#like that’s just the case for my circumstances and just. even trying to force myself to be bi and feeling like I Had to be into girls bc no

[aemiron-main]

me 🤝 mike

trying to make ourselves like girls

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

[ content warning: discussion of in-canon sexual abuse ] Maybe it’s just because I’m not too active in the ALNST fandom and mostly observe from afar, but I think this fandom brushed aside way too quickly the fact that Till was sexually assaulted. I have never seen anyone talk in depth about like, what that actually means in terms of his arc and the storytelling of his character. Which I find deeply, deeply upsetting because holy fucking shit.

This man right here has been told, basically his entire life, that not only is he himself not worthy of being treated as a human, but that his body is not his body, but a piece of property that can be owned. And whoever owns his property can use it for whatever, and however they wish. Now, dehumanization is nothing new or unique in this world, obviously. The very concept of Pet Humans is dehumanizing by nature, leaving all six of our main characters as victims to it, even those who are more well-off like Mizi. But Till is a specially fucked up case almost distinctly unlike the rest, because he is actually treated like a fucking dog.

(x) Ivan: If you keep rebelling like that, they won’t ever remove your collar you know? Till: This annoying bastard… — Ivan: I told you so, didn’t I? You didn’t listen? Till: This annoying bastard... (translation courtesy of @leiikos on youtube)

(x)

An unruly animal who needs to be leashed up and put in it’s place. Animals, as is common knowledge, are not on the same level as a human being. But they are ordained to follow the commands of those above them. And if someone (thing) isn’t doing as it is told…

It deserves to be taught better. But I’m getting ahead of myself. This is the mindset that has followed Till his entire life by the ones who were supposed to take care of him. He is not human, even less human than the existing inhuman. He is a pet, even more so than the other pets, an animal. A thing. Property. Something to own. And the best thing about owning something?

You gain the ability to do whatever you want to it. Till’s body was not his from the start. It was used as something to toy around with, experiment with, to train and train and train, presumably for his whole life. His body, his skin, his flesh and bone and blood, it was all nothing more than a plaything. So what if he screams? Just ignore it. Or don’t. If this competition has taught us anything, voices have the most value of all. On top of it being reinforced that Till is not deserving of humanity, he is also not deserving of his bodily autonomy. People are free to do whatever they want with his body because it’s not his body, it’s theirs. And that brings us, finally, to the scene itself

He can’t sing her song, he refuses to. This isn’t the first time he’s refused to do something, far from it actually. What was once an innocent puppy with dilated hope in his eyes has grown into an angry, disobedient mutt. And we know what happens to an animal that refuses to do what they’re told. But there’s something interesting about dogs, or rather about the ones they descended from, the wolf: When the circumstances call for it, they will bite the hand that’s supposed to feed them.

And here is where I intrude to remind you that this is the only time we see anyone physically fighting back against the aliens in the confines of Alien Stage. We see Hyuna and Mizi fucking up aliens in All In, but that was after they had escaped from the cage. And you could make a case for Mizi trying to escape the grasp of the guards that grabbed her in Ruler of My Heart, but from what we saw she didn’t actually lay a hand on them and more so just tried to force herself out of their grasp. though if you disagree with me on that that's fine Here though? Till has this bitch’s face grabbed into his palm with a bottle in hand ready to smash it directly in between it’s eyes. I consider this to be the first act of physical violence shown against the aliens within the uncomfortably tight enclosure. And it’s triggered not because of anything personally done to Till, which on its own could probably fill a list that reaches the ground. But because of the prospect of Mizi being dead. Till knows that this place is shit, that his life is shit. Said so directly on his profile.

Dislikes: Everyone, including Guardian Urak (translation courtesy of @kh47uo on twitter)

But he stays regardless because Mizi is there. If Mizi is dead, Till has absolutely nothing to lose…Right?

I can almost imagine him thinking: There’s nothing you can put me through that’s worse than every other way you’ve hurt me. …But there was. Oh there was.

A final, disgusting message to the pet to put him back in his place. Back on his leash. Making sure he will never forget where he stands for the rest of his days.

And that is really what the sexual assault of Till represents to me. It is a cruel reminder to Till that fighting back is impossible, having hope, being free, it might as well be a fool's fantasy. He will always be less-than-human, less than anything. His body will always be the property of the ones that were supposed to protect him, claimed, and then used used used until it’s worn out and dead.

And the aliens chose to exemplify that fact in the most direct way they possibly could.

So what if he screams? Just ignore it. Or don’t. If this competition has taught us anything, screams have the most value of all

[annabelle--cane]

im listening to mag again and damn do the archival crew HATE jon. listen i get it supposedly your lives would be normal if he hadn't brought you here... but he didn't? (minus og archive crew, jon requesting them and all) if anything he was just kinda there when you made decisions, bro wasn't EVEN THERE when melanie got hired like??? like how r u gonna wish him pain rn, he's ltrly sopping wet and on the verge of dying💀

like another anon I got a month or so ago, this is one of my sleeper agent trigger phrases, so this might be another marina monologue moment.

as I'm also in the middle of a (for my standards) incredibly slow relisten, I've been thinking about this topic, too, but I've been coming at it from a slightly different angle than I normally do. in tim's case, we don't get an actual look at the circumstances under which he transferred to the archives, it is theoretically possible that jon laid it on a bit thick in asking him to come with him to the department and tim wouldn't have even thought of it otherwise, but with melanie we have several scenes of her hiring and onboarding where jon is not present and she continually rebuffs people who tell her she's making a mistake, so the text very clearly sets up that her blaming jon for being trapped there doesn't make sense. and, even with tim having been requested by jon, he still had to make the ultimate decision to switch departments himself, so, yknow, what gives?

most people, I think, and myself in the past, have come at this question from a very jon-centric pov because he's the main character and it's a jon-centric show, but I think putting it down to "they lash out at him because he happens to be there and stops defending himself after a while" misses something, as does "they lash out at him because elias sets everyone up to think they have an adversarial relationship to jon." more than that, I think it's about the rejection of agency.

tma is a show that's very much About agency and choices, so it's important to keep track of where characters suddenly balk and try to offload their choices onto other agents. martin, despite being very proactive and efficient when he sets his mind to it, has a consistent habit of thinking of himself as fundamentally unimportant and unable to affect real change. jon, someone who is usually culpability_acceptor_4000, really tries to convince himself that the web made him pull statements out of strangers. and melanie and tim, on realizing that they've gotten themselves stuck in the archives, have similar reactions of trying to retroactively make those decisions jon's.

they hate being stuck there and they can't bear the idea that it might be their fault, and they don't know how to reconcile the choices they did make with the greater forces outside of their control that shape their lives. tim swings right from seeing jon as fully responsible to seeing everything as the result of cosmically inevitable bad luck, and this hits him so hard that it leads directly to his suicide. post-bullet melanie gets a better handle on it; accepting that she chose to fall further into the slaughter opens her up to accepting that she made other choices, like joining the archives, as well as accepting future choices, like quitting the archives.

and yes, in the moments where tim and melanie are most vulnerable and just starting to realize how deeply screwed they are, jon (at least from their pov) does something to make it worse. when jon tells tim that jane presntiss wasn't his fault, tim says "well you sure made me feel worse afterwards! and then everyone had to pay attention to how you were feeling to get you to stop stalking us!" when melanie goes in for a second assassination attempt on elias, elias makes jon talk her down instead of doing it himself, presumably to try and get the slaughter mark done with. neither of these are the inciting incidents for tim and melanie's situations, but they stand out. and because jon is culpability_acceptor_4000, a man who feels like the weight of the whole world is on his shoulders and is even right some of the time, the accusations stick. tim and melanie don't want anything to be their fault, jon thinks everything is his fault, and it's a bit of a vicious self-fulfilling cycle.

[elicathebunny]

HOW TO REDUCE MALADAPTIVE DREAMING.

(suggestion post)

I have actually experienced this since the age of around 9 or 10 years and only managed to reduce and basically almost get rid of it after 5 or 6 years. I am no doctor or professional, so all of this is just by experience mixed with online research.

WHAT IS MALADAPTIVE DAYDREAMING?

Maladaptive daydreaming is a mental health issue that causes a person to lose themselves in complex daydreams. These daydreams are usually a coping mechanism for other mental health conditions or circumstances. It's common — but not required — for people who have this to have a history of childhood trauma or abuse.

SYMPTOMS:

Extensive, sometimes compulsive, absorption in fantasy for several hours a day

Inability to stop daydreaming

Having very detailed fantasies, including plot lines and characters

Having real-life reactions to fantasies, like facial expressions, body movements, or verbalizations

Difficulty concentrating or focusing on other things

Sleep problems (especially falling asleep)

Replacing human interaction

The urge to continue fantasizing when interrupted

In some cases, maladaptive daydreaming can also be characterized by the need for additional stimulation, which can be expressed through extensive book-reading, watching films, or gaming.

TRIGGERS:

some of the triggers may include listening to music on headphones, watching movies, and hearing specific conversation topics.

In addition to processing trauma, other causes of maladaptive daydreaming include:

Wish fulfillment

Entertainment (regulating boredom or isolation)

Regulating distress

MY EXPERIENCE: I would spend hours upon hours with storylines that I have had for years. Those stories gave me comfort and I would get lost in the experience of daydreaming. I would even put on music to put myself deeper in my thoughts and would get irritated if someone ruined my thought process by speaking to me. I realised it was a problem when I began to randomly fall into my daydreams without much control. Simple thinking turned into detailed storylines and I would constantly seem lost in thought and lose track of time. This obviously isn't helpful when you have important things to do when you need to focus. I would try to stop daydreaming but would always catch myself doing it because it become normal to me. All the characters and scenarios in my head represented me parts of me that I wish I was in real life, or even things I wanted to happen in my life. Sometimes the dreams happened so frequently that I couldn't differentiate between my memories and dreams. Before I acknowledged it as a problem I never actually wanted to get rid of it, such a big part of me would be lost. I had been daydreaming for such a long time that I became emotionally attached to the characters I had made.

WHAT HELPED ME:

Doing things that take up a lot of brain power and time: e.g. Doing a workout, Dancing, or Solving a difficult equation.

This gives you 0 time to even think about anything, let alone daydream. Go out with your friends, and force yourself into situations that require you to use your full attention. Because I never really went out much or did anything frequent enough to take up my day, I had too much time to myself and became stuck in my own head. Doing things and picking up extracurriculars, ANYTHING will help.

Because I am no longer at home as much as I used to and interact/learn new skills much more than I did before. I simply do not have time to be in my own head, I forced myself to learn to get out of my head and achieve the things I would daydream about.

I am now engaging in improving myself instead of dreaming about the version of myself/life I wanted so badly. Those dreams and characters were just glamorised versions of deep-rooted emotions I had left without facing them. Uncovering the true meaning of why I daydream and the details of the things I was daydreaming about will help you get out of the daze.

NOTES I'VE FOUND ON QUORA:

ONE:

Open up. Speak about it to others. Express yourself. There is nothing to be ashamed of. You need not share your daydreams, just share that you daydream. It's okay.

Write your daydreams down, or type them out… whatever. Get them out of you to have a better look. They are trying to tell you something about yourself. Have you ever noticed that you can't completely control your daydreams? And when you do try to change something critical in your plot it just doesn't “feel right”?

Boil them down to mere feelings. Strip away all the illusory layers of good looks, grand mansions, heroic acts and so on. The truth lies in key moments where the characters feel something deeply for each other. Find those feelings, and question the difference between you and your characters. Ask what is blocking you from experiencing them for yourself.

Realize that you are the reality, not your characters. If you imagine a nobleman or a beautiful girl, it is your nobility and beauty that you impart to those. All your characters are merely objects animated by the light of your imagination and feelings.

Understand that all your daydreams have nothing to do with others, and everything to do with you, and your relationship with yourself. When you realize this, you stop comparing them with your real-world relationships and start relating them to various aspects of yourself.

Know that when you successfully come out of this, you will actually not lose the ability to daydream or run out of feelings to pour into your imagination. It is just that their purpose will have been served, and you will not resort to daydreaming again out of lack or compulsion. You may at any point daydream again and even use it as a tool to know what your Soul is trying to tell you. Yet, you will realize that a moment of self-awareness is more rewarding than a lifetime of daydreams.

TWO:

Here are some serious tips to avoid them:

First of all, make sure you really want to get rid of this, because a lot of MDers get emotionally attached to their imaginary characters.

Disable /avoid the triggers. Block YouTube if you have to. Those websites you visit. The images saved on your computer - delete them. Plenty of apps for that.

This might be rude, but start avoiding the topics or the friends who keep discussing these topics.

Get busy doing something else - take up a hobby, meet new people. Try to stay in public places or with other people. Plenty to do in life other than dreaming.

Avoid that one music/ song that acts as a trigger.

DO I STILL MD? Yea sometimes, but now It is an okay amount. It doesn't consume my life anymore.

[trips2saturn]

towl spoilers below!!!!!!!!!

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late briefing but it’s here and that’s what matters!!!!! let’s get into this episode! ❤️‍🔥

this episode was amazing. no notes. angst fuels me, so keep it coming in episode four along with some loving intimacy! 🤝

michonne is the most clever, headstrong, charismatic, fearless powerhouse of a woman in the entirety of twdu. there is no situation nor circumstance that she cannot handle. no matter the time, skill, or hardship that woman is going to do whatever she fucking wants. she’s such an admirable character, and yes this is just a fictional show but she means so much to me. tv mom forever and ever and ever. my lovebug!!!! 🫶🏼

rick… my og lovebug. his selfless, tender hearted yet courageous and dangerous personality is sooo missed recently because of these losers who love to keep playing hide the donkey. he’s been so beaten down and forced into the caged mindset, also known as stockholm syndrome. it hurts so much to see it affect him so deeply, especially in this episode. we truly get to understand just how horrified he is of losing michonne, losing judith, losing their home. it’s so layered that he’s come to the conclusion that he has to do whatever it takes to protect his wife and their children (judith for now until further notice). even going as far as pretending to break michonne’s heart just to get her to go back home for the sake of a safe and secured future. and as much as it rips his entire psyche into shreds, this man is a family man. his priority in life is to protect the ones that he loves by all means necessary.

and thank fucking HEAVENS that despite their years apart, michonne knows her husband like the back of her palm and can read him like a book!!! every word that poured out of his mouth was utter bullshit merely for safety purposes and i’m soooo glad that she understood that without even having to retaliate verbally.

she retaliated by throwing them out of a moving chopper LMAOOO 😭 MY GIRL, MY LEADING LADY!!!!!! CAN WE MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE CRAZIEST CHARACTER IN THE ROOM. thank youuuuuu! i digress.

“we needed a timeout” shdjshdhsjdjs well yes! please knock some sense into your traumatized husband. he needs his wife!!!

moving forward. the phones!!!! “believe a little bit longer”!!!!! CARL MENTION!!!!!!??????!!!!! 😨🫨🥺☹️😖 rick not mentioning any names for three years and never liking any drawings of his son because they could never be depicted perfectly 😣😣😣 try not to cry challenge [FAILED]. punching me in the gut would hurt less. still hoping for a random chandler cameo too :D

i know that what rick said was absolutely fake and futile but as a fierce michonne lover… HER FACE AS HE SPOKE??? if we don’t see him loving on her endlessly in episode four… i might throw myself out of a moving helicopter.

one hundred percent positive that they’ll be pouring bisquick and making pancakes next episode. i’m sat.

thorne is a D. not an A. she’s a piece of shit and will be dealt with eventually. michonne will handle any light work. i rest my case.

jadis is a sexual predator and a grade-A loser with a shit haircut. i almost pissed myself laughing when rick said that. he’s been waiting and so have i!!!! 😁 but yeah she sucks. die asap.

RICHONNE KISS IN THE WOODS AFTER BEING A POWERHOUSE COUPLE. 🥹 reminded me so much of when they took those cars and drove into that herd of walkers. ugh. please put their entire love story into the louvre.

last but not least because i’m tired — unsure what beale is up to. he’s so sketchy, and also SO CONFUSED about rick supposedly having a briefing with him about being promoted?! NO. no thanks we didn’t ask for him to ever be a leader nor get kidnapped in the first place!!!! scared to see what lies ahead for the next three episodes :(((((

in conclusion, michonne is the most beautiful angel to walk the earth. she looked so hot in every single scene. episode three is hands down my favorite episode yet, despite the hardship. again, angst fuels me. so excited to see what’s in store next week, and every other week after that!!!! it’s only up from here. ❤️‍🔥⬆️

okay that’s it. hope everyone enjoyed the episode!!!! this is such a wild ride, and i’m happy to have my television parents back on my screen, making things happen again. 🌟🔥

[bluebelly-sun-serpentine]

I feel as though the language of accommodation is backwards in so many cases. Especially in regards to covid, I’ve started reframing things in my head. I am constantly accommodating other people; treating their disability to deal with reasonable daily decision-making and the existence of chronic risk with kindness and empathy, reacting to their defensiveness and hostility about my continued use of and advocation for masks, ventilation, and regular risk assessments with measured responses that mask the rage and helplessness I feel about the apathy of ableism, communicating about my household’s needs in the softest possible way, reacting compassionately when people who have stopped taking any kind of precaution complain that their health has worsened in the long term or their most recent bout with covid has cost them income (even when these people have continually judged my choice to take precautions), being endlessly patient when people invite me (or try to pressure me) to attend risky indoor gatherings instead of saying “you know I can’t do that. Nothing has changed since the last time I had to say no. You could always invite me to something I don't have to say no to.” Ignoring so much cognitive dissonance and self-delusion. Opening as many windows as possible so we all have a better chance of staying healthy. Apologizing constantly about continuing to protect myself and others so that people get off my case about it and can continue living in a fantasy of post-pandemic normality.

I don’t, anymore, think I’m the fragile person in this situation, and I have realized how much this rings true for other ways in which I have navigated the world prior to the pandemic. Bringing my notes and printouts to doctor’s appointments so that doctors don’t have to properly do their jobs. Bringing my partner so doctors don’t have to look past their own misogyny and ableism. Masking physical pain so that others don’t have to feel bored or distracted by it. Masking my expressions of joy or sorrow or wonder when they don’t conform to norms. Tip-toeing constantly around a passive aggressive regional culture of toxic positivity rather than communicating frankly and directly in the manner that has always been more natural to me (for both nurture and nature reasons) to reduce friction for everyone else.

I’m really going to urge other people who find themselves marginalized or othered in some way: how are you accommodating the people who fail to accommodate you? Not just “what accommodations do you need?” Or “how are you being or not being accommodated?” What have you been doing to make everyone around you more comfortable, and how much of that is actually serving you? Some of it may, and some of it may not. How much work are you doing to unburden people of their own consciences? If no one else sees it, can you, at least, take a moment to look it in the eye?

I'd guess this is true of any condition of life (and by condition I don't mean illness, just "a mode or state or being" or "existing circumstances") that is somehow considered non-normative in its context. If you are an immigrant or you live in a racist or xenophobic culture of which you are the target, if you are a woman, if you are fat, if you are gay, if you're an effeminate man, if you are ill, if you are old, if you are deaf, if you use a wheelchair, etc. I know you've experienced something similar to the labor I'm talking about. "Accommodation" is the word we use talk about things disabled or differently abled people need or deserve to have in order to allow them to navigate an ableist world. Practically this language has sometimes been helpful to me – in getting care, in forcing professors into basic ADA compliance by not stuffing me in an overcrowded, unventilated room with 100 unmasked (frequently contagious) people, in allowing me time to catch up after I've been so ill I can't move, in providing spaces where people like me can sit and catch a breath – but increasingly I see it as something that isn't uni-directional, not just something I'm receiving (or fighting and failing to win) but something I am constantly, endlessly doing without acknowledgement, and which, if I ever stopped doing it, would invite serious penalty. I don't know how to change that except by talking about it.

[mrhaitch]

Hey Mr. Haitch,

What do you do when you are sad?

I don't know if I've talked about this before, but I come from a family with a long history of poor mental health, along with conditions like autism and ADHD. I've had distinct episodes of very poor mental health - particularly my late teens, early adulthood and then the first few years of my kids' lives, during which I was medicated.

Diagnoses were batted around for a while (depression, generalised anxiety, bipolar depression, one long conversation where they were wondering aloud about schizoaffective disorder), and I've only recently gone cold turkey from the meds and my wellbeing has improved hugely. Not that I'm advocating for people to avoid medication - if you need it, take it - but in my case I was worsening over time.

I'm saying this to make a general point that when I experience a low mood it might be for a few hours or days and weeks, often without any particular trigger - I just become low and nonverbal and distant. Often I come out of it on my own accord. I have some very bright days and weeks, but I'll eventually subside into some kind of slump, oscillating between the two until I find some kind of level like a pendulum winding down.

I've got a kitbag of coping mechanisms when I get low:

1) I make sure I eat, and eat the things that bring me joy. Not just takeout or ready meals: I make sure I cook something.

2) Prioritise sleep and rest but within reasonable boundaries (get out of bed at a reasonable time)

3) Get out of the house at least once a day, even if it's to go to the shops.

4) Revisit media that brings me joy: favourite games, films, TV shows.

5) Break whatever cycle I'm in.

For that last one, what I mean is that when I'm low I lapse into a kind of holding pattern. My actions will become repetitive, and I'm highly prone to boredom which tends to make things worse. As such I'll surprise myself with random choices and changes: if I've been inactive I'll force myself to take a long walk, maybe 5 miles. If I've been busy and active I'll force myself to be sedentary. If I've been binge watching something and it's not doing anything for me, I'll pick up a book, or doodle, or play my guitar.

Whatever rut you're in now, do something different. Pick something outside of that pattern, even if it's getting up and sitting in a different chair (I know this is weird, but it works for me). Or if insomnia strikes, switch to the other end of the bed.

One thing I have to stop myself from doing is trying to figure out why I'm upset, because half the time there is no real root cause or reason and, given enough time, I'll invent one. I have to tell myself that I'm just feeling sad or low for no clear reason, and it will pass. When it does pass I focus on building myself up: I use my good periods to take care of my health, to create new projects, to build up momentum. Doing these things, I find, leaves me more resilient when the shit days strike.

This is all very particular to me and my circumstances, but hopefully it might give people a few ideas. I hope you're not struggling at the moment, but if you are I hope this gives some light at the end of the tunnel.

[wordsandrobots]

'Real' robot? No thanks

I shan't be wasting time hang-wringing over the idea of a Gundam show from the point of view of the setting's antagonists. This is a well-worn and perfectly legitimate approach, and in any case, Mobile Suit Gundam (1979) goes out of its way to emphasise the humanity of the Principality of Zeon's soldiers. There are scouts who bend their orders to aid to civilians, wannabe special-forces who take the time to gawk at the teen prodigy who thwarted their attempt to blow up the Gundam, pilots who jump ship rather than go down with their mobile suits, and injured grunts who cling to family pictures while bleeding out in the desert. Even the actual *villains* of Gundam 79 – the Zabi family and their hangers-on – are generally presented as functioning people with loves and motivations beyond conquest. Only Gihren is utterly without morals. You know, the guy who took being compared to Hitler as a compliment? Garma, Degwin, Dozle, and even Kycilia all have moments of humanity, in spite of their reprehensible actions.

So yes, of course there are people fighting for Zeon because it's their job, because they believe the promise of spacenoid independence, because they buy into newtype theory, or simply because circumstances force them to. That's the kind of story Gundam is: the tragedy of people enduring a war driven by forces above their heads and beyond their control, who are just trying to make it home alive. If you don't get that, or that the Federation is squarely in the position of 'lesser evil but still a callous nation state doing dubious things to secure victory' from episode one, I don't know what to tell you. You've missed the point. I'm sorry, you just have.

There is nothing wrong with the premise 'wouldn't fighting against the Gundam be like living in a horror movie?' Indeed, I will go further: that is a good premise for a story.

But Netflix's Mobile Suit Gundam: Requiem for Vengeance is not a good story. It is, at best, a serviceable one, trotting from A to B with enough narrative cohesion and character beats to string the set-pieces together. By and large it manages an inoffensive momentum, unfolding a predictable sequence of events with reasonable competency. If I was not hugely entertained, I was not especially put off, either. They even remembered to turn on the contrast for the nighttime battles.

The biggest innovation displayed here is that this production was rendered in Unreal Engine as full CGI, eschewing Gundam's conventional animation style. In my view, that's also the key to its biggest problems. Let's take a quick spoiler break and I'll try to unpack what I mean.

I guess go watch the show before proceeding?

OK, so, there was a point in the middle of Requiem for Vengeance when I found myself questioning the physics of beam sabers. I'd never thought before about why what is essentially a burning stream of energy can be blocked by a bit of metal with a super-heated edge, or indeed by another such stream, because within the animation style usually used to depict such things, they are clearly physical in their interaction with the world. As solid as lightsabers and therefore as capable of acting like real swords.

But Requiem makes the decision to depict the Gundam's saber as, essentially, the jet from a blowtorch. Because that's what this *is*, isn't it? A narrow fountain of plasma? So it looks like fire, you can see the Zaku's heat-hawk through the Gundam's blade, and suddenly I'm wondering – how does that work? Why does the axe stop it instead of passing through? How does this obviously non-physical blade react as if it were a physical object?

There are any number of technobabble reasons you might give for how this works. Forcefields! It's probably forcefields. But what struck me was the beat of 'huh' I experienced, where I asked something I'd never previously *needed* to, even though it always existed as a legitimate question of the sci-fi mumbo-jumbo being deployed, and how that was a direct result of stylistic choices made when the Gundam was reinterpreted through the lens of CGI 'realism'.

Ah, yes. Realism. That elusive quality chased by film-makers and game-developers the world over. Or, specifically chased by a lot of big, mainstream studios who've decided it is vitally important the supernatural and the superscientific be placed within what is recognisably the real world.

In terms of such codifying modern works as 2008's Iron Man, this is primarily about papering over the stitching between what is filmed using actors and what is painted in later. In theory, something rendered entirely by computer does not have to worry about this. However, as many a 'triple-A' computer game has proven, the aspiration towards photographic quality remain. Characters and objects are honed so as to mimic the appearance and texture of real people and objects, with greater verisimilitude to life being a near-universally unquestioned goal.

I won't argue this doesn't have merit as a technical exercise. The results can be impressive. What I will say is: realism is worthless if it removes interest, and useless if it sacrifices coherence. The beam saber example is an instance of what I mean by the latter. Within Gundam 79, we apprehend immediately that the saber and the heat-hawk are of a kind, possessing an energised glow that is nevertheless opaque and physical. Within Requiem's portrayal, however, they no longer adhere to a visual language in which their interaction make sense. You cannot block an axe with a blowtorch flame. A minor illustration, yes, but it captures the tension created by transposing such elements into a more 'realistic' style.

Another may be found in the treatment of Zeon's various military vehicles. These are a bizarre selection of sci-fi objet d'art, from the aerodynamically questionable Dopp fighter jets to Magella tanks that can launch their turrets into open flight. They are strikingly weird designs that make little sense yet function perfectly inside their context. Where another, earlier anime would have had them belong to an alien species, Gundam is the show that pioneered 'what if the bad guys were human too' for the mecha genre, so they merely represent a design logic alien to the Earth Federation, which favours bold, blocky shapes more closely based on extant military hardware.

In Requiem, the Zeonic weirdness is deliberately muted. The Dopps are streamlined, literally flattened into a more traditional jet fighter profile. One Magella does attempt to launch its turret only to be blown apart before it can rise more than a couple of feet. Otherwise, they're just treated as ordinary tanks. And it's easy to see what the artists were doing here: "let's take these weird 70s designs and make them look like real tanks/jets." The result, unfortunately, is a dilution of the clear distinction between Zeon and Federation tech.

If you've watching the original Gundam and its sequels, you'll know how easy it is to tell at a glance which side something belongs to. Looking at them in stills, it is still reasonably clear these are meant to be Zeon vehicles. But in motion, it often took me a good few seconds to be sure I wasn't seeing their Federation equivalents. Visual interest doesn't exist purely for its own sake, after all; it serves to clarify the action. Plus, it seems to me that trying to downplay the wilder aspects of these designs actually draws attention towards those aspects. The Zeonic alienness has its own explanatory power; reducing it raises more questions, not fewer.

Lest you think me some terrible killjoy who doesn't like fun, I'm actually incredibly sympathetic to 'realistic' overhauls of classic designs. Have you seen what I spent years doing for the Daleks? Aesthetic overhauls aren't something I object to, nor do I think 'realism' as practised by the MCU and triple-A game developers is intrinsically a waste of time. What I am trying to demonstrate is Requiem's relation to its source material. It posits a story taking place exactly contemporaneously with episode 25 of Gundam 79, portraying the Battle of Odessa, the great Federation push-back that ejects Zeon forces from Earth. This is what was happening 'just off screen', depicted in a style actively at odds with that of the original

But not entirely at odds with it. Which brings us to another problem: an unwillingness to commit fully to the new style.

The big twist in Requiem episode 4 is that after being chased down by the Gundam and just barely managing to drive it off, Captain Iria Solari of the Red Wolf mobile suit squadron is recruited to go capture an example of the Federation's new mass-produced GM 'suit, so Zeon can identify its weaknesses. The hunted get to become the hunter, infiltrating a Federation base and attempting to hijack a couple of GMs, only for the Gundam to scupper things. All well and good. Not a bad swerve. Enables some useful developments.

Except this plan is delivered into the plot by a Zeon major general who appears to have stepped in from a different production entirely. Specifically, from Mobile Suit Gundam: The 08th MS Team, because this is none other than Major General Yuri Kellerne, he of the Wolverine haircut and unfortunate disagreements with certain scientific officers (that is, it is unfortunate he should have disagreed with a man possessing so few qualms about massacring his own side).

It is truly surreal to have a character who looks like he actually belongs in a Gundam show enter the scene. I was quite impressed prior to this with the depiction of another character, Major Ronet, who captures the essence of a villain-of-the-week Zeon officer using Requiem's style. He looks entirely of a piece with the rest, while still being recognisably a certain type of character.

Kellerne though? For fuck's sake, he's got a full-blown anime bouffant. Juxtaposed with Solari's achingly realistic design, it's just – bad. This is bad. It's a stylistic clash that makes it impossible to take these scenes seriously. Not because either style is problematic on its own, but because they cannot work together.

It's worth pausing to consider Kellerne's native entry in the franchise, because 08th MS represents an older trend of revisiting the original setting. Starting with Mobile Suit Gundam 0080: War in the Pocket, this saw the release of OVAs with a superior quality of animation and a more ground-level take on events of the Zeon/Federation war. In many respects, Requiem is positioned as the successor to these series, as Kellerne's cameo makes overt.

The thing is, War in the Pocket, Mobile Suit Gundam 0083: Stardust Memory and 08th MS are all animes. Yes, they render the action with greater fidelity than Gundam 79. But they don't restyle it the way Requiem attempts to. The Dopp fighter is a great example of this. Compare the 08th MS version to the original and you will see that it merely adds extra layers of detail. It doesn't make it make more sense. Likewise for the character models. They look better than Gundam 79, by certain metrics. They still follow conventional anime aesthetics. You can't drop a design from this line of shows straight into a 'realistic' depiction and expect that to work.

Why does any of this matter? None of these issues exceed the threshold of nit-picking. OK, they're mildly distracting, but is there really a huge problem here?

Well, first, there is a philosophical underpinning to the drive for 'realism' we ought to grapple with, namely the idea only live-action and live-action-alike 'count'. I confess to having little time for this line of thought: the stylistic 'realism' discussed up to now matters far less than emotional or experiential realism. That is to say, whether something presents itself using stick-figures or a hyper-photographic style is not as important as whether it can convey the stakes, pathos, and other meat of a story. Art presents a plethora of options for communicating a message. Deciding one is intrinsically more valuable than the rest is a woefully narrow view of creativity. Traditional, non-realistic animation can be as emotionally arresting as any live performance. Why, therefore, should it be necessary to adapt it into a life-like style?

Second, there is the incomplete commitment to 'realism' that plagues Requiem and, I would argue, the entire concept of approaching works such as Gundam in this manner. Sure, stylistic 'realism' isn't about being strictly 'realistic'. It's about achieving a specific texture to the unreality that is functionally indistinguishable from that of the real elements. Yet doesn't the inclusion of a 17.5m-tall humanoid robot suits automatically grant you a get-out-of-realism-free card? If you have something that wild in play, why go to the effort of making it look like a real-world object? And if you're going to arbitrarily throw out the pretence for the sake of gratuitous continuity, what's the point of trying to begin with?

This circles close to what Requiem is, materially. If I use the phrase 'official fan-fiction', I hope you'll understand that's not necessarily derogatory. What I mean is something primarily homaging and reflecting a pre-existing work, rather than more straightforwardly building off it. 'Fan-fic' because it is bounded by what is already there; 'official' because it has the backing of corporate ownership and thus is positioned as more than merely people playing with the toys they enjoy. It's a category of derivative works into which I'd put previous projects such as Gundam Unicorn's animated adaptation – ring-fenced by an established canon, whatever their individual merits.

General Kellerne's stylistically disruptive presence is one example of the short-comings of such an approach. His design looks that way out of deference to 08th MS Team, whether or not it fits next to the other visuals (a side-effect of trying to cram him into Requiem's style is that he appears off-model anyway!).

Another is the plot. We might grant that doing Gundam-by-the-numbers is a self-contained introduction to the series' themes for a novice, but there isn't anything here those of us who've watched the anime(s) haven't seen a dozen times over. Even Solari's pocket-watch feels borrowed from 08th MS.

Now, credit where it's due: Requiem does not downplay the newtype angle. The psychic powers built up to over the course of Gundam 79 and made central to its sequels are usually the first thing ejected when the franchise tries to be more 'serious' and 'gritty'. It was a pleasant surprise to see them embraced. Solari is explicitly a newtype, with all the corresponding traits (supernaturally good pilot, able to sense threats, experiences predictive flashes etc). This is neatly used to establish some of the philosophy behind Zeon's cause, since most of our characters are already aware of newtype theory (humans moving to space tap into skills not previously needed) by dint of being on the side that uses this as justification for invading the Earth.

As in the source material, newtypes serve as a metaphor for the potential of each new generation. Solari was a talented violinist before the war, able to play near-impossible melodies, and this ability has been conscripted in much the same way OG protagonist Amuro Ray's mechanical genius was turned to murder. Equally, the central tragedy in Requiem resolves into newtype-on-newtype violence, as the pilot of the Gundam relentlessly hunting the Zeon soldiers is revealed to be a frightened teenager, paralleling both Solari's son, to whom she is fighting to return, and Solari herself, as someone struggling for their life in a war-zone.

I watching this straight after binging the original Gundam series (I'd previously seen the more refined compilation movies) and was struck there by how brief Amuro's interaction with fellow newtype Lalah Sune is prior to inadvertently killing her in battle. Then I remembered that's the point. These are two people sharing an identical potential for transforming the world, made opponents by circumstance, who understand one another immediately and intimately in the exact instant it is too late to matter. Amuro's cry that he has done something awful he cannot take back is not overlooking the other deaths he's responsible for; rather it is admitting the unique horror of lost possibility.

Following an encounter on the Federation base, Solari recognises the boy pursuing her is equally scared and out of his depth and thus attempts to talk him down. She even succeeds, reaching substitute!Amuro (hey look another traumatised child soldier who executes wild violence in a berserker-like fashion using a hyper-advanced military prototype; what are the odds?) and evoking his sympathy with her status as a mother (characterisation I'd be more annoyed by if Solari wasn't presented functionally identical to the trope of a father desiring to return to his family).

Then, immediately after saving Solari from being crushed by falling spaceship debris, substitute!Amuro is fatally stabbed in the back by another Zeon soldier.

Here we reach the crux of my dislike for Requiem. It has already muddied the clean Federation/Zeon divide and Gundam's internal physics in service of its chosen style, then compromised that style anyway in the name of slavishness to canonicity. Now, during what is position as the emotional climax, it openly rejects the visual language of newtypes.

Solari's powers are portrayed using vocally-stated unease and emotional connection to other individuals (as is standard), and a pair of dream sequences – one prophetic with respect to the Gundam pilot, another tying into newtypes' ability to draw in the souls of those who die around them. Performing at a darkened opera house, Solari's red dress slowly washes outwards, becoming a bloody wave as the audience is revealed to consist of the dead Zeon soldiers she failed to save. It's an arresting visual, as is the fiery descent into her own pocket watch (a souvenir from her dead husband, who was also conscripted into the war) that marks the earlier dream. We also see a brief shot of the Gundam staring straight back at her as she senses its presence on a distant battlefield. These are all effectively done and I genuinely enjoyed them.

Crucially, however, Requiem does not deploy the kind of over-layering that Gundam 79, Zeta Gundam, ZZ Gundam and the other follow-ups use to show the deep connections developed by newtypes. In the animes, in addition to visions and flashes of awareness, we have full-on mind-to-mind communication where people converse across voids of colour and light. Newtypes appear in ghostly form, too, interacting with the living during and after their deaths. There are also the obligatory glowing auras, cuing the viewer into supernatural happenings.

Requiem's 'realistic' style seemingly does not permit such things to occur in the waking world. That is to say, there is no reason you couldn't depict the standard newtype visuals in CGI, but this show opts not to. If I were to hazard a guess, given the restriction of overt psychedelia to dream sequences and what they did to the Zenoic designs, I would say the aritsts thought it would look silly.

The problem is, how do you then portray newtype connections? In the scene where Solari convinces substitute!Amuro to stop, we get a couple of cutaways to the kid in his cockpit, superposing with his Gundam's movements. That is a great decision, since the point of the newtype visuals is the characters looking past the armour and understanding the person within (not always a good thing, since antagonism can exist despite the link, but the central conceit is always to grasp the essence of somebody else). In these brief moments, we see, as Solari does, the human being, not the mechanical monster.

But the boy's subsequent death is just… the Gundam gets stabbed and keels over, and Solari is grief-stricken. That's it. No manifested ghost, psychic trauma conveyed by voice lines alone, a total absence in this crucial, heart-rending instant of substitute!Amuro's humanity. Just the destruction of property. The death of the monster, not the scared child.

If there had been one additional cutaway to the boy in the cockpit, I think this could have worked. A single shot of him looking at Solari in the second before being stabbed in the back. Something, anything, to imply the connection crucial to this scene. I am honestly baffled as to why it's not there. I feel I'm looking at a picture where a couple of critical numbers weren't coloured in.

To be clear, I don't personally care for the newtype concept as executed in the 'Universal Century' Gundam shows. I'm not annoyed by this because I'm wedded to the idea or the visual conceits. I'm annoyed by the incompetence of failing to land an obvious, even required emotional beat. The finale of Requiem for Vengeance is built around Solari confronting substitute!Amuro. She risks her chance to join the Zeon retreat from Earth – and thus of reuniting with her son – to help take down Federation forces endangering the departing space capsules. She then compounds this by attempting to convince the Gundam pilot to let everyone go, and ultimately abandons any possibility of returning home out of grief over his death. This is a life-changing encounter for her, as is normal for newtypes pushed into fighting each other.

In my opinion, the show does not sell that anywhere near as well as it could have. Further, it betrays the very concept of the newtype connection by leaving substitute!Amuro to be represented by his Gundam rather than his actual self in his final moments. There are cases where other newtypes meet such abrupt ends. Quess' death in Char's Counterattack springs immediately to mind. But that is a moment of a profound lack of communication, which is not what's happening here.

Animes such as the original Gundam shows can move seamlessly between high technology and visual metaphors for empathy without underselling either one. That they are not attempting to look 'real' provides the advantage of absolute coherence. Beam sabers, flying tanks, psychic powers – there are no joins to airbrush away. Everything is unreal, so everything fits together. A switch in medium and style creates the challenge of reinterpreting those disparate elements so they remain coherent. Ultimately, while Requiem for Vengeance has a good try at pulling everything across, it fails, not just at creating 'realism', but at capturing the conceptual depth of what it is assaying.

Being official fan-fic of the Battle of Odessa – being, essentially, 'the Gundam story' in miniature – invites unfavourable comparison with the original work. Unshackled from that, I suspect it could have done more to establish its own visuals, remove incongruities and find better means of conveying its emotional core. As it stands, I have to wonder if there's any sound argument for live-action-alike Gundam. Even the dream sequences don't provide something unique to this style. You could do the same in traditional animation and trivially push it further. So what, precisely, is gained by telling this story this way?

That's the question Requiem for Vengeance has left me pondering. And hey, if you want to answer with 'but it looks cool', fair enough. I'm writing way too much about my personal gripes with a perfectly passable piece of gratuitous mecha porn, simply because I found a more interesting complaint to make than “why the fuck didn't they hire somebody who knew how do facial animations?”

As for Captain Solari, she closing-monologues herself to Africa to join a Zeon remnant group and fight to give children a future without war. Never quite been sure how mecha pilots in these things envision that working, if I'm honest. Oh, and, uh, I guess nobody tell her that if she survives the next seventeen years, there's a decent chance she's going on a suicide run against the Federation spearheaded by a traumatised teenager strapped into a murder machine.

That might put a slight damper on what Netflix's music captions assure me is a heroic ending.

[A note to check you read all the way to the end: obviously the screenshot from Cucuruz Doan's Island shows CGI mobile suit models. But that's CGI aping traditional anime, rather than an attempt at realism. This is why I've been careful to talk about style, not medium.]

[lavenderdreams22]

A Court of Dawn & Dusk - Azriel x Reader (Part 10)

Summary: 49 years have passed, and both Azriel and Y/N struggle with their new realities.

A/N: sorry this took so long to get out, I was struggling pretty bad the last few months! It'll probably take a while longer between postings, but I'm hoping to get the rest of these out as quickly as I can. I hope you guys enjoy

Warnings: mentions of blood and violence. Cursing. I think that’s it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

*****

Forty nine years had passed. Forty nine, but it felt as if I had been stuck down here for most of my life. My arms were chafed from the shackles, my mind foggy from lack of sleep and even less food. 

I tried not to let myself dwell on the things that I could have done differently, the biggest being that I could have listened to my mate. I could have stayed home and maybe I would still be with him… Maybe I wouldn’t be this shell of a person that I had become. 

Rhysand sat at the edge of my collapsing cot, healing one of my wounds that the Attor had given me today. He said nothing, but I could feel the anger and concern like a palpable thing as he ran a shaking hand over my arm.

It embarrassed me to have him here, even if we both knew that the circumstances weren’t my fault. The mattress was flat and uncomfortable, I could feel the metal bars underneath every single time I laid down, but it was better than the stone floor… Or so I told myself to try to hold onto some tether of humanity. But seeing Rhys flinch as he shifted made my heart drop to my stomach nonetheless. 

When he was finished, he gently sat my arm back in my lap and scooted back to give me space to breathe. He knew I hated being crowded now, usually hated being touched. 

“Thank you,” I muttered, rotating my wrist a few times to test it out. 

The ache was still there, but it had lessened enough that I no longer winced when I moved it. 

We sat in silence for a few moments before he loosened a heavy sigh and met my gaze. 

“You gonna tell me what’s got your wings in a twist, or am I going to have to guess?” I asked. 

He chucked to himself, shaking his head slightly. “I went to see Tamlin today.” 

I blinked at him, confused and a little surprised at how much this was affecting him.

“Okay…” I cocked my head to the side. “Why is this any different than the time you left a head on that fountain?”

“I was there to speak to them this time.” He glanced over his shoulders, dropping his voice to a whisper. “There was a human girl there.”

“A human?” My brow furrowed. I knew of the curse just as well as any other person, but so close to the end… It surprised me.

“Yes, a human.” He shook his head, his eyes growing sad. “She gave me a fake name, and when I returned… Amarantha forced me to tell her what I had found.”

I clenched my teeth at the sound of her name. Amarantha had done her best to leash Rhys and then keep him as close to her as she possibly could in the time since we had been trapped.

“I gave her the fake name thinking that it couldn’t possibly be a real person… A real family.” He shuddered. “Claire Beddor is two cells down from you, awaiting Amarantha’s summons to be tortured to death in front of the court.”

I gaped at him, my heart clenching at the guilt that must be gnawing at his own. 

“You know… You know that isn’t your fault, right?” I reached out and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You are not to blame.”

“That’s not what Tamlin’s human will think.” He whispered. 

“Who cares what Tamlin’s human believes? We know the truth.”

“I do.” He shrugged, seeming to mull something over before he met my eyes. “For some reason, I care what the human thinks. I care that she finds me to be despicable… A monster.”

I wasn’t sure why he felt that way… And he didn’t elaborate… Just in case. I had been telling him not to, for fear that it would be ripped out of me when the Attor had his blade cutting through my body.

I hadn’t cracked so far, but it was easier not to know.

Rhys leaned back against the wall, letting another small sigh out. I followed suit, our shoulders touching in a quiet reminder that neither of us was alone.

“I should head back up.” He stated, but made no move to leave. 

“Stay as long as you need to.” I took his hand, squeezing his fingers in mine. 

*****

Azriel sat at the dining table and watched Cassian pace as he had most days in the last forty nine years. 

“What if we bring the Illyrian army and break them out?” Cassian asked, stopping for only a moment to look between Azriel and Amren.

“We’ve discussed this a dozen times.” Amren said. “That’s not a viable option. Rhys was clear in his instructions. We cannot leave. The wards that protect Velaris are tied to us being here.” 

Cassian huffed, pausing in his pacing only long enough to give Amren a long, angry look. “Well, what about-”

“That won’t work either.” Amren spat. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because, boy, she has absorbed a fraction of every single high lord's magic.” Amren seethed. “She’s too powerful.”

Azriel nodded his agreement.

Mor breezed into the room, her arms full of swords that needed sharpened and cleaned. 

“What’re we fighting about today?” She asked, taking a seat at the end of the table and letting the weapons clang together against the wood. 

“Cassian’s coming up with more hairbrained schemes to get Rhys and Y/N back.” Amren ground out. 

“Thought we talked about that already?” Mor glanced quickly at everyone before turning her attention back to the blades in front of her. 

“We have.” Azriel growled. “Too many times to count.” 

“We can’t just leave them down there forever.” Cassian snarled. 

Tempers had been rising steadily for a while, and Azriel was sure there was soon to be a fight. A real fight, not with words and insults, but fists and blades. 

“I know that.” Pinching the bridge of his nose to fight off the headache, Azriel leaned back in his chair. 

He hated doing nothing just as much, if not more, than everyone else. His mate was down there, suffering. 

It was faint, but he could feel her pain down the bond, as if… as if she were consistently being sliced open. 

He resented Rhys a bit for letting it happen, even if he knew there was probably no stopping it. He resented her a bit, too, for going when he had told her he had a bad feeling about it all and asked her not to... 

But he resented himself most of all for not fighting her harder, not holding her closer. Gods, he fucking missed her. He missed her so bad that it physically hurt him. 

Every single night when he would go to bed without her, he felt his heart fracture just a bit more. And every morning when he woke up, he reached for her, hoping that she would have magically appeared overnight. He had been disappointed every single time he woke up. It was getting harder and harder to pull himself out of bed. Velaris wasn’t the same without her. And without her in it wasn’t a place he wanted to be. 

“We’ll come up with something.” Mor said offhandedly. 

Azriel hoped they would, but he knew better than to expect it. 

*****

I awoke to the sound of the door to my cell flying open and slamming against the wall. It was too early for them to be coming to get me, so I clamped my eyes closed and evened my breathing. 

“Here you are.” The Attor said, followed by a thump that could only be a body hitting the ground. “You’ll have a roommate. How fun for you.”

When I heard the door clang shut, I let my eyes open completely and took in the sight in front of me. 

There was a human girl in my cell. She was bloodied and bruised, testing her face for wounds. A flinch wracked her body as she touched her nose, but she didn’t cry. I could tell she wanted to, but she refused to cry. 

“What’d they throw a human in here for?” I finally asked.

She whipped her head around, her golden brown hair flying over her shoulder before her eyes met mine.

“Sorry… I didn’t know you were awake.” She ground out.

I shrugged, taking her in. This must be the human that Rhys had mentioned. 

“Nothing to be sorry for.” I shrugged. “I cried my entire first week after they threw me down here, you know. It’s okay.”

She nodded, but didn’t so much as sniffle as she seemed to mull that over. 

“What’d you do?”

“I came after my… I’m trying to break a curse.” She mumbled. “What did you do?”

“I killed a dozen of her men a very long time ago… Turns out she holds a bit of a grudge.” I propped my head up on my hand. “That, and she thinks I have information that I do not.”

“You killed a dozen people?” She asked. 

I only hummed in response. She looked harmless, but it was possible that she was a different tactic to get me to spill my secrets. I would need to be careful. She seemed to be sizing me up, as well. 

“I’m Feyre.” She said after a moment of tense silence. 

“Y/N.” I gave her my best smile. “Nice to meet you.” 

*****

Feyre had come back utterly torn apart and covered in shit and mud after her first trial. I gagged on the stale bread they had brought me as she fell into a heap on the floor. One of her arms looked to have a piece of bone protruding from it, and I cursed under my breath as I scrambled to her side. 

Fuck, this was bad. Her human body couldn’t heal itself, and she still had two more trials left before this was all over. I wished for Rhys to come. Now would be the perfect time for him to step out of the shadows.

“Let me get a look at that.” I whispered.

Rhys hadn’t been down here since I had been given a cell mate. I wasn’t sure if it was the girl keeping him away or if Amarantha had learned of his trips down here. Either way, I would have to do this myself until I could get a healer to take pity on us and help her. 

She held it out to me, and I cursed again. We had no fresh water in the cell, and with my power gone, even the small kernel of my father's magic that I had been given at birth had dwindled down to nothing. 

“Bad news is, without fresh water, we really can’t clean it, but I can wrap it in bits of the blanket.” I glanced at the bed and winced. Even the blankets were filthy. “We’ll wait for tomorrow's water and use half of it to clean you up…”

“What's the good news?” She asked through clenched teeth as I got to work.

“What?”

“Bad news is usually followed by good news.” She met my eyes. “What’s the good news?”

“I’ll bet Lucien can heal this. We just need to get word to him somehow.”

She nodded, but didn’t offer any ideas. I sent another silent plea out to Rhys. 

*****

Cassian grunted as Azriel’s fist connected with his chin. 

Tensions were peaking. Time was up, and yet Rhys and Y/N hadn’t come home. All Azriel could think of was whether she was okay. It had been weeks since he had felt anything down the bond. And while everything had been faint up to this point, it was still there. 

Cassian swung, and Azriel dodged. It was the same dance every single day. Neither of them could get rid of the bad mood that seemed to follow them around like a rain cloud, and there was really no other way to work through the energy.

“Maybe we could go to Rita’s. Drink a little bit.” Cassian said, grunting as Azriel landed another punch.

“I would rather light myself on fire.” Azriel spat. 

Cassian flinched, his eyes flicking down to Azriel’s scarred hands.

“Okay… Then maybe we could take a fucking cooking class.” 

“A cooking class?” Azriel wanted to laugh at that. Wanted to find humor in something, anything. He wanted a reason to smile again. But without her, it was like every bit of happiness had been removed from the world. 

He couldn’t think about that, or he would start to think about the bond. Maybe she had just put a wall up? Maybe now that time was out, she was trying to keep the worst parts away from him? 

Gods, he really hoped she was okay. 

“Well, I’ve got to get you out of your head somehow, and this,” Cassian gestured between the two of them, “doesn’t seem to be working like it did in the beginning.”

He was right. Fighting was a distraction, but the twitchy energy was still there once they had finished. 

“What we need is for the curse to be broken so they can come home…” Azriel huffed, storming over to the water station. 

Cassian moved silently behind him, leaning against a training dummy. His eyes shone with concern, but he didn’t press.

“I need her back, Cass.” Azriel said, his voice so quiet, Cassian wasn’t sure that he had even really heard him.

“I know. You’ll get her back even if I have to go under that damned mountain myself.”

Azriel finally met Cassian’s eyes. “It feels like she’s gone… The bond has been quiet for weeks… It was weak before, anyway, what with her being so far away and magic being dwindled to nothing… What if she’s-”

“She’s alive.” Cassian growled. ‘They both are. They have to be.”

Azriel only nodded before downing a cup of water and gesturing to Cassian to follow him back to the sparring area. 

*****

Mor sat in the shadows of the living room, staring into the flames as they flickered in the hearth. 

“What do you propose we do, Cassian?” Amren asked, her voice quiet.

“We have to do something… We’re losing him.” Cassian replied. 

“We have to break the rules to get them back. But we can’t just… march in there.” Mor said, louder than intended. She cleared her throat and continued, quieter than before. “We need to find a loophole.”

Cassian grinned then. “Finally. I’ve only been saying that for fifty years.”

*****

“Go to hell.” Feyre growled, her words colder than I had ever heard.

“Rhys, what the hell are you doing here?” I asked over my shoulder as I attempted to wipe the gunk out of her wound. 

“Heard you call for help. Figured I would comply.” He shrugged, picking a piece of lint off of his perfectly pressed jacket. 

“I called for help days ago.” It was my turn to growl. “Took you long enough.”

Rhys ignored me, looking to Feyre instead. She was watching him through heavy lids. I hadn’t been able to get the wound to stop bleeding, and I could smell the first signs of infection in her blood. 

“What would Tamlin say if he knew his beloved was rotting away down here?” Rhys asked, his voice dark and elegant. 

Feyre bared her teeth, trying her best to look scary. It reminded me of a small child. Rhys could filet her alive if he so chose. 

“Rhys, stop taunting her.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” He cocked his head to the side as he studied Feyre.

The look in his eyes reminded me so much of Azriel. The cool calculation mixed with something warm and familiar. It nearly knocked me to the floor. 

I had closed my end of the bond so that I could focus on keeping the human alive. She was our only hope at this moment. Our only hope of finally, finally, getting out of here and going home. Gods, I missed my mate and my bed. And my tub… I couldn’t wait to take a real bath again. 

But those emotions, those feelings did nothing to help us in our current situation, so I shut them down, refused to think about him, refused to let myself feel things that I knew would only make this harder. 

Feyre was our only hope to get out of here, and right now she was dying. 

“If you’re not going to help her, you need to leave.” I growled. “Send Lucien or even my father in your stead, but leave.”

“I’ll help her.”

“What are your demands?” Feyre rasped, finally finding her voice again.

I bit my lip as I watched Rhys kneel in front of the cot that she was occupying. 

They seemed to stare at each other for a long moment, and I thought that I could hear Rhys’ heartbeat pick up.

“So… You have learned something about our ways, then.” He grinned.

“Your terms.” She repeated. 

“Two weeks, every month, with me in the Night Court.” He stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

My brow furrowed. Why would he want to bring her to the Night Court?

Feyre was fighting an internal battle. I could tell she didn’t like Rhys, but she seemed to also be coming to terms with the fact that this was probably her only choice. 

“Go to hell.” She growled. 

“Feyre…” I whispered. “Take the bargain. You need help.”

“Not from him.” She spat.

Brave girl, spitting at the most powerful High Lord in Prythian. 

“This is the last time I will extend my assistance.” Rhys purred. “Either take the deal or don’t.”

He stood, making his way towards me and the shadows that I had backed myself into. 

I stared at him with horror in my eyes. Was he seriously about to let her die over something like this? He refused to look at me, and I could tell that he was nervous to see how I would react. 

You’re my best friend. He spoke, and it took me a moment to realize that he hadn’t said the words aloud. Don’t let this sway your opinion of me.

I gave a nod, and he seemed to visibly relax. There wasn’t much that he could do to make me think less of him.

He took his time melting into the shadows, his edges beginning to blur before he became less and less solid. Before he could disappear completely, Feyre managed to choke out a sound. 

“Wait.” She said, “just two weeks?”

“Yes.” 

“And what are the terms of this deal?” She was sweating. A fever was a terrible sign. I looked at Rhys, but he only smirked at her. 

“Telling you would ruin my fun.” He said, his voice like honey. “And I simply will not allow that to happen.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes more alive than they had been in almost a day. 

After a little back and forth, they settled on a week, and Rhys was healing her arm and her blood from the infection, leaving behind a black tattoo of swirls. He had even removed the mess from her skin, leaving her looking as though she had just bathed. Even the vomit in the corner was gone. 

A laugh escaped me as I watched her stare down at her new tattoo in horror. 

“A bargain mark.” My gaze landed on a smug Rhysand. “You marked her.”

“What have you done?” She growled. “Get this thing off of me.”

“No.” He grinned. “I’ll be excited to see your beloved's reaction to this when he sees you again.” 

She spat at him once more, and I choked on another laugh. She was feeling better, that much was obvious.

*****

“There’s no way to remove the mark, Feyre.” I said as I watched her rub at the skin.

She sighed, sitting back on the cot. 

“So…” She started after a few beats of silence. “Tell me a story.”

“A story?”

“Yes. Something about you. To take my mind off of this…” she held her arm up to me. 

She wanted a story… about me? “What kind of story?” 

“How do you and Rhysand know each other?” She asked, meeting my eyes. 

“He… he saved me.” I shook my head as my own gaze fell to my lap. “I know you don’t like him, Feyre. But he hasn’t always been so… bad.”

She only snorted, and I didn’t blame her for not believing me. Especially not after he had almost let her die. 

“I don’t expect you to speak ill of your High Lord.” She said after a moment of silence. 

“He technically isn’t my High Lord.” 

She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. I could tell she was trying to figure me out, and I couldn’t blame her for that, either. 

“My father is Thesan. High Lord of the Dawn Court.” I let myself smile a bit at the thought of my wonderful father. “That’s where I was born, where I grew up. But, before all of this, I spent a great deal of time in the Night Court.” 

I watched her for a moment before deciding that I could trust her with more than just this. 

“My mate is there.” 

“Mate?” She grinned. “You have a mate?” 

“I do. He’s… he’s waiting for me to come home to him.” 

“Tell me about him?” She asked, propping herself up on her elbow. 

“He’s quiet and brooding most of the time, but when I have him to myself he’s charming and funny and he’s so painfully handsome it physically hurts.” I sighed, “I miss him terribly.” 

She opened her mouth to ask more questions, but the cell door flew open, creaking and scraping against the stone floor. 

“Y/N.” The attor growled. “You’re being moved to a room.”

“A room?'' I asked, sitting up and staring wide eyed at the creature in the doorway. His tail swished over the stone floor and I swore I would have nightmares about the sound for the rest of my life. 

“The human is to be by herself. Come along before I come in there and drag you out by your hair.”

I flinched, and Feyre touched my arm. I wanted to weep for her, for the fact that she was going to be down here alone, for the fact that one of my only true allies in this hell was being taken from me. 

“Go.” She said, bravely. “Go, I will be fine.”

“I… I'm sorry…” I said, standing. 

The Attor growled again. I was obviously taking too long. 

When I made it to the door, a hand grabbed my arm so hard I could feel the bruise forming already. 

“Pity.” The Attor growled. “I am going to miss our time together.” 

I flinched as his breath fanned over me. 

With one last look at a wide-eyed Feyre, I left her behind.

*****

Taglist: @eos-princess @brekkershadowsinger @cmay25 @fall-myriad @i-am-infinite @mis-lil-red @judig92

[utilitycaster]

"There is zero attempt to extend anything but bad faith."

standing ovation for tidily describing this fandom in a nutshell tbh

Thanks, but I'm talking about a particular subset, the handwringy overwrought appeals to emotion crowd for whom the gods can never under any circumstances be redeemed, so unless you are also talking about that specific small piece of the fandom, I disagree! I actually think the fandom at large has been pretty receptive to the story as it's being told. And honestly, even when I've been in fandoms that frustrated me greatly with widespread bad faith interpretations (Midst and WBN have both had problems here)* they've come around when more obvious evidence came about. Better late than never.

I do think that an issue in this fandom, and fandoms at large, is not so much bad faith but as someone else said, motivated reasoning (though in the case of something the motivated reasoner dislikes, will become bad faith). A lot of people decide how they want to the story to go very early, often in a manner that validates their own existing real-world politics (even if they're not super applicable to the situation at hand) or personal preferences. I mean, that's in the end the source of a good number of shipping bad takes - people decide two characters must be in love and so even if they start dating other people and not talking to each other anymore, the motivated reasoning shipper decides that ACTUALLY this is all a front and the actor's blinks are in secret code and the relationship will definitely break up and the True Love was Always Endgame no matter how many times the creators say "no, it never was our intention to have those characters get together." But even then I think the silent majority of most fandoms are just. vibing and happy to be here. It's just that motivated reasoning people are loud.

And I'm not setting myself apart here; I'm loud and I'm certainly not without bias. My motivated reasoning tends to be based on foregone conclusions that I think are more likely to actually play out, I think, and I try to be self aware about it, but like, I do tend to assume stories will be good and follow some narrative lines and use the hints they drop, and that is itself an assumption because some stories are poorly made. Like, for example, with the gods, I do think that there is very little chance Matt is going to tell a story that's like "hey, Ashley, you know your first ever TTRPG character, who brought you into this friend group and whose life's purpose is to restore worship in the Everlight? Bad news, Everlight's a genocidal cunt and she's gotta die." That's obviously not my only evidence here. We've got the whole opening scene. We've got the fact that the non-Aeorian NPCs who aren't divine companions we've spent time with have been a sickly old man granted peace in death, a gnomish woman granted solace after being cruelly mocked by Aeorian forces, and the beggars who didn't have food despite wagons of supplies going to Aeor, whereas the Aeorian NPCs have been guards, slimy bureaucrats, teens badly beaten for minor crimes, and a drunk cop; the defaced and forgotten temple in a poor neighborhood that is heavily surveilled from afar because its laborers are unwelcome. Hell, as I said before it aired, the fact that the main PCs are gods and not Aeorian mages is a very deliberate and telling choice on its own. But yeah on some level, while I think Bells Hells have the space to decide to kill the gods since they are those same cast members (thought I doubt that is what they will do), I do not think Matt will tell an earlier story that says "hey, everyone at the table except Marisha? your beloved character(s) whom you played for all or most of a campaign followed a rotten-to-the-core lie."

Going off the meta of creators is a bit risky - a lot of dumb D20 discourse is based on assuming Brennan's leftism is the same as Very Online I Do Not Dream Of Labor Leftism and not his actual "the BBEG is the exploitation and undervaluing of labor and the dehumanization of others; labor itself can be deeply fulfilling, you just shouldn't be forced to rely on your capacity to do labor to the exclusion of all other things to be housed and fed" leftism and reasoning from there - but it's certainly more reliable than going off reasoning of "I as a random private individual want the gods to die for whatever the fuck reason and therefore that is the correct thing to happen and any other outcome is bad."

This is very rambly because I just got up and maybe it's that it's a nice morning and I can actually enjoy a leisurely breakfast before going into work unlike most of last week and much of the rest of this week, but for all I proudly identify as a hater, I am very much a lover of fiction and I want it to succeed and I want it to not just validate me. Like, if I hate on something it's because I wish it were better, but I don't hate on something just because it presents a different viewpoint than the one I already held. And I think you have to bring that good faith to fandom as well. If people are being idiots and assholes then yeah you don't need to keep acting like they're valid for that (I mean, they're valid in that everyone has the right to their opinions, but not in the sense that you need to grant those opinions intellectual consideration on par with thoughtful and evidenced meta and theories) but I do not actually go in assuming the fandom is going to be wrong and dumb and disappointing, and I think that's why I've found such enjoyment in it. Most people are chill! Chill people just tend not to loudly say WOW I'M SO CHILL AND THIS STORY IS GREAT.

*one bit of salt to cut the sweetness here but also still weirdly positive: the way I've dealt with that and specifically WBN is that I am trying to write one piece of meta after each episode that doesn't attack people or anything, just lays out my thoughts respectfully. Be the change you wish to see. I think a lot of people in fandom see someone disagreeing with them and go "OH YOU CAN'T LET US HAVE ANYTHING" and frankly this is the cause of almost all fandom unpleasantness I've experienced (in the sense of people seeing me say I don't like something and acting like I shut them down instead of simply didn't vibe), but it's important to remember that isn't how it works. Even if you do think the fandom has widespread bad opinions, you can change this by being thoughtful and patient and putting forth better ones. I mean there's limits, and if a fandom is genuinely hateful, get out, but if it's just surface-level takes for something that should be deeper? Be the one who shows the depth.

[solar-tl-27]

OH HEY WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT I’M BACK

Yall never get regular posts from me omg you guys I’M SO SORRYYYY

but but but but but ya’ll wont believe it

I have been… DOING ART?! youuuuu heard that right folks i me MYSELF AM d-doing art.

Ok soooo i got a few updates

Life is still incredibly hectic i swear i feel like one of those fanfic writers tha5 post like

Hey sorry it took 8 years i was in a coma! But thankfully that’s not… entirely the case?

I’m on the list for an appointment to see if i have adhd because hearing my friends who are diagnosed and medicated talk about literally MY EXACT ISSUES AND IT HELPING i was like… damm maybe it is the good ol case of audhd … so hopefully hopefully i can get something to help with that!

Uhhh in other news I’m saving for a laptop so i can get into video editing and idk make some animation memes and animatics!

But ofcourse

Ofcourse

I promised art let’s not dwindle any more!

First of all we have some art i did for my story quest for the moon (i did blur out a bit just cuz well idk my audience that well so i’ll be bluring it even though it takes away a bit of context)

Then another piece for that series and then… omg.. no way is that?! Is it?!

Hehe surprise let’s get into the first art!

3 GOT ANOTHER REDESIGN AND MIGUELS’S FIRST FULL ART

Welcome welcome to my sweet sweet sweet baby angel boy Three that’s right he’s been on my mind again so i drew him… kinda like a splash art? If he was in a gacha game very cute very demure (if that meme’s old already… no it’s not)

And then we have THE VILLAIN of quest for the moon

Miguel also our main character ash in the corner hiiii ash

Miguel is basically like the mentor that’s secretly just try to steal your powers type he’s very much an opportunist and i love to draw him and loooove to hate him! This piece is basically foreshadowing extravaganza that will… eventually be clear i swear I promise I PROMISE but for now enjoy the piece it took sooo long

Next art!

This is still a work in progress it’s not done yet but I’m incredibly proud of it soooooo I’m showing it anyway and then we’ll get into the surprise

MEET MY SON ALEXANDER

ohhh my goodness after being in art block for so long it feels so nice to just get a solid redes out i’m soooo happy with how he’s turning out AA that’s my son MY BOY one of my oldest oc’s from so so so so long ago and fun fact i drew both pieces with the exact same brush heheheh the headshot next to him is his brother phoenix

Ok NOW FOR THE SURPRISE

Guess what! That’s right i have actually ACTUALLY started finding my way into the new project reignited

That’s right we got a MAIN CAST now

Now obviously some are.. easy to find the original inspiration for but they won’t be that similar to the redesigns they used to be no no no

Welcome the new crew of project reignited!

Muse, Plume, Thea, Orianne & caelusss

Muse is the main character a human boy who is just trying his best who gets swooped up into helping a dragon girl save her kingdom and the magical dimension while also fighting to preserve his home town!

Plume a dragon girl (plume, bloom you get the gist) who somehow ended up on earth is now tasked to find help to save her people and mother while also discovering the beauty of earth

Thea the daughter of an urban development company ceo and the love interest of muse (did i get myself this invested into a ship that i made it canon here… yes.) she’s a frail girl but is forced to step in as her fathers ideas turn from helpful to greedy and destructive

Orianne Thea and Muse’s friend and the more motherly of the group but faced with difficult circumstances and changes in her life can cause her to lash out as her life is completely steered of its course by magic and her dad remarrying.

Caelus! Muse’s closest friend a pretty chill guy that works at an icecream parlour during the week and helps his family with their market food stand in the weekend, he really wants to be a culinary chef but doesn’t know if he can truly achieve his goals in his hometown.

That’s the gang this will from now on be an original concept and no longer a winx rewrite yes winx will be an inspiration for this work but i do not intend to go the fairy route nor make the world building as big as i had made it in my rewrite… what you will see is me taking my rewritten work as a basis for this story considering i have basically rewritten my version of domino, zenith and solaria from scratch sooooo SWEET BABY BOY CRYOS MY BABY will be making a return later on in this story he’s mine he’s my son my boy i can do with his character whatever i pleaseeee ok ty

That’s the update that’s the post thank you all for enjoying my content and my terrible upload schedule life had beeeeeen hectic ty ty hope ya’ll stay for more and if this was your first post of mine you saw…. Check out my other work pls and thank u

Oki

BYEEEEE

[zzencat]

Weird (regarding final spouse reading)

tl;dr: felt a literal force sweeping through me when I was doing the reading

Guys, I know it’s been well over an hour since I posted it but I just can’t shake this feeling off. I’ve already asked another tarot reader if she’d ever had a similar experience and I’m still awaiting her answer

Pile 3 in the final spouse one actually flipped me over and roasted me like a pig over fire. Nah not actually but that’s my poor attempt at trying to lift the mood- imma ask for some extra protection just in case UNLESS they wanna reach out in a dream tonight

I literally felt a force go thru me- like fly thru me as I wrote the last few things for the last pile. It literally made me straighten up in my seat and my eyes widened in shock like “oo was I not supposed to touch that nerve?” Kind of guilty face.

No gust of wind could’ve gotten in my room and no fan was on

Suddenly, I was in an interrogation room with a pitifully looking boy, like looking beat up and tired- and the room was even clear until after I “regained” myself. I don’t wanna admit it but I’m lowkey scared.

The thing that flew thru was like a legless AND faceless grim reaper looking thing, almost like it was guarding the boy. It floated around him like a white fog… I don’t remember exactly what I was writing but I know it was near the end and that I wrote too much

It was the 3 of us amigos: the boy, Ghost friend, and me. I was in the lawyer seat and both of them were seated on the other side

It was only after I deleted something abt their “growing up” (notice how I can’t be using “adolescence” to describe it either—maybe think of it as lacking vocabulary…)

Shit…or maybe lacking vocabulary bc of poor education- orphanage?

Yk the image of a dark grey orphanage keeps showing up. I keep thinking about other circumstances (without trying to mention f*m*ly bc they seem super sensitive when hearing it so I’ll censor it) like the could’ve been’s or possible combinations but only that shows up

So a lot of emotional suppression it seems. It also seems to be less frightening when I address (this situation) with indirect words, bc perhaps the kid-them can’t put it together. Their comprehension at that age can’t be as well developed

I think you guys kind of get the point of where the hurt might be coming from for a certain pile. I feel very reluctant to addressing them directly. If they have memory loss, I’d prefer to say the pile at the top and then indirectly address them as I am writing this

There’s no way I’m trying to play around w spirits n stuff 😭

Maybe they’ll come back with a less ambushy kind of feel and I’ll talk to them. Maybe it was me for violating their privacy- IM SORRY PILE 3 spouse, I didn’t mean ill intent in any way. Maybe you feel that way.

I don’t know if I was talking to a reflection of this person’s younger self or their inner child (since it’s more gender inclusive)

Whoever this kid was, he could only nod, blink, and shake his head. His facial expression looked a combination of pitiful, wary, and asking for help. I can’t tell.

Thanks for listening guys, this…this has been probably one of the freakiest experiences of my life 🫠

[peachkkuma]

📓. DIARY ENTRY 07 ︴MAY 15, 2024

dear loass diary…

I just fully realized that I’ve been doing this like five minutes ago, so I had to write it here to get my thoughts out, make sure I don’t forget my realization, and hopefully have an epiphany.

So, context first. I’m sick rn and I remembered a specific part of one of Neville’s lectures where he said something along the lines of how a sick man wanted to be healthy so all he did was focus on being healthy. (semi-unrelated note to future self: Notice how I put “ALL HE DID” as in, that was the only thing he did? That’s because that’s the only thing he needs to do!! it’s all about having genuine awareness of obtaining your desires, stop over complicating it and trying to make excuses when u know damn well that’s all there is to the law). After remembering that I was like, “yo why don’t I try that” because why would I want to be sick?? So anyways I was like trying (emphasis on the trying) to imagine myself as my healthiest self and only be aware of being healthy. After two minutes of that, I decided to call it quits and thought to myself “hope it works.” GIRL WHATTT?? That’s my problem right there, I’m pretending even in my own imagination. I think I have myself fooled, that I’ve deceived myself into thinking that I believe I have what I want in imagination when I DONT. Right after my so called imagining I literally had the thoughts of a person who was sick, was aware and focused on my illness, and just overall identified as someone who caught a cold. and then, that’s when the common sense hit me and I was like “wait, who do I think I’m fooling?” It’s like I thought just because these circumstances exist in the 3D doesn’t mean they can’t also be in my imagination. It fr is like i see the 3D and 4D as something separate when that’s not at all the case. Because those thoughts of me being sick? That was a state, the was who I was in imagination. Who I am in imagination. Life truly is imagination. And I rlly feel that now. So, future me, let me try to help u out by telling u how to actually get into ur desired state and maintain it:

1. Decide u have it

“I have xyz” BOOM ur done, it’s done, because creation is finished. There is nothing to create in the 3D or the 4D, it already exists exactly the way u want it to, waiting for you. So act like it.

2. State ≠ instant gratification

I’m gonna hold ur hand while I say this, states aren’t here to be a relief or a distraction. They’re not meant to temporarily ease any anxiety u have. So stop treating the sowf as a temporary escape from the 3D, it’s real. and if u keep up this bad habit, if u start seeing the sowf as just a way to shut up ur worries without actually knowing it’ll come to pass, then you’re on a dangerous road that leads to believing the 3D is the real reality. And yk that it’s not.

3. Actually maintaining a state

U r meant to see the world from the perspective of ur desired self, the u that has it all. Why do u think it’s called the law of assumption girly? U gotta assume u already got it. My thing is, I have too much going on in my real life and I think “I don’t have time to be in the sowf I have too much on my mind.” That’s a problem because one, ur allowed to be a part of the 3D. U don’t have to pretend it doesn’t exist. And two, I’m identifying with the 3D and it’s circumstances. News flash, the 3D doesn’t just disappear the moment u say an affirmation or visualize a scene, u still have responsibilities. The trick is knowing that’s not u. U don’t have to be thinking like ur desired self 100% of the time so don’t expect urself too. Deal with ur stuff, but know who u actually are, who YOU chose to be. To maintain ur state, do whatever helps u feel like ur the u want to be. Revise ur day before bed, think the thoughts ur desired self would think, but don’t force anything. Forcing urself just means u feel like u don’t have what u want, and so ur desperate to get it, if u feel like u don’t have it, don’t force a method. Instead remind urself that it’s already done, it’s been done.u already decided that u had it, nothing can erase that decision except for u.

4. Getting used to it

Everytime I think of ur desired self remember that THAT IS U!! Not someone u could be or will be soon, BUT YOU RN. If u don’t feel that way, it’s because u identify with the 3D and ur past assumptions of urself, and we already discussed how that’s a huuuuuuggggeeeee no. Don’t force urself into getting used to it because, again, force means wanting to get something out of the 3D. But that’s not the real reality, so why want something from there when u can have what u want rn? Remember that ur imagination, ur awareness, ur consciousness, whatever u wanna call it won’t lie to u. It’s the most accurate reflection of both u and ur life. What u experience in there is ur real reality, whether that be the one u want or not. So girl, get used to being who u want to be. It’ll feel so weird at first, uncomfortable rlly. Cuz ik myself, the only way I’ll get in the state is if I keep myself in check. (going on a mental diet is okay if ur not doing it for the 3D, future self.)I’ll probably just be asking myself 24/7 “would my desired self think/react/feel like that?” And honestly, that’ll probably be the only way I’ll learn. Once u start correcting urself, for the sake of wanting to be ur desired self, it’ll come naturally. Both the habit of being in the state and ur manifestations

The law wasn’t mean to be tricky, how could it be when it’s literally called the law of assumption? There rlly isn’t much to it except assuming u have what u want by helping urself believe u have what u want, so stop trying to think there’s more to it— that it’s not that simple or easy. Ur wasting ur time with everything else, the overthinking, the wondering about the when and how, the over complicating, and the wondering if u did it right. Just be.

kisses, peachkkuma

[foolish-fran]

I miss how mornings in the Von Karma household used to be. Papa would make fresh pancakes or eggs benedict, and I’d look over his shoulder as he read the morning paper, scanning for any mention of his latest court victories. It always gave me a hint of pride when I caught Papa’s name in the paper, and I hoped that one day, I would be able to be just as talented and amazing as he was. Miles would sip his morning tea in his porcelain teacups, the scent of lemon or chamomile or ginger wafting through the kitchen, and I would slip Missile scraps of my breakfast from under the dining table.

The house was different back then. Livelier, busier, more alive. Now it feels like a relic, a museum, as I wander the halls alone, trying my best to evade Papa’s piercing eyes staring into me from his portraits.

I keep expecting to hear the sounds of the Steel Samurai theme playing from the living room TV, or wake up to the smell of Miles’ tea or Papa’s delicious pancakes. I keep, instinctively, wanting to look out the window, waiting for Papa’s car to show up in the garage so he can come home and tell me all about his day in court. He’d hold my hand, scoop me up in his firm, sturdy arms, and tell me he was sorry he was gone for so long, that this was all a horrible mistake, that none of what Miles told me that December morning was true and he was still the same man I thought he was…

But those are a fool’s daydreams.

Sitting in Papa’s old study, in his leather chair that’s far too big for me, I can’t help but feel like a child playing with her father’s hand-me-downs. In court, I feel powerful, grown-up, like the respected prosecutor and legend I am. I feel like myself. But here, in this house, for whatever reason, I still feel like a little girl. I’ve thought about redecorating before, making this space feel truly mine. But even if this study, this house, is in my name now, somehow changing anything about it feels like sacrilege.

I keep checking my phone for a notification or message from Miles. A missed call, anything. Just answer my calls. Just tell me where you are. Anything.

But no, my little brother has been MIA since that horrible December day, when he called me from across the sea to tell me the news. Franziska, your papa is dead. Your papa is a criminal.

Missile barks softly from his velvet dog bed. Absentmindedly, I run my fingers through his fur, remembering how Miles and I would chase him through the house once upon a time. He wags his tail in contentment, padding over to the cherry-wood cabinet where Papa kept his case files.

“You’re right, I’ve spent more than enough time rotting in this old house like a fool. I need to get back to the courtroom. I need to show the world that despite this setback, I am still an unstoppable force. I may have lost Papa, I may not know where Miles is, I may be alone. But I am still a Von Karma, and I can still crush my opponents into dust beneath my heel.”

I pick up my whip, feeling more confident the second I feel the comforting texture of the leather in my hand.

I am Franziska von Karma, and I refuse to be thwarted by my circumstances.

Papa would be proud.

[thegoldenuzi]

Stop trying to change the world since it is only the mirror. Man’s attempt to change the world by force is as fruitless as breaking a mirror in the hope of changing his face. Leave the mirror and change your face. Leave the world alone and change your conceptions of yourself. The reflection then will be satisfactory.

Neville Goddard, Your Faith is Your Fortune

Long Post incoming lol

In this day and age social media has become increasingly more toxic. People feel they have the right to be hateful, the right to have opinions on strangers and actively tear them down. Even I have fallen into the trap of allowing people like this to distract me from my path of inner peace. It’s hard seeing people be so nasty everywhere. Sometimes you just wanna reason with them but it’s all in vain. They don’t care. They’re content with the way they are. Just today I seen two popular figures get into a misunderstanding. The way fans rushed to tear one of them apart. It was disgusting to watch. Someone even uploaded a 2 year old clip with a fake caption claiming it was in reference to the current situation. They spared no resources to try and garner more hatred toward this person. Admittedly it frustrated me, because I allowed it to. Now that I have had time to reflect I have a different perspective that I want to share with you all. Just in case you might find yourself feeling this way.

I’m currently reading a book called the Mastery of Love. This book covers the way we relate to others, to ourselves and to life in general. Most people live off fear. They don’t accept themselves they don’t love themselves so they put on this fake persona in order to be accepted. We see this the most on the internet. People do and say things to gain validation from strangers. The sense of community they feel when someone also hates the same person they do. It’s exciting for them because they are disturbed inside. When I dislike someone they don’t exist in my reality. I don’t go out of my way to post about them or join others in a smear campaign. I simply don’t engage with them or their content. I love myself enough to not allow another person to have that much control over my attention. It’s cliche but misery does love company. It gives them that acceptance they can’t give themselves because they don’t respect themselves.

I’ve learned that it is not our job to change someone who’s mind is already made up. They feel the way they feel based on their perception of the world. If that doesn’t align with mine, then I don’t need to be involved with that person. It’s best not to try to make it a goal to change these people. Our job as Neville said, is to change ourselves which in turn will change our experience with unwanted situations. If we choose to be happy and to feel love within, then people and circumstances will replace what we currently experience. Instead of looking at these people as dumb frustrating beings, look at them for what they truly are. Hurt people who live in their own mental prisons. They are sick and it’s their job to heal themselves.

The Mastery Of Love says we are only responsible for our dream. Our truth is only the truth for us and nobody else. We don’t know what the other person is dreaming in their minds. In any relationship we are only responsible for our dream. If there is baggage we are only responsible for our baggage. It’s our job to clean up ourselves. If we feel the need to control or fix others, we don’t respect them. We don’t respect people to make their own decisions and their right to choose. So let’s do as Neville suggests and leave the world alone. Let them be, wish them well and remove your attention. Our highest selves wouldn’t waste their time debating with miserable people. They are responsible for their own realities. All we can do is change our relationship to the situation. Remember you always have the power to change your role and shift perspective.

[karahalloway]

Devil May Care

Fandom: Heaven’s Secret (Book 1: Season 1)

Pairing: Lucifer x F!OC (Devon Hart)

Series: Oh, So Devilish

Chapter summary: Devon sneaks off to track down a lead on her death... But she's not alone.

Word count: 5,100

Warnings: M (swearing, angst, suicidal thoughts, aggro, toxic behaviour, references to death, physical violence)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: So. This is not what I was supposed to be working on. At all. Not only is this not Intentions, but it’s not even TRR… or Choices, for that matter. However, a couple of weeks ago, @angelasscribbles convinced me to take the plunge with a Romance Club choices game called Heaven’s Secret and I became instantly hooked… especially on Lucifer’s character. I have a type; can’t you tell? 😆

A/N2: This first part of what turned into a two-parter (it just got too long, so I had to split it) focuses on the events that take place at the end of HS S1E5 and the second part focuses on the start of S1E6. Because while I love the character of Lucifer, I felt like that his characterisation missed the mark a bit (especially considering that he is the literal Son of Satan) so, I decided to make… adjustments 😏

A/N3: I appreciate that this is not what most people on my tag list signed up to read, but I have tagged my Permas anyway, in case anyone wants to indulge me. However, in the (highly likely) event that I end up writing more for this fandom, moving forward, I will only tag people who specifically request to be tagged. So if you want in on Part 2, let your preferences be known, or forever hold your peace.

A/N4: By way of context for people who decide to read, but are not familiar with canon for this story, here is some background (which I have also tried to incorporate as much as possible into the fic itself): MC (default name, Vicky Walker, but for various reasons, I decided to create an OC instead) is killed in a car crash. However, instead of ‘simply’ dying, she is offered the choice to become an immortal and join the Angels & Demons Academy (located in Heaven) and train to become either an angel or a demon (your choices in the game actually affect your path — prior to choosing an eventual side, you are referred to as an ‘Unclaimed’). As part of her training, MC is sent down to Earth to complete assignments that require her to influence humans into making various choices… however, MC is also secretly trying to investigate the circumstances of her (highly suspicious) death. Also, for the purposes of this universe, Lucifer is the demon son of Satan and Lilith (not a fallen angel as per Biblical canon). Dino, Sammy and Fencio are true-born angels (don’t ask about the names), Mimi and Adi are true-born demons. Both angels and demons (and Unclaimed) are anthropomorphic and have wings; however, when they go down to Earth, they disguise themselves in human form. Hope that helps! 🤗

Devil May Care

“Ah, there you are…”

Jerking my gaze away from Dino, I spot Sammy’s human form standing a few feet away.

“Sorry,” I say, quickly wiping the remnants of the wetness from my face. “I… I just needed a minute.”

Sammy nods in understanding. “If it’s any consolation, the fact that you care is a good thing. It shows you still have your humanity. No death should be treated lightly, yet most demons… and a fair number of angels have lost sight of that. But it’s a strength. Don’t let Adi or Mimi tell you otherwise.”

“Thanks, Sammy…” I say with a sniffle, forcing myself to stand.

“Any time,” he acknowledges with a lop-sided smirk. “But we should get going.”

“Yes. It is time to return,” confirms Dino, coming to stand beside me.

As if on cue, the air begins to thicken around us, and a familiar crackle of energy raises the hairs on my arms. Glancing up, I see the very fabric of the night sky stretch and strain as an otherworldly wind whips the now-familiar bridge between the dimensions into shape.

Dino steps into the centre of the maelstrom first, lifting into the air as the vortex sucks him back to the ethereal realm. 

“See you on the other side,” Sammy winks as he leaps after the other angel.

With a heavy exhale, I shove my hands into the pockets of my biker jacket, and force myself to move towards the epicentre of the storm.

Finding myself back on Earth in the wake of my death hadn’t been easy the first time, and it sure as hell hasn’t gotten any easier the second time either. Because even though everyone at the Academy keeps reminding me that my mortal life is well and truly over, and there is no going back, for whatever inexplicable reason I can’t seem to accept my new-found providence.

And coming back here — to the human realm — just feels like a massive kick in the gut each and every time… Like a kid being taunted with everything they can’t have from the other side of a toy store window. A cruel reminder of what that was wrenched away from me. My friends… My family… Even myself.

The undeniable force of the vortex tugs at my clothes, trying to lift me skywards, but I find myself fighting it.

Maybe because my death had been thrust upon me with such shocking suddenness… giving me no time to prepare, much less come to terms with it before I fell into the world of angels and demons. Maybe because the grief I saw etched into my father’s face has woven itself into the threads of my soul as well, reinforcing the harshness of the truth that we got cheated out of what could have been left of our precious, irretrievable time together. Or maybe it’s because I know that my killer is still out there, living it up despite the crime he committed against me, free from punishment, free from the scythe of justice.

The tip of my finger brushes against the folded letter buried in my pocket.

Since picking it up outside of my house a few days ago — though, to be fair, I have no idea how time converted between Earth and the angelic realm, so for all I know, it could’ve been years since my last visit – I’ve carried the piece of paper with me everywhere. In part because I don’t want anyone finding it and wondering how I managed to get my hands on it in the first place… As given that we aren’t supposed to interact with mortals outside of our given assignments, I am not particularly interested in the chewing out that is no doubt in store for me if someone decides to rat on me. But also, in part because I cannot let what happened to me go… and desperately crave answers.

Digging my heels in on the edge of the swirling whirlpool of energy, I pull the letter out…

…but as if by fate, the square of paper is ripped from my grasp by a particularly vicious gust of wind.

“No…!” I gasp, throwing myself heedlessly after my only lead.

The letter zooms around the circumference of the vortex — like a hapless butterfly riding the edge of a tornado — and begins to track upwards, ever further from my reach…

But just as it’s on the verge of vanishing into the void, it is suddenly snatched out of the air with inhuman speed and precision.

I stumble to stop, mouth agape and arm outstretched like some drunken ballerina as I lay eyes on the dark form on the other side of the vortex.

Crap…

Of all the possible ways this screw-up could’ve gone, this is — hands down — the worst.

As even in human skin… without the horned wings gathered around him like a dark halo, or the pulsing, ethereal tattoos that seem to constantly shift along the visible surface of his skin… there is no mistaking the raw power emanating from the being standing across from me.

Lucifer cocks a lazy brow in my direction as he holds the note up. “Lost something, have we?” 

His eyes meets mine, and in spite of the distance separating us, I feel the full heat of the fire that burns in his demonic gaze scorch into me like the blade of a hot knife.

And despite drawing upon every ounce of my willpower to prevent it from happening, I feel an incriminating blush rise up my cheeks.

A slow smile curves at his lips. “I thought so…”

“Give it back!” I snap, my momentary embarrassment morphing instantly into anger… even though I know in the back of my mind this is exactly the reaction he is probably looking to goad me into.

Because I am angry. Angry at myself for being stupid enough to arm someone like Lucifer with such potent ammunition to use against me. Angry with him for the fact that he managed to sneak up on me like this in the first place.

But most of all, my heart is still bleeding for that little girl who died a senseless death mere minutes ago… and the knowledge that I had been complicit in it. 

And I cannot keep a latch on the tidal wave of red rising over me. Nor do I really want to. 

I have already cried a river on the bench with Dino — commiserating not just for the fate of the girl, but for the fucked up situation I now find myself in as well — and I have no tears left. Just raw, frothing rage at the inherent unjustness of the world, at the flippant and uncaring attitude of my fellow immortals who see humans as mere pawns on their eternal chess board, and my own powerlessness in the face of forces and rules that I don’t yet fully understand, but which I’m being steered to blindly conform to anyway.

And the arrogant demon standing in front of me is just as good a scapegoat for my ire as any.

“Or what?” he taunts, sliding his thumb slowly across the paper… taunting me shamelessly with the missive he now holds in his hand.

Something inside of me snaps and I launch myself at him with a wordless yell.

But the vortex has apparently had enough of being kept on hold by my indecision, and before I’ve made it two steps, I find myself being sucked up to go careening through time and space like a discombobulated pinball.

“Damn it!” I cuss as I’m tugged through the shimmering funnel against my will.

I had one chance to make some much-needed progress on figuring out who killed me and why, and I’ve managed to blow it.

And who knows when I’ll have the opportunity to try again? Or even if I’ll be able to try again…

As knowing Lucifer — the literal Spawn of Satan — he’ll end up throwing me under the bus the moment we get back to the Academy… just for perverse kicks.

“Asshole…” I gripe under my breath as I feel the speed of the vortex slow, indicating that my unplanned trip is about to come to an end.

But as my feet touch down once more, it is not back at the Academy where I find myself. Instead, I’m standing outside of a building that looks very much like a police station… in my hometown.

“Huh…”

Dino had mentioned previously that destinations in the vortex are set by one’s intentions.

Since I had been so focused on the letter — which my father had received from the lead detective assigned to my case — the vortex must’ve thought this is where I had wanted to go.

And I’m not about to look an unexpected gift horse in the mouth.

Knowing that I didn’t have a lot of time before my classmates — and Fencio! — notice my absence back in the angelic realm, I hurry across the street.

Taking the steps two at a time, I shove myself through the revolving door and step into the station. Luckily, I have the contents of the letter memorised, given that I no longer have it in my possession, so I’m hoping that I’ll be able to blag my way through this with some semblance of grace.

The receptionist manning the counter looks up at my arrival. “Can I help you?”

“Erm… Yes,” I confirm, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear as I step forward. “I’m looking for DC Lawton. He was heading up the Hart case…?”

I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping against hope that it’s only been mere weeks and not decades since my death, and the police are still investigating.

The receptionist takes a moment to consult her computer. “Yes. He should still be in.”

A relieved breath bursts out of me. Another break!

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Not exactly…” I admit. “But… I do have some information relating to the case that he needs to hear.”

The woman behind the desk studies me for a long moment, no doubt wondering what a petite Korean girl wearing pink pigtails and spiked leather could possibly have to contribute to a homicide investigation… given that that is the mortal skin I am currently masquerading around in.

But she nevertheless seems to take me at my word. “Down the hall, second door on the left.”

“Thank you!” I blurt, already turning away.

Speedwalking past the desk and down the corridor, I locate the correct door and push down on the handle without knocking.

The lone man occupying the room barely glances up from his stack of papers at the sound of my arrival. “Yeah?”

“DC Lawton?” I ask, stepping into the room.

“That’s what it says on the name plaque,” he grunts, indicating the front of his desk.

“Great!” I exclaim, moving up to him. “I…”

I trail off, realising that I haven’t actually planned out what I was going to say when I got here. As I can’t exactly reveal that I am the dead victim from one of his case files, come to demand answers about the circumstances of the car crash that killed her.

The detective raises his head, waiting for a response..

I take a deep breath. “I hear you’re the lead investigator on the Hart case.”

He nods. “That’s right. And you are?”

“An interested party,” I admit. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

His brows furrow, no doubt in response to the same train of thought that chugged down the tracks of the receptionist’s mind earlier. “What kind of interested party?”

Shit…

I’m not sure exactly how I had expected this conversation to go, but it definitely wasn’t like this. 

But then I remember that I’m not a mere human anymore…

And I’m not willing to leave empty-handed.

Ditching any rational approach, I scrunch my face up in pretend grief as I flop dramatically into the chair at the side of the detective’s desk. “I didn’t want to say anything before because I didn’t want anyone to know… especially my parents… but I can’t keep it in anymore and I need to tell someone!”

DC Lawton startles slightly at my unexpected and borderline theatrical flip of composure. “Keep what in anymore?”

I slap an aggrieved hand onto his. “That Devon and I were in a relationship!”

The detective’s eyes widen in shock, and I use his momentary surprise to lock my gaze with his, just like we practiced back at the Academy.

The physical contact, combined with the suddenly unrestricted access to the window of his soul, allows me to breach the energetic wall encasing his body, and dive right into the hidden recesses of his mind.

Yes! It worked!

But I force myself to curtail my celebration, knowing that I need to focus all my attention on maintaining the delicate connection with the man sitting in front of me.

“You must help me, Detective,” I urge, tightening my hold on his hand.

DC Lawton looks somewhat dazed — like he’s been whacked over the back of the head — but at the sound of my voice, his pupils dilate eagerly. “How can I help?”

“The girl in the Hart case that you’re investigating… she was run off the road. Do you know by who?”

“No,” he intones, his voice slightly groggy. “The vehicle was a rental. A black minivan. I haven’t had a chance to talk to the rental company yet…”

“Which rental company?” I press.

“Global Drive,” he says. “The license plate is NYK 357.”

“Can you write that all down for me?”

He lifts his pen up with a nod to scribble onto a Post-It. “Your hand is so warm…”

“Thanks,” I say, snatching the note from him and breaking off the contact in the process.

He blinks up at me rapidly. “Any time…?”

Jumping up from the chair, I turn to dash out of the room…

…and nearly trip over my own feet when I come face to face with the glowering form leaning against the door jamb.

“What th—?”

Lucifer’s lips curl back to reveal teeth. “I should have you racked in the Pits.”

An involuntary shiver runs down my spine at his words. Not because of the sinister nature of the threat — I’ve been to Hell, and it certainly is no picnic! — but because I can see from the tight set of his jaw that he is actively considering carrying it out.

I force myself to meet his burning gaze head-on. “Well, unfortunately for you, I didn’t end up in Hell when I died. So, you don’t get to make that call.”

“No,” he growls back. “But your flagrant disregard for the rules makes you a liability, and I refuse to take the fall for you.”

“Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you decided to follow me,” I hit back, bumping him with my shoulder as I shove past him on my way out of the room.

His hand shoots out to latch around my arm with a vice-like grip, and suddenly I find myself nose-to-nose with him.

“I didn’t follow you,” he hisses into my face, his coal-black irises alight with the very fires of Hell. “The vortex brought me here because you can’t keep hold of your own fucking trash.”

“It’s not trash!” I spit back. “It’s—“

“Was it worth it?”

The question — and the sudden change in his tone — catches me off guard. 

I blink in confusion, wondering if I maybe misheard him. But while his piercing gaze is still locked onto me with the same degree of ferociousness as a moment ago, behind the raging inferno of irritation glimmers a genuine spark of curiosity.

“Maybe,” I concede tightly, trying to get a read on him.

As demons, I’ve learnt, are inherent wildcards. Unpredictable at the best of times, and downright diabolical at the worst. Which means their whims and whiles can change at the drop of a hat, and it is dangerous to get caught in a compromising position with them.

Which — unfortunately — is exactly where I have managed to find myself with Lucifer. Trapped in a corner, with him holding all the trumps. So, I don’t want to admit any more than I strictly have to.

He rakes his hot gaze over me one more time — as if trying to catch me out in a lie — before pulling back slightly.

“Hmm… Not a complete waste of wings then…”

I wrench my arm from his grasp. “Fuck you.”

I swear I hear a snort of amusement escape him as I stomp away… But I resist the urge to sucker punch him. He is not worth it, and I have better things to do with my limited time on Earth anyway.

Glancing down at the Post-It in my hand, I can see that DC Lawton has been kind enough to scrawl down the address of the rental centre… and that it is only a few blocks away.

Which is a blessing, given that I don’t have any money on me with which to hail a cab or jump on a bus, and our lessons at the Academy have yet to cover how to magically hotwire a car. 

So, walking it is. At least the physical exertion will give me a chance to blow off some steam.

Shoving the note into my pocket, I push through the revolving doors of the station, and back out onto the street. Pausing for a second to get my bearings – it’s been a while since I last frequented this part of town, having spent the preceding four years of my mortal life off at college – I quickly rake through my mental map of the neighbourhood before setting off to the right.

Except, I don’t even make it to the end of the block before I feel a tell-tale prick in the back of my neck. Glancing over my shoulder, my stomach drops as I catch sight of Lucifer a few yards behind me.

Gritting my teeth, I pick up my pace, hoping that it’s merely an unfortunate coincidence that he happens to be going in the same direction as me.

But it seems that I am in no such luck, as he’s still tailing me two blocks later, like an annoying black fly that I cannot seem to shake, no matter how hard I try.

With the result that by the time I get to the next crosswalk, my cool has evaporated completely, and instead of crossing the road in front of me, I end up rounding on him like a rabid pitbull.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite!”

My outburst seems to catch him off-guard. But whatever jump I may have managed to get on him is fleeting at best, and in the next instant, he’s up in my face again, teeth bared and hackles raised. “Watch your tongue, Unclaimed. Before I rip it out of your mouth.”

“Oh, the truth hurts, does it?” I snip up at him.

“You don’t know the meaning of pain,” he grits, his hand snapping around the base of my throat.

My eyes narrow. “I know more than you think.”

“No. You don’t.” The flames in his eyes lick over me contemptuously. “And your arrogance will get you killed. Permanently.”

“Bet you’d love to be the one to do it, too,” I goad with a humourless smile. 

I know I’m playing with hellfire. But I don’t care. I didn’t ask for this life, and I’m still not convinced I want it. So, if Lucifer is willing to put me out of my misery, then so be it. Being who he is, I’m sure he has the means… and I’ve just handed him the opportunity on a silver platter.

The Prince of Darkness stares at me for what feels like an age, his hand wrapped around my throat, face a mere breath from mine, his gaze simmering as if trying to read my very soul.

“Unlike you, angel, I’m not that stupid,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. His hand drops from my neck as he steps abruptly past me.

“Then why are you still here?” I demand, whirling around after him.

He stops a few feet away, shoulders tense. But when he looks back at me, rather than anger or annoyance, it’s that devilish grin playing at his lips again. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the show.”

“Eugh!” I grit, throwing my hands up in the air as I plow past him.

Conceited, egotistical, patronising bastard! Why can’t he fall back into the Seventh Circle of Hell, where he fucking—

I’m so incessed that I end up storming right by the rental centre… and have to retrace my steps from the other end of the block to correct my mistake.

So, by the time I arrive back at the correct entranceway, my mood is even more foul than when I left the police station.

“Save it,” I spit as I reach the still-smirking form of Lucifer, leaning against the metal fence post of the lot.

His brow arches. “Did you hear me—?”

I flip him off in no uncertain terms as I stride past without a backwards glance.

He wants to stick around? Fine. But that doesn’t mean I need to be nice to him. Hell will have to freeze over first.

Arriving at the first row of parked cars, I pull the Post-It out from my pocket and begin scanning the plates, looking for the black van.

“Good afternoon, miss. Can I help you find anything in particular?”

Looking up, I see a suited man with a combover and a name tag looking at me expectantly. The rental rep, by the looks of him.

“Yes, actually,” I affirm. “I’m looking for a black minivan.”

“You have come to the right place,” he tells me with an eager smile as he starts to lead me to the other side of the lot. “Global Drive stocks the largest selection of rental vans available for hire in the area, and we’re happy to accommodate both long- and short-term requirements. Are you moving, by any chance?”

“Huh?” I’d been too busy trying to match the van plates to the number on the Post-It that I totally missed the question.

The rep’s smile falters slightly. “Since your interest is in a minivan, am I correct to assume that y—?”

“No.”

Both mine and the rep’s gaze snap around to land on the hulking presence of Lucifer, who has managed to slither up behind us without either of us noticing.

“We’re not planning on renting it,” he adds, with what I can only deduce is his interpretation of an angelic smile.

My stomach drops. Oh, no…

The rep frowns. “Then why—?”

“Because this lovely young lady is of the belief that she may have left a rather intimate item in one of your vans following a recent excursion of ours. And she’s desperate to retrieve it.”

“Oh, well of course!" agrees the rep. “We pride ourselves on—"

“It’s lacy… And expensive…” Lucifer clarifies with a sly look. “And probably lodged between the—”

“The point is!” I interject loudly, my cheeks burning with mortification despite the fact that the entire story is a shameless lie. “We would like to take a look in the van. The plate number was NYK 357.”

The demeanour of the rep suddenly shifts. “Umm… Are you certain?”

“Yes,” I say, laying a hand on his arm to try and sway him like I did the detective. “Very—”

The rep snatches his arm away. “I’m going to need to see some ID. I cannot allow access to the vehicles without verifying that—”

I reach towards him again. “Surely that’s not necessary… We just want to take a quick peek, and—”

“He’s going to bolt…” breathes Lucifer in my ear.

I flick my head away irately. “Shut—”

But the rep has already turned tail and fled.

“Damn it!” I grit.

“Told you,” Lucifer smirks down at me.

I give him an annoyed shove. “He only did that because of you! If you hadn’t stuck your nose in it, I would’ve—”

“I did nothing,” he counters tersely, the coals of his eyes flaring in warning. “Your attempt to influence him was doomed from the start. But you were too obstinate to notice.”

“Obstinate!” I cry. “You were breathing in my ear!”

“And did you like it?” he purrs, suddenly all up in my space again as he flips the tables on me with diabolical speed.

“No,” I snort, turning pointedly away. 

Asshole…

He deliberately sabotaged my attempt to establish a connection with the rental rep. Whether for his own perverse enjoyment — like the Devil temping Eve in the Garden — or whether for some more sinister reason, it doesn’t matter. The end result is the same. And I have no clue how I’m going to be able to salvage this rapidly snowballing clusterfuck, given that I am already working on borrowed time.

But I know I have to try. I’ve somehow managed to make it this far, in spite of the successive obstacles Lucifer’s thrown in my way, and I refuse to give that bastard the satisfaction of believing that I’m going to let him win whatever one-sided game he’s playing.

“He is gay.”

I stumble to a stop. “Say what?”

Lucifer is standing in front of me, blocking the way to the door of the rental centre. “The rental rep. He is gay. That is why your feeble attempts to influence him didn’t work.”

“Yeah… Right…” I snap, trying to push past him. I’m not falling for whatever kind of trick this is supposed to be.

He grabs my arm. “Check that attitude before I check it for you, Unclaimed. Because you’re not going to like my methods…”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I hit back. “Because based on what I’ve seen of your ‘methods’, they are mediocre at best.”

His eyes flash in fury. “You’ve seen nothing, angel…”

“I’m not an angel,” I deride, wrenching my arm from his grasp.

He scoffs. “Well, you’re certainly no demon. The way you’re floundering around like—”

I catch sight of something through the window. “Oh, no…”

Lucifer jerks his gaze over his shoulder…

…and before I can blink, he’s vanished into the rental centre, the glass door flapping wildly in his wake.

Catching the handle on the out-swing, I dash after him as fast as my stiletto boots can carry me… and an involuntary gasp escapes me as I lay eyes on the scene in front of me.

The rental rep is pressed up against the wall, his feet dangling a good foot off the ground as Lucifer holds him suspended with the hand locked around his neck. The phone that I’d spotted the rep frantically trying to dial a moment ago lies shattered on the floor.

“Please…” begs the man, clawing desperately at the fingers that are squashing his trachea. “I—“

“Shut up,” growls Lucifer, shoving the rep higher. “You have exactly two seconds to tell us everything we need to know before I rip your throat out. And if you even think about lying… Well, you don’t even want to go there…”

The rep blanches visibly. “Anything! I’ll… I’ll tell you anything! Please, just—“

“Ask him,” Lucifer barks without even a glance in my direction.

I take a shaky step forward. “We… We’re looking for the driver who rented the black van. License plate—”

“I… I know…” croaks the rep, his face starting to redden from the lack of oxygen. “I worked the shift and… and remember him. He never bought the van back…”

My throat tightens painfully. Because he rammed me off the road…

“Who was he?” demands Lucifer.

“Not… local,” the man rasps, struggling for breath. “Gave a hotel as an address… Hotel… Hotel Aphrodite. And his name… His name sounded strange… almost French. But he didn’t speak—”

“To Hell with all that,” comes the short-tempered command. “Give us the fucking name.”

“Am-Amidi Laurent!”

Lucifer drops the rep like a sack of trash. “You got that?”

“Yeah…” I confirm tightly, watching the man wheeze on the floor.

“Good,” he grits. “Let’s go.”

Without giving me a say in the matter, he grabs my wrist to haul me out the door.

I stumble after him like a witless marionette, trying to process what I just witnessed.

Lucifer… Willing to kill… For me…?

The concept simply does not compute.

“Happy now?”

The sound of Lucifer’s voice wrenches me from the whirlpool of my thoughts…

…and looking up, I find that we’re back out on the street, just around the corner from the rental centre.

“I…” I glance back in the direction of Global Drive with a lump in my throat. “Why did you do that?”

“To save time,” he replies dispassionately. “And get the truth out of him.”

“Yeah… But…” A shiver courses through me at the ease with which he’d immobilised the rep… The ease with which he’d threatened him. “Why?”

Lucifer lets out an exasperated exhale. “Hell’s bells, you Unclaimed are dense sometimes… Because that’s what you wanted.”

I gape at him, stupefied. This must be some kind of fever dream…

“Don’t I get a thank you?”

The simplicity of his question knocks me off kilter completely.

My eyes lift to his almost on their own volition, and I find him gazing down at me silently, intently… like a cat waiting to see in which direction the mouse will jump.

Except there is no malice or mockery in his gaze. Just plain old curiosity once again.

And because my tongue has become stuck in my throat, and after everything that’s just happened, my mind is a non-functioning mess, I do the stupidest thing imaginable…

…and reach up to kiss him on the cheek.

He stiffens — probably just as shocked by what’s happening as I would be if I could think coherently right now. But for whatever reason, he doesn’t laugh or pull away. He simply stands, still as a statue, hardly even drawing breath.

I have no idea how long we stay there, frozen in time with my lips pressed against his jaw — the heat of his skin burning me even through the dampener of his mortal guise — before we finally break apart.

I turn quickly away, face flushed and heart hammering, not being able to bring myself to look him in the eye for fear of what I might find there.

Oh, Christ… What the hell did I just do?

The story continues in Devil You Know

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