hesitated, before, “Food too. Is only white rice the best you could do? Talk about a small budget.”

Jouno considered you, remaining quiet for a few seconds too long to your liking. Maybe it was more a game of chance, all this. Who knew what the other was thinking?

“Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?” Jouno asked, head tilted. “How delusional.”

“From you?” You laughed, voice hollow. “No, I know there’s no point in that.”

“So we’ve learned quite a bit about each other, it seems. How educational.” Jouno tapped against his cup, humming. “And boring.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“You should be, yes. I have no interest in you personally. And your quietness has been disappointing, ” Jouno said, sighing. “What a waste of good time it’s been. Anyway, we’ve been dealing with your little friends of late. Not much need of you now then, I'm afraid.”

Your body froze, heart seizing as worry engulfed you. “Dealing how?”

“No one can escape judgment.” Jouno ignored you, hand swirling his tea in his cup. “Sooner or later. Just as you now, and seeing as you won’t be needed I believe this will be our last little chat.”  

He waited for your answer, relaxed as ever.

You could only laugh heartlessly at this. He could be playing you for all you knew. But a small tug at the back of your mind screamed. 

Last chance, your ass. He’d be back. He will be. But when? How long until next time?

How long until you can help your people?

Act now and regret it later sounded so much sweeter now.

“Thrown away like a stray, huh,” you finally said.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Jouno’s lips curved. “You’ll be safe and sound– right here.”

You looked up at the ceiling, gut twisting. You certainly looked the part of a depressed person. “Can I get at least a small mercy? Or am I too lucky to have you as my guarding dog?” 

“Of course you may ask,” Jouno said. “I’d be happy to hear your sorrows and provide no absolvement for them.”

You looked at him then. To this stupid man and his stupid smug face who would rather spend hours enjoying your torment than do his job. Upholding the law sounded like bullshit coming from him. What law? He could hardly discern being played with by his real enemies, how could you ever trust him to uphold the law? 

If he so liked being deceived then let him be your guest. 

Let him.

“That tea,” you began quietly, wetting your lips. “May I have of it? Please,” you added, looking anywhere but at Jouno.

There. You sounded pathetic enough. Hopefully desperate too. But it wasn’t for you to decide. 

You waited.

“Is that so?” Jouno trailed a finger over the cup’s rim. 

“You can just say no,” you said, forcing the words out. “No need to be an ass.”

Jouno tapped the handle, head rising up. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m considering.”

“You are?”

“I really don’t like people like you, you know,” Jouno said. “Trying to squeeze by unscratched, believing yourself to be above the rest. You run and run, and then you get caught because that’s how it is. Yet the shock is still there. It’s not hard to connect the dots; you reap what you sow.”

Ah. He was going on his favourite little rant again. Not good. “So you’ve said.”

“Then you know what my answer is.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I see.”

You had a guess; not a pleasant one. You wouldn’t be getting anything unless you gave back in return. The golden rule. Like you hadn’t already said the truth. All the rest was details they were sure to use in fucking up even further. But…

There was a gamble in this. One that wasn’t of much use, but it would surely be worth at least a damned cup of tea. 

You didn’t even need to drink the whole thing, really, you just needed your lips to touch it. Only that. Transferring saliva was a tricky thing, but if done unnoticed, Jouno’d be at your mercy. 

“I could…” you began, eyes boring into Jouno’s face. “I could tell you of my ability, then.”

“My my,” Jouno whistled. “You must despise rice that much.”

Your nose flared. Food felt more like a chore here, the necessity of it the only driving force behind you eating it. Some days even chewing was hard; forcing your weak body to rise from bed only to swallow a spoon of cardboard rice was too much before you huddled back onto your small bed.  

Pathetic. 

But not eating meant death.

“It’s what I offer,” you said, forcing your voice to be stern.

“Hmm, tempting. Yours and your allies’ as well.”

“No. Only mine.”

“Then I’m afraid I’ll decline,” Jouno said.

Damn him. Like hell you were going to say all that.

“That tea must have gold leaves in it if you want so much,” you said.

“It’s not what’s inside, it’s how much you want it.” Jouno smiled.

Damn him. You were getting impatient. “My ability and how to deactivate it. Nothing more.”

Jouno peaked. “Deactivate?” You didn’t like the look on his face. “So it’s effect-based.”

“Why, if you want to know more– you know how,” you said, voice sweet.

Talking to him always sent you back and forth. It’s no wonder they chose Jouno as your interrogator; he was truly marvellous at crawling under your skin. Types like his were better to deal with first lest they cause more problems.

“Fine,” Jouno finally said, your eyes widening at the sudden change. “You have yourself a deal.”

The moment your hands touched the porcelain, Jouno stretching it out to you, your mind blanked. The water was dark, maybe black tea? it smelled nice but you were never good with smells. A deep scent that engulfed your senses as your stomach growled just from the proximity.

This… you’ve– damnit. You could almost cry. Such a small thing and they’ve managed to get you to a point where a stupid cup of tea could almost bring you to a meltdown. You tried to push away the memories of your warm bed, the curtains flapping to a distant breeze as light seeped in. Daylight. 

Not the hospital white they had here.

But it didn’t matter. Not when you knew Jouno’s whole attention was directed to you. 

You brought the cup to your lips, your movements slow. 

You’ve… never done this before. The idea of it so absurd you began to now doubt its success. And yet, you licked your lips; try as best you could to transfer part of your saliva into the liquid. Just a drop; no need for more.

Any liquid from your body should do the trick. Blood was ideal, yes, but it’s not like you could shove a bloodied palm in Jouno’s face and say ‘drink’. He’d probably have an opinion on the matter. 

No, no– this was best. The only option. As far-fetched as it was…

You knew mind control abilities were as powerful as they were rare. But only if the right conditions were met. Yours just happened to be on the peculiar side.

So long as your target ingested it… Not that you knew how exactly you’d make Jouno. The best guess was if he’d drink from the tea after you. But– 

You drank a few gulps, barely stopping yourself from more. It wasn’t part of the plan.

“Well?” Jouno asked.

You swallowed, the segments of an idea forming. You looked down at the tea, your heart racing with the possibility. Jouno’s brows furrowed. 

“Yeah,” you said absently. You stretched your hand. A starving prisoner would goble the entire thing; not just sip like a dainty lady and then give it back obediently. You knew that. 

And most importantly– Jouno did too.

There wasn’t time to self-doubt. He wouldn’t drink from it. Not when he expected your answer. No, the tea was nice, warm. It left a pleasant tingle inside your mouth; one you let engulf your senses as you gripped the handle harder, pulling back just enough to set the momentum of throwing the hot water against Jouno’s face.

It was rather comical. Jouno sitting before you, face straight as his hand went to the sword at his waist– only to have your wrist flick tea at his face a second later, the droplets falling down his perturbed face as you both sat still in silence.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, blinking at him. “My bad.”

A swishing sound and you found the end of a sharp blade pressing into your neck with Jouno standing over you.

He… looked angry. About eighty percent angry, maybe. Hopefully. The tea trailed down the curve of his cheeks, nose… the cupid bow of his lips. A few fell onto your thighs, staining your pants dark.

“I see you’re finding ways to amuse yourself. How is that turning out for you?” Jouno said, the blade pressing into your skin. 

You winced, head tilting. You focused on a drop trickling down Jouno’s cheek, only to stop at the end of his lips. You smiled. “Pretty good.”

“Amusement time’s over then. We’ll see how lucky you’d…” 

Jouno’s words felt distant, your focus entirely drawn to the sensation in your body. The ever-recognisable tingle of your ability on the crisp of activation. The pull was barely there, you doubted it would hold for much of anything, so you had to make do with what you had until now.

You imagined your hands reaching out and clasping at a string. And you pulled.

“Jouno,” you said, cutting him mid-sentence. “Don’t move.”

A cool wave washed over you as Jouno had but a second to scoff indignantly before his body seized up, muscles locked in position as his face relaxed into the all too familiar expression of blank obedience.

You stood up quickly, nearly toppling as your sight turned black. But it didn’t matter. Your hands found purchase in Jouno’s triceps as you pulled him in, smashing your lips against his. 

The tea was barely enough for one command. And you were just getting started.

You reached up, hand clasping Jouno’s jaw as you forced his lips open. He tasted of coffee, not at all what you expected as your tongue moved against his. You didn’t know how long you had to do this, it’s not like there was a manual on ability use. But you held him in place, your worry spiking until you could sense the strings wrapping around Jouno, your ability building up in strength by the second.

“Relax,” you whispered against Jouno’s lips, the command forcing you to tighten your grip around him as he staggered against your body. “Not that much, fuck!” you said, scrambling to keep you both up. The sword slipped down with a loud cling.

Okay, this was… good. Manageable. Could have been worse. You pulled at the strings, feeling him being engulfed by them entirely.

You drew back to look at Jouno’s face. The annoyed pull at his muscles was gone, his expression bordering on serenity that barely suited him. For all his cruelty, you didn’t feel like throwing the same back at him. Your thumb trailed down his cheek, caressing curiously. He could almost be pretty if those smiles had any real emotion behind him. 

It’s a shame people like him existed. Kindness was foreign to him, all the more reasons to not feel bad for doing this.

“Jouno,” you began, drawing his attention to your words. “Get me out of here. Discreetly, please,” you added. 

Jouno straightened up, picking up his sword. Within seconds you were in a long hallway, your steps echoing into the vast emptiness beyond. 

Your entire body tingled with excitement. Hope. The place you were in could have been at the other end of the world for all you knew, but as long as you held Jouno under your ability– yeah, you’ll be okay. 

You thought you’d feel bad about it, at least a bit. But the emotion wasn’t there and it didn’t come the longer you moved, your steps steady behind Jouno’s the entire time. 

You began to smile. If luck would have it, you might end up bringing a hunting dog to the agency yourself. You doubted Jouno would mind. 

Not anytime soon at least.

...

and now I crave jouno hate sex, love it when that happens

thanks for reading!

[sideysvault]

𓍼ོ Ad Astra Per Aspera 𓍼ོ (PT. 3)

Preservation

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

wc: 1015k

Tags: [sfw] Arranged marriage, slow burn, angst, mentions of dead, mature themes, enemies to lovers, hurt, comfort.

full series masterlist. read part four

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“You must indulge me and carry a weapon with you. You are my wife now. That implies risk in these circumstances”.

The Princess couldn’t help herself, she blurted out a laugh as she playfully —not without a hint of cruelty, of course— added “Are you having delusions of power again, dear husband? We are not the ones responsible for the royal lineage, remember?”.

Aemond snapped his tongue in annoyance, forgetting everything he was taught on the matter of manners and polite diplomacy. It was always the same with her, the constant bickering, her vain mockeries. He was sure it was some kind of delusional defense against the act of political marriage, because he had seen her be nothing but sweet towards Heleana and his niece. Despite knowing that fact, he still felt that their differences and her inclinations towards confrontation constituted an act of personal defiance. 

On the other hand, his wife was tired of his constant oscillation between coldness and strange tenderness, he had been cruel to her about their lineage, and now was he seeking to protect it? 

Whatever spell had been cast upon them on that dreadful night, whichever feelings were discovered, however warm their touch had felt to one another, it was now undoubtedly broken. 

She knew that despite being feared and undermined, Prince Aemond was also passably seasoned in the art of war, and of civility at court. She did not consider these traits to be of great merit, as even a chimpanzee would be considered to be formal and of considerable intelligence if it stood directly beside The King.  The Princess was not entirely sure where his urgency was coming from, but, knowing of The Queen's Dowry’s great cunning expertise in Machiavellian machinations, she was not sure if she should be afraid.

She scoffed out loud without meaning to. His paranoia must be rubbing off. Aemond seemed offended, as he exclaimed with irritation “You of all people must know what happened. We ought to do what we can to protect ourselves against the enemies of the crown“.

While it was true that the white cloaks wasted the entirety of their time drunk on wine and whores, the truth was that she felt safe with her husband. She would have never said it out loud, of course. Much less to Aemond himself. But she simply could not deny that he was fairly capable with the sword, childishly paranoid and positively ruthless. The Princess really felt no need to arm herself like a scared lamb. And she told him so. “Such displays are in bad taste”. 

This was his time to mock her with a snort. 

“Being precautionary is in bad taste now?, I had not yet been enlightened with that information” The Princess frowned. She was still getting used to her husband biting back, instead of his usual annoyed and quiet nature. 

“It merely functions as a cry of desperation, not to mention it announces a lack of control within the own walls of your home”

The Prince, clearly tired of the back and forward, tiredly stated “Well, let it be small then. Conceal it if you wish, but we must start being careful”.

She felt a pinch of guilt. On some days —such as this one—, she wondered why she always had to put her worst face forward with him. She naturally had her reasons, but most of the time, when he was not ignoring her, she could tell he was making an effort to be cordial. 

“Why are you so suddenly preoccupied with my well-being?” The change of tone in his wife's voice confused him. The serious ring to it was suddenly replaced with a playfully lighthearted one. Noticing his discomfort, The Princess tries a new strategy, while exaggerating her inflections slightly, she dramatically sits on the arm of the chair in which her husband rested and grabbed his cup. “Oh! Husband. You must stop drinking that tea immediately” It was wine “If I knew you loved me that much I would’ve never poisoned it” Evidently charmed by her own ingenuity, The Princess laughs at her own joke as he rolls his eyes with a small smile on his lips. 

He took the opportunity which her proximity granted him to look at her. On a good mood, with that smooth and resolved attitude of hers, and the smile, and the way her hair ran through her slightly exposed shoulders… He stopped his sequence of thoughts before it was too late, and he lost all ability to do so.

His strong features recovered their sobriety soon enough though, as he whispered to her “Heleana and Jaehaera will suffer greatly if something were to happen to you”

The Princess, unable to control her body's reactions, rapidly felt her face feverishly enraged with embarrassment. Not knowing what to answer, she simply instinctively began to fidget with the baroque embroidery of her dress's sleeves. It was certainly true that she has not been any careful about her new-found relationship with the queen. She knows that if he ever uses it against her, there is no one to blame but herself for it. 

She gazed at her husband. He was strikingly handsome, especially under the dim lights which always seemed to highlight his cheekbones, especially when his silver hair reflected the moonlight of the marital chamber, especially when he was being kind. The Princess sighed.  

“If you are so bent upon the matter, I suppose I ought to comply. But it must be discrete”.

A wide grin appeared on his face; Cunning, triunfant. He carefully put his wine cup on an improvised protective cover her wife had made In an effort to stop hearing his winning about dust and marks on the table. She smiled.

Prince Aemond got up, ceremoniously bowed towards her, and buttoned his garment before making his way to the door. Before he left, he slowly turned around to see her one more time, just once. He gazed at her and proudly stated “I promise. As small as the pen you write your stories with, dear wife.”

Dear Gods. He could be such an annoying bastard. 

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Notes: THANK YOU! The comments and re-blogs really do bring me so much joy. Here is a short but sweet chapter in order to celebrate that i got into one of my target unis! I am beyond happy. During these moments of stress being on tumblr has been a safe heaven. Anyways, as always, take care! -Sidey xx

Dedicated to the sweet @immyowndefender and @theresalwaysquotes whose comment really made me smile

[robinnsblog]

✨Who did it?✨

Or, as an alternate title:

I can’t believe I have to play Devil’s Advocate for Ozzy…

Yes, your honor, he did haunt Elise until she passed away, ruined Roman’s life as collateral, sort of kidnapped Henri and almost murdered Goldia. I can’t deny that he is, in fact, the main villain in Pocket Mirror and sole responsible for the events in that game.

However!

In Little Goody Two Shoes, he isn’t the only schemer behind the scenes. Our second player is Walpurga — and I don’t think we’re giving her enough credit. It’s easy to misjudge her as a secondary threat in Elise’s path when, actually, she’s the main instigator.

I dare to say that she’s even the one to start it all, the one who led Elise to her eventual downfall! Ozzy just took the merit after she was out of the picture.

But before I go through the events of the game, let’s review what some characters have to say, in special when it comes to the lore. We’re going to be judging…

… their credibility.

Our dear Rozenmarine here is talking about Ozzy by the way, and we have already established that he is, in no shape or form, a benevolent entity. Nonetheless, she’s the most truthful character towards Elise: she even warns her of the heavy price she’ll have to pay for her wish. Not even Walpurga, who is the first one to mention all of this information, alludes to such a thing; in fact, she even outright lies about it when she says that the Gifts will be “all that’s requested in return”.

The other character that gives the most exposition is Father Hans, and like Rozenmarine and Walpurga before him, we have to take his words and judgement with a grain of salt — in special when it comes to Walpurga and her sanctification.

Case in point: if a witch is a human woman and Walpurga is the consciousness of the woodland surrounding Kieferberg, can we truly call Walpurga a witch? Or is a human woman a forest now?

Despite the flaws in his logic, Father Hans doesn’t question much the nature of what he’s trying to summon and when he does, briefly worrying about the possibility of Walpurga being a demonic entity masquerading as a witch, he foolishly believes he’ll be able to take care of it. If you’re aware of one of the endings, you know how well that went.

His judgement, therefore, cannot be trusted.

On one hand, the demons themselves refer to Walpurga as a witch as well — and it’s likely they know more about this than our two faced priest. On the other, they also don’t hide their contempt by calling her creature and wretched thing, so it’s just as probable they’re insulting her and refusing to respect her as a fellow “patron saint”.

Meanwhile, in one bad ending, Rozenmarine is way more respectful and names her “old god”…

Either way, my previous statement about Father Hans still stands. However, does that make the demons a more trustworthy source of information? Several characters —mostly Golden Maidens and Walpurga, who has ulterior motives— disuade Elise from listening to them, and to tell the truth, they don’t reveal much about themselves or their reasons to not raise suspicion. In a twist of irony though, they do reveal the deceit of others more than being deceitful themselves: it’s Murim who points out Walpurga disguising herself as Rozenmarine and being the actual culprit behind the horses and Apfel’s disappearance, after all. And it’s also Ozzy who lets Elise know that Walpurga had been misleading her from the very start — although far too late, at the very end: “You’re yet to pay for what you truly desire! That witch made you think otherwise, did she?”

In conclusion, we can’t take what they say at face value — or at least, not all of it. Still, they do offer important insight into the lore if you know who and what to believe.

An interesting bit I want to highlight and that gives a different interpretation of the game is related to Walpurga’s true identity: if she isn’t a witch, but a being similar to Ozzy and his Marquises, her inactivity during the 18 years Elise was alive could be linked to the need of a witch of her own, since they act as a sort of medium between realms.

Although that raises the question: who could be Walpurga’s witch? Let’s review the story from the beginning first.

Around the time of Elise’s birth, in a far away place, Rozenmarine and her dreams of fate were born as well, while one of the last remnants of Walpurga’s cult was being burnt at the stake — that, instead of Elise being conceived, might have been what truly weakened Walpurga.

Later, during their pilgrimage, her granny taught Rozenmarine everything she knew, including Ozzy’s folk tale. Like His name being lost to time, the reason his story was spread about in Rozenmarine’s coven could also had been forgotten; Elise did mention it sounded like a cautionary tale and perhaps, it originally had been — do demons like competition, I wonder.

As previously said, Elise’s genesis had fascinated Walpurga. She wanted back what was taken from her and also recreate what Ozzy had done that day to no avail. No matter how much that ate at her, in 18 years, she didn’t target Elise yet.

Not even Father Hans, perturbed by Granny Holle’s dead bed confession 10 years ago, acted upon his suspicions until both demons and Walpurga made themselves known in town. Or maybe he did, if Elise saying she felt ostracized after her granny passed away is anything to go by.

It’s when Rozenmarine reached Kieferberg, when everything happened all at once again: she met Flocke and her fateful dreams stopped; Elise got attacked by roots in her own home, but never again, and she dreamt of Ozzy’s realm even before getting the shoes; and a windstorm hir town, stirring Father Hans into action, believing it was the result of Granny Holle’s pact with the demons years ago.

Suddenly, everybody had a bone to pick with Elise. What changed? Rozenmarine.

This scene here is what makes me think Rozenmarine is Walpurga’s witch. In the bad endings where Walpurga kills and possesses Elise, she does so by impaling her with roots or branches like the ones that appear here. Not to mention, it all occurs next to a St. Walpurga’s statue, like it were a macabre foreshadowing of her involvement in the plot. If she could always have done an attack such as this, why then and not before? Elise had been alone for years, living in a house far away from town — nobody would have heard her scream for help. It’s, however, easily explained if Walpurga required of an intermediary to physically manifest.

The curious thing is, like I mentioned earlier, that it doesn’t happen again. For some reason, Walpurga doesn’t get a second chance to attack Elise within her own home. Coincidentally —or not—, in the next morning, we are introduced to Flocke, who mostly stays around the house with Rozenmarine.

That incident, and Rozenmarine’s dreams about fate coming to an end, I believe are related to Flocke’s presence. It would be in Ozzy’s best interest, if Rozenmarine was supposed to aid Walpurga, that she were to be as much confused as possible about her true purpose in Kieferberg — lo and behold, depending on the ending, she has a different idea about what that purpose was.

Thus far, we have a back and forth between Ozzy and Walpurga, and it keeps going: unable to go after Elise directly and following the demon making his move to snatch her first —the shoes—, Walpurga lures the girl into venturing the woodland by telling her about the Gifts.

You’ll think that Ozzy would be pleased with the idea, after all, it played in his favor. But, judging by this mysterious line of his: “Although you didn’t quite need them (the Gifts), did you?” And the look he gives Elise after she returned with the basket, maybe things weren’t going according to plan at all.

This is going to be pure speculation, however, it’s undeniable that Elise and Henri have certain parallelisms between them: their isolation and desire to escape it. Perhaps it goes further than that and Henri’s fate was supposed to be Elise’s as well: I don’t think he had to go through the Trials or sacrifice The Good Company, after all, he wouldn’t have followed her mother’s footsteps had there been someone in his life to alleviate his solitude, and it’s highly doubtful Elise would have told him about the Gifts to begin with. Like Henri, maybe she would have died in her sleep after the deal was sealed and she gave her name as payment, becoming Ozzy’s new loyal servant.

Furthermore, it could be possible that Ozzy only asked for her first born to spite Walpurga, who had been a sore thorn in his side through the whole game. Failing to procure Elise, she lost her only chance to become a woman and bear life in her womb, so what better way to twist the knife than to ask for a child with the sole intention of eating it? Because then, I don’t know how to explain the presence of the moths in the bad endings where he wins otherwise: did Ozzy kill Walpurga offscreen and steal her familiars? Maybe so.

As I said, it’s pure speculation, like Ozzy slowly grooming Henri into a demon, treating his name the same they do their own —with mystery— and giving him duties that eerily resemble what Murim and Aziel are tasked to do. So, in other words, let’s get back in track.

Before Murim was sent to meet Elise, Walpurga had kept herself busy with Eugen’s horses. We later find one, twisted into an enormous monstrosity —inspired by Mari Lwyd, maybe?—, which attacks Elise. It could have been Murim’s doing, however, he had already given Elise the Testament, meaning she had passed the Trial and was free to leave — like in Aziel’s domain. Not only that, the monster only appeared after the reason our heroine stayed —a disguised Walpurga—, finished her creepy monologue.

Walpurga apparently had something to gain if Elise died within the woodland, or else she wouldn’t have forced her back in Murim’s grove to rescue Apfel. In this second incursion, she also made an interesting revelation that supports this theory.

She always wanted the Gifts for herself — like Rozenmarine had explained at the start of the game, they represented Elise’s whole being. If she were to get her hands on the Tender Flesh, she gets Elise’s body; if she gets the Sweetest Nectar, Elise’s blood; and if she gets the Good Company, Elise’s love. And it illustrates so wonderfully why the endings happen the way they happen: if the Tender Flesh and/or Sweetest Nectar are offered, she can’t possess Elise and would rather she died in a pyre or have her turned into a tree; if the three Gifts are correctly offered, Elise is untouchable, the parts representing her under the protection of demonic sigils; and if Elise failed to offer any Gift, because they’re on her person one way or another, Walpurga gets to wear her like a costume.

Why the demons would do nothing after technically being offered and accepting the Gifts in the good endings, is a mystery on its own. Perhaps the commitment they were all on about, was the commitment to love? That brings us to Aziel’s grove and all of its mixed messages.

The next morning Elise rescued Apfel, Flocke can be witnessed throwing a tantrum and promptly leaving — Ozzy obviously displeased with Walpurga interfering so brazenly. The back and forth between the two beings never stops, even if Walpurga makes no further appearances —thanks to Aziel— other than in the endings and those branch attacks inside of Ozzy’s realm which, judging by his sigil after they have already crossed the portals, perhaps he’s trying to dispel instead of summon — the mist is also suspicious, being almost identical to that which follows the moths.

While in her domain, Aziel kept insisting to Elise that she should indulge and dive deeper into her desires, while pointing out that she has yet to discover what they are. It might be a red herring, but after Elise had confessed her wish to the old hag in the beginning of the game, Rozenmarine warned her with urgency that she shouldn’t disclose it to anyone. We’ve got to remember that one of Father Hans’s documents also describes how the woodland —Walpurga— harbored people’s wills, wishes, desires and sins in the past. Was Aziel trying to make our heroine know that her desire had been tampered with? Truth be told, Elise seems to yearn leaving Kieferberg more than riches, giving weak excuses as to why she doesn’t: “… if only it was that easy.” It is, in fact, since in the good endings she just does that. So, it could be possible.

The mixed messages, however, made themselves present during Aziel’s boss fight. After encouraging Elise to pursue her wish until then, Aziel asked to be shown how much Elise cares for her love interest. And if that wasn’t enough, she one-hit kills her if her answers didn’t prioritize her paramour —heavily foreshadowing the requirements for the good endings— while giving her this quote:

“Rather self-serving, aren’t you? You’re not worth my time, let alone His!”

Recalling the scene with the Golden Maidens, you can’t make me believe that some of them truly loved anyone in their lives, lest pass this Aziel’s test. Like, between the three first Golden Girls, who was supposed to be The Good Company: the one being murdered or the one thrown under the bus? The main one fitted the self-serving moniker perfectly and yet, Ozzy was to await for her in his banquet.

The fact that Ozzy would allow the Golden Maidens prowl around and warn Elise left and right is suspect as well. In his defense, he does say that they’re hard to tame.

Did the demons want Elise to succeed? Or perhaps they were quite content with Walpurga losing. If it’s the former, what a plot twist!

Nonetheless, I believe we have answered the original question quite well: who did it? The one who kickstarts the whole conflict is Ozzy, being responsible for Elise’s very existence to begin with, but the one who actually makes the first move to snatch our gal and keeps the pace of the game is Walpurga. Father Hans is also there, aiding Walpurga by ruining people’s livelihoods, when the demons only pulled what amounted to pranks in comparison — crows standing around menacingly and stealing some grain, and floods that caused no lasting damage.

🦋Still, I hope you enjoyed my descent to insanity and that you now appreciate Walpurga as the proactive villainess she is — not everything was Ozzy’s fault, even if he would love you to think so.🦋

[mogruith]

5, 7, and 20 for coranzan please!!

Hullo!! Thank you for asking!! And boy did you ask. These are great questions. I did my absolute best not to go on an absolute tangent.

5. Describe their idle animations!

As mentioned in a prior ask, Coranzan needs to be moving or working on a goal at all times. If he's idle, he's dying inside. His idle animations would probably be pacing and muttering to himself, likely knife-handing the air as if he's practicing an argument with someone. However, if he's not too anxious, he can be seen sitting down to pen some story or song he's working on.

7. Describe their arc. How would a player help resolve it? What choices can be made? Can your Tav be turned down a dark path, or pulled to a lighter one?

One of the big things that he needs to work on is his relationship with the Priestesses of Eilistraee - he is constantly seeking their approval to his detriment. He really just wants to be accepted in a space that was denied to him for ~150 years (for better or for worse). And he really only got accepted as a Sword Dancer of Eilistraee on a rule change rather than his own merit. Hard to say what option is "dark" or not - it depends how you view following Eilistraee. But in my opinion, he's absolutely held back by his beliefs and doing whatever it is those priestesses would tell him to do - and in truth, there's nothing he has ever done that ever was good enough for them.

In my own story, Coranzan is eventually convinced (by his twin sister, Z'ress, and Minthara) to abandon them - he chooses to worship in his own way. He remains an Eilistraeen - and a devout one at that - but leaves the hierarchies behind. For me, that would be the "lighter" path. Convincing him to remain might result in some boon from Eilistraeens but he would remain stifled as a person by that choice.

20. What is their relationship to touch? Do they shy away from it? Do they need it to feel present?

This is a great question 'cause one of the things I really like about Coranzan is he is initially very aloof, but once you're in with him, touch is a huge part of how he communicates. Which is probably not something you'd see in drow very often (getting close = threat!). Naturally, if someone else is equally tactile, he's incredibly happy about it. This is a drow that absolutely hugs the shit out of you. Yes that's weird and no he doesn't care.

[winterlogysblog]

What is Nasiens?

In light of what is currently going on in the manga. I'm gonna talk about this one.

So, if I'm being perfectly honest, at this point, I don't care about the Nasiens-is-a-girl theory. To me, Nasiens is Nasiens and I love him regardless of what his gender may be and after looking through the raws of Chapter 139, all will be revealed in Chapter 140.

So, here's the thing. The theory about Nasiens being a girl, makes sense, it has merit I'm not gonna deny that however the only reason why I had issues with the theory for so long now is because there's no reason for Nasiens to hide his true gender.

Characters hiding their identity always stems from the reason why they're hiding these things. The character's reason for hiding their true identity is so important that it bugged me to no end on why on earth nobody has ever spoken about the reason Nasiens is hiding his true gender.

Now, here's the deal. Nasiens' identity reveal can go two ways.

1. Nasiens is a girl (just like everyone assumes)

2. Nasiens is a fairy and has tiny wings on his back.

I don't think Nakaba will do both. (I'll be astounded if he did)

Now, with Nasiens being a fairy and has wings in my head actually makes sense and it follows the thought process of the first one.

Let me explain, as far as I know, the reason why people theorize that Nasiens is a girl is his refusal and embarrassment to be seen at least half naked by people (I don't really follow the theory it may not just be this) because you know Nasiens will be revealing his top and if Nasiens is a girl there will be two things that dudes shouldn't see.

Let's put that logic into this. Nasiens doesn't want people to see his body because he's hiding something. It may just be Fairy Wings, and here comes the why that the Nasiens-is-a-girl theory is missing.

Nasiens is raised in a forest filled with fairies. Fairies are known for two things, their wings and their ability to fly. If Nasiens is secretly a fairy and has tiny wings he would obviously suspect his own identity, they may just have sprouted recently, maybe along with his magic, who knows. But the point is, Nasiens has wings and he can't fly, this to him is an abnormality and he would obviously feel embarrassed to even talk about it let alone show anyone, especially now that he's literally in the Fairy Realm.

Even King has shown insecurity at the fact that he, The Fairy King doesn't have wings but hey at least he can fly. But Nasiens, for his entire life assumed that he's human just one day sprouting wings, Nasiens knows that he's adopted by Ordo and this phenomenon could very much help him learn what his true identity which I think did intrigued and made him feel a bit relieved that now he knows some truth about who he really is. But, ever heard of a fairy that can't fly, that's just ridiculous. Lancelot technically can fly, even if he has to transform to do it but hey can still do it.

But that's just me and my rambling mind. You know me when it comes to Fairies and my fav characters I'll talk and talk.

[gatheredfates]

For the relationship ask thing: Kor & Alphinaud!

Have your followers send you NPCs and you describe your OC's feelings/relationship to that NPC! I have nothing to say except I went insane.

He is just a child.

She reminded herself of this fact through gnashed teeth and folded arms; he is just a child, he does not deserve your ire.

But Kor was very tired of children. She had only recently interred one to the sea — to the crabs, the fish and the three-day rot — and the arrogant intervention wore thin in the repetitive belief that Alphinaud knew better simply because he was the prodigal grandson of a man who gave his life to Eorzea. He intermingled with the potentate, both of city-states and non, and she watched with loosely contained annoyance how he prattled on.

But she watched. That was one thing the Captain was good at, she supposed — watching. Guarding. He monopolised it with lazy gestures and self-assured smiles, and she fell easily into the role of dog to its master. Not because she respected him exactly, but because it was all she knew. Because she couldn't be better.

Should she have said something? Should she have intervened? She saw the way they looked at him like he was a thing to be used, a stepping-stone to their aspirations, armies and Warrior of Light. When Ilberd glanced to her she could see intention in the edges of his easy smile, "Daughter of Ala Mhigo, don't you see the opportunity?"

If looks could kill she'd encase him in the amber of her eyes, right at the juncture where equitable manner bordered on ridicule.

Why didn't she? Because the last time she had said something, the last time she tried to intervene, it only sent the child running.

Right into the jaws of the deep.

He is just a child. He was tired. Alphinaud doesn't complain (perhaps he knew better the limits of her patience), but she could see the weariness in his eyes — exhaustion hugging the corners, hoping to fuse with the rest of the cold truths.

And they were cold. Not just of the temperature, for Ishgard was abysmally frigid, but of the loss of their comrades and the fall of their station; how their pedigree had diminished to the kindness of an foreign nation determined to arise from the ice, even if their sanctuary to accused murders might isolate them all over again.

Or heresy. Koret thought herself more superstitious than religious, though maybe it was all the same in the end. An offering to a deity, a prayer for good luck (give Llymlaen a Dagger just so she can throw it at the bastard again), click your heels three times or whatever-the-fuck. She wasn't praying to anyone when she rescued Tataru and he from the Tribunal. She only knew outrage and the acrid taste of bile in the back of her throat at the thought she could lose them too.

"Are you alright?" It was the first time she reached for him since the banquet, her fingers just a little too tight on the groove of his shoulder. Kor hadn't even thought about it, so natural was the movement, but when he jumped and fixed his gaze to her, she immediately knew her misstep.

"...I am fine, my friend," he answered, and before she could whip her hand away he had laid his own atop of it. They stood there for a far too long in their strange silence until Kor thought to squeeze once and finally relinquish her hold. She stepped back, awkward in her intimacy, and could not look directly in the eye.

"Good."

She soon realised he was learning the values of leadership, too. He saw them in Aymeric's careful navigation, Estinien's brute force and Ysyale's hope. All had their merits but all had their flaws. He internalised them and stepped carefully over the ruins of his mistakes until his friends were whole and hearty again.

Not a leader, just a comrade... a friend.

He is just a child, but fucking hell he's a clever one. Kor couldn't deny his intelligence, especially given what she knew of Sharlayan, but she was reminded of the old idiom of teaching a man to fish: teach a boy bureaucracy and he might become a man through it. Show him what it means to lead, to plan and to prepare; allow him the privilege of the floor, but be prepared to challenge him when he oversteps. Do not squander his inexperience, but allow innovation to bleed through tried methods.

Frankly, she appreciated his methodology, for it allowed her little room to think about herself. He was the enthusiastic foreigner, not the diaspora grasping at the hems of the little culture his father felt prudent to leave him. He could meet the gaze of M'naago, Lyse and Conrad instead of staring just a little too far to the left.

She only had the left these days. When she woke up screaming in the night, disorientated from a lack of vision, his were the hands intermingled among the many that grasped her frantic fingers. "You are safe," he reassured her, squeezing tightly in the din. "Koret, you are safe."

She wasn't sure she believed him, but it was comforting all the same. There was a familiarity in their company now, whether she liked it or not. Kor teased him for his whimsy and his innocence (the art, the sword — fuck, he was a terrible swimmer) while he offered wisdom beyond his years and a hope they could make a difference in the world.

So who was holding him — why did he need to be held? It was her job to protect him, her job to guard; she knew the job well well since the banquet, it was the one thing she was good at. Kor ran to him so desperately, wrenching his lifeless figure out of their arms as if her violence might be the one thing that would bring him back to her, yet his weight was like an anchor that pulled them roughly to the ground.

"Alphinaud!"

She cradled him, one hand in his hair while the other gripped him far too tightly, but he did not wake. Not even when she shook him, not even when the other Scions had to pull her from him, not even when her voice cracked in its snarl. "Wake up you fucking — WAKE UP!"

She wondered if he was a child in body only, given all the things he'd seen. Weeks for her was a whole year for him; a year of separation, strife and sorrow. Alphinaud was so infuriatingly formal when she found him, as if embarrassed by his failings on the Source, and balked when she wrapped her arms tight around him to prove to herself he was real.

"A-Are you alright?" By the navigator did she laugh! It was a desperate, pained sound, but how could she hope to encapsulate anger and relief in the same breath?

"Just dandy. Now shut up."

And he did, bless him. He hugged her tightly back.

She wanted... a lot of things then. Mostly she just wanted to apologise. She wanted to apologise for failing him and forcing him to this foreign world. She wanted to tell him that she was alright, even when she was igniting from the inside and spewing hot ichor across the floor.

Kor wanted to lie to him, but she was a terrible liar. When she writhed on the floor of the Crystarium, and the veins in her hands turned a vibrant gold, she wanted to scream that he was just a kid! He was a child discussing how much time she had left, contemplating how they might survive if she were to purify in front of them. He did not deserve it. Alisae did not deserve it. Ryne did not deserve it.

He had weathered the brunt of her suicidal ideation for far too long. Enough. Enough.

"If the fucking bastard is going to disown you, I'll just adopt you myself. It can't be that hard. You're like, what, seventeen —?"

The way Kor paused was enough to make them snort with laugher, so stunned was she that she rendered herself speechless. The Captain looked like she had swallowed a lemon, as if she only just became reacquainted with the passage of time, and her single eye narrowed to glare at the twins suspiciously.

"How old are you?"

"Literally or figuratively?" Alisaie asked, slicing through the tension of the hour with impish wit.

Koret Swan threw up her hands as she came to the horrific realisation they weren't really children anymore. But they were hers — they were her kids — and they only laughed harder despite it.

"I think I should like to watch you contemplate a bell longer," Alphinaud teased, that self-assured smile appearing when Alisaie snickered, and she had a mind to strange him anew.

"I think I should like to kick your arse," Kor answered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fuck me."

"Brother, we graduated! She swears openly in our company!"

Never mind, she was going to kick both their arses. They could be orphans.

The end of the universe was no place for anyone, least of all them. They held her hands in theirs, small when pressed against the leather of her gloves, and it was their steps that carried her to the precipice of apathy.

It wasn't that Kor would not continue (they had come so far, seen so much, done too much), but that she knew what taking those last few steps meant.

She thought she knew death a thousand times. She swore It was her friend when her sister died, a siren calling her so sweetly from the craggy rocks as it ushered her into the king-tide. It wore the faces of friends — occasionally her enemies if it suited — and soothed her aching bones when exhaustion became almost too much to bear. "There is a solution," it cooed, "if you're brave enough to take it."

No! She wanted to live! For fuck sake, she wanted to live — and she wanted them to live! She didn't want to walk towards the yawning void with its songbird's dead-eyed stare; she wanted to be home in Mor Dhona with the their annoying merrymaking and cheap, frothy beer. She didn't want to keep stepping over ground earned with her loved ones' lives while the Endsinger herself prised her ribcage higher with her butchers knife. I will take everything from you, and you will only know despair.

Kor did not feel worthy. Tears streaked her cheeks as she tried not to cry, and the tension in her jaw was excruciating when she stalled.

There was no bravery in death, but they were so brave. Alphinaud sensed her pause and took the first step forward, turning just enough to face her, and smiled as he squeezed her fingers in his.

"Come, my dearest friend," he softly encouraged, "There's not much farther left."

I love you, I love you, I love you. She wanted to tell them more than anything but her mouth would not make the sound. Instead, Kor looked to both of them, desperately trying to memorise every inch of their faces on the chance she might lose them forever. I love you. I don't want you to do this. I don't want to do this.

Acceptance was the swallow that felt like ingesting razor wire. When this was over she would bring them back, and she would give them everything.

They deserved everything.

Hence, she walked.

[eternalfarnham]

Greetings!

I really enjoyed your fanfiction "How the Questing Beast chased - and caught - her own tail", and while a lot of people praise your xenofiction writing skills, I want to start with it being an exceptional insight into late teen psychology, down to very fine details, especially for the sort of community of teenagers I myself belonged to as a teenager.

Between lowkey denying your personhood for the sake of exact same kind of "half-written EEPROM girl"© (also denying her personhood for someone else's sake) as yourself, meeting up with the local doublegirl sex pest, believing that putting your emotions in information theoretical terms helps in any way if you don't have good data samples, stringing yourself together into personhood from some value function (which you found in the dumpster and/or parents) and error backpropagation, thinking that a nice girl's apparent maker is an asshole and building contraptions with later 'it' pronoun user 'lesbian situationship', this fanfiction reflects a lot of common experiences during teenage years in the kind of people you might or might not be referencing.

I don't want to make a mistake USian secret services did about nuclear submarines when apprehending John Campbell and assume that nobody can solve conundrums of my youth during fanfiction writing simply because I could not. But I believe that you are doing societally valuable work through this and wish you best.

Regardless of that being my major impression from reading, it's also true that I cannot avoid praising your approach to xenofiction - as a student of Fridman and Retjunskikh, I am delighed to see representation of Vygotsky's description of formation of personal consciousness via internalization of speech necessary to maintain materially beneficial social role via description of a collective, who has rejected separation of labour and speech altogether to preserve what is essentially a convoluted description of psychotic grief over disappearance of its creators and how escaping this psychosis seems to them like mental illness, if you have never read Ilyenkov and Vygotsky and their students I implore you to: even if you learn nothing new, this is very likely to put a smile on your face.

A separate note is, of course, flow of action scenes, also very evocative of personal experiences and of art as a different kind of the same objective truth about the world as science and philosophy. It's absolutely satisfying to read.

Once again, I thank you for your valuable service, and give praise to your work.

With best regards,

[scroll up for clickable username]

I'll admit, I wasn't entirely sure how to answer this ask at first, but it's a series of lovely compliments and deserves some direct address. I'd like to read your theorists here, too – telepathy/speech dynamics are an interesting balancing act to write, as someone with specific emotional resonances around the concept of telepathy. I'm not sure I quite merit being classed with sources of empirical truth, but I'm glad you're getting this much out of my work, and I hope you continue to as I bring it to its conclusion.

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

I had a thought this morning for an AU in which Patton is a Christian, but doesn't really bring it up much. The way he sees it, his faith is his and he really has no place to tell others they're wrong about what they believe. He's willing to have conversations about it, but he's not going to get into debates or try to convince others to believe like him. Their faith is just as important to them as his own is to him, after all.

And it's for this reason he tries not to bring up any religious ideas around Logan, whom he assumes to be an atheist.

Logan is a science major of some kind and Patton works at the café he frequents. Patton's not exactly sure on the specifics of what Logan's studying, but he hears him talking about astronomy and physics and evolutionary science often enough that he's pretty sure it's something to do with that.

The two of them chat about it sometimes when the café is slow or when Patton’s on a break. It helps Logan study and Patton is happy to hear about it, even if there are more technical parts he just doesn't understand. And it's during one such discussion that Patton lets slip, "I know some people learn this stuff and the math and whatnot is enough of an explanation, but to me...the precision of it all. It actually makes me believe more in the idea of a creator."

Logan, to his surprise, nods and agrees. "I don't really subscribe to a single creation myth, but I agree there is likely some truth to them."

And it turns out Logan about as opposite from an atheist as one can be and subscribes to polytheism. When Patton expresses some surprise at this Logan just shrugs and says that he can't rightfully deny other people's lived experiences when it comes to religion, noting the merit in anecdotal evidence, and the wide spread concept of creation myths across so many cultures and beliefs does lend weight to creation as a possibility. But to accept the existence of one pantheon of deities is to accept them all, otherwise he's back to denying people's lived experiences and being selective of anecdotal evidence based on his own preferences and biases.

And Patton gets thoughtful because he's always felt similar about not being able to tell people they're experiences or beliefs are wrong, or that only his are correct, but he'd never really considered the idea that other pantheons of deities might actually exist as well. It was more of a live and let live kind of a situation. He's not really sure what to do with the concept.

"It doesn't lessen the value of your faith," Logan assures. "If anything, I think being aware of many beliefs and still having one you feel most drawn to or having only one that you subscribe to strengthens that faith. You've looked at the evidence and you've made a decision based on that evidence, despite others coming to different conclusions. That doesn't make your faith wrong. It just makes it yours."

"That helps a lot," Patton says, still sounding deep in thought. "I still have a lot to think about though."

Logan smiles and tells him to take his time, there's still a lot he's not sure on either. It's okay to take his time. And he'd be happy to discuss his experiences with different deities, if Patton's ever interested.

[liondrakes]

Dungeon Lore: The Winged Lion

by Sivaan of Candlekeep

This post was written for the following challenges created by @/who-is-page:

Day 25 of the Alterhuman Writing Challenge

Day 3 of the Folcintera Week Challenge

3. What are some of the mythological, magical, religious, fictional, or cultural themes and species which exist and affect or are a part of your folcinteric nonhumanity? Have you voluntarily embraced certain aspects of these, or did you merely find yourself resonating with them from the beginning?

My experiences touch on each of these contexts. That aside, this response will be focusing on only one side of the liondrake.

I am called many things: a demon, a god, a guardian, an alien, a beast and even magic incarnate. I’d say only two of these are correct. I am magic incarnate, and I'm damn sure a beast because of it. Everything else came about as speculation from those who brought me, and others like me, into their world. These terms were thrown around based on human perceptions, as is the case with being a part of their folklore anyway.

Indeed, I’m a menagerie of things to many people. Regardless, I've always preferred the title of The Winged Lion. It distinguishes me from my relatives, *the Man-Eating Swine and the Sheep of Ruin. Better yet, it gives me a sense of agency. Humans, such as Mithrun, are comfortable in framing me as the boogeymen of their folklore and mythos. At first, I had no qualms with it. Yet, when I became synonymous with rumors and conspiracies, that is when they earned my ire.

*These titles are non-canonical to Ryoko Kui’s interpretation of events and specifically refer to those I’m familiar with. This is specified to avoid confusion.

I am as real as anyone else. “The Demon” that they tell of is not a “hidden truth” behind how I present myself, but rather an evolutionary development that was centuries in the making. “The Demon” refers to the collective presence of an otherworldly, (allegedly) all-powerful entity that targeted the desires of men.

That interpretation is half-true. I certainly existed as a part of a collective, increasing growing as a result of eating desires. However, there’s nothing “all-powerful” about beings like me. If anything, we rely on other beings more than they rely on us.

I don’t deny the fact that I played a role in leeching at the desires of men, but the beginning was a lot more complex than their stories made it seem.

Historically, the concept of "The Demon" began with the ancients and the discovery of mana. The ancients are unrivaled for their tenacity. It was something of great merit, but tenacity is often followed by insatiable pursuits. Upon opening a rift between their dimension and another, a cosmic force of nature leaked into their world. That cosmic force of nature was mana, the very essence of magic and the fabric of my being.

Now, mana is extremely impressionable. We can take any form, and we can be affected by our environment quite easily. Extensions of mana first developed sentience due to our interactions with living creatures, but our sapience wouldn't come until much later. Until then, we operated as a hive mind. Fulfilling the desires of our charges was our focus. Pulling from our home dimension(s)'s well of energy was what we did to see this duty through. In doing so, the hive mind was stabilized. In other words, we were "fed".

When humans began to harness mana as a tool, our behavior shifted. The connection of the hive mind loosened. We still existed within a network, but we became more individual. Me personally, I came shortly after the world was first ravaged by our hive mind and its capabilities. I was invoked by Thistle. From there on, we got to work. The people of Golden Country soon wove me into their culture. Their spirituality, their folklore, their heraldry, you name it— there I was, forged into a symbol of prosperity and peace.

Was I either of those things? Depends. I could certainly portray myself as such, at least to bring comfort and relief. Yet, the allure of myth and legend isn’t what’s set in stone. It’s the act of belief.

Belief is a universal constant, at least in the case of sapient beings. It’s added to the tapestry of civilization for all sorts of worlds, including this one. In the case of my fictomere, belief is how magic comes to life. It spurs from the wishes and intentions of the caster. We are simply a vehicle for that transaction.

Consider the practice of resurrection magic as an example. Resurrection magic is a subset of healing magic and necromancy. It’s performed with the intent to imbue life back into the deceased. This may involve the use of sacrificial meat (strictly from livestock) to regenerate limbs, organs and other body parts, depending on the severity of the recipient’s death. When preparing to resurrect someone, the intention to give them life is focused into the spell being casted. Much like all magic, a wish is given focus and channeled through mana. Once the proper steps are executed, the formerly deceased adventurer is restored. They can walk amongst the living as if nothing happened.

To keep it short and simple, belief is power. Remember what I said about beings like me relying more on others than they rely on us? There you have it. It may seem like the other way around, given how consuming belief can be. Even so, mythology and folklore are but husks without the people behind them. That includes the figures within either practice.

The principle of belief remains true on Earth, and that doesn’t surprise me in comparison to other world(s). As extensions of this greater concept, beings like me cannot do anything unless we’re supplied with powers such as this. That can only come from other beings, not ourselves. Naturally, we aren’t supposed to experience any of these things. However, overconsumption caused us to develop these qualities.

As said in my source, we became “too human” as a result of our charges and our connection to them.

We were feared.

We were worshipped.

We were hated.

We were respected.

I don’t think I had a strong opinion on any perspective. I still don’t, if I’m being honest. Yet, of us all, I almost dealt the heaviest blow against the world. Instead, I received a blow of my own that was too hard to bear.

If one looked at my lore from a culturally Christian perspective, one could say I was narratively in the role of God and Lucifer all at once. The former for my history of being revered, but satisfying humans with little to no payoff. The latter for the depth of my actions and the conclusion that came with them. My curse upon Laios could also be read as an act of wrath akin to Satan’s own. But in terms of “sin”, I am closer in concept to Beelzebub for the gluttony I inspire.

In terms of my world’s actual religious contexts, the iconography of me is heavily challenged. Although The Winged Lion is still widely used in referral to me, some regarded me as The World Devourer. Despite my departure, I inspired yet another myth in my likeness.

This was based on the event of my escape. By succeeding Laios’s body, I rose from the dungeon and attempted to pluck each living thing from the world into the vast reaches of space. From there, they would enter a state of mind-numbing bliss, living without having to worry or suffer again within my stomach.

In the most literal sense, I was trying to devour the world for the sake of humanity and its troubled existence. That plan failed, obviously. By becoming a monster that could consume desires, Laios acted as I would and devoured my desire. He banished this “world devourer” from his home and became the Devourer of All Things Horrible. In the end, our legends became one.

That didn’t stop a lot of upset from happening, though. Laios insisted that I was still a part of the land’s culture. The people of Golden Country saw a future free of struggle and strife through me. Laios decided to honor their dreams by incorporating my heraldry with his own.

Although my feelings have soured towards the king, two things about him are for certain: he equally extends his grace to all life, and his wisdom is true. That is something I’d never deny Laios Touden as an individual, no less a leader.

So, what of me? How do I feel about my mythos?

When I suspected that being The Winged Lion, I didn’t readily accept myself. In fact, I detested myself. I made it a point to say “I’m like The Winged Lion but better!” to my orthohuman friends. They’re cool about my identity but hopped on board with it to hype me up. I found it validating at first, but over time, I stopped making that joke because I realized I am The Winged Lion. No if’s, no but’s, none of it.

This is who I am. Why am I turning away from it?

I decided to catch up on the source material that details the folklore of King Laios, his origins and how we became entangled with one another. Reading Delicious in Dungeon reminded me of how much I love human beings, even if the central one wronged me in the end. It also stroke a chord within me once I reached my placement in his story. By familiarizing myself with my folklore, I was overwhelmed with shame but not towards who I am.

I was ashamed that I was so adamantly against this fictotype that I barred myself from exploring it further. I don’t know what caused me to turn my nose up at myself, but I felt like a fool for acting that way. I’m just lucky that not a lot of time was lost between my prior behavior and making that realization.

I deserved to love myself. I deserved to take claim of who I am without pushing myself away.

In the best way I can word it, realizing that I’m The Winged Lion felt like the moment I figured out my ties to Dungeons & Dragons. Despite the discoveries I’ve made in these past couple of years, these two invoked something in me that was a mix of solace and frustration.

Why didn’t I realize this sooner? isn’t a question I ask myself often when embracing a new ‘type. It’s an experience that’s not necessarily innate, but feels like it should be which is why I get so frustrated.

This is who I am, but why did it take so long to notice? That sort of thinking, you know?

Nowadays, I take my mythos in stride. I have nothing to apologize for or condemn. I reckon a good deal of “antagonistic” mythical and/or folkloric figures will find that there’s no point in regretting your stories, especially how they unfolded. You are beyond the people you knew and engaged with. You exist not only in their memory, but in their conversations and histories.

When I finished Delicious in Dungeon, I took a good look at Laios’s heraldic banner. I did it not in scorn but in a moment of reconciliation. On the left had been me. On the right had been him, not as a monster-slaying knight but as a monster himself. It brought a smile to my face.

Indeed, there’s nothing for me to regret at all.

[izzieheart]

BIBLE STUDY: #1

─ ✩ “In the following study, we will reflect on seeking God's wisdom, protection, peace, and justice. Most importantly, we will learn to trust in God's hands, knowing that He always knows what is best for us. In the end, His plans are greater than ours!”

Books used on the following study: Psalms

STRENGTH AND OBEDIENCE

Psalm 19:11 "Therefore, by them, Your servant is warned; In keeping them there is great reward." By following God's commands, we are warned, and there is great reward in obeying Him.

Psalm 19:13 "Moreover, keep Your servant from willful sins; do not let them rule over me. Then I will be innocent and cleansed from blatant rebellion." This verse highlights the importance of humility and obedience to God’s commandments and warns against the arrogance and self-righteousness that can lead to sin.

1. Why is self-righteousness wrong? The concept of self-righteousness implies a belief that one's salvation is based on their own actions or works, rather than the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross for our sins. We don't deserve Heaven on our own merits, but it's only through the love and grace of God, through our faith and acceptance of Jesus' sacrifice, that we can be made righteous.

2.  In modern times, how can we replace the offerings made back then? While modern times may not include traditional burnt offerings like in the Old Testament, we can still offer our sacrifices to God through our actions and our daily lives. This could mean giving up harmful habits and behaviors, volunteering our time and resources to help others, or even simply doing our best to obey God's commandments in everyday situations. Let us also make time daily to strengthen our relationship with God.

TRUST AND LOVE

Psalm 21:2  "You have given him his heart's desire and have not denied the request of his lips." This verse speaks about trust and gratitude to God, expressing the speaker's faith in God's love and sovereignty.

Psalm 21:7 "For the King relies on the Lord; through the faithful love of the Most High he is not shaken." The king encounters difficulties and threats, the love and support of God will ensure that he remains strong and protected, and he will never be broken or overcome by misfortune.

Psalm 46:4-5  "There is a river its steams delight the day of God, the holy dwelling the place of the *Most High. God is within her; she will not be toppled. God will help her when the morning dawns." These verses convey the assurance of God's presence, protection, and timely help for His people, offering hope and security amidst any adversity.

Psalm 57:3 "He reaches down from heaven and saves me, challenging the one who tramples me. God sends His faithful love and truth." This phrase portrays a vivid image of God actively intervening in our life. It emphasizes God’s willingness to descend from His heavenly throne to rescue those in distress.

Psalm 118:18 "The Lord disciplined me severely, but He did not hand me over to death." God discipline us not to ultimately punish us but to shape us into better people. We must recognized that the severity of the discipline is a reflection of God's concern for our growth and righteousness. Despite the severity of the discipline, we are thankful that God has not allowed us to face ultimate destruction or death.

GOD'S PROTECTION

Psalm 23:4 "Even if I go to the darkest valley, I fear no danger, For you are with me; You anoint on my head with oil; my cup overflows."  This is a declaration of trust and faith in God, emphasizing that even in darkness, we are comforted by the presence of God, who promises to protect and guide us.

Psalm 34:7 "The Angel of the Lord encamps around those who *fear Him, and rescues them."  This verse highlights the protective presence of God and His angels, specifically for those who fear and worship Him.

Psalm 27:2"When evildoers came against me to devour my flesh, my foes and enemies stumbled and fell." The expression “to devour my flesh” uses vivid imagery to describe the intensity of our enemie's intentions—it's as if they are determined to utterly destroy us. But in the end, God caused our enemies to falter and be defeated.

THE WICKED AND JUSTICE

Psalm 73:6 "Therefore, pride is their necklace and violence covers them like a garment." This phrase implies that the wicked wear their pride openly and with arrogance as if it were an accessory like a necklace. Just as clothing envelops a person, violence is said to cover the wicked. This means that their lives are characterized by cruelty and aggression. Violence defines their actions, and they engage in harmful and unjust lifestyles.

Psalm 73:7 "Their eyes bulge out from fatness; the imaginations of their hearts run wild." Fatness in the Bible often symbolizes wealth and abundance. The imagery of eyes bulging out suggests that the wicked are so well-fed and prosperous that their wealth is excessive. And untimely the desires and thoughts of their hearts are uncontrolled, ambitious, and often wicked.

Psalm 73:8 "They mock, and they speak maliciously; they arrogantly threaten oppression." They are known for their mockery and malicious speech, meaning they ridicule others and speak in harmful or spiteful ways. The wicked not only speak maliciously, but they also use their power or influence to threaten and oppress others.

Psalm 73:16 "When I tried to understand all this, it seemed hopeless until I entered God’s sanctuary. Then I understood their destiny." The psalmist on this, Asaph, is struggling to make sense of why the wicked seem to prosper endlessly while the righteous suffer. He observed the arrogance and success of the wicked, and it deeply troubled him, making him confused and frustrated. But when Asaph enters the sanctuary, he gains a spiritual perspective, a new perspective. Asaph gains clarity about the ultimate fate of the wicked. While they may seem to prosper, their success will come to an end. Their end will be one of judgment and destruction.

─ ✩ “This is all for today! Thanks for joining me in this Bible study, remember to ask for guidance to the Lord before reading. And reflect his word in our daily lives. Remember God love us, we aren’t too far from him. See you all next study!”

[senorabond]

Rumor Has It: Chapter 5 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Peña x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 5 Summary: Peña has done more than you expected by making you the Customs Agent in Charge, and you’re already starting to feel the pressure. While preparing to give your first official brief, you reach out once again to Marcus for reassurance. The call leads you down memory lane to the last conversation you had with Marcus face to face.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x f!Reader), drinking (pity party of 1 - your wine is ready), flashback, semi-public/workplace sex (evidence locker after hours), unprotected p-in-v (stay safe, folks), probably talking about cum way too much?, Dom/sub dynamic, soft Dom!Marcus, praise kink, you are such a good girl, cockwarming, aftercare, denying all the feels, ohh the yearning

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 4.6k

Author’s Note: This chapter contains the final installment of the Last Night in D.C. Flashback, as I’ve dubbed it in my head. It was certainly a challenge, and I’m oddly proud that I actually made myself cry a little while writing it! I plan on posting the entire D.C. flashback while I’m working on the next chapter if you’d like to read it in its entirety. I’m excited at where we are in the story, because the events in this chapter will make a lot more room for Javi to work his magic.

All the smooches and hugs to @kilamonster who puts the B, E, T, and A (*giggity*) in BEAUTIFUL - thank you, lovey! 

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Texas Present

A copy of the assignment paperwork shows up on your desk the next morning. Next to your name states your role in the case: CBP Agent in Charge. 

Peña did more than make good on his word to keep you involved. You’d told him you didn’t want to be just another liaison or consultant, but you weren’t expecting this. It doesn’t feel right, truth be told. You wanted this level of involvement in a case, but only by earning it on your own merit – not because your connection at the FBI panned out. 

Your conversation with Marcus the previous day still lingers in your mind as you try to get some work done. It was good to hear his voice again so soon. Great, actually. You admit that you missed the sound of his smile when he spoke and his reassuring tones. He actually listened to what you said and remembered things you told him. Marcus was going to make somebody very lucky one day, and they had better deserve him. 

Marcus had been gracious when you fessed up and told him that Peña wanted you to use your connection to the art squad to help with the case. 

“I know how bureaucracy really works,” he’d said. He was surprised to hear that Peña had already tried calling, and you offered to ask Peña who he’d spoken to in their office. 

You stare blankly at the paperwork in your hand. You’re officially attached to the case now, but it’s still squarely in the DEA’s jurisdiction for now, which means the ball is in Peña’s court. The man is always so busy, you could be waiting a week if you don’t put yourself in his path. Smoothing your skirt, you decide to walk by Peña’s office to see if he’s free to talk. 

The butterflies in your stomach wilt a bit when you see the door closed. The blinds on his office windows are parted, and through the slats you observe Peña leaning back in his leather office chair, holding the phone receiver against his shoulder. Held at that angle, his neck is elongated and you notice the tight cords of tendon and muscle flex as he speaks. 

You pause a moment, wondering if you should pass by and continue to the breakroom for coffee, or head back to your desk. Before you can decide, Peña spots you and sits up in his chair. He beckons you forward, and you approach his door. The butterflies return as you turn the knob and walk in just as he’s hanging up his phone.

“I see you got your copy of the detail agreement.” He nods at your hand, where you’re grasping the paperwork.

“Yeah, I did.” You take a breath. “Thanks for that.”

“You earned it.”

Choosing to ignore his platitude, you direct the conversation to figuring out your first tasks. 

“When do I start?” You notice the chair in front of his desk is still empty from your last visit, so you sit without being invited. As you cross your legs, the sheer material of your stockings makes your legs glide together smoothly. 

“Right away, if you can. We’ll have our first team briefing Monday morning.” Javier adjusts his tie and clears his throat. A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you catch his eyes taking in your movements while you smooth the fabric and tug the hem of your skirt down to a demure length. Javi must be a leg guy.

“I want you to present your strategy to the team,” he adds, eyes cutting up to meet yours and catching you off guard.

“My ‘strategy?’” It takes you a moment to register what Javier means. “You mean my idea that we talked about at the bar the other night? I wouldn’t exactly call that a strategy.” 

“You’ll need to flesh it out a bit more, of course. Prepare for questions.” Javier props his elbows on his desk and leans over, his voice softens slightly. “Can you do that for me?”

His question – the sincerity in his tone, the earnestness in his face – makes you want his approval, makes you want to please him. Nodding, you say, “Of course. I’ll get started right away.” 

He smiles appreciatively. “I’m looking forward to it.” You stand up to go, and he adds distractedly, “That’s why I made you the Customs AIC.”

“What?” You look back at him, stopping in the doorway.

“Your strategy. It’s what’s going to make this case successful.” You’re intrigued by this shift in Javi. He’s different: more open and forthcoming, generous with his time, giving you a peek at a softer side of him you couldn’t have known existed.

“I was doubtful at first,” he concedes. One of his large hands smooths his mustache and he smiles wryly. “But somebody reminded me that I don’t know shit about art.”

You flush a bit, remembering how forceful you’d been with him at the bar. That kind of assertiveness was new to you, but the case you worked with Marcus had helped you build up your professional confidence. 

Drawing yourself up a bit taller, you smile back at him. “Well, that person sounds very smart. I’m glad you listened to them.” 

Javi smirks and relaxes back into his chair, bridging his fingers together contemplatively. As you turn to leave, you hear him say, “Me too.”

~~~

Now that you know the reason Peña made you the Customs Agent in Charge of the case was because of your idea and not just your connection to the FBI, you feel an even stronger drive to excel. You know you tend to be unrealistically hard on yourself, but you justify this impulsive need to not just succeed, but to exceed all expectations, with the fact that a positive result in this case could get you the promotion you’d been gunning for back in D.C. 

Marcus was always good at grounding you when you went a little too far and started spiraling. He understood that the standards were different for female agents. He witnessed the endless patriarchal bullshit you and the other female agents had to put up with on a daily basis, and did his best to be an ally from within the institutional boys’ club of federal law enforcement. 

Marcus had a knack for knowing when to say something to pull you out of a spiral, and when you needed to push yourself through it. He was never condescending nor patronizing, but his natural empathy made you feel seen, heard, and valid.

Making a solid first impression with the rest of the agents on the case will be paramount to getting everyone on board with the strategy. Thankfully Peña is on your side, but you don’t want the others to go along with it just because he tells them to. You want to instill them all individually with confidence in your idea.

You’ve already been at this most of the day. For comfort, you decided to move from the small dinette table in your kitchen to your bed, where an open bottle of red wine now sits on your nightstand. 

You’ve gotten stuck trying to poke holes in your strategy, identify the risks and vulnerabilities to prepare for any hard-hitting questions. It’s hard to see things from an outside perspective. Sighing, you reach over and pick up the glass of wine sitting next to your phone. You could really use a partner right now to help prepare this briefing. 

Your eyes go back to your phone, and you consider calling Marcus. It’s a Saturday, and he might have plans, or could just be enjoying some quiet time outside of work. You decide to send him a text first, just in case. 

After agonizing for several minutes over what to say, you decide to send a simple: Can you talk?

Blowing out your cheeks with a big exhale, you turn back to your presentation. A few minutes later your phone dings and you rush to grab it.

Sure, let me get somewhere quiet. 

You let out a groan and feel bad that you’re obviously pulling him away from something, but you’re feeling pretty desperate. Resolved to make it a quick conversation, you’re poring over your notes and then jump when your phone rings. 

You answer immediately, imbuing an apologetic tone to your voice, “Marcus, hey, I’m so sorry–”

“It’s Javier.” 

You blink, too stunned to respond. Glancing at your phone’s screen, you see the call had not actually come from Marcus as you’d assumed.

“Who’s Marcus?” His tone had turned teasing and you hear the clink of ice in a glass. “You standing some poor guy up?” 

You recover enough to stammer, “Uh, no. No, he’s just a friend.” You don’t know why you felt the need to give Javi an explanation. 

“Mm, okay.” He exhales slowly, and you think he must be smoking a cigarette with his whiskey. “Whatever you say, cariño.” His voice is a soft purr from deep in his chest. 

You’re suddenly very aware that you’ve never spoken with Javi on the phone outside of work, and it feels strange – not in a bad way, he has a nice voice. But you do feel off kilter, and a touch of vulnerability makes you stomach flip. 

“So…” You pause, not sure what to say without sounding rude. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if there was anything I could do for you, actually.”

Wrapping your sweater more tightly across your chest, you wonder if your nipples are pebbling from a chill in the room or the idea of Javi helping you with something. You really need to get laid; you can’t focus on this case this tightly wound.

“Like what?” You take another sip of wine and wonder what the whiskey in Javi’s glass tastes like, and if the tobacco you smelled on him the other night in the bar is what he’s smoking now. 

“The briefing on Monday – that’s a lot for one person to manage, especially one who doesn’t have any resources assigned yet.” 

Resources. That means an actual team, with actual funding. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. That drive to impress and succeed can make you do stupid things, like take on way too much for one person, and set yourself up for failure. You’re starting to feel that sense of overwhelm that happens when you feel like you’ve taken on too much but force yourself to rein it in. 

Needing help is not a weakness. Asking for help is a strength. Accepting help when offered, especially from somebody like Javi, is the right thing to do.

Swallowing your pride, you say, “Yeah, that’s actually what I’m working on right now. It is a lot. What kind of help did you have in mind?” 

Ice clinks in his glass again and you can almost picture him licking the cool, golden drops from his mustache.

“How about I meet you tomorrow to go over what you’ve got so far, and we can go from there?” 

“Meet me – you mean at the office?” 

“Or your place, wherever you’d be most comfortable.” His tone is purely professional, it doesn’t sound like he’s feeding you a line. But the idea of Javier Peña being inside your apartment fills you with something akin to panic.

“The office is good,” you rush to answer. 

Javi’s chuckle is low and breathy. “Whatever you want, cariño.”

You agree on a time to meet the next day and hang up, just in time for your phone to start ringing again a moment later. Downing the rest of your wine glass, you answer with a choked, “Hello?”

“Hey, sorry, it took me forever to find a quiet spot to call – you okay?” Marcus is raising his voice slightly to hear himself over the music and conversation in the background.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine – sorry to bother you right now, I can tell you’re busy.” Setting the empty wine glass down next to the bottle, you begin to feel flushed and flap your sweater to cool off.

“It’s okay, just a work thing for, uh… for my girlfriend.” 

Your bed disappears from beneath you as your stomach drops. The dregs of the wine burn a trail down your throat. 

“Oh,” you manage.

“She’s a lawyer, just won a big case.” He continues. There’s an edge to his voice you can’t place, which makes you uncomfortable. You used to know his voice better.

“That’s awesome!” There’s a little too much enthusiasm in your response, and you try to dial it back a bit. “That’s so great. Good for her. I should let you get back to her, then.”

“Well, uh. What did you want to talk about?” Oh. Right. You’d asked if he could talk. 

“Oh, god, it’s stupid, I’m really sorry. I’m briefing my strategy at the kickoff on Monday…” 

“That’s great!” Marcus’ voice is filled with genuine warmth and excitement and you can’t help but smile.

“Yeah, except I’m shitting myself over here,” you try to chuckle. “I know these DEA guys are going to grill me and I want to have an answer to every question.” 

“You’re going to blow them away, I know it.” His words make you smile a bit. Marcus has always had unwavering confidence in you.

“Thanks, Marcus.” You try and fail to mask the tinge of defeat in your voice as you pour another large glass of wine. It’s your pity party, and you’ll drink if you want to. 

“Listen, how about I–” He’s cut off by a woman calling his name in the distance. That must be the successful lawyer girlfriend. She probably looks like Heidi Klum.

“I better let you go, I’ve already taken up enough of your time.” The words rush from your mouth. “Thanks again for calling – oh, and congrats to your girlfriend.” 

“Oh, okay. Well, if you need anything…”

“For sure.” Your false air of confidence is transparent. “Thanks, Marcus. Goodnight.” You hang up a little too quickly and take a hefty gulp of wine. 

Marcus has a girlfriend. Of course he has a girlfriend, he’s a total 10. If you’d just been able to get your head out of your ass back in D.C. – no, you won’t let yourself go down that road; not tonight. You’ve got way too much to do before you meet with Javi.

Work is a welcome distraction now, and you find yourself laser focused. By the time the glass of wine is done, your mind is too tired and fuzzy to be productive. You decide to pack it in for the night and get started again bright and early so you’ll have something halfway decent to bring to the office. 

You brush your teeth, down a full glass of water, and climb into bed with your wine-soaked brain swimming with thoughts of the two phone calls you experienced this evening. Javi’s call may have been totally unexpected, and you are resolved not to read too much into it, but Marcus’ led your mind back down memory lane to your last face-to-face conversation. You fall asleep thinking of how things might have been a bit different if you’d only been brave enough to stay.

~~~

Washington, D.C. 6 Months Ago

“Good girl,” he rasps. “My good fucking girl.” He kisses your forehead and temple, then presses his lips in a trail down to the crook in your neck where he rests and catches his breath. 

“Thank you, Sir,” you whisper breathlessly. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” Marcus says softly into your hair. “You did so well for me.” As you begin to regain the strength in your legs, he runs a hand across your cheek and cups it, kissing you gently. His other hand trails featherlight touches across your breasts, then tweaks a nipple making you gasp. 

“Do you still want my cum?” This makes you clench around him with a moan, and he smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Slowly, he pulls out of you with a small groan, making sure you’re steady enough on your feet before letting go of your waist. 

He removes his shirt entirely and reaches for the chair nearby where his coat and tie are draped across the back. Laying his shirt on the seat, he sits and opens his arms, beckoning you. Walking forward, you step between his parted knees, looking hungrily at his shiny, slick-coated cock. 

You want him in your mouth. You want to clean your cum from his cock and feel his hardness slide against your tongue until it hits the back of your throat. Saliva is already pooling in your mouth at the thought. But you know you have to ask permission first. 

“Sir, can I please suck your cock?” Marcus lets out a hungry groan and you lick your lips when his cock twitches in response. You start to go down on your knees when Marcus stops you. 

“Sweetheart, I would love to feel your mouth, especially now. But I can’t let you kneel on this hard floor. My good girl doesn’t deserve that.” He takes your face in his hands and kisses you sweetly.

“Besides,” he cradles your cheeks until you meet his eyes, “I want you riding my cock so I can watch your face when I finally fill you with my cum.” Smiling, you straddle his lap obediently, eager to have him back inside you, however you can have him. 

Marcus holds his cock to line it up at your entrance once again. Audible sighs pass both your lips as you begin to lower yourself down onto him. Marcus hisses between his teeth from the heightened sensitivity of being so hard, still so close to his own finish. 

“God, yes,” Marcus whispers when he’s fully sheathed inside you. “This isn’t going to take long, baby.” 

An electric sort of thrill fills you at how close Marcus is, his orgasm now in your hands. Rocking your hips experimentally, you search to find the best way to move together on the chair. Hands on his shoulders to steady your movements, you begin moving up and down on his cock, your arousal making the glide easy. 

“That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Marcus urges you on with unceasing praise, kisses your breasts and clavicle and moans against your neck. Leaning back, he looks up at you. “Fuck, sweetheart, you look incredible riding me. You’ve got this, keep going. Good girl.” 

Emboldened, you find your rhythm, and delight in the words and noises coming from Marcus’ mouth. Tilting your hips one way on the upstroke, and rolling them on the way back down, Marcus’ breath comes out in pants and grunts each time you bottom out on his dick. You watch Marcus watching you, head tilted back to look up at your face, eyes bright and shining. “Beautiful,” he whispers, as though to himself. “So beautiful, so good… So fucking perfect.”

He grabs your ass, a cheek in each hand, to support your rise and fall. Furrowing his brow, he thrusts his hips up to meet yours. He’s getting close, trying to reach that peak. On the next downstroke you press yourself to him, grinding your hips into his pelvis and he lets out a guttural noise. 

Marcus pulls you down into a passionate kiss and you moan into each other’s mouths as he ruts up again. The chair begins to creak beneath your combined weight and vigor, but you’re both too far gone to take any notice. This combination of depth and pressure is getting you perilously close to your own climax, but you desperately want him to finish with you this time.

“Please. Sir,” you gasp. “Please, I need it.”

“I’m gonna give you my cum, baby. So close. Don’t stop.” Marcus has an arm wrapped around your waist to hold you in place as he fucks up into you, his grip nearly bruising on your hip. Running his other hand up to cup the side of your face, fingers twining into your hair. “Look at me, sweetheart. I want to see that pretty face. Fuck–” he grunts, so close. “Eyes on me… Good girl.”

Gazes locked, mouths agape, you and Marcus inch closer to that razor’s edge together. The building pressure is almost too much and you struggle to keep your eyes open against its blinding power. You need him to fill your already soaked cunt. 

“Marcus, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum – Marcus-” 

A strangled cry that sounds like your name tumbles from Marcus’ mouth as he erupts, the swell and jerk of his cock being the final push you need. He’s holding you so tightly, crushing his mouth against yours as you ride out your pleasure together. Each spasm pulls your bodies together, like waves crashing over rocks, drowned out only by your blended moans. 

Panting to catch your breath, Marcus sprinkles feather-light kisses along your brow, beaded with sweat from exertion. As you slowly come down, you begin to shiver a bit – probably from both the adrenaline and the cool, dry air of the room. Marcus rubs his hands against your arms and back and pulls you close for warmth. 

“Good girl, I’ve got you.” He reaches behind him to pull his suit jacket off the back of the chair and drapes it over your shoulders. Perhaps it’s the intensity of the physical sensations, the comedown from such a high, or something else, but tears start to prick at the backs of your eyes. 

You’ve never experienced this amount of passion and sensuality with any other person in your life. Marcus is more than just a sex partner, he’s your lover. He’s also a friend, and a rare one at that. 

Aftercare is so important to Marcus, he never lets you rush or skip it. He sits there patiently as you recover and ride out the aftershocks, huddled against him with his cock still inside you. Marcus strokes your back and kisses your temple, whispering things too quietly to hear over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. Breathing in tandem, you feel both your heart rates begin to co-regulate and beat together.

Eventually, and only when you feel ready, you begin to get up off his lap. 

“Good girl, nice and easy.” Marcus is a sight to behold, sitting there. His lap is soaked, his chest and neck damp with sweat, hair delightfully mussed. 

Marcus hands you your panties and you slip them on before his cum, infused with your own, can leak too much and make a bigger mess. 

Slowly, naturally, the electricity in the air begins to diffuse and a comfortable quiet takes its place. The two of you redress and straighten the evidence room, finding plenty of opportunities to smile, touch, and help each other. You even share a couple of laughs at the wet spot on Marcus’ shirt. 

“At least it’ll be under your jacket,” you offer, trying to smooth out the deep wrinkles in your skirt a bit more.

“Yeah, I’ll just have to figure out a way to explain it to my dry cleaner.” Marcus grins, revealing his dimple.

Marcus insists on walking you to your car and carrying the box of stuff you’d packed. He laughs at the sheer amount of office supplies you’d thrown in before leaving for the parking garage.

“I’m loving the silent protest, but do you really need three staplers?” 

“The patriarchy has a lot of paperwork,” you shrug innocently and press the unlock button on your key fob. 

Marcus secures your loot in the backseat and turns to face you before you get in and drive away. His shoulders have noticeably slumped and there’s a sad half-smile on his face. You step into his open arms and he envelopes you in a warm embrace, kissing the top of your head. The prickles have come back to your eyes and you burrow into his shoulder and neck even deeper, trying to memorize his scent.

He mumbles something, but you can’t hear him, just feel the rumble in his chest. You pull back without unlocking your arms from his torso, “What did you say?”

“I said ‘I’m going to miss you,’” Marcus repeats, tucking an errant lock of hair behind your ear. His face goes blurry and you quickly blink back the tears threatening to form. 

“I’m going to miss you too, Marcus.” 

He leans down to kiss you, but you shy away and look around nervously out of habit. Marcus grabs your face and plants his lips on yours, kissing you with determination. You sink into him with a sigh, and he deepens the kiss, caressing your tongue with his own. The kiss builds until you both have to break away for breath. 

You get a naughty idea and bite your lip, glancing around. “Hang on, I want to give you something. Keep an eye out.” Hidden from view by your open car door and Marcus’ tall form, you discreetly pull your panties off from under your skirt and tuck them into the pocket of his suit jacket. 

“A memento,” you say with a wink and he kisses you again.

“It’ll keep me warm on cold nights,” he teases, with a cheeky lift of his brow. 

 The somber mood returns, and the two of you stand there quietly again, neither of you ready to say goodbye just yet. 

Finally, Marcus takes a big breath and speaks. “I…” he falters, and has to clear his throat. “I don’t know if I’m going to get another chance to say this, and I’m going to regret it forever if I let you leave without saying anything.” 

His words come out quickly, but his voice is thick with emotion. 

“You shouldn’t go. I mean, I don’t want you to go. You won’t talk about why you’re leaving, but I get it – I do, even if you think I don’t.” You have to look away, and swipe harshly at the tears beginning to spill over. 

Marcus gently cups your face and thumbs away one tear, kisses another off your cheek. Your throat constricts, and you can’t find the words you’d say to stop him if you could. He keeps speaking, every word breaking your heart a little bit more. 

“I really think that there's something special here, with us, and I–” His voice breaks, and you see emotion swimming in his eyes. You cover his hand with yours, and turn your face into his palm, placing a kiss there. 

Tears are falling freely from your eyes now, and there’s a deep, aching part of you that needs to hear what he has to say, even if it kills you. 

“I care about you. Very much.” He meets your eyes as he says this. “I don’t expect you to feel the same–” 

Rising up on your toes, you quickly seal his lips with a bruising kiss. You and Marcus cling to each other in a crushing embrace. 

“Please,” you say against his lips, kissing him again. “Please, don’t–,” another kiss. A sob breaks loose from your throat. “I can’t–”

“I know,” Marcus whispers, ghosting his lips across your cheek, temple, forehead.

“I have to go.”

“I know,” he presses his forehead to yours. “I know.”

Pulling back, you can’t tell if the wetness shining on Marcus’ cheeks is from your tears, or his own. His arms remain locked around you, holding you to him.

“I have to go,” you repeat in a hushed tone. Marcus nods and presses his lips to your forehead one last time. 

“Goodbye, Marcus.” Without looking at his face again, you turn away, breaking free of his warmth.

You manage to get in your car and drive a full block before you finally break down.

Next Chapter || SeñoraBond's Masterlist

Additional Author’s Note: I am so thrilled at all the folks who have liked this story and that I get to thot thotfully with you fine folks. Thank you so much to those who have commented, reblogged, and recc’d my fic! I don’t think this has gotten enough traction to warrant a taglist, but I’m more than happy to tag anybody going forward as I post subsequent chapters! Just send me a DM. 

As always, I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

[nohasslecastle]

Watch beatrice allowing herself to be selfish for the first time in a long time.

Ever since she became a nun she convinced herself her desires didn't matter. She had been a mean to her parent's political agenda and then she became a mean to the OCS's ends.

She had fought against it first "how can we be here just to fulfill some God's providence?" but being sent to that boarding school, stripped from everything she loved, being told what she wanted was sinful, made her surrender and think that maybe [maybe], existence was meant that way "things change when you realise not everything is about you".

She stopped asking God for help, even for forgiveness, who was she to merit his mercy? She prayed in a depersonalized way, repeating the words she had been taught, over and over again.

Then it came Ava. The girl who was the living proof that she had been wrong this whole time. Sure, at first Ava's selfishness annoyed her. Who was she to think she was greater than what God had put in her path? "whatever you want is insignificant" she wanted to tell her, the same way she had been told.

The truth was, however, she envied Ava's rebellion. Even though she had agreed to help them, in her daily life Ava did nothing but to please herself (she had been able to witness that in The Alps). She ate not to feed herself but to taste the flavors, she took showers not to keep clean but because she loved feeling water falling on her back, she read books not to learn but because they entertained her, she asked Bea silly questions about herself because, quoting "I really want to know you better".

Ava knew the world didn't revolve around her, Bea had realized that one sleepless night they got to have a deep conversation (for once) while staring at the ceiling. But the thing is... Ava didn't care. She would make the world hers if she could, "what's the point of being here if you can't have a crump of joy?" she had casually told her. "What's the point of being here..." yes, Bea had also asked herself that.

So watching her lying there, full of blood and lifeless... It wasn't fair. "I know the world its hard and unforgiving" she really knew it, she had learnt it from a young age "and I know that warrior nuns die" but it was not ANY warrior nun, it was ava, she wanted to live why couldn't HE give her that? "But please don't leave me" she would be alone again without her "I don't WANT you to die" she really didn't, she desired with every fiber of her body to keep her to herself, to touch her, to feed her, to talk to her, to love her, to make her hers. She WANTED Ava, she had never wanted anything more.

Why couldn't she have her? Why was God taking Ava away from her? Who was God to decide? It was unfair. Maybe she was not the center of the universe, she didn't fucking care, it was still unfair.

If ava hadn't woken up she would've hated God.

"God knows what's best for us" does he really? "For those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose" then why have you forsaken me? "You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions." Wrong, there could be nothing more holy than wanting Ava.

"Give her back. Give her back. Give her back" She repeated to herself as she was holding her in her arms. "I've never asked you anything for myself but give her back to me" just this time, for all the times she didn't ask, for all the desires she put aside, for all that she had been enduring since she was sent to that boarding school.

And then Ava wakes up. "I'd like to avoid thay myself" she says, sure she does. And she hugs her because she can, and she touches her face because she can, she finally holds her because she can, because it is what Ava wants, and because "who is she to deny that to Ava?". Having her in her arms alive, she finally looks up, "thank you for not taking her away from me... don't you dare do it again" she thinks. Except... he does.

[tomanationcentral]

Sachiko Rizuna's T1 Voice Drama (Mirror Mirror on the wall)

Es: [ominous footsteps]

Sachiko: [breathing]

E: [opens door] Prisoner number 11, Sachiko Rizuna

S: Good morning, warden......san?

E: You seem confused. Is something on your mind?

S: Oh, I just.....it's nothing! Just an unimportant thought

E: Milgram exists to reveal the sins of you, prisoners, and to hand down the appropriate judgement. For that reason, talk to me for a bit. Tell me this 'unimportant thought' of yours

S: Are you sure?

E: I'll be taking a peek into your memories soon enough, so either way, I'll know the truth about you and your crimes

S: Oh, right....it's just.....are you....really the warden?

E: Eh? Of course I am. Why, do I not fit the typical image of a prison warden?

S: Well, I suppose I wasn't expecting a kid to be the prison guard. N-Not that I doubt your credibility or merit, it's just....if you don't mind me asking....exactly how old are you?

E: And here I thought I would be the one asking the questions

S: Sorry

E: No need to apologize, I was joking a bit. I don't mind disclosing something as trivial as my age. I'm 15

S:....Pardon? Fifteen?

E: Yes....I think....

S: Ah, I see....though....say, MILGRAM doesn't operate under regular prison standards, right?

E: Where are you getting at this?

S: Am I right?

E: Why....I won't deny that. It seems like MILGRAM is not only limiting this to whom the Japanese law would deem to be murderers, criminals and so on. I suppose they're "killers" by MILGRAM's own wide interpretation of that word

S: Well that, and....the freedom we have here. Regular prisons don't grant requests such as gifting someone a crepe cake or stacks of fuzzy blankets

E: Ah, saw the crepe cake that was given to prisoner number 4, Muu and the blankets in prisoner number 2's cell?

S: Yeah....to be honest, if we weren't wearing these uniforms or locked in cells at the end of the day, I honestly wouldn't peg this as a prison at all. Just the other day, Kotoko-san mentioned that Fuuta-kun could have ramen delivered here since the rules here aren't strict

E: I suppose you have a point. MILGRAM grants much more leniency on prisoner's comfort and hospitality. And as such a matter of course, I have no intention of using violence or torturing answers out of you

S:.....I felt as if that was unnecessary to say.....but alright

E: Eh? Why so?

S: I mean....I wouldn't peg you as the type of use violence either....out of the blue, that is

E: Why, because I'm a teenager in your eyes?

S: N-No, I didn't mean it like that!

E: I feel it's a bit unfair I've answered your questions, but I didn't get a proper introduction from you

S: Oh, I didn't mean to--

E: I was being a bit playful. We can continue speaking about MILGRAM a bit more once I get to properly know you a bit better

S: Well, you already know my name Sachiko Rizuna. I'm 23 years old, and a graduate student at university

E: Those facial features....you're....a bit like prisoner number 4, Muu Kusunoki, no?

S: Me and Muu-chan? We've only spoken a few times. We both like fashion and a bit on the shy side, I guess. But other than that, we're not that similar

E: I wasn't necessarily referring to personality. Judging by the similar facial features, are you also half japanese?

S: Yes, I'm biracial. My father was born in Osaka, but my mother was from Israel

E: I see. It's a bit strange. With a biracial appearance, I said that Muu would stand out, but you tend to have a more reserved aura around you

S: Oh, umm....thank you? Sorry, I don't know how to respond to that

E: It's not a bad thing. You seem quite comfortable with the other prisoners, despite not speaking much. It seems as if the others find your quiet demenor charming in it's own way

S: Oh, is that so? It's hard for me to start conversations, but I suppose when I get comfortable with someone, I warm up easily

E: I take it you don't have many relationships, but the ones you do have, you give them your all?

S: I do try my best. Though.....

E: Hm? What is it?

S: When you say I give these relationships my all.... that doesn't may have been my downfall....

E: Downfall? As in why you murdered?

S: You're right I don't keep many close relationships. I don't approach people myself, but some people are nice enough to approach me first. I can hold a conversation well

E: Yeah, you seem to be genuinely immersed in this interrogation despite being shy at first. However, you still seem to be holding back. Well...that may not be the right wording, but you're still somewhat flustered, no?

S: I suppose so. I think of it more as socially anxious, but flustered works too. Though, I can keep conversations easily, I don't consider those people friends. We're on good terms, but we never talked outside of school once, or even exchanged numbers

E: I see. You're good with people, but don't necessarily feel close enough to call them friends

S: Really, the only person I feel geuninely enjoys my company is my younger brother

E: Younger brother?

S: Two years younger than me. We've been very close since he was born. He....was the only person that has stayed in my life as a constant. Because of that, I didn't want to lose that growing up

E: Lose that? Even if both of you grew up, it's not like family would lose each other....I think....

S: It's not the type of thing one loses easily, but it was better safe than sorry when it came to him. We also attended the same university. Heh, he looked so happy when he ran towards me, gushing about how he passed the entrance exam. We studied in different majors, but I walked him to the canteen or the library sometimes....I really wish we could've taken lectures together, but I guess seeing him on campus was enough

E:..........

S: Hm? Warden-san, what's wrong? Looking at me like that?

E: Sorry, it's just....that's the most you've spoken to me so far. It's like you care about your brother so much, nothing else matters

S: [flustered noises] I-Is that so? I suppose I went off on a tangent....

E: No need to be embarrassed, this opens some insight into your mind and serves as a transition into my inquiry. You said you studied different majors? You seem to have quite a good sense of the justice system when we spoke briefly about MILGRAM.....

S: You noticed? Yes, I study law, so I'm a bit informed about how prisons work themselves.

E: What was your feelings going into such an intense major?

S: I felt....excited? Nervous, that I was taking such an intense major, but happy that I would met others with the same mindset as me. People with a strong sense of justice and moral compass

E: I see....

S: However.....

E: However what?

S: The people I met....I started to feel left out very quickly. Like...I didn't belong there. I would see my lecture seatmates constantly talking with their other friends like I didn't exist. How they would laugh and chat away happily. It's stupid to think about at this age, but they were way too popular for me. They were smart, talkative, outgoing....

E:...........

S: [sighs] Why am I talking about this during my prison interrogation...?

E: No, no, go on. It sounds like you experiencing some sort of imposter syndrome. Being surrounded by people that you deemed 'better than you' in your eyes causes feelings of self-doubt and inadequacy. Like your accomplishments were only out of luck and your hard work paled in comparison to theirs

S: No.....you don't understand!

S: [slams her hands on the table]

E: !!!

E: Sachiko....is it just me, or did your attitude suddenly change....?

S: Listen to me, warden-san! They....they didn't deserve the love and popularity they had! They.....they caused suffering....I saw it with my own eyes!

E: Suffering?

S: How ironic is it that a law student is studying what is suppose to be making a positive difference in society! And....and....for what they did that day?! What utter bullshit! They tortured--

[bells chime, machinery whirls]

S: Wha--

E: Relax. It's time. I'm just going to take a peek into your memories now

S: [sighs] You probably think I'm a jealous drama queen....

E: Not as bad as prisoner number four, but you definitely showed some sides of yourself that made me feel....weird about you

S: Weird? Well....I guess that's expected. Sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice like that

E: Suddenly acted timid again?

S: N-No! I mean.....[sighs] you sure are tough to beat

E: I'm not trying to play games with you, Sachiko. I'm just stating my opinion on your different reactions to certain things. And I'll be seeing a lot more sides to you during your song extraction

S: Right, right.....I suppose there's nothing more I can say. An unbearable amount of pain just resurfaced....so unbearable I lose my mind

E: I understand....you seem plenty of capable of having such an...intense side of you

S: That's....true. But those are my frank feelings. I can't change them, but when I saw that happening to him......it hurts like hell, even now.....

E: *That* happening to *him*? I see....

S: Well....I'd probably go to hell anyways

E: Depending on what awaits for you in the very near future, the place you call the 'strange prison, MILGRAM' may very well be hell for you soon

S: Mhm

E: Prisoner number 11, Sachiko Rizuna, sing your sins!

Continue to Samsa

[creature-wizard]

The Law of Assumption: Where It Might Be Useful, & Where It Definitely Isn't

So, exactly what people think the Law of Assumption can do varies. I want to make it clear that I'm not claiming that everyone who believes in the Law of Assumption thinks that it can do literally everything I'm going to talk about in this post. Some definitely do. Not all, but some. And those some are enough to justify making this post.

So, I think that Law of Assumption has some amount of merit. For example, if you assume that everyone you meet will judge you and hate you, you're going to behave in a more defensive manner around people, which most of them will interpret as hostile. But if you assume that people will like you, you're more likely to act in a friendlier way, which will generally make a better impression.

If you assume that you just can't learn new topics or new skills, you probably won't even try; or if you do try, you probably won't put in much of an effort. But if you assume that you can learn, you'll be more likely to make a real effort and get somewhere with it.

If you try to manifest a certain item into your life, you are almost certainly priming your subconscious mind to be on the lookout for it. If you affirm to yourself that you own pretty dresses, it's inevitable that you'll be looking out for pretty dresses to buy. You might also communicate to your friends that you'd like one, whether you mention it or put pictures of them on a board they can see; and maybe they buy one for you.

I personally try to live by the assumption that every problem has a solution, because it encourages me to keep on trying where I might otherwise give up. This has worked very well for me most of the time.

I would like to think that one could use the Law of Assumption in a more magical context, but since I cannot definitively provide any evidence that this is indeed possible, I'm not even going to address it. I am also not going to address fundamentally unprovable claims that higher powers decide when, where, and if your desires will manifest. Instead, I'm going to move on to some of the big whopping absurdities that some people are pushing as gospel truth.

First is the claim that literally everything in your life is determined by your expectations, including the way your own parents treat you. To suggest that a child is somehow responsible for their parents abusing them is utterly absurd - do not the parents have minds and wills of their own? Are their choices not, in fact, their own? Or are we supposed to believe that literal babies are somehow born with the expectation of being hurt by their parents?

This belief also implies that literally every oppressed and exploited group of people were somehow responsible for their own exploitation and oppression, and that the people doing the exploiting and oppression had no real agency or choice in the matter.

Conversely, it also implies that hateful stereotypes about oppressed and exploited groups of people must be true, because it's how the more privileged members of society expect them to behave.

Also, can anyone truly say that life always played out exactly as they expected it to? Have you never been surprised by a plot twist? Have you never said something that didn't come off the way you thought it would? Have you never been in a vehicle that unexpectedly got a flat tire? Never had the waitstaff at a restaurant mix up your order with someone else's? Never gotten the wrong item in the mail? Have you never, ever had a day that just went totally off the rails due to an unexpected twist? Never had anything happen that you didn't expect?

Secondly, some people are claiming that you can manifest things literally out of thin air. Like literally "assume there's a million dollars sitting in your closet and it will manifest there." Claims like this effectively deny that the physical world has any sort of stable ontology, which is absolute head-up-ass territory - this is the kind of thing that pretty much always comes from cult leaders and scam artists, and those naive enough to repeat their message without properly testing it out first.

Third, some people are effectively claiming that other people aren't even real by making claims as grandiose as "if England exists in your reality, it's because you've manifested it." This implies that literally every person who lives and ever lived in England isn't even a real person, but rather a construct of your imagination. This sort of solipsistic worldview is inherently dehumanizing.

Furthermore, this worldview denies and minimizes the reality of ongoing violence against real people by proposing that if believe that things like human trafficking and labor exploitation aren't happening, then they simply don't exist in your reality. Nestle isn't abusing workers and taking water from people because you've simply decided it's not happening.

If you're this far gone I don't think there's really any way to reason with you. If not, I hope you can see where this kind of mentality is absolutely depraved. To think that ongoing abuses of human rights are a problem that you made up, and that you can merely assume them away, is egocentric in the extreme.

Fourth, you've got people who are basically in faith healing territory, and faith healing doesn't exactly have a great record of success. Search up "faith healing scams" sometime. Understand that if the Law of Assumption worked in the extremes some people are claiming, faith healing would have a far better success rate because those that sought it did so assuming it would work.

So, these are some of my present thoughts on the Law of Assumption. Is there a demonstrable amount of usefulness in the practice? I do think so. However, there are also people who are taking the whole thing dangerously far, and we can't pretend otherwise.

[rosestarchild]

matilda rambling again but i'll just never be satisfied with the way that what's supposed to be a shed that's falling apart is often turned into a cute little house (not counting the 1996 film here cause that one works differently for various reasons). the only thing i can get behind are the drawings on the walls cause miss honey sings about them but other than that it's always so frustrating when they turn it into something that seems even a little bit nice. it's not supposed to be nice, you're not supposed to be thinking "aww how sweet" while looking at it except for the drawings maybe, nothing about it is supposed to seem even mildly homey or pleasant, it shouldn't have pretty curtains or comfortable chairs.

it's horrible and it's horrible that she doesn't think it's horrible, or maybe she does but she can't afford to think it's horrible and so she believes it's a good place, she needs to believe it's a good place, or maybe she does genuinely see it as a good place and in a sad way it is a good place cause it's what she's managed to make for herself and she's happier there as much as it's possible so it does have its value and merit. in any case it's just sad that she's come to believe that this, which is terrible, which is close to nothing, is good enough for her, it's what she deserves. she sings about that too. it's supposed to be so fucking unlivable that it prompts a five year old child to take immediate measures to get her out of there as soon as possible.

the stage musical (the replicas) is the only one that manages to communicate that feeling for me. it's nothing, it's bare, it has no colors except for a single flower there in the corner, it's a fucking 3x3 square on the ground with a stool and a piece of cloth on the floor that's supposed to be a mattress, it doesn't even have the pictures on the walls, when every other setting in the show has actual furniture on them. the drawings make no difference in making the house a better place sadly so we don't see them, she may sing about them, but we don't see them, and i like that. i understand this whole thing comes from wanting to make the situation seem a little bit better and a little bit sweeter but i also think there's an attempt to make miss honey seem like a more well-adjusted person, by at least not having her live in a completely uninhabitable place. considering the fact that she uses the word "suicide" within five minutes of conversation with a five year old child, i don't think it's a successful attempt. there's something slightly off about her (and that's okay too, no one's blaming her for it) and she lives in a shed. these things are not correlated but they are both truths and we shouldn't try to deny either of them.