#me: i drew this character as ace. i will put it under their tag. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

captainkirbypunch · 4 years ago

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My love has left tumblr once again.

As many of you may know, the account under the name MDZADR, has left tumblr. They felt unsafe in their fandom, and as such have deleted their tumblr and AO3 account due to the bad memories linked to them.

As a part of their departure, they have asked me to post something in their name, as follows.

If you want more details about how I came to this realization, continue to read. If not, here is your summary:

TL;DR: For the safety and health of this fandom, I wanted to spread the word that Mooping-10 is filled with people who absolutely cannot be trusted, creating a very hazardous environment for the zadr community, and MelodyoftheVoid is connected to all of those people, living a double life amongst those of us that don’t “ship zadr correctly.” She has plenty of friends her inner circle knows nothing about, and nobody on either side knows who she really is.

Full story below.

I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. Nobody did anything to me today, but this just wasn’t worth it.

My AO3 and tumblr are both gone. I didn’t say goodbye because I didn’t want to look like an attention seeker.

Here’s the thing. I wasn’t going to name drop, but you guys need to know the truth. I’m instructing my boyfriend (hi y’all) to turn asks off for his own safety after this because this is going to be a nightmare, but... allow me to tell you the full story. I’ll try to break up the text so it’s less difficult to read, but this is important. I’m sorry to air discourse so publicly, but please... I need you to listen to me.

I’ll start from the beginning, without being vague anymore about who “she” is. I request that you please read the whole thing and not skip parts of it. The whole story matters.

I finally returned to the fandom about two months or so ago. As I’ve mentioned, I don’t do well in my thoughts while left alone too long, so I posted saying I would stop messaging people I knew because I didn’t want to bother them. There were only two people I was talking to at the time, but one of them is famous so I didn’t want to message her directly saying that. Doing so would have put her in a position of feeling obligated to say “you’re not bothering me” rather than just simply being able to sigh with relief from no longer being contacted.

But the first person to contact me was the famous person, and she asked if I was okay, and told me she liked talking to me.

God, I actually cried.

But, that’s just her. Melodyofthevoid is the type of person to talk to people in the fandom, totally unaware of her demigod status. She comments on stories, interacts on posts, messages first... a pillar of kindness, so it seemed.

But let the story continue.

Over time, we were talking more often.

Mostly sending memes (cause everyone I knew, myself included, aren’t exactly great at holding conversations. No shade. Memes are a love language). I was still in the hero worship stage of our relationship, so my view of her was that that was perfect.

Now, let me bridge a connection with a new story idea I got around December 28th or so, and my thinking she was perfect.

I had recently finished watching Madoka and questioned “If I had magical powers, what would they be?” It then turned into its own story idea, basing creators’ powers around the strengths and weaknesses in creations. I actually realized “oh fuck. My stuff is incoherent. My friends’ works aren’t too different...”

Thus spawned the name “Incoherent” for the project.

What does that have to do with this? Well, here’s the thing that really fucked everything up quickly.

This was not on purpose, because originally the project (which I had told nobody of yet at the time) was all about improving your works, making platonic friends, dressing our personas in cute outfits, and writing fun magic.

While listening to music and thinking of the story one day, my brain accidentally shipped my persona with hers, and I couldn’t unsee it. And I’m lousy at keeping my own secrets (other’s are different) so she found out on probably day one or two about my weird crush because of an ask meme of all things.

She didn’t try to put me off any, which was another problem for future things to come, and so I decided that since Incoherent was finally making me feel alive again and feeling the euphoric feelings of love wouldn’t hurt anything (I figured they’d mellow out on their own eventually because that’s how infatuation works) since they helped fuel my inspiration, and then we would just continue from friends to better friends one day and this part of our lives would be over.

Besides, the forbidden is attractive somehow, and makes stories more entertaining. She’s aro/ace, so I had no chance anyway. Someone safe to crush on, in her own way.

This isn’t a story of a love betrayal however. There was no such thing. But it’s important to the story because Incoherent is where my mistakes were made, and hers brought to light.

By this time, I had a handful of people I was talking to, and I created a discord server for the project. Only my boyfriend (hi!) and I were in it at the time. I was not-so-subtly asking my friends what they’d look like if they were a magical person, what their names would be... I thought I would have had to lure Melody in to make her want to join us, but I managed to get her in very easily. Everyone was happy and excited! It was a no obligation, no time limit thing for us to enjoy, a little sandbox to play around in.

Sure there were plans to make it bigger and I was working on art to the best of my ability, but it was gonna be a fun thing mostly. No pressure on anyone.

And how things started becoming a problem was that the rest of us posted publicly about the project and interacted with each other’s posts relating to the story, but she had started to interact publicly less and less with our things, and everyone noticed it.

It wasn’t because we were greedy and wanted the popular girl to reblog our things. It’s because we had a feeling she was ashamed of being seen publicly with us. The reason we were worried before then and started making that connection was because I mentioned I was going to ask another user if they were interested in joining Incoherent. Melody was the only one that seemed uncomfortable, and I messaged her asking about it. We agreed I wouldn’t invite that person but I knew things were off about it.

That person is like me. How long until Melody didn’t want to talk to me anymore? A few days ago, the other shoe finally dropped. A member of our little group and I were talking and (let’s call them Friend for simplicity. They asked to not be name dropped here) Friend was worried they had made Melody upset by tagging her in a meme picture they drew of her persona, and the two had agreed that Friend remove the tag. This spawned an anxiety-filled conversation where Friend and I expressed our concerns about Melody not interacting with the project, or us.

So since I wanted reassurance that that wasn’t the case, I messaged Melody with my concerns. I told her I had the feeling she was ashamed of being seen in public with us because of her friends, and she didn’t refute me. She simply told me to go get some rest. I messaged back with “I’m right.”

I deleted Discord off my phone for hours and nearly deleted my Tumblr, AO3, and the server after my boyfriend helped pass messages between us. Melody confessed that was the case because her friends expressed discomfort with my works, and she was playing both sides.

Her words, not mine.

Melody told me she would be withdrawing from the Incoherent project because it wasn’t fair to us if her heart wasn’t in it.

She didn’t stand up on my behalf when they said things about me. Her friends are the type who talk behind creators’ backs for shipping zadr “incorrectly.” Worse than antis because they actually participate in the “pro-shipping” side of the fandom. I broke that day and messaged her at 3 am.

We finally spoke at 3pm. We both missed each other. I tried to understand more. I wanted it to be more like a conversation rather than an interrogation. It was only one-sided however, and she never opened up further. And I made some mistakes and poor choices of words, and we ended up parting ways permanently right there.

I nearly deleted everything, but much like a coma patient attached to many machines on a hospital bed, my blog was kept alive a little longer by people sending kind words in droves. I was briefly fuelled by spite, wishing to watch the world burn by making everyone on the "correct" side of the fandom upset by posting the worst, most vile content this fandom has ever seen.

I was also welcomed with open arms by a very kind server with fellow degenerates, all of them screaming and crying and partying when they managed to get me in their server. It was so heartwarming...

But as I spoke to others about my situation, I realized something. A disturbing pattern.

People telling me horror stories about how Mooping-10 was cult-like. How the people running it were antis. I was even told once that they have a secondary server where they go to have their talks and do their work, likely the place where the real bashing is held.

The server itself has rules against such behavior, but I suppose it's different when they do it.

One person (and this is the most unnerving part for me, personally) told me Melody actually set off alarm bells in their head without having even done anything yet, and the most disturbing part of the story was that one of the moderators was afraid and upset because they got Covid, and received basically no moral support at all. Only getting told "spoiler that. Sorry you got Covid".

I was horrified. That server has 100 people in it. How many of them are the same? They act like popular kids in school who picked up an unpopular main character and then bash others, and the main character joined in because they don't want to be left behind by their new "friends".

To put it short, back to my point:

TL;DR: I simply only wanted to spread the word that: Mooping-10 is filled with people who absolutely cannot be trusted, creating a very hazardous environment for the zadr community, and Melodyofthevoid is connected to all of those people, living a double life amongst those of us that don't "ship zadr correctly". She has plenty of friends her inner circle knows nothing about, and nobody on either side knows who she really is.

#Invader Zim #zadr #tagr #rapr #zagr #mdzadr #MelodyoftheVoid

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beholdme · 3 years ago

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All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 18

Chapters: 18/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17]

They cook, they feed him, they chat away about inane things. Their presence soothes Martin and their voices fill him with the warmth sucked away by his unexpected encounter.

Gerry helps him make tea after dinner, and they all sit at the table together, even the cats sleeping nearby, cuddled up into one big, grey and black fluff ball.

"I think," Martin begins, voice croaky, "That I would like to tell you now."

"We're ready to listen if you're ready to tell us." Jon offers softly. Gerry reaches over to take one of his hands, turning it over to kiss the palm sweetly.

Martin talks, voice quiet and even.

"In the beginning, it was just a normal relationship. Except for the fact that he was almost twenty years older than me, and about a million times richer. I didn't know that at first, of course. He was just a middle-aged man I met in a gay bar, who didn't seem to mind that I was trans. I felt secure in our relationship, if not exactly nurtured or adored. I had never felt very secure before, and it seemed like enough, you know?

"He took me out, brought me a few things in the beginning. He was very dominant, sexually, but I was a lot less sure of my own preferences back then and I thought it was fine. He never even blinked at my trashy flat or cheap clothes, and I didn't even realise just how much money he had for a long time. Maybe I just can't really comprehend that much money, even now.

"When I was twenty-two, my mother died, and…" He huffs out a shaky, emotional laugh. "Well, I was a real mess. I lost my job, and almost my flat. Peter started paying for things, my rent, clothes, meals. He said that I needed somewhere to live and had to eat and look presentable, and it was his pleasure to provide those things for me. It made me feel a bit gross, but I struggled to find another job, and so I accepted it."

Martin hesitates here, before continuing. "The problem started when I wasn't interested in sex one night."

"He forced you?" Gerry interrupts to ask dangerously, threat explicit in his quiet words. His eyes seem to glow faintly in the growing dark of the room, as the sun sets. He wishes, more than ever, that he had helped Jon kick the shit out of Peter Lukas, instead of stopping him.

Martin sighs, eyes pressed tight closed for a second. "Not exactly. He simply pointed out that he paid for me to exist. So I made myself interested."

Gerry's hands tighten into fists and he moves them under the table where Martin can't see them anymore. Jon suddenly looks very pale. They share a look, neither able to see much difference between 'forcing' and what sounds a lot like financial abuse to them.

Martin pulls his legs up to his chest, curling around them as he goes on. "Our relationship became a lot more transactional after that night. I disengaged whatever feelings I had left for him and simply drew all my emotions down deep into myself. I wasn't ashamed to be getting paid for sex, but I felt like I had lost my own consent in the matter. Peter honestly seemed like he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Money was nothing to him, and he had someone to take out on his arm or shag whenever he wanted, without the work of a real relationship, or the complications of unfortunate attachments.

"So, if I needed something, I told him. He set a date, took me out, fucked me. He gave me however much I needed."

Martin shrugs, looking down at his hands. "I honestly hated it. Not because of the prostitution itself, sex has always been very nurturing for me, and I sometimes caught the idea that it was only another way to care for people, and being paid for that is perfectly fine, if you're doing it for the right reasons. The real issue was Peter himself. He had this way of making me feel… bereft and hollow, even before the money came into it."

A few tears track down his face, although his face remains rather blank, in a numb way. It's only as he admits the next words that his voice breaks and the heartbreak works its way out again.

"I was very foolish. Looking back, I can see that I was still a child in a lot of ways. I put myself into a situation that damaged me, but I accept the consequences of those actions, both then and now. I- I-"

"Martin," Jon whispers, warm love clear in his voice. It's nothing but an offer of support, one that he desperately needs right now.

He presses his eyes shut, forcing away the stutter and the lump of tears. "I knew I wasn't going to be able to get out of it, even if I got a crap, minimum wage job that I was qualified for. So I started applying for any work that was available. I made every application exactly what they wanted, and I hoped for the best. When Elias offered me the job at Magnus, I took it happily. Since then I found out that Peter knows him, and probably arranged the job for me, but at the time I had no idea. Looking back, I know that it's a miracle that I got out of it at all. Peter could have chosen to make my life a living hell. Instead, he accepted the several firm rejections I offered him.

"He promised me that we weren't done, that I would be back, but he left me alone. I was done. I moved on with my life, even if I had to lie to do it." Martin sighs, shakes out his shoulders, the most difficult part over now.

"I had always planned to be open about it with my next relationships, but they were so fleeting that it never even came up. By the time I fell for Jon, it had become a secret, one I was loathed to dig up for a relationship I was convinced wouldn't last. I thought to myself, 'Why ruin something that makes me happy?' I assumed it would fall apart anyway, and it was easier to allow it to be in the past.

"But I am sorry. I'm sorry that I never told you. I'm sorry you had to find out from him. I'm sorry that we've been together for more than a year and we basically live together, and I've put you in this position. I love you both, very very much."

"When did you eventually decide that our relationship was going to last?" Jon queries, genuine curiosity in his voice.

There's a beat of hazy silence at the abrupt change in tone and topic.

"Oh, ah-" Martin stumbles over his words, unsure how blatantly honest to be. He chooses the real truth, no matter how unfortunate. "The day that I got Luna was the first time I really accepted that you both loved me."

Jon simply raises an eyebrow, completely unconcerned. "What about you, Gerry?"

"With you," Gerry responds easily, "at the hospital in Morden, when I was so panicked that I couldn't decide if I wanted to kill you or handcuff us together for the rest of our lives. With Martin-"

He breaks off with a laugh, colouring slightly. "It was the day we dyed my hair purple."

"The first time we had sex?" Martin asks, surprised at such a hedonistic answer.

He laughs again, more confidently this time. "No, actually, although that was spectacular. It was afterwards, when you braided my hair for the first time. That was the first time anyone had ever braided my hair. It made me feel so… So honoured. Like I was the most precious thing to you."

"Gerry, you are the most precious thing to me. You both are." Martin whispers, tears creeping back into his voice.

"Good, because the feeling is mutual, and we desperately need you around to keep us in line," Jon tells him, voice unusually firm and confident.

"What about you?" Martin remembers to ask him, at risk of floating away in his post confession haze. "When did you know?"

"With Gerry, it was when we were teenagers. I kissed him for the first time, and he laughed at me. I just knew he was my soulmate." Jon rolls his eyes at this, but his voice is full of blatant affection. "With you, Martin, it was- Well, to be quite honest with you, there was no one special moment. It was a million tiny moments, all of them special and perfect to me. Every cup of tea, every frown while you were writing poetry, glasses pushed haphazardly up into your lovely hair. The easy, glorious look on your face the day you met Gerry for the first time, as if you weren't even capable of not falling in love with him, just as I hadn't been. It was especially the days that I would come out of the library and find you waiting for me after work. This weight of total surety would fill my chest and leave me gasping, needing you."

Jon sighs, his own eyes a little bright. "I suppose it was really the night you kissed me in the rain, and every soft moment since then has only affirmed the way I knew you were it for me."

Jon smiles at Martin so beatifically that he forgets to breathe for a moment.

"We love you too, Martin," Gerry tells him, reaching out to grasp a hand. Jon takes the other. "And we wouldn't want you any other way."

***

The next morning, Martin wakes to find Jon eyeing his phone intently. Gerry is asleep on his other side, and he feels warmly cocooned between them. Gentle cloudy light fills the space, encouraging the comfortable cozy atmosphere of their bed.

"What's wrong, love?" Martin asks sleepily, snuggling into his side.

"I got-" Jon pauses, utterly flummoxed. "I got paid a bonus."

"What?" Equally perplexed, Martin takes his phone, squinting as he tries to read the screen.

The banking app is open, and there is indeed a deposit there, Jon's normal salary amount, but on completely the wrong date.

In the purpose box, it simply reads 'Entertainment Value'.

"You don't think," Jon starts, hesitant, "that Elias paid me…"

"For hitting Peter Lukas?" Martin finishes, "His own husband."

They blink at each other, bewildered.

"Does that seem… slightly cursed, to you?" Jon whispers as if Elias might hear him. Even worse if Elias could hear them, and would probably enjoy being accused of having a cursed relationship.

"Yes, completely cursed. What is up with those two?" Martin looks as if he's smelled something bad.

"We absolutely cannot spend this money, right?" Jon asks. "Lest we are cursed with their relationship dysfunction."

"Correct," Martin responds firmly, shuddering. "Can we donate it to the animal shelter?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea." Jon's relief at this resolution is palpable.

He does it straight away, as if even having the money in his bank account might ruin their lives.

They let out a simultaneous sigh as the transfer goes through.

"That is wild," Martin mutters as he snuggles back down.

Jon tosses his phone away, no longer interested in it. Instead, he wraps his arms around Martin, burying his nose in his lover's hair. It smells of bergamot and tea leaves and the ocean in winter, just like Martin himself, and Jon luxuriates in the moment.

"I love you, Martin K. Blackwood." He whispers into the soft air.

"Even if I don't actually have a middle name?" Martin whispers back.

"Especially because of that." Jon chuckles.

They lay together, the gentle moments of the morning flowing around them. Later, they get up and shower together. They drink tea in front of the big windows in the living space. Martin reads a book from Gerry's shelves, his own books still packed, and Jon wanders off to play his piano where it is randomly set up, right in the middle of Gerry's typical painting area.

Gerry himself appears downstairs, still sleepy and bleary-eyed. He curls up with his head in Martin's lap, listening to Jon fill the flat with gentle music.

It's the soft sort of moment that each of them had been wishing for all their lives, full of love, and family, and a home of their very own.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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k-s-morgan · 4 years ago

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(Part 1) I just read your new chapter of TGSTLTH and my god it was amazing. I'm just wondering what, as someone who is also aro-ace, am I right in hoping/assuming that this fic won't go in a sexually explicit direction? I know you've mentioned that it'll become more outwardly 'romantic' in the latter part, but I'm wondering if it'll ever go beyond that. Obviously there is physical attraction between the two, but I've always seen them as something very hannibal-esque - where explicit physical

(part 2) intimacy would almost do a disservice to the complex, psychological nature of their relationship (hence why the hug at the end of Hannibal S3 was so beautiful and effective). Ciel, to me, seems completely asexual in nature, all things considered, and Sebastian, being a demon, would also posess a strong indifference to such human processes (as demonstrated by Beast).

(part 3) What is so beautiful about their relationship is that it transcends shallow human urges - being neither sexual nor (traditionally) romantic, but something much darker and more intense as a psychological relationship. Such complete devotion to one another, unmarred by the traditions of humanity, is poetic in nature, and is what drew me to them in the first place.

(part 4) That being said - I am also aware of the number of explicit fics that exist about these pairings, and am wondering whether this particular one will contribute to this majority. Since I'm of the sex-repulsed sector of the ace community, I usually vehmently avoid / filter out explicit tags

(part 5) and I noticed that TGSTLTH is tagged under Mature (which makes perfect sense considering the dark topics that it handles), but I guess I'd just like to ask if that tag is going to change at any point during the fic's duration

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

Hello! Thank you, I'm happy you liked the chapter!)

There will be some sexual depictions in a very distant future, but that tag won’t change! Personally, I see Ciel as graysexual and Sebastian as demisexual, with both being attracted exclusively to each other during the course of the story - though not in a very human way. I'm not sex-repulsed, but I do dislike writing about sex in stories. I do it only when I feel the characters demand it. Ciel and Sebastian, in my perception, will be explosive together, but that will happen ages from now and I definitely won't go into many details.

The focus will always remain on other aspects of their relationship. For the most part, sex will be simply implied, with very few exceptions, and in those exceptions, I want to try a more twisted and demonic approach :D Because I agree that their urges are unlikely to be fully human. If you are still reading TGSTLTH by the time we finally get there, I’ll put up a warning: these scenes will be short and very few in between, so they’ll be easy to skip!

#my fics #sebaciel

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fieryanmitsu · 3 years ago

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THE BRIGHTEST STAR | MASTERPOST

(an alternate universe A3! series, rated M for mature and dark themes)

Only in the darkest sky does a star shine the brightest. But the brighter the star, the hotter and faster it burns.

The year is 2517. Mankind has been living in colonies in outer space for centuries with the help of technology powered by blossonium—a radioactive metal discovered in Jupiter’s asteroid belt. Chafing under the oppressive military rule of the Earth-led Space Colonies Governance Council, a faction of Revolutionists puts into motion a plan to unseat the current government using four powerful weapons developed by Hakkaku Ikaruga and Yukio Tachibana.

Four Bloomed individuals, humans with certain heightened abilities, are chosen to pilot these weapons under the direction of Izumi Tachibana, whose telepathic abilities are key to the Revolution’s success. However, the path to freedom is fraught with difficulties and opposing their every move is the government’s Space Colonies Defence Force and their ace Marionette pilot, “Sir Lancelot”.

Welcome to the “The Brightest Star” Masterpost! 😊 Here you’ll find some background and notes about my space opera alternate universe A3! series, as well as a listing of all posted chapters! You can also search my blog for the #a3! the brightest star tag!

This series is still on-going, but the first few chapters were originally posted as part of the A3! Big Bang 2021 event that I took part in!

Completing this series will take me some time, but it’s the biggest writing project I’ve ever undertaken, so I’m looking forward to seeing it through to the end! ☺️

I’ll be posting updates here on Tumblr as new chapters are added!

~ ILLUSTRATION AND HEADER ~

I was partnered up with the talented Gusu (@B_Azure_Art on Twitter) who drew the accompanying illustration in the Big Bang for my fic. Since the fic was incomplete at the time, they came up with an amazing “poster” of the main characters. I’m still amazed at how they managed to convey so much about each character and their relationships in a single image. 😭 I am eternally grateful to them for collaborating with me and for their patience with working with me!! You can check out Gusu’s illustration HERE!

I’d also like to thank and give credit to @soimplayinga3 for making the awesome header for me to use for this fic series! 🥺

~ THEME SONG ~

Also… Somehow I ended up picking out a “theme song” for this fic. The song really inspired me when I was coming up with the plot and themes. It gave me a lot of motivation for when I was writing!

It's a Chinese song called "心島 (Xin Dao)" by Ayanga. To begin with, the melody and Ayanga's emotional singing resonated with my image of the story. In addition, the lyrics and meaning behind the song speak to breaking free of one's boundaries without fear (you can find translations on Google!). I don't want to say too much, but I hope that my story will eventually lead you to your own conclusions about my song choice. You can listen to the song HERE!

[More info—including content warnings and chapter listing—below the cut!]

~ BACKGROUND & NOTES ~

I’d like to give a shout-out to Mae (@lockons-haro) for giving me the inspiration for this story idea. This fic would have never been born if their big brain hadn’t come up with “But what if Gundam x A3!??” in the first place.

On that note, the themes and tropes in this story are heavily inspired by the Gundam series and the level of violence, the "maturity" of the content and the questionable pseudoscience (lol) of the technology is in line with what is typical of the Gundam series. If you have any familiarity with the Gundam series, you may enjoy picking up all of the flags that get put up as the story unfolds.

There will be Act 3 spoilers, to an extent. All of the major A3! characters and almost all named side characters will show up in this fic and this includes characters that only show up in Act 3. While there won’t be any spoilers about the actual main story of the game (this is an AU after all), there may be incidental spoilers about the characters’ personalities and relationships.

Itaru and Sakuya are biological siblings in this fic.

Romance isn’t a focus of this fic, but there will be some romantic relationships that show up in the fic. These will be: Tsumugi/Izumi, Itaru/Izumi and Tenma/Yuki. There’s a bit of one-sided Sakyo/Izumi.

I apologize in advance for any nonsense science and logic. Please, just suspend your disbelief in general while reading this. I just wanted to write A3! characters fighting in giant robots in space lol.

~ CONTENT WARNINGS ~

This story is rated M for mature and dark themes. The following is a list of the content warnings that I think apply. Please read carefully and proceed at your own caution! If you need me to clarify anything, please don’t hesitate to ask!

MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Some characters WILL die in this fic.

Non-graphic violence, blood, fighting, injuries. None of this is graphic and I don’t go into any extreme details, but there will be descriptions of people hurting each other and getting injured.

Weapons, bombs, guns, giant robots, mecha.

War, terrorism, rebellion, military/militarism, colonialism, murder, bombing, kidnapping, human experimentation.

Discrimination, class differences, implied/referenced child abuse, psychological trauma, memory loss.

If you think I’ve missed anything while reading, please do let me know!

~ CHAPTERS ~

(Last updated: March 12, 2021)

Because of the content warnings and length/formatting of chapters, the Tumblr chapter links will only contain an excerpt/preview and will basically be update posts for new chapter releases. To read the full chapter, please go to the AO3 link!

If you’d like to check out my other writing, please see my Writing Masterpost!

Prologue

Tumblr | AO3

Chapter One

Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Two

Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Three

Coming soon…

#a3!#a3! game #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3! act addict actors #act addict actors #act! addict! actors!#A3! Big Bang #a3! the brightest star #masterpost #anmitsu writes

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aye-write · 4 years ago

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Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is just a quick author's note today! Thanks to everyone who has read and commented! I hope you enjoy another chonk of a chapter and that the starters' introduction went okay! There were a LOT of Pokedex entries this week, so I won't be including them all in the author's note this time, but you can head over to our tumblr @kildo-pokedex to see them in full! See you in two weeks, everyone!

*****

Chapter Four

Things moved fast that night. Too fast. Morning dawned, dappling the sky with tangerine oranges and cotton candy pinks, and Isla soon found herself packed and standing on the doorstep of the cottage she’d almost come to think of as home.

Rhona fussed over Skye’s layers and blankets for so long that Isla thought they’d never get away. Even Blair started to look nervous, casting pointed glances first at his watch and then at his mother. It would be a long walk, he said loudly, at least five hours of walking, and they needed to get on. Finally Rhona got the hint and passed over a mammoth bag of sandwiches, juice, and crisps – enough to sustain an army for about a week – and both parents said their goodbyes. Rhona’s eyes were wet with tears when she broke her hug with her daughter.

Isla moved forward, meaning just to offer thanks, but before she could open her mouth, Rhona swept her into a rib-crunching hug.

“Now you be careful out there, chick,” Rhona said, her breath tickling the whorls of Isla’s ear. “You always have a home here with us, alright? Don’t you dare be a stranger. I expect to see you again here before you go back to Johto, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Isla said, her voice thick.

Kenneth shook her hand next, his huge fingers easily engulfing hers. He had a firm grip, yet surprisingly soft hands, and when Isla drew back, she found he’d slipped her two crisp twenty pokedollar notes.

“Kenneth, thank you, but I can’t take—”

“You take care of yourself,” he said firmly.

Isla decided not to argue. Especially when it was the most the giant man had ever said to her in one go before.

Blair took his mother’s hug with an embarrassed grimace, nodding along to a laundry list of instructions she hurled his way. Make sure you take frequent breaks. Don’t let Skye go wandering on her own. Make sure you feed a Clatty if you see one, it’s good luck. Don’t dare go any further than Aberdrip. Eventually, Kenneth clamped his hand on Rhona’s shoulder, and she stopped.

“I suppose you best be going, eh?” she said, forcing a quivering smile. “Before it gets too late on. Have fun, darlings. Call me when you get there. Be safe.”

“Thanks for everything, Rhona,” Isla said, her voice catching. She had to turn around to shield her face from view.

Blair, who had been battling to fit Rhona’s supplies into their travelling bag, grunted with satisfaction as he finally got the zip up, leaving the bag bulging like an overripe balloon. He felt around at his waist, unhooked a Pokeball, and tossed it over the gate.

“Coastrot, come out!”

Isla let out a breath as the ball burst open and she came face to face with Blair’s Pokemon. Easily reaching Blair’s shoulders, it had a long, lithe body with a clipped coat the colour of the ocean under the morning sky. Even when it stayed still, its mane and tail rippled like plumes of gentle flowing water. It was a stunning Pokemon – right down to its dark, inquisitive eyes and glistening hooves – but there was something unusual about it that Isla couldn’t quite put her finger on. As she stared, Coastrot’s body seemed to blur, wavering in front of her like a picture on a TV with a dodgy signal.

Blair saw her staring. “Touch him,” he suggested.

Isla frowned, uncertain. Under Blair’s watchful eye, she reached out to touch this new Pokemon, only for her hand to slip straight through its body, as easily as if she had just put her hand through a hologram. She whipped her hand away like she’d just been shocked. The Pokemon’s body turned solid again the moment Blair touched it to string up one of the bags.

Isla consulted her Pokedex. “Coastrot, the Mirage Pokemon. Its translucent body refracts light, and it will often appear as though it is surrounded by rainbows. If it doesn’t trust someone, they will not be able to touch it. This is seen as an unlucky omen by some.”

“Amazing,” she said. “So it only lets people it trusts touch it?”

“That’s right,” Blair nodded. “Coastrot is actually the evolved form of one of the Kildo starters. He was my starter, so he’s been in the family a long time, but it still wasn’t easy for him to trust all of us. He lets me touch him, of course, and Skye, and sometimes Dad, but Mum is still a tricky case. Since he’s only just met you, it may take him a while to warm up.”

“That’s okay,” Isla held her hand out for the Pokemon to sniff. Its nose passed straight through her hand, a sensation rather like she’d plunged her hand into a bucket of ice-cold water. “I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”

Blair clapped on Coastrot’s haunches, signalling everything was secured. He called for Skye and helped boost her up, Isla holding her breath as she entertained a vision of Skye sinking right through the Pokemon’s ethereal back. Luckily, Coastrot remained solid and strong, allowing Skye to settle herself.

“Hold onto his mane, there,” Blair fussed. “No, not there. That’s too tight. Just there, look.”

Skye made several wide-eyed glances over the Pokémon’s massive haunches as Blair made the final checks. Isla offered her a smile.

“I take it that you won’t be going for Coastrot’s evolution for your first Pokemon, then?” she whispered.

Skye shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Definitely not.”

As she waited, a breath of wind lifted the hair from Isla’s forehead, already moist with sweat from the heat of the beating sun. She’d dressed light, in a loose, billowing top two sizes up from her normal, and a pair of comfortable jogging trousers, but she still worried about the journey. The bag slung on her shoulders didn’t feel heavy now, but walking would leaden it. She’d sprayed most of a bottle of antiperspirant on herself before setting out, but she still had doubts about its efficiency. She could only hope they would take it slow and she wouldn’t embarrass herself.

“That’s us,” Blair announced. “We’re ready to go.”

And with one final look back at the Whispering Pines Croft, they set off.

Having left the confines of the family croft, Blair switched into serious mode. He had done some travelling when he was younger, he explained as they walked, enough to know the basics, and he’d made the journey between Aberdrip and Port Glen enough times to pick out the best route to accommodate Coastrot. Their chosen path along Route 1 started out as a stretch of delightfully flat ground, buffeted by a strong, salt-smelling, easterly wind. After an hour, the flat paths became bumpy and wild, grass rising as high as their knees, the tips of trees bordering the horizon.

Blair told them stories as they walked, a welcome distraction for the pain needling through Isla’s legs. He brought them to a stop at the peak of a hill to point out Loch Culla in the distance, a shimmering body of water neatly fringed with trees. A place claimed to be the home of an entire family of shiny Kildonian Lapras.

Skye’s shriek of excitement at this news startled Coastrot, and Blair had to dart to her rescue in case she was catapulted off. She wasn’t fazed. She still insisted on making the detour so they could go hunting for one. Blair laughed. The loch was a protected area for that exact purpose, he explained, and catching Pokemon wasn’t allowed there.

“But we can manage a picnic nearby,” Blair added when Skye’s face fell. “Come on, let’s go.”

Back to walking it was. Isla forced herself back to her feet. To give Blair his dues, he factored in plenty of breaks, at every rest stop or every half an hour, whichever came first. He said he wanted Coastrot to get plenty of rest, as he wasn’t used to carrying weight over long distances. Isla wasn’t sure how true that was, but she was grateful all the same. If Blair and Skye saw her flushed face, sweat patches, and occasional gasps for breath, they were very kind and didn’t draw attention to it.

As promised, they unpacked a picnic at the bank of Loch Culla and shared out sandwiches, fruit, and flavoured waters. Sitting in the shade, listening to the water lapping against the bank, and sipping their drinks fresh from the cool bag, Isla felt totally at peace, despite the numbing aches sprouting in the back of her calves. Blair recalled Coastrot for a proper rest, but Isla released Soba and Wingull to stretch their legs and wings. To keep Wingull amused, but more to stop him stealing, she lobbed his food into the air, sending him swooping and diving over the loch and into the deep grass in pursuit.

Skye didn’t eat much, her eyes trained on the still loch water. When Blair nudged her back to reality, she folded her arms and said, “Blair, I’m looking for Lapras. Leave me alone.”

Isla saw him roll his eyes, but when he spoke to his sister, his tone was nothing but gentle and respectful. “You won’t see them, Skye. It’s massively rare to see a Kildonian Lapras out in the open. They live pretty much entirely underwater. Proper deep down.”

Isla looked up from her sandwich. “Do they? They don’t in Johto.”

“Yep. Kildonian ones are different types too. Ours are Ghost and Dragon.”

“Water and Ice for us.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty different, isn’t it? I think the mainland variant travel a lot, but you can pretty much trace all Kildonian Lapras to just one or two lochs here. They don’t move around a lot. Hence why the area is protected.”

“It doesn’t look protected?” Isla said, looking around. There wasn’t a stitch of modern technology to be seen. No buildings. No cameras. Heck, there didn’t even seem to be any other people around other than just them. “There’s nothing here.”

“Doesn’t need to be. See that sign?” Blair pointed out a sign nailed to a nearby tree. A bold, crimson X was splayed across a black and white image of a Pokeball. “That sign lets us know that there’s Anti-Pokeball Interference here. API for short.” When he saw Isla’s blank face, he frowned. “I don’t know exactly how it works, but basically, Dad said that it transmits some sort of signal that humans and Pokemon can’t hear, but it scrambles the capture mechanism on all Pokeballs. Makes them nothing more than fancy paperweights.”

“We certainly don’t have that in Johto.”

“It’s pretty new. Just come into fashion over the last year. Lot of folks don’t like it, though. I think they had protests out in Tideburgh. They say it violates our rights to catch Pokemon and that it’s going to lead to overpopulation. If you ask me, it’s a load of Tauros shi— uh, nonsense,” he corrected himself when Skye turned her head.

They lapsed into silence, Isla pretending to be fascinated with her sandwich crusts. They’d gone dry and hard in the sun, and she nibbled at them ineffectively. Wingull, amazingly, had eaten its fill and had nestled with his head (mostly) under one stubby wing. Soba, who had been luxuriating in the sun, had fallen asleep curled around a bottle of lemonade. Blair lay back in the grass, his eyes shut, making occasional contented noises. Skye was scribbling something in a notebook patterned with Slugma.

“We’ll head off soon,” Blair yawned. “I just want to rest my eyes for a few minutes.”

The soft noise of snoring drifted over the wind moments later. Isla had to resist the urge to join him. Sitting down had been fatal. Now her eyes felt as heavy as her legs and the thought of getting up again made tiredness sink into the very pit of her. She could shut her eyes for a few minutes, she reasoned. Just a few minutes. Just a few—

“Isla!�� a voice cut through her thoughts. “Isla! Isla, look!”

Isla had to force open her eyes, gummed together like chewy toffee. Skye was on her feet, pointing at the nearby undergrowth.

“What’s goin—”

“Shush!” Skye hissed. “Just look!”

In amongst the green, leafy fronds was a flash of something dull and brown. It emerged from the grass like a Furret in miniature. It had a long, snake-like body, the colour of dark chocolate, and a cream underbelly. Its sharp, inquisitive nose twitched, and its tail swished like an over-eager feather duster.

“What is that?” Isla gasped, pulling her Pokedex out.

“It’s a Mudstel!” Skye said, just as Isla’s Pokedex chirped “Mudstel, the Mud Ferret Pokemon. Curious, but shy, Mudstel rely on their stealth and environment when hunting. They blend in well among trees and bushes, but if spotted, will quickly burrow underground to escape.”

“Gosh, it must be hungry if it’s come right out in the open!” Skye breathed out. “Can we try feeding it?”

“Yeah, if you like. Try it with the crusts there.”

Skye offered the Mudstel some of the uneaten crusts. The Pokemon held back, its nose twitching, eyes unblinking. Skye stretched her hand out further.

“Wait, Skye. Stay as still as you can,” Isla advised, not even daring to breathe too loudly in case she startled it. Skye’s wavering arm came to a stop. “That’s it. Let it come to you.”

After a few moments, the Mudstel stretched out its long, ribbon-like body. Skye looked like she was about to burst from excitement, but somehow, managed to stay still. Isla caught a glimpse of sharp white teeth as Mudstel opened its mouth and snatched the crusts from Skye’s hand. It didn’t pause to eat them, just turned on its heels, and dove back into the undergrowth.

They waited, but Mudstel didn’t come back out.

Skye looked crestfallen as the grass went still. “Bread crusts aren’t all that nutritious,” she said mournfully. “I wish it had stayed and I could have given it some Pokemon food. I think we even have some Pokemon Rock. That would have been even better for it.”

Isla made a sympathetic noise. “Maybe we can leave some pellets for it when we pack up and leave?”

“Maybe. But I wish I could have caught it. I don’t want it to end up starving. Mudstel wouldn’t come out and take food from humans if it could help it.”

“Some Pokemon are just opportunistic, Skye. He probably has plenty of chances to get food and then saw us and thought “Oh yes, a free lunch!” Pokemon are clever. They can take care of themselves.”

“I suppose.”

Isla slung an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Try not to worry,” she said. “We’ll be in Aberdrip soon and you’ll have your very own Pokemon before you know it.”

“I know,” Skye said. “I just… wish I could make friends with all of them. I don’t want any of them to suffer.”

“Then I think that means you’ll be a good trainer.”

Skye smiled. Isla’s heart skipped a little. Could this really be the first time that she had ever seen the younger girl smile?

A sudden kerfuffle sent them both looking over Blair, who snorted and pushed himself upright, making a strange gulping noise. “I wasn’t asleep! I wasn’t… sleeping?” He looked blearily across at Skye and Isla. “Was I sleeping?”

They didn’t answer. Instead, the noise of their laughter echoed across the loch like water tinkling from a waterfall.

They had stopped for another break on Route 3, a densely wooded path littered with fallen leaves and fresh with the smell of moss, when Blair got a text through on his phone.

Immediately, he was dialling a number, face twisted, and one hand covering his ear to block out the shrill shriek of the local Caperchick. A Caperchick, as Isla had found out was another of Kildo’s resident bird Pokemon. Pretty much helpless as babies, they were only able to eat, sleep, and call for help from others in their family group. Isla had hoped to see one, but Blair dissuaded her, explaining their later evolutions were territorial and aggressive. Most wouldn’t take kindly to humans on their turf.

It still didn’t stop her, or Skye, from hoping. Skye got up to wander four times while Blair stepped away to speak on the phone, poking at the bases of trees and among tall grasses. Or maybe she was just doing it to fill the time. Whatever conversation Blair was having, it was taking a lot of it.

When Blair did eventually return, his face was pale. “That was Mum on the phone.”

Isla’s instant thought was Nana Morag. “Is everything okay?”

“Kind of. She’s just back from the hospital. Nana Morag is doing better, they think she’ll be alright to come home soon as long as she gets plenty of bed rest.”

“Did they find out what it was that made her ill?”

“They’re still waiting on some test results,” Blair said, worry creasing his eyebrows into one long caterpillar. “She said she’ll phone me as soon as they hear. Now, the other thing. Mum said she had a voicemail waiting for her when she got out of the hospital. It was one of Professor Spruce’s aides.”

Skye stopped what she was doing, pricking her head up.

“There was some problem with the breeders they use to supply the new trainers and they don’t have enough to supply everyone who wanted one.”

Skye looked ready to burst into tears. Blair saw this and quickly assured, “Don’t panic, Skye. They’ve just moved it to a booking system instead to try and get as many folks sorted as possible today. Mum gave me the number and I called the aide. You’re still getting your Pokemon – as long as we get there in time.”

Skye visibly relaxed but Isla felt like something had severed her at the chest. “When’s Skye’s slot?”

“2pm. It was the only one I could get. All the others were filled.

Isla looked at the time on her phone. It was already ten to one.

“Yeah,” Blair said, as Isla caught his eye. “We need to hurry.”

Isla hoped that adrenaline would see them through. That they could power on the remaining couple of miles without feeling the pain or the tiredness, subsisting only on the rush of purpose to get there. But it was hell. Pure hell. As they half walked, half jogged along unsteady ground, the air dense and muggy, the heat of the sun dripped down their backs.

I can’t let Skye down, Isla told herself as she dragged her aching limbs over the nobbled hump of yet another hillock. I’ll never forgive myself if I let her down.

Once, when the shooting pain of a stitch left her doubled over, she told Blair and Skye to go on without her. But she didn’t even get to finish her sentence before Blair cut in with “Absolutely not. We’re going together,” and that was the end of it.

As it ticked closer and closer, the clouds receded, and the sun intensified. The air remained stubbornly heavy and humid. Finally, they were over another hill and Aberdrip loomed in the distance, a monochrome city with silver buildings reaching up like metallic petals. They didn’t stop to take in much else. Feet pounding the concrete, each step sending pinpricks of pain up Isla’s legs, Blair hailed a taxi. In one confusing bundle of recalled Pokemon, sorting of bags, and too many legs in one small space, they clambered in. Within minutes, they were speeding along the blurred roads, the streets like smears of running ink.

Professor Spruce’s lab sat right at the western outskirts of Aberdrip in a plot of land closed off by wrought iron gates. The taxi driver dropped them off at the bottom, and after buzzing through to the office, they were on their way up the vicious uphill path to Professor Spruce’s lab.

Stumbling through the front door, trembling with exertion, Isla checked her phone. Three minutes to two. They’d made it.

A concerned looking aide lead them through a maze of breezeblocked hallways. Skye stuck so close to Blair that they practically became one person. The aide opened a door at the end of a particularly long corridor, and they emerged into a room groaning with workbenches and strange equipment that wouldn’t have looked amiss in an old sci-fi film. The room was wonderfully chilled, the overhead fans pumping in swathes of cool air.

Blair and Skye gave the aide their names, Blair signed a proffered sheet, and then they were shepherded through into an adjoining room. As they stepped through, Isla felt the eyes of a dozen people land on her.

“Ah, Skye McLeod, is it?” came a voice from ahead of them. “Excellent. I was starting to worry you weren’t coming.”

Skye tensed next to Isla as the woman who had spoken – Isla assumed this was Professor Spruce – beckoned them forward. She was small, rounded, with greying hair slung into a messy bun. Her eyes were sharp, glinting like the sheen of ice over a frozen puddle. Easily a foot shorter than everyone else in the room, she still commanded everyone’s attention.

With a wave of her hand, Professor Spruce separated Skye and the two other young trainers – one girl and one boy – from their respective guardians. Isla collapsed gratefully into a nearby chair. Blair was rigid in his own seat as Professor Spruce took the new trainers through the standard “First Pokemon” spiel. It was a comforting lecture, so much so that mixed with the relief they had made it in time, Isla soon felt her eyelids drooping.

Then, voices surged.

“I want to go first!”

“No, I’m going first!”

“Enough!” Professor Spruce barked, her voice tight. “Being a Pokemon trainer isn’t about who goes first. It’s not even about getting exactly what you want. If you go into this life expecting to get what you want all the time, you are setting yourself up for failure Pokemon are as unique and individual as each one of you. A “weak” Pokemon can become strong from the right training and support. On your journey as trainers, I encourage you to open your hearts and minds. Embrace all that this region has to offer you. Take a chance on people – and Pokemon – you might not expect to. They might just surprise you. Now, young lady…” Professor Spruce’s eyes fixed on Skye, who had been sitting quietly the whole way through. “Why don’t you come up and pick your partner?”

Frozen under the expectant gaze, Skye didn’t move. The other two new trainers muttered as the silence grew. The faces of the parents clouded. Still Skye didn’t move. Or perhaps she couldn’t.

Isla pushed herself out of her chair. Despite the angry murmurings from the other guardians, she threaded herself in next to her. “Skye, do you want to go up first?” she asked.

Skye nodded.

“Would you like me to go up with you? Or maybe Blair?”

She shook her head, but no words came out.

“Just take your time. I know it’s a bit scary, but you can do it.”

With the encouragement, Skye faced the three Pokeballs next to Professor Spruce. Each one was furnished with a plaque listing information about the Pokemon inside. Isla read them over, trying to absorb the information quickly, in case she was asked to sit back down. One Grass starter, one Fire, one Water. Exactly the same as Johto.

Coozy, Lv 5

Gender: Male

The Little Cow Pokemon

Good natured and docile, this Coozy is an excellent choice for those who enjoy a slow and steady pace in life. Be careful not to let him get lazy and complacent!

Bleater, Lv 5

Gender: Male

The Nightlight Pokemon

Aloof yet curious, this Bleater will be a loyal companion to any trainer willing to take the time to get to know him. Be warned, Bleater are prone to dependency on their trainers later in life.

Coltide, Lv5

Gender: Male

The Water Horse Pokemon

Spirited and independent, this Coltide can be a handful without firm guidance in the beginning. However, you will rarely find a more dedicated Pokemon out there!

Curiosity burned at the back of Isla’s head, but now wouldn’t be the right time to interrupt everything by checking. For now, she turned back to the chairs and waited as Skye made her final decision.

“This one.” Skye eventually said. “I would like this one, please.”

“Excellent choice,” Professor Spruce said kindly. “Why don’t you take your, uh… guardians towards the back and fill out the paperwork? The aide will have your license waiting for you.”

“You go,” Isla motioned to Blair. “I’ll wait here.”

While Skye was away dealing with her paperwork, Isla watched the two remaining trainers making their picks. Compared to Skye, there was no hesitation. The boy beelined immediately for Coltide, but the other girl seemed perfectly happy to be left with Coozy. Which, of course, meant that Skye had chosen Bleater.

One by one, the families left for the other room, and Isla had the chance to look closer at the three Kildo starters. She painstakingly punched the names – or her best memory of them – into the Pokedex and clicked Image Search.

Coozy, she decided, would have been her choice. It was almost painfully cute; small, and quadrupedal, covered in a thick coat of moss green fur, a pale pink nose, and dark inquisitive eyes. Her arms ached to hug it.

Now, Bleater was cute too, she thought. It reminded her of a favourite Johto Pokemon – a Mareep – just smaller. Its wool was coarse and tightly packed against the body, in a vivid orange, the colour of flame. Its short, stubby legs and the small nubs of horns were a much darker orange, a striking contrast to the rest of its body.

The final one, Isla could figure out on her own. An aqua blue body, a mane and tale reminiscent of flowing water, black hooves polished like obsidian, and dark, beguiling eyes. Coltide, the previous evolution of Blair’s Coastrot.

“You seem very interested in the starters, young lady,” Professor Spruce’s voice cut through Isla’s thoughts, making her jump. “Not local?”

“How could you tell?” Isla laughed nervously.

“I’ve been around the block too many times,” Professor Spruce said. “Kanto?”

“No, Johto. My accent is a bit softer though, so I get why people mix them up.”

“Johto, eh? That’s a long trip. What brings you here?”

“Visiting family. And some research into the Kildonian Chessmen.”

Professor Spruce’s eyes widened. “How interesting.”

A perfect opportunity had fallen right into her lap. She would be stupid not to take advantage of it now. “Professor, do you know anything about them?” she asked. “Or the Vitalities? Anything you could tell me?”

“Like what?”

“Like where they could be found?”

Professor Spruce’s eyebrow arched. “Well, no-one really knows where the Chessmen are now. Recent reports claim they settled in remote places – like islands far away from the mainland or underground. But that’s all just theories. There hasn’t been a confirmed sighting in over a century. But the Vitalities, on the other hand…”

Isla leant forward, closing the space between them.

Professor Spruce seemed to think better of what she was about to say and let out a sigh. “You have to understand something first. The Vitalities are a polarising bunch. Much of my generation, us old folks, even some of the more… naïve younger people believe the Vitalities are responsible for the natural disasters around Kildo.”

This wasn’t news to Isla, but still she pressed “Why?”

“The Vitalities brought many gifts to humans. Some were used wisely. Others weren’t. One of the most enduring theories is that the Chessmen banished and trapped the Vitalities to four remote corners of Kildo to prevent them intervening in humans’ natural progress. There’s an argument to be made that the natural disasters are the Vitalities fighting back, I suppose rebelling against their banishment.”

“So, no-one knows where they are? Or the Chessmen?”

Professor Spruce shook her head. “You may have noticed that Kildo is a region on a precipice. Pokemon journeys, gym circuits, the battling leagues, these are all very new to us. And they’ve become very popular very quickly. Up until about twenty years ago, most people in Kildo only used Pokemon to help them work the land, to till crops, things like that. It was like the whole region carried this collective memory, a shared fear of what happened when technology became too great a force.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Yes. But that fear has diluted. It’s been lost among much of the new generation. Things have changed. We’ve made amazing technological advances since then, eclipsed even some of the other regions that have been doing this for much longer. I’m sure you’ve heard about our API technology and Ability Suppressors and Experience Boosters, all that sort of thing.” Isla hadn’t, but she didn’t want to stop her and ask. Lots of people think it’s amazing. Lots more people are scared. Scared that if the Chessmen were to wake again, and were to see the way we have advanced, they would do exactly what they did the last time they awoke.”

The phrase festering in Isla’s mouth felt ridiculous. Laughable. But something compelled her to say it anyway.

“That they would destroy the whole region?”

Professor Spruce’s piercing grey eyes met Isla’s.

“Exactly.”

#checkmate #checkmate fanfiction #pokemon fanfiction #fakemon #fakemon fanfiction #fakemon region

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carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

Photo

Back with another installment of the POTC AU...and we have entered mermaid (and men) waters, folks. These two lovely creatures are Merman!Kai Williams and Mermaid!Keira Jones, owned by @hphm-brooke, based on their designs here, but with more of the “fishy” look the mermaids have while underwater in Pirates 4! (They look much more like Brooke’s concepts, when they’re above water.) I hope I did your kids justice, cherie! Yes, I know this visual logically doesn’t work at all as neat as it looks, since Carewyn should be drowning if there’s a hole in the ship she can see through: I was stupid and half asleep when I originally drew this, but I went ahead and conjured up an explanation for it for the actual writing section, so indulge me. XD;;

Some LGBT+ headcanons of mine for the HPHM cast are also featured here -- namely, McNully as gay, Skye as lesbian, and Charlie as aroace. (I also personally see Carewyn and Orion as ace/pan and gray-A, respectively. ^.^) Feel free to ignore them if you see these characters differently than I do...goodness knows I understand why plenty of people would want to hook up with Charlie!! He can always be interpreted as demi, gray-A, or just a late bloomer here too, if thou dost prefer. <3

For the previous part of this AU, click here -- for the full POTC AU tag, click here -- otherwise, enjoy! And beware any siren song you may hear...

x~x~x~x

The Revenge was an even more oppressive prison than it was when Carewyn was a child. Charles Cromwell had always been a very controlling, cruel man who only saw someone’s value based on what they could do for him. Even when you were family of his -- or, one could argue, especially if you were -- you were expected to never say “no” to him and to always put his desires over your own. So it was when she and Jacob were under his control way back when, and so it was now that Carewyn was alone.

Interestingly, despite Charles’s clear disdain for Carewyn having become a Commodore of the Navy, he actually seemed very coldly pleased by how she’d grown.

“The Navy may be a pathetic institution,” Charles said very coolly as he strode leisurely in a circle around Carewyn, “but at least fighting in the War toughened you up. You’re strong -- ruthless -- talented in swordplay and willing to do whatever it takes to defeat your enemies. You’ve been taught and trained to kill.”

He stopped right in front of her, his cold almond-shaped blue eyes boring into her as his lips spread into a smile.

“You are far from the weak, bleeding-heart little girl you were before, Carewyn. Before, you could only be useful in persuading other men to join my crew -- now, once we’ve finished at Isle de Muerta...you’ll be able to join your aunts by doing that and helping us with our plunder.”

Carewyn’s eyes, which were the same color and shape as Charles’s, met his gaze head-on with just as much coldness, but with no hint of a smile.

“I have no intention of being anything like Pearl or Claire,” she spat, “least of all by being one of your pawns.”

Pearl made a violent move forward, but Blaise grabbed her arm and gave her a dull warning look.

“Pawns?” repeated Charles. “I’m wounded, child. We are family -- we are blood. I raised you and your brother. I provided for you.”

“After killing both Mum and Dad right in front of us,” Carewyn said very coldly.

Charles feigned an empathetic expression, but it only came across as incredibly condescending.

“Yes -- it was a horrible thing. But your parents thought to abandon the crew, our family...to take you two children away from me, your grandfather, who loves you so dearly. And deserters and traitors must be held accountable -- any good leader knows that. It’s awful that it had to happen...but they left me no choice.”

Carewyn’s eyes flashed with hatred.

“First of all...our parents thought to protect their family -- Jacob and me -- from you. Second, any good leader knows that true loyalty is accrued through respect, not fear. Third, you always have a choice to do what’s right, and you didn’t. Fourth, I will NOT hear you try to tell me that my parents brought their deaths upon themselves when you pulled the trigger. And fifth...”

She took a step forward, aiming to get right up in Charles’s face -- Claire Cromwell grabbed her harshly by the arm and held her back, but Carewyn was strong enough to push herself forward right up into her grandfather’s personal space anyway.

“...you don’t know what love is,” hissed Carewyn venomously.

Charles’s face lost all hint of a smile or warmth, instead becoming oddly mask-like and detached as he considered her. The stillness was far, far more intimidating than his attempts at pleasantry -- it was like he truly felt nothing...like all possibility of persuasion or appealing to his better instincts was hopeless.

“It seems freedom has spoiled you, my child,” he said softly. “I suppose I’d have to blame your brother for being such a bad influence on you...at least while he was still alive.”

Carewyn’s face blanched and her eyes widened. ‘What?’

“Oh?” said Charles, raising his eyebrows in mock concern. “Were you unaware? I thought for sure something would’ve trickled back to you through the Navy. But I suppose if they had told you, you’d have had far less reason to be loyal to them. After all...the pirate who killed him ended up getting a full pardon from the crown, and now works alongside the new Lord Cutler Beckett at the East India Trading Company...a thoroughly prosperous woman, by all accounts.”

Charles’s face again grew much mask-like as he stared down at Carewyn.

“One would never know such a woman could be capable of shooting a man square in the back and then pushing him overboard into the ocean...and just when he’d returned from Port Royal, to find that his sister was gone...”

Carewyn could feel her shoulders quaking. Her eyes had fallen away from Charles and down to the deck a while ago, as she struggled to contain her emotions, but what he said --

It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. Jacob, dead -- Jacob, having gone to look for her, and not finding her because she’d gone off to War -- Jacob, being murdered right after he tried to come home --

“You’re lying!” snarled Carewyn, but her voice quaked with pain and grief despite her best efforts.

Charles didn’t answer. Clearly he didn’t think he had to. The silence was infinitely worse than if he’d chosen to mock her further -- it forced her to solely focus on the terrible doubt and pain flooding her chest and making it hard for her to breathe.

Charles’s gaze flickered up to Claire still holding Carewyn’s arm.

“Get Carewyn out of that Navy filth and into some proper clothes,” he said almost boredly. “Make sure to pick something that shows off her assets -- she comes from fine breeding, and we want the men of Tortuga to see that first.”

His gaze then rested on Carewyn again, twinkling with a cruel kind of satisfaction, as Claire yanked Carewyn away. Carewyn fought against her grip, but before she could pull out of it, Pearl grabbed her other arm and, with considerably more strength, helped Claire drag her away.

Carewyn was soon forced into a pair of men’s knee breeches so tight that they felt more like form-fitting stockings than trousers; tall black boots; an off-white sailor’s shirt identical to Pearl’s with such an oversized neckline that her chest was largely exposed; and an R-standard dark red coat just small enough that she couldn’t button it around herself to hide her chest better. Pearl had also pointed a pistol at Carewyn’s neck while Claire applied eye-make-up and bright red lipstick. Carewyn normally wouldn’t have minded wearing make-up -- she may have had to dress like a man out of necessity, but she liked women’s fashion a lot. Under the circumstances, though, it was impossible to enjoy it.

Needless to say, Carewyn was in no mood to take orders from Charles or exchange so much as a word with any member of his crew, whether it was her uncle, aunts, cousins, or in-laws. At one point, one night, one of those such cousins -- clearly very amused by how unhappy Carewyn was with her new “look” -- decided to try to force himself into her personal space, and Carewyn was so disgusted that she grabbed his own pistol out of his belt and pointed it right at his head to threaten him to back off. Rather than scare him, though, the cousin merely laughed.

“Go ahead!” he jeered. He clearly thought Carewyn was too much of a “good girl” to do it. “Go ahead and shoot me. Right in the head, come on -- ”

Carewyn pointed the pistol down at his thigh instead and fired.

BANG.

The younger man collapsed in on himself with a cry as his leg collapsed out from under him, the bone clearly blasted open from how close the pistol had been. Carewyn then gave the pistol a light shake to clear the smoke.

“Seems to me that place is closer to where you do most of your thinking than your head,” she said very coldly. She looked around at the rest of the crew, who’d stopped to watch, and added, “Now, all of you, stay away from me -- AHH!”

She suddenly felt a hand seize her around the neck and hoist her up off the ground.

The younger man somehow was back on his feet again, as if he hadn’t been injured at all. Carewyn’s shock only seemed to make him smugger still, even though his smile was oddly humorless.

“You’re so cute, little Winnie,” he said. “Thinking you can hurt somebody who feels nothing but pain already.”

At that very moment, the clouds parted, to reveal an eerie silver-white moon. And it was in that terrible, paralyzing moment that Carewyn saw why everyone said that the crew of the Revenge was cursed.

It seems that the medallion Jacob had stolen from Charles’s office wasn’t just a pirate trinket. It was one of 100 identical pieces from a cursed chest that once belonged to Cortez himself. Anyone who stole but one piece from the chest was cursed trapped between life and death, unable to enjoy any earthly pleasure -- food, drink, or otherwise -- with their true decaying form only revealed under moonlight. Jacob had taken the medallion with the thought that Carewyn could always sell it if they ever got really desperate for money -- Carewyn had kept it because it was one of the only things Jacob had ever been able to give her before he disappeared, and she cursed herself eternally for the sentiment now. Still, she told herself, it also hadn’t seemed safe to try to sell something that so clearly looked like a pirate medallion anyway -- just about anyone would ask where she got it, and that would’ve opened her up to a million more questions. In either case, that medallion Carewyn had was the last piece that Charles Cromwell needed to break the curse -- and thanks to her fame as the newest Commodore in the Navy, one of her portrait miniatures had found its way into Charles’s hands, revealing to him where his granddaughter had vanished to. And now he had both her and the medallion -- in short, everything he’d wanted.

Charles Cromwell decided to punish Carewyn for her little act of defiance by locking her in the brig. It was a very wet and mildew-stained place -- clearly it had been host to more than a few leaks. One hole in Carewyn’s cell in particular even showed clear blue ocean water -- she suspected that the Revenge had been patched up with quite a few spells to keep it from sinking, over the years. She remembered there was a witch on Tortuga that her grandfather sometimes made deals with -- maybe she’d given him something to keep the sea water from rushing in.

Carewyn could’ve easily broken out of the brig, but under the circumstances, she decided it wasn’t worth it. Not only did she not want to show off all her tricks yet, but the cell door would at least serve as a barrier between her and everyone else, for now. And that was what she’d wanted -- to get as far away from them as she could. Jacob would’ve understood. Jacob had always been there as a protective wall between her and the rest of their family, in the past...

The night in that cell was one of the coldest, darkest, and loneliest of Carewyn’s life. Her heart ached at the thought of Jacob -- of Percy, his face white with upset and terror when she told him to retreat -- of Bill and Charlie -- of Jules. She missed them so much, and yet she knew...she would likely never see them again. Charles Cromwell wouldn’t tolerate her insubordination for long, and if she failed to escape -- rather likely, considering that neither he nor the rest of her family could be killed, at this point -- she’d be murdered just like her parents.

...At least then...she’d see Jacob again...

She didn’t know when or how she’d fallen to sleep, but it was in her sleep, when she was most lonely, that Carewyn found herself again in her and Jacob’s tiny, old house in Port Royal, sitting at the side of her own bed, which currently held a young man with a worn brown bandana around his head, a black eye, and bandages around his arms. He looked up at her, his dark eyes rippling like the darkest sea -- and then, he rose from the bed. As he did, he changed, becoming older, with tanner skin and dreadlocks under an emerald green bandana. Orion didn’t say anything in the dream -- instead he held her gaze, drowning her in it as he gently held her hands in his...

When Carewyn awoke, she found her face wet with tears. Wiping her face clean, she sat awake for a while, revisiting Orion in her mind. As bizarre as it sounded -- just like he had many times in the past -- the thought of Orion seemed to bring her a sense of peace and focus she couldn’t quite explain. And it was for that reason that she found herself singing one of the songs she used to sing Orion to sleep, all those years ago...for the thought of him, if not for the man himself.

Abroad, as I was walking one evening in the spring,

I heard a maid in Bedlam who mournfully did sing.

Her chains she rattled on her hands, and thus replied she:

"I love my love because I know my love loves me.

Oh, cruel were his parents who sent my love to sea,

And cruel was the ship that bore my love from me --

Yet I love his parents since they’re his, although they've ruined me...

I love my love because I know my love loves me.”

As luck would have it, however, her song attracted some attention. For the waters surrounding the dreaded Isle de Muerta contained merfolk -- specifically a mermaid called Keira and a merman called Kai, who hunted as a pair and had heard Carewyn singing through the hole in the ship’s hull.

“Was that you singing?” asked Kai. He seemed the more sociable of the two -- the red-haired mermaid behind him called Keira was staying at a distance.

Carewyn rested a hand beside the hole, trying to peek out at who was speaking. She couldn’t see them very well, but from what little she could see, they didn’t look like how she’d always heard mermaids described. They appeared human enough on top, of course, but she could see scales on their faces and there was no white in their eyes. Kai had one completely brown eye and one completely blue eye, while Keira had completely blue.

“Yes,” said Carewyn.

“I could hear the longing in your voice,” said Kai. “Like a woman in love.”

Carewyn’s face flushed, but she kept as proud of an expression as she could manage.

“...Are you merfolk?”

“Why, yes,” said Kai with a smile. “And you? Are you a pirate? Or perhaps you’re a maid from Bedlam, awaiting her love’s return?”

“Neither. My name is Carewyn...but most people call me Carey Weasley.”

Keira looked at Carewyn through the hole, clearly interested despite her distance.

“You’re different than the other humans on this ship,” she said thoughtfully.

Carewyn scoffed. “I’d certainly hope so. I suppose my grandfather and his crew fear you?”

“Fear, yes,” said Keira in an oddly stiff voice, “but we don’t approach them.”

The memory of her disgusting pirate cousin as a molting skeleton rippled over Carewyn’s mind and she grimaced.

“...I don’t blame you for that. I wouldn’t be here either, if I had a choice.”

Kai raised a curious eyebrow. “You’re a prisoner, then.”

Carewyn sighed and nodded. Kai’s eyes flickered over to Keira before returning to Carewyn.

“...Perhaps we can get you out.”

Carewyn was startled. “What?”

Kai’s lips turned up in a smile. “Come with us...we’ll help you escape.”

It was strange -- Carewyn hadn’t known these two at all, but something in their voices sounded so kind. Despite everything she’d ever heard about sirens, they seemed oddly persuasive...it was like even they were singing beautifully, even while talking...

But...

“No,” she said. “My grandfather and his crew can’t be killed. I’d never be able to defeat them, while they’re like that...and anyone who tried to help me would be killed right along with me.”

Her eyes softened. “Thank you...but I have to stay here.”

Both Kai and Keira looked genuinely startled. Kai seemed to rest on his stomach in mid-air, his tail flopping up over his head as he rested his chin on his fist, his lips spreading in a much fuller, fanged smirk.

“...Well, now,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone saying ‘no’ to one of our kind in order to protect them before. He shared a glance with Keira. “You truly are different, Carey Weasley.”

Keira exhaled tiredly. “Come on, Kai...let’s go.”

“Coming, coming,” said Kai in amusement, as Keira began to swim off. He added to Carewyn, “Guess we’ll never know if we would’ve been able to tempt you, if we’d met you above water...oh well. Best of luck, little Bedlam maid -- thanks for the new song!”

Kai swam in a circle to follow along after Keira and disappeared into the dark blue depths.

Back on the Artemis, the days of their voyage dragged. Jules had heard all sorts of exciting stories about pirates since she was a child, but now that she was onboard a ship with them, she found that it was far less glamorous than one would think. There was so little to do to pass the time, aside from trimming sails or swabbing decks. Charlie and Bill admitted that was a lot of what sailing on board ships was like in general -- there was plenty of excitement, sure, but only inter-spliced briefly between long stretches of nothing. On top of that, the water on board went sour before long, making it so everyone had to drink rum instead, since it was the only drink that didn’t go bad at sea. The best thing by far for Jules, though, was that there was no dress code -- and so she ditched her fancy dress as quick as she could, traded them in for a pair of men’s breeches, and then belted her chemise around her waist so that it fit more tightly like a shirt. She’d be a little embarrassed walking around in her underwear for a while, but after a while, she concluded it really wasn’t any more revealing than the loose-fitting shirt and men’s breeches Skye was wearing. Bill’s ears turned a very dark red when he first saw Jules out of her dress, though.

Their first real burst of action came when they had to battle a torrential storm that had blown in. The Artemis had been tossed about as if it were a toy in a bathtub, sea water splashing onto the deck with full-bodied waves that could knock a man off their feet. It was likely only thanks to Orion’s bizarre idea to tie everyone securely to the mast with a long piece of rope that served as a life line that no one was thrown overboard. The following day, the storm had fortunately cleared to leave an almost surreal calm. Soon everyone returned to the boring routine of before, mending torn sails and swabbing the deck, as if nothing had even happened.

The helmsman solely followed Orion’s direction of where to go, rather than using a map, so Bill, Jules, and Charlie had assumed he already knew where the Isle de Muerta was. One could therefore imagine how horrified Bill was overhearing McNully talking offhandedly to Orion one afternoon about his compass “not working right for him” -- Jules recalled that it didn’t work at Port Royal either. When the three confronted Orion about it, the Captain responded rather cryptically.

“Lieutenant Weasley said that my compass didn’t point north, Miss Farrier. That doesn’t mean it’s broken.”

Orion turned on his heel and headed back up to the helm. “A bit more to starboard.”

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but McNully climbed down one of the loose ropes enough to pat his shoulder.

“Easy, Mr. Weasley.”

He lowered himself back down into his chair and rolled it around to properly face them.

“The Captain’s compass isn’t like most compasses -- just like Orion himself isn’t like most captains.”

“But you said it wasn’t working right,” Charlie said angrily. “And all he ever seems to look at is that compass. How do we know we’re even heading the right way? Does he even know how to get to Isle de Muerta at all?”

Jules had to admit, she had doubts too. Orion had sounded pretty confident that he’d be able to find Carewyn -- but how could anyone do that, when they didn’t even have a compass that could point north?

The dispute was interrupted, however, when Orion abruptly called out from the helm.

“Put out the lamps!”

The crew immediately tensed up, and bolted around, putting out every lamp. Jules looked around in confusion.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “It’s almost dusk -- we won’t be able to see!”

“The water is darker and colder here,” said Orion solemnly, “and there’s a song on the air. The lamps would only antagonize them further.”

“‘Them?’“ recurred Jules.

“Mermaids, of course,” said Skye impatiently.

“Mermaids?”

“I heard those tales when we were all in the Navy,” said Bill, glancing at Jules a bit uneasily. “Mermaids are attracted to singing and lamplight.”

"Right,” said McNully. “There’s still a 32% chance they might show up even without those, though, so you’d best keep your wits about you.”

Skye nodded. “Mermaids are no joke. They might look beautiful above water, but they don’t look half so pretty under the water when they pull you down to the depths and eat you alive.”

Jules cringed.

“If they’re that dangerous,” she said slowly, “why don’t you do what Odysseus did, to escape the sirens? Just have someone else tie you up really tightly on the mast, and you can’t jump overboard.”

“Yeah!” Charlie piped up. “I reckon Jules, Skye, and I can handle running the ship for a bit on our own -- pretty faces don’t really do much for me.”

McNully laughed. “If being attracted to gorgeous women was the problem, then I’d be a better choice to help than Skye.”

Skye rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Mermaids don’t just tempt you with sex,” the quartermaster explained. “They’re temptation itself. Everything about them draws you in, makes you open up to them and talk to them...lets them look right through you. They’ll try to tempt you with whatever they think you want most in the world -- and when you give in and get too close...”

She made a knife-like gesture across her throat with her finger.

“There’s only one person on this ship that’s known to have ever said ‘no’ to a mermaid before,” said McNully, and he nodded up at the helm. “And that’s the Captain.”

Bill, Charlie, and Jules all looked up in surprise. Orion had his back to them and was looking out to sea with narrowed, unreadable eyes.

Then, all of a sudden, the crew could just barely make out a eerie, beautiful song, which seemed to float on the wind itself.

“...her chains she rattled in her hands and thus replied she...”

“Stopper your ears!” McNully said urgently. “Quickly!”

The crew hurriedly did as they were told. Orion, however, did not do so. Instead he darted down to the main deck, grabbed one of the lanterns, and set about relighting it.

“Orion, what are you DOING?!” bellowed Skye.

Orion didn’t answer her. McNully rolled hurriedly around the deck as he tried to make sure everyone blocked their ears, but Orion completely ignored him, instead rushing over to the side of the ship with the lit lantern.

The singing was getting louder now.

“Yet I love his parents since they’re his, although they've ruined me... I love my love because I know my love loves me...”

Just as Bill had finished helping Charlie and Jules completely stopper their ears, he caught the sound of a low male voice singing the next line.

“With straw I'll weave a garland, I'll weave it wondrous fine...”

Bill looked up in alarm at Orion. He had a hand cupped over his mouth to magnify his volume as he sang over the ship’s railing.

“With roses, lilies, daisies I'll mix the eglantine...”

“Stop!”

Bill barreled over, grabbing Orion’s shoulder and trying to pull him back away from the edge.

“What are you doing?! Singing and lanterns attract mermaids!”

“That’s the plan,” said Orion, his voice almost frustratingly calm.

Bill saw the water burbling up beside the edge of the ship. His heart clenched with fear.

Orion, however, paid him no mind -- he turned right to the form burbling under the water, his hand beside his mouth again as he continued,

“And I'll present it to my love when he returns from sea... I love my love because I know my love loves me."

Jules quickly grabbed Bill’s arm, pulling him back away from Orion. Bill looked at her anxiously, but she merely reached up to stopper his left ear with some fabric she’d ripped out of her chemise. Orion wasn’t going to explain, so all they could do is get ready.

Within moments, a woman with red hair had appeared out of the water. Her chin and neck were still largely submerged as she blinked up at Orion.

“You know the words,” she said almost shyly.

“Yes,” said Orion. “Where did you hear that song?”

The mermaid blinked slowly. “A maid imprisoned in the brig of a pirate ship.”

Jules had been just about to stopper Bill’s right ear when he straightened up sharply. He turned his head sharply to better listen to the conversation.

"What did the maid look like?” Orion asked.

The mermaid’s eyes flickered over the pirate captain’s face carefully as she eased her head and shoulders out of the water.

“I could not tell for sure. The brig was dark. The hole looking into it was small.”

“Yet you spoke to her?”

“Yes. She was a selfless woman. Very selfless.”

“When did you see her?”

“Very early this morning...before dawn.”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed. The mermaid reached out to grab onto the edge of the Artemis so as to slide herself out of the water and closer to Orion.

“You know her,” she said.

“Yes,” Orion answered quietly.

The mermaid’s eyes seemed to soften. “...You love her.”

Bill, who had been listening carefully, looked quickly at Orion’s face for some sort of reaction -- but once again his face was remarkably calm, and he didn’t respond.

“I could take you to her,” the mermaid said sweetly. “I know where she is...”

Bill felt his mind drifting slightly, as if he’d suddenly become very sleepy -- her voice sounded almost soothing -- and she knew Carewyn? She could take them to Carewyn?

“No, thank you,” said Orion with the kind of polite finality one would more likely hear at a Christmas function than to a creature that wanted to eat human flesh. “If you saw her this morning, we’ll be caught up with them soon enough. The wind will take us where we need to go, if only we have our sails pointed in the right direction.”

He inclined his head respectfully.

“Best of luck finding your next meal elsewhere.”

The mermaid frowned in immense confusion at him, looking almost put-out.

“You and Carey Weasley are both very strange humans,” she said. Her lips then curled into a faintly wry smile as she added, “She was not tempted by our call either. That should please you.”

And with that, she splashed back into the dark water and disappeared.

Orion blew out the flame on the lamp and turned back around.

“It’s all right now!” he bellowed loud enough that everyone could just barely make out his voice through the stuffing in their ears. “It’s safe!”

Everyone little by little unblocked their ears. Bill turned around to face Orion properly, his brown eyes rippling with amazement and a bit of guilt despite himself, as the pirate captain walked past him.

“You did know what you were doing.”

Orion turned to Bill. The eldest Weasley rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I misjudged you.”

Orion inclined his head slightly to Bill, his lips touched with traces of a smile.

“A common enough thing, for people to do,” he said patiently. “Think nothing of it.”

He strolled back up to the helm, leaving Bill and Jules alone.

Jules turned to Bill. He still had his eyes on Orion’s back.

“Bill...is everything okay?”

Bill glanced at Jules and then back up at Orion, and he swallowed.

The mermaid had said Orion loved Carewyn. He didn’t make any kind of reaction that would prove it was true -- but he didn’t deny it either. And more importantly, back at the church, he’d said he wouldn’t have hurt “either Bill’s or his lady,” when talking about Jules and Carewyn. And immediately after, he spoke of Carewyn’s past, of her history with him...of details even he didn’t know, like her apparently having worn a red ribbon in her hair since she was little...with such a soft voice that it wouldn’t be a stretch to think there was something fond in it, under that detached affect..

Bill hadn’t had a real friend in his life until he’d met Carewyn. They’d connected almost immediately out of their mutual desire to protect and nurture others, and they always seemed to be in sync whenever they had to battle together. Bill had always been a shoulder for others to cry on, but it was Carewyn who had first offered her shoulder to him, while they were fighting the Spanish together. The friendship and caring she’d shown him made her family to him more than her using his name alone ever could have. She was a sister to him -- his best mate -- someone he loved and cherished like few others in the world. And he wanted every happiness for her, just as he knew she did for him...

But what happiness could there be for her, with Orion? He was a pirate. There’d be no way the Navy would pardon him with the East India Trading Company breathing down their necks -- and would Carewyn truly be happy living the life of a pirate, after having been raised on a pirate ship like the Revenge? She’d built up a stable life for herself in the Navy, and Bill knew how much Carewyn loved being able to come back to Port Royal after a long expedition -- to come home, after being at sea. But pirates had no home. There was nothing anchoring a pirate. And no matter what Orion’s feelings were, and how much Bill suspected they might actually be something genuine...it didn’t mean a thing if Carewyn didn’t feel the same way.

“Jules...” he said at last, very quietly, “...is Carey...in love with Amari?”

Jules was startled by the use of her nickname. She glanced from Bill to up at Orion at the helm and back, frowning deeply.

“...Love, I’m not sure, but...back at the fort, before Captain Amari rescued me...Carey told me that she’d bandaged him up and hidden him from the Navy, when they were young. So when Captain Amari figured out who she was...he let her go. I reckon they probably just made it look like Carey broke free.”

This information startled Bill. His brown eyes brightened in understanding.

“He owed her a life debt,” he said softly.

Jules smiled. “No. I thought the same thing -- that it was gratitude, on Captain Amari’s part. But...”

Her dark eyes softened.

“...Carey said...that he was simply a good man. And I don’t know...but the look in her eyes, as she looked out to sea...I’ve never seen her eyes look like that before.”

She reached out and took Bill’s hand. Bill gave it a squeeze.

“The water temperature has returned to normal,” announced Orion from the helm, emptying the bucket of sea water he’d filled earlier over the side. “Go ahead and relight the lamps -- we should approach Isle de Muerta within the next day or so.”

#potc au #au #pirates of the caribbean #my art #my writing #my fanfiction #kai williams #keira jones #other people's mcs #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #bill weasley #charlie weasley #jules farrier #skye parkin #murphy mcnully #charles cromwell #blaise cromwell #pearl cromwell #claire cromwell #jacob cromwell #bawww bill #worrying over your best buddy :<#carey loves you so much too </3 #also friendly reminder that orion is a cool calm and collected bad-ass #he may not be as flashy or suave as jack but he is just as clever #also yes charles cromwell is an irredeemable son of a b****#I find it hilarious that this is the first place I'm actually writing interactions between charles and his family and not the rakepick au #I'll have a drawing of him included in these posts soon but just imagine jeremy irons as a pirate -- that's his fancast #I'm sure you can all see why in canon carewyn and jacob's mum lane had to get the hell away from charles's toxic sociopathic arse

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Night Stalker: The Hunt for a Serial Killer Review – Richard Ramirez Docuseries Speaks Plainly

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Netflix dives into one of the most horrifying cases of multiple murders with its eyes wide open in Night Stalker: The Hunt for a Serial Killer. The documentary is told from the perspective of the investigators at the heart of the case, particularly a veteran homicide detective and his young, enthusiastic partner. They had nothing going into the case, and when they did dig out the clues, they often lost what they had because of its newsworthiness. The series works because it treats the audience the same way as the cops were treated: infuriatingly.

Every clue, setback, and recalculation in Night Stalker: The Hunt for a Serial Killer is satisfyingly frustrating. We all know the story by now, so director Tiller Russell can leisurely fill in the plot. We don’t even get the name of the serial killer until the end of the third episode. It’s not in the title, and if the detectives don’t know it, the series won’t disclose it. This is an internal affair, and early disclosures to the media contaminate clues like dancing on a crime scene in a pair of size 12 Avia sneakers.

The four-part series opens in a hot and happy Los Angeles, filled with glossy tinsel and hair metal. The city hosted the Olympics in 1984, and the Lakers were international superstars. Archival weather reports continually update a sweltering heat wave, and the citizens cool off leisurely and diversely. But not after dark, where the bulk of the docu-series is set. That is LA Noir. The same kind of darkness that crept into the headlines when the Black Dahlia murder struck, but more similar to the Manson Family killings.

One bad boy, who will later be described as having incredible sex appeal, rips the nightlife apart. At the time, though, all anyone knows about him is he has bad teeth, smells like a goat, and loves AC/DC. Night Stalker: The Hunt for a Serial Killer captures the mid-eighties period well, with archival TV news and clips of then-current shows. When the events turn creepy, Max Headroom is playing on a black and white TV in the distance, almost out of focus.

Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department Detective Gil Carrillo and renowned homicide cop Frank Salerno are great storytellers whose obvious gravitas centers the documentary. There is one other standout from law enforcement. San Francisco Police Department homicide Inspector Frank Falzon actually breaks down what it’s like to be goaded into punching a possible witness. He completely explains the forces which lead him to do it. The frustration, the horrid images of the case which flashed into his mind. The disgust he felt at the actual details. Carrillo has a similar incident, convinced of a suspect who fits too perfectly only to be told “He’s a freak, but not your freak.” But his defining moment probably comes when he can’t bear to even listen to a discussion of putting a child who had been sexually assaulted on the stand to testify.

Even though we know how it ends, the limited docu-series captures the race against the clock tension of the summer of 1985. Initially tagged “The Walk-In Killer” and “The Valley Intruder” by the press, the satanic beast prowling Los Angeles came to be known as “The Night Stalker.” His crimes seemed disconnected because the victims were so varied. Serial killers usually have a specific type of victim. The Night Stalker’s crimes appeared to be random. “There was no pattern,” a detective bemoans in an interview.

The detectives get blowback from inside and out. We hear about an important theory being laughed out of a meeting. Investigators have to deal with cops in different districts not sharing information, as multiple jurisdictions spark “a pissing match between Type A dudes.” The investigators don’t only have to deal with the media blowing the case. They get the information from a politician who releases details which tip off the suspect. Many of these details have never been told.

We also get to hear Laurel Erickson and Paul Skolnick, the journalists who covered the story from the beginning, explain why they were so eager for details, and where they drew the line. Like the Hillside Strangler, who had recently been caught by Salerno’s homicide team, the Night Stalker was a once-in-a-lifetime case. Not only to the press, police and politicians, but to the community, which ultimately plays the most emotionally satisfying part in the documentary. When the suspect is caught in East Los Angeles, he tells the arresting officers “Thank God you came.”

The mystery unfolds through first-person interviews with victims who lived through the attacks, some of whom were allowed to survive. One woman remembers being dropped off at a gas station to call someone to take her home after the killer had sexually assaulted her in a dingy room. She was a child when that happened, one of the youngest of the Night Stalker’s victims. They ranged in age from six to 82; were men, women and children; some affluent, others poor; and of a mix of races. Anyone could be the next victim. The persistent updates on the heatwave accentuate this, because in a town under siege no one can sleep with their windows open. After Charles Manson had been caught, the people in Los Angeles didn’t feel the need to lock their doors, the documentary asserts. Now residents barred their windows.

Books

The Last Book on the Left Takes on the Grim History of Serial Killers

By Alec Bojalad

Movies

Crazy, Not Insane Doc Studies Serial Killers’ Minds on HBO

By Tony Sokol

The assailant also varied his weaponry, using knives, hammers, tire irons, and a .22 caliber pistol. The savage specter takes on an almost occult status when the investigators find pentagrams drawn and carved on walls, and occasionally on victims. The killer gouged the eyes out of one woman. He used thumb cuffs, which comes as a visual surprise to the detective recounting it. He relives that one moment of discovery with both a personal revulsion and a cop’s curiosity. He still hasn’t gotten his head around it, and it’s only one detail. Like an Avia sneaker, size 11 and a half, the only one shipped to Los Angeles since the company was founded.

There have been several features on the notorious killer at the center of Night Stalker: The Hunt for a Serial Killer. Chris Fisher’s film Nightstalker (2002), Ulli Lommel’s Nighstalker from 2009, and Megan Griffiths’ The Night Stalker (2016). His story was dramatized in the 1989 TV movie Manhunt: Search for the Night Stalker. Zach Villa played Ramirez on American Horror Story: 1984. Director Russell, whose father worked in the Dallas DA’s office, grew up in courthouses, jails and police precincts.He keeps his focus steadily on the investigators and the victims.

Russell presents the evidence plainly. Emotionally, he wants to present the feel that anyone in the horrific footage could have been a viewer or someone they know. He never treats the victims like statistics. We get personal stories, like one told by a granddaughter remembering how she preferred a grandma who did cartwheels over any necklace heirloom which could be bequeathed. The documentary occasionally lets the camera wander around recreated footage too long, and takes leisurely pauses of action with only music over grim background sets to amplify the atmosphere. We also get the occasional emotion-cam closeup, with a frozen face willing a testimony into a camera wordlessly.

The first glimmer of a name the documentary provides for the suspect is Richard Mena, who is being treated for an impacted tooth. Richard Ramirez actually doesn’t get much screen time. We get a very curt statement on why he turned out the way he did. “All the things that could poison a child were part of his life,” a detective explains. The only detail is a recollection of how Ramirez was tied to a cross in a cemetery overnight as a reprimand from his religious father. Ramirez explains himself throughout, although without credit until we learn the quotes and affirmations come from a recorded interview the Night Stalker gave from prison. But we never learn how Satan was “a stabilizing force in his life,” which prompted “a motivational charge.”

The documentary explores the killer-groupie phenomenon, but it is from the amazed and uncomprehending reactions of the investigating officers, and the families of the victims. They don’t get it. The journalists who covered it have never seen anything like it. It proves everything about the case is unprecedented. We see Ramirez, upon sentencing, tell the families, as well as the judge, jurors and investigating officers: “You don’t understand me. You are not expected to. You are not capable of it. I am beyond your experience.” The doc cuts his last lines, “I will be avenged. Lucifer dwells in us all.” What replaces it is a snippet of Ramirez requesting a promise that his recorded interviews be erased after his death.

Night Stalker: The Hunt for a Serial Killer is a satisfyingly exhaustive account of the investigation into the Richard Ramirez murder-and-assault-spree. But know it is limited to the crimes and the cities they were committed in. Los Angeles is a bigger character in the documentary than Ramirez. The docu-series isn’t about him. It’s about what he did, and the people he did it to. Survivors describe his very presence in the court as “evil,” and the documentary resolutely chalks the case up as a triumph for good. By following the timelines so deliberately, Russell lays out the arc of a perfect detective story. That being said, I could have watched two more installments on the villain and collateral damage.

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Night Stalker: The Hunt for a Serial Killer streams on Netflix on Jan. 13.

The post Night Stalker: The Hunt for a Serial Killer Review – Richard Ramirez Docuseries Speaks Plainly appeared first on Den of Geek.

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diveronarpg · 4 years ago

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Congratulations, JULIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of BRUTUS. Admin Rogue: There is always something about the way you write unvarnished truth that gets me, every single time. Boris is not a likable character by any means, but I still find myself curious about him when seen through your lens. You want to make ruin of him, or maybe for him to make ruin of us, and it’s so attractively despicable that I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know if we’ve ever had a character this unapologetic, not just to some but to every single person in Verona. Let them try and eat him, let them spit him back out, let them realize he will not be swallowed no matter how much he deserves it. I can already see the way he’ll burn across the dash, a torch-song I want to touch, and I couldn’t be happier to welcome you back to us in this new and exciting form! Please review the CHECKLIST and send your account in within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Julie

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | Given that I’ll probably be stuck at home searching for a job for the next month, I figure my activity will be okay. The usual reply every other day or so situation, I hope!

Timezone | MST

Triggers | Already listed!

How did you find the rp? | Two years ago I went diving into the LSRPG tag because I was curious and now here we are. :)

Current/Past RP Accounts | Santino, Loretta, Lucien

IN CHARACTER

Character | Brutus / Boris Kovrov

What drew you to this character? | Brutus, I think, is one of the most human characters in Diverona by default, without development, in the sense that he is so selfish it makes you want to tear your eyeballs out. It’s the same with most people: we encourage each other to take time to themselves, to put themselves first, but can feel rebuffed or insulted when they actually do that. Boris has taken that to the ultimate extreme: everything he does is for himself and no one else. He didn’t ascend within the Montagues because he wanted to further his family’s social standings, he did it because he alone wanted to succeed.

He’s not apologetic about it, either, and that’s what makes him so interesting. At all times, Boris is fully aware he is perceived as underhanded and generally disliked among the mob, but he’s so good at what he does that it doesn’t matter. He returns to Verona with a searing brand of shame in the form of his personal betrayal, and anyone could see that if they just fucking looked close enough, but they don’t. That’s where his talent really lies, and that’s what makes him so weirdly endearing to me: he makes himself valuable, and even when he does the worst possible thing a person could do in a mob, it still doesn’t undercut his worth. He makes himself out to be a friend, lies and lies and lies, and because most people don’t want to make the effort or choose not to, it’s believable.

Some might call him cut-throat, or a coward, a backstabber, potentially even brutal: he’s not ashamed of sprinkling rat poison into the food of his competition if it means he’ll succeed. He’s an opportunist at best and a manipulator at worst, and if there’s anything to be said about Verona, it’s that the manipulators usually come out at the front of the pack. The last sentence or so in his bio are what really sealed the deal for me: “The historians fail to mention that the traitors are the ones who survive, who outlive empires and kingdoms, who lay their sovereigns to rest and spread their ashes like trail markers.” God help him, Boris will come out of Verona alive, no matter how much of it he feeds into and how much of himself he lets it consume.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

• Fly not; stand stiff: ambition’s debt is paid. I’d love to see some real-time consequences for Boris’ betrayal of the Montague family. Others have been ousted for less, but somehow he gets to remain? That doesn’t seem particularly fair, but Boris couldn’t give a shit about fair if he tried. He sold his information to a mob in Russia for the purpose of a safety net. Other emissaries also deal with Russia – it’d make sense that one of them might hear about the dark dealings and try to use it to their own advantage, were they so ambitious. Or maybe it will come from someone higher up, like Castora, who knows more than they’ve let on. Maybe this will lead to his demotion, his death, Damiano’s assassination, the ushering in of a new era – who knows? These things don’t play out without someone paying the price, and I want Brutus to pay in full.

• I kill’d not thee with half so good a will. In my head, Boris has been out of the picture for some time now, working on relations between the American families and the Montagues to keep business booming. I’d love to explore the Verona Boris left a little over a year ago (totally headcanon, by the way! I’m happy to adjust wherever necessary) and how it’s changed in comparison to what it is now. Roman Montague has failed as an heir, the Witches hung in a public trial, all illusions of neutrality or working towards peace have been shot right through the middle. Damiano is unraveling at the seams, and the question of who will lead the Montagues lacks an answer entirely. It’s complete and utter chaos: messy, bloody, exactly the kind of environment Boris thrives in. I want him to wreak as much havoc as possible in his own way, and if he can’t do that, then I’d like to see him secure his seat closest to the throne when the concept of a coup becomes inevitable.

• But hollow men, like horses hot at hand / Make gallant show and promise of their mettle. He hunts Tomas Sabello and Bernadette du Pont because they are the easiest openings into both sides of the mobs. Bernadette is croquettish and manipulative but still naive, in Boris’ eyes, to the difficult path which lies ahead. I could see him trying to sway her to the Montagues if she would only listen. Grace Daly had done it for less, after all. Sabello, on the other hand, is Boris’ favorite target: throat exposed, head leaned back, weeping tears of sorrow over his wife. Boris has experience with the follies of the heart and he can see that Celeste has never loved the man, and frankly, Boris doesn’t think there’s much to the man to love. He’s hollow on the inside, scraped out with a metal spoon. His arrival so late into the act poses some difficulties, but he’s hopeful he’ll be able to pick up where he left off.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Absolutely!

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

Valentina Gallo dies a violent death. An inextricable, unforgiving death. An ugly death. When they take pull her body from her brother’s arms, and she is taken in to be seen by Damiano’s own eyes, witness the violence which has laid itself across the barren field of a corpse –

This is when Boris is called home.

Exit, Viola.

Enter, Brutus.

He bids Lorenzo and the rest of the Gambino family farewell that same night over the phone: Lorenzo calls him a bastard for not shaking his hand before saying goodbye, but Boris has other things on his mind: A plane. The brisk cold mornings that give way to blustery sunshine. Damiano greeting him as a member of the family instead of an extension of his long reach, like he had a year ago. He can remember the phone call well. He’d run it through, night after night, dissecting and picking apart intonation and tone and the speed with which Damiano had dismissed him, like a dog begging for scraps hastily shoved away from the dinner table. He lets the familiarity of the conversation wash over him as he settles in his plane seat the night of the twenty-seventh. He’ll be there by morning.

I’ll be there to greet you, Damiano had said. Boris had tried not to read into it too much.

New York was intended to be punishment and apology wrapped up into one. Damiano sent him off to deal with the budding crime syndicates and crush them under the imaginary Montague heel. He would spread seeds of dissent and terror: most fall silent when he enters a room for good reason, and it is in this way that he gets them to listen when he speaks. Most would not expect a man as imposing as Boris to speak so passionately; he’s always been a fan of turning ideas on their heads. By weaving tales of just what the Montague family has at its disposal, he alone would stamp out the passionate flames of greed and light his own small fire of fear.

In his younger years this would have intimidated Brutus. When he’d received the call a year ago, he’d only felt dread.

But he’d done well. It took him five months to chase down every single lead provided to him by men paid under the table, and after that, all there had been to do was clean up the mess and socialize. Shake hands with the shattered fragments of the once-powerful mob families, reach out to the contacts he’d had in Canada and New Orleans, as they were perhaps the most influential, the ones who could sway the boat with weaponry and other fun and exciting goods that still had his heart pounding when he looked at them.

He’d thought about calling Evgeny once, and only once: when Damiano had chewed him out over the phone for something that was not his fault and hadn’t been in his wheelhouse to begin with. Boris knew, that night, what Evgeny would say. Patience, Kovrov. We’ll be here when you’re ready.

When you’re ready. Whatever that meant. For all Evgeny knew, Boris would never be ready. He’d die with Verona just out of reach.

He startles awake as the plane hits turbulence coming into Verona, heading towards the landing strip. It’s a bumpy landing, but he’s never done well in planes to begin with. He thinks, often, of his father, who had marked to Boris that all would be well just before returning to Russia. The flight wouldn’t make it, of course. Damiano had ensured it: Sasha Kovrov had been dead weight long enough. All he could’ve hoped for, Boris thought, was that his son would prove worthy of something.

And he had. He’d crawled on his hands and knees across glass and gravel, waded through blood and sweat, and tears – never his own, if he could help it – to see the Montague family through to the other side. Could he really have been blamed for wanting to ensure he had some sort of future laid out for him, even if it wasn’t in the name of the two old bloodlines of Verona? In return, he’d gotten: a usurpation of a position that should have been his, a pound’s worth of rat poison that he couldn’t use, distrust among his peers and disgust from the one man who should have seen his dedication, and a promise he couldn’t act upon until he was ready.

враки.

He exits the plane, meets Damiano on the tarmac, and just as quickly they are swept away by Damiano’s driver. There is no discussion of previous business, tasks he has completed. Craven is mentioned offhandedly, but Boris had to admit some time in September that whatever illicit ties Everett Craven had to the Capulets when it came to his dealings in America, the man kept them wound up tight. He’d been impressed. Instead, they set their eyes on the future: Damiano speaks to him of the failures and successes, trials and tribulations, and Boris takes note of the way his brow knits together when he speaks.

It is like Damiano cannot bear to look at him, but is forcing himself to anyway. Surely his betrayal had not burned so badly. It wouldn’t have left a mark.

Valentina Gallo died for less. She didn’t give nearly as much away. She’d given what she had to give. Boris had given Evgeny everything, and then offered the grounds of the coffee to Damiano in return.

Boris is lucky to be alive, seated across from a man he might have once considered a better father than his own, who looks at him with poorly-veiled discuss and tells him what to do. Boris had sold his soul – this might just be the devil’s recompense.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, watching the city pass them by, nodding where appropriate and watching the sun rise over the river as they drive alongside it. If he gets his way, Damiano Montague will be sooner dethroned, and Brutus will have his rightful place as second-in-command to some poorer, less competent man. If he is anything, it’s stubborn. They drive by the Castelvecchio, and he’s saddened to see it is still a work in progress, not at all the shining beacon it had once been of unity or pride within a place being torn in two, right down the middle. He feels a pang of something hit him in his chest. Homesickness? He’s home, but—

Boris’ flat is small, modest, tucked away in an alley. Close enough to the library that he can be there within minutes just by walking, if necessary. All the pedestrians on the street avert their eyes when they see Damiano’s car pull up outside. He grabs the one bag he’d taken with him on the plane: he’s hopeful the rest will arrive within the week, but that’s an if at best. Before he slips out, Damiano clears his throat.

He stops, and finds a single piece of paper pressed into his hand. He can only assume what it is, won’t open it – it’s deliberately folded closed. It could be anything: a name, a number, a place, a threat, a promise.

“When you’re ready,” Damiano murmurs, like some sort of sick joke, which is to say that it will be when he asks, because Boris ceded any hope at control over his own life the minute he sold all he possessed to the Russian mob, heart and mind and soul, only to crawl back to Verona just after. Some might’ve called him a fool, but he’d only seen the future, then. If only others could see the eclipsing horizon always in his sight.

It’s here that Boris is left: a small alley, out of sight of the rest of the world, the morning sun shining on his face. The future in his hand. He opens it before he has the chance to breathe in again, the vitriol in his heart already beginning to sear out through his ribcage.

Extras: N/A

#accepted: brutus #accepted

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profoundnet · 5 years ago

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Header by @cryptomoon and is available on merch from her redbubble store. You can use all those fancy emojis (and more!) on our Discord server!

The Masterpost is open for all creations by ProfoundBond members which are posted in their entirety during that month.

MEMBER CONTRIBUTIONS FOR OCTOBER 2019!

Featuring works from @saywhatjessie, @mittensmorgul, ArielAquariel, @doespeterparkerisgay, @banshee1013, @andimeantittosting, Erratus, @cool-fallen-angel, @malallory, @castielslostwings, @nickelkeep, @bringmefleshandbringmewine, @sarasaurussex, iCeDreams, @emiliaoagi, @leafzelindor and @rauko-is-a-free-elf!

Masterpost below the cut.

JessJesstheBest - @saywhatjessie - JessJesstheBest

On The Line (T, 23k)

“Well, can I scam you?” Dean’s spoon was frozen, forgotten, halfway between his bowl and his mouth. “Did you just ask if you could scam me?” “Yes.” The guy said, cool as anything. “Can I scam you?”

Or the one where Cas is a scam caller and Dean just keeps intercepting his calls.

Tags: Alternate Universe, Human AU, Scam Caller au

mittensmorgul - @mittensmorgul - MittenWraith

Lifetime Piling Up (E, 59k)

Cas is having a bad day. He burned his bagel, missed his ride to work and had to run to the hospital in the pouring rain, and then witnessed his attending accidentally kill a patient during a routine surgery. Now he might be on the hook for his boss’s mistake, but was it really a mistake, or is he the next target of Dr. Nick Morningstar’s sick mind games?

Dean is also having a bad day. His brother nearly set his kitchen on fire, he’s training a new apprentice in his tattoo shop, and then he gets a mysterious call that Sam needs a ride to the hospital after a freak accident in the pouring rain left him with an injured shoulder. A chance encounter at the hospital leads Dean and Cas to each other after a decade of coincidences and premonitions, and suddenly their worst day might become the foundation for all of their best. A story of choice and destiny, and the power of found family, foretold through uncanny tattoos.

Tags: AU-modern setting, tattoo artist!Dean, surgeon!Cas, angst and fluff and smut

ArielAquariel - ArielAquariel

Quoth the Raven (G, 6k)

Dean Winchester didn’t believe in the occult. Werewolves were a myth, Nessie was a hallucination, and bigfoot was just a large hairy man who enjoyed strolling naked through the woods. He thought that crystals were a load of shit, and a smudge stick would do nothing but make your house smell like burnt sage. He didn’t believe in God, let alone ghosts. Finally, and he was 100% sure on this one, he didn’t believe in witches. Or Wicca. Or whatever they wanted to call it. His point? Everything could be explained. That is, everything but the dark-haired man walking through campus with a spellbook and a raven for a familiar…

Tags: Misunderstandings, Fluff, Pining Dean Winchester, Pining Castiel (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - College/University, Meet-Cute, Animal Lover Castiel (Supernatural)

vicktick - @doespeterparkerisgay - vicktick

two bros, arguing about who would top cause they're not gay (but they are) (T, 3.5k)

“No, I’m telling you, I would be the top if we were gay together.”

Oh, Twitter was going to love this: ‘my brother and his “best friend” are currently arguing about who would top if they were “gay together”. i was pretty sure they already were gay together.’

Tags: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Sam is a Little Shit, Supportive John Winchester

banshee1013 - @banshee1013 - Banshee1013

Suptober Art/Fic (NSFW)

Art and accompanying ficlets to answer Suptober 2019 prompts.

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Depression, Temporary Character Death, Nightmare, Crossover/Fandom Fusion

andimeantittosting - @andimeantittosting - andimeantittosting

I Will Hang My Head Low (M, 22.5k)

Dean Winchester gave up hunting when his brother became the prophesied Boy King of Hell. Now he ekes out a meager living, chopping wood for a nearby village, until one snowy night, he follows what appears to be a falling star, and encounters an injured angel. Afterwards, he tries to put the strange night from his mind.

When he meets Castiel, a mysterious man with healing powers, they form an instant connection, and the more Dean learns of Castiel's powers—to heal, to protect, to purify—the more he begins to hope that Sam can be saved. But as they prepare to save Sam, Castiel grows sick, and then sicker still. Too late, Dean learns how much Castiel is willing to sacrifice for him.

Inspired by the Decemberists' Crane Wife and the Japanese myth on which it is based.

Tags: Temporary Major Character Death, Fairytale/Folktale AU, Sick Castiel, Grief/Mourning, Castiel's Wings, Angst With a Happy Ending

Tentacletober Fills (E, 7k)

A collection of short fills for Tentacletober prompts.

Tags: Tentacles, Consentacles, Oviposition

Erratus - Erratus

A Concerned Brother (T, 2k)

When Sam walks in on Dean and Castiel, he left worried if Castiel understands enough about human relationships.

Tags: Coming out, established relationship, canon verse, mentions of sex but no sex, Sam is concerned for Cas

Watching Over You (T, 4k)

Castiel has always been watching over Dean, keeping him alive. Even if Dean doesn't know it, he's been there.

Tags: Suicidal thoughts/attempt, pre-canon, pre-slash, Cas with different vessels, sad and hurt Dean

cool-fallen-angel - @cool-fallen-angel

Halloween Costumes (NSFW)

I drew this piece for Winchester-reload's 2019 suptoberart challenge, day 31: Halloween

Tags: Halloween, halloween costumes, lingerie, angel costume, playboy costume, blushy Cas, suptoberart, sexy boyfriends

malallory - @malallory

DeanCas "Funeral Bell" graphic (SFW)

Graphic created for the All Ships Creations Challenge under the theme "spooky"

Tags: 15x03

castielslostwings - @castielslostwings - Castielslostwings

Wants and Needs (M, 6.5k)

From a prompt in the Destiel Port FB Group! "Asexual Incubus!Cas and Demisexual Vamp!Dean"

Asexual!Incubus!Cas who has to have sex to feed to stay alive and has always resented it, until he meets Demi!vampire!Dean and discovers that being fed on... actually turns him on, and makes feeding not feel miserable for the first time ever. Imagine Ace!incubus!Cas starving for a long time because he can't stomach the thought of having sex, and then here comes Demi!vamp!Dean feeding on Cas, giving him gratification he thought can only be gained from having sex.

And, you know, they live happily ever after.

Tags: Asexual Castiel, Incubus Castiel, Vampire Dean, Demisexual/Demiromantic Dean, Hungry Castiel, Depressed Castiel, Biting/Blood Drinking, Lonely Castiel, Intimacy, Sweet Dean Winchester.

The Luck You Got (E, 90k)

Castiel and Dean grew up together. Both from broke, broken homes, falling in love was easy - until Dean’s father whisked him away. Years later, Cas is still living the struggle, selling his body to keep a roof over his siblings' heads and using drugs to get by. When Dean returns as a fully grown adult (and a paramedic at that) with his kid-brother-turned-lawyer in tow, Castiel can’t help feeling as if they’re picking up exactly where they left off. Falling swiftly in love all over again but used to only having himself to rely on, he struggles to let Dean in. When Gabriel gets arrested and takes a major source of the family’s income down with him, Castiel struggles to cope and leans on drugs and prostitution instead of Dean. Determined not to lose him for a second time, Dean fights to drag Castiel back from the claws of addiction and the brink of death, no matter what it takes. With help from friends, family, and Dean, Castiel finds himself working towards something for the first time ever, determined to choose life, love, and something more than what the city has always told him is all he has to offer.

Tags: Getting Back Together, Childhood Sweethearts, Neighbors, Poverty, Drug Addiction & Recovery, Sex Worker Castiel, Firefighter/Paramedic Dean, Angst & Fluff & Smut, Happy Ending, Romance.

nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep

‘Cause My Monsters Are Real (T, 8k)

"It's great," Garth responding, grabbing a chair and sliding it over. "Bess is in her glory, and the little one is doing awesome. I love her so much." He smiled a toothy grin that didn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm not here about me, though. I debated coming at all, cause I know how sacred our Fridays are, but I figured you'd want to be prepared."

Sam leaned around Rowena, his arm draped over her shoulder, "What do you mean he'd want to be prepared?"

"You too, Sam. This affects both of you. It literally just happened." Garth hung his head like a kicked puppy. "So, I was back in today, filling out my paperwork to start back up on Monday. And I overheard it."

"Spit it out, Wolfman." Dean leaned his chair back on two legs, foot resting on the table.

"Magda's getting her own room. Emma's getting a new person in the room. They're splitting you two up." Garth looked pathetically at Dean. "You're getting a new partner."

Dean instinctively kicked out, sending him backward and onto the floor. "Ow. What?"

Tags: AU - Creatures & Monsters, Shapeshifter Dean, Fallen Angel Castiel, Human/Monster Society, Kid Fic (kind of), There is Only One Under the Bed

And These Monsters Can Fight (E, 6.5k)

"You think I want to keep her here against her wishes?" Bobby shook his head vehemently. "She'd be one hell of a creature if she were one, but she should go back to the human world. There's a problem that you didn't think of."

"What's that?" Dean spat.

"Dean," Sam softly interjected. "The angels may not want or need Claire anymore because she can no longer be an angelic host, but she is still tied to a source of grace." They all looked at the Fallen.

"I can protect myself!" Claire spoke up. "What do you think I had to do when Castiel couldn't come to me thanks to the stupid rules you all have in place!?"

"Can you protect yourself from three or four or five angels?" Bobby stared at her. "I'll give you one or two, you're a spitfire. But they want him. They're not going to take it light and risk losing a couple when they need all hands on board."

"So what? You want to keep her here?" Dean asked.

Tags: AU - Creatures & Monsters, Story Continuation, Shapeshifter Dean, Fallen Angel Castiel, Human/Monster Society, There is only one under the bed.

Carry Me Home (E, 7k)

"You weren't a scout." Cas opened the laptop and pulled up YouTube. In the search bar, he typed in stopping a squeaking door. He moved the cursor over the first video; from a channel called Impala Repairs. "This looks right." He clicked on the link and grabbed his coffee.

Hey there, and welcome to another quick how-to video with Impala Repairs! I'm your host, D.W., and in today's episode, I'm going to show you the best way to stop a door's hinges from squeaking.

Gabe reached over and pushed up on Cas' chin. "Cassie? You alive over there?"

Cas nodded.

"You need a global reboot?"

Cas pulled his eyes off the screen and shot his brother a look that could kill. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That means," Gabe reached over and took Cas' coffee, "that you were A, so infatuated with Old Green Eyes on the screen there, you almost dumped your coffee on yourself, and B, you have no idea how to fix the door."

Tags: AU - Modern Setting, Handyman Dean, Professor Castiel, Sneaky Brothers, Conspiring Sam and Gabriel, Strangers to Lovers, Crush at First Sight

Like a Burning Flame (E, 8.5k)

"No, no, no." Dean shot up from under his pile of Ikea cardboard. "There's no fire here. The smoke alarm is disabled, we're seasoning our ovens."

The firefighter removed his helmet and mask, taking Dean's breath away as though he had actually inhaled smoke. "Seasoning Ovens?" He cocked his eyebrow, his bright blue eyes shining in confusion. "And that requires smoke billowing out of the back of your building?"

Dean's mouth failed to move, entranced as he was with the gorgeous man in a firefighter's uniform in front of him. Charlie shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Call your guys off so nothing is destroyed by water, and we'll show you." She turned the firefighter back to the entrance and waited 'til he was outside before smacking Dean. "Rush your blood back to your head, will you?"

Tags: AU - Coffee Shops and Firefighters, Baker Dean, Firefighter Castiel, Strangers to Lovers, Uniform Kink, Panty Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Dom/Sub Undertones, Bad BDSM Etiquette

For the Last Time (E, 37k) - co-created with @little-crazy-misha-minion

It's been three years since Dean's had any kind of vacation. Until now. Sam and Eileen gift him a cruise as a thank you for all the things he's done for Sam, for them, for the whole family. A week away at sea seems like an ideal vacation. Still, when your name is Dean Winchester, and nothing in your life has ever gone your way, it looks like a disaster waiting to happen. Can a new friend help him turn his luck around and help him navigate the rough waters?

Tags: AU - Cruises, Closeted Bi Dean Winchester, Gay Castiel, LGBTQ Themes, Angst with a Happy Ending, NonCon Kissing (not Destiel), Anxiety/PTSD, Song Fic, Clubbing, DCBB2019

To Confess (E, 8.5k)

"So get this... We've got couples missing at a couples retreat the next state over."

"Which lovely lady you going with?" Dean uncrossed his arms and smacked Cas' hand away from the tablet so he could scroll through the article.

"Can't find one. Charlie's still not back. Jody's taking Donna on a hunt."

Cas looked up. "Well, there was a lesbian couple that went missing. You can choose a male partner."

"I was hoping you'd say that, Cas." Sam shot a look at Dean before smiling at Cas. "Will you do me the honor of being my fake husband for a case?"

"Excuse me?" Dean shot a look at Sam.

"Well, I'm not asking you, Dean." Sam shook his head. "That's... Yeah, no."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest again. "Why are you and Cas going? Cas is my best friend. He and I can pull it off better than you two can."

Tags: Canonverse, Case Fic, Idiots in Love, Fake Relationship, Breaking Up & Making up, Pray for Sam, Sam Winchester ships Destiel, Angst and Porn, Happy Ending

It’s About To Be Legendary (G, 1.5k)

"I don't want to kill a human!" Luna hissed, her whisper carrying softly so only her boyfriend could hear her. "If you mess up, you'll bring down hunters upon the pack." She whimpered. "You could bring the Winchesters upon us." Apollo stood up and turned around, his shoulders squaring out as he attempted to intimidate Luna into following his lead. "First of all, I'm not going going to fuck up, Lu. Have a little faith in your boyfriend. Second, the Winchesters are a myth. An urban legend. Something our parents tell us to make sure we follow Pack Law."

Tags: AU - Everyone Lives, Hunters and Hunting, Halloween Fic, Urban Legends

prolixdreams - @bringmefleshandbringmewine - prolixdreams

And The World Kept Turning (G, 4k)

It’s getting harder and harder to die.

Cigarettes disappeared off the market forty years past.

Proper alcohol, the poisonous kind, was banned almost immediately once a safer synthetic got a foothold in the market.

Every pill and patch is equipped with tiny computers to detect blood levels of a chemical and only release their payload when the concentration dips below a pre-set threshold, making overdose nearly impossible with anything obtained legally.

Even sweeteners are tightly regulated and highly taxed.

And now, January 17th, 2089, Castiel’s tablet feeds him another headline that promises longer, safer lives for all:

HUMAN-DRIVEN CARS FINALLY OFF ROADS FOR GOOD

Tags: Major Character Death (Implied/Referenced), Future Fic, Castiel drives the Impala

Sarasaurussex - @sarasaurussex - sarasaurussex

Sarasaurussex's Inktober, Suptober, and Profound Inktober Masterlist (NSFW, contains multishipping)

This is all of my Supernatual art for Inktober, Suptober, and Profound Inktober. Mostly Destiel, but contains non-Destiel ships (Sabriel and Sastiel).

Dress For Success (E, 2k)

Written for the Supernatural Kink Bingo on tumblr. My prompt was 'clothing sharing'. Art commissioned by Purgatory-Jar!

Tags: Clothing Sharing Kink, Humor, Smut

Wherever I May Roam (E, 11.5k, contains multishipping)

Summary: Sam and Dean get sent to another TV Land that's slightly different than the last. In this version, Jensen and Misha are dating. Written for Supernatural Kink Bingo on tumblr. My prompt was 'roleplay'.

Tags: Destiel, Cockles, Dean x Misha, Dub-Con due to Identity Issues, Idiots to Lovers, First Time, Arguing, Fluff, Smut

iCeDreams - iCeDreams

Chasing Polaris (E, 52k) - co-created with Takai13sama

Dean Winchester feels closed-in with his life at the behemoth, Mary’s Ark. His father has set him up with an arranged marriage and is refusing to budge on Dean’s suggestions to improve the steam engines. So... he does the most obvious thing surly young men do: he runs away.

While leaving the steam capital, he inadvertently meets Emmanuel, a man with secrets of his own, intriguing Dean enough to offer him a ride to a common destination.

It’s a serendipitous encounter, a trip across the country, and a chance to find where they need to be.

Tags: Steampunk, Arranged Marriage, Road Trip, Running Away

EmiliaOagi - @emiliaoagi - EmiliaOagi

It’s How You Use It (M, 2.5k)

One night Castiel discovers Supernatural fanfiction. Then Dean walks in. Some very meta crack with a smidgen of smut. Based on a prompt from the Profound Bond Discord.

Tags: Smut, Humor, Meta, Crack

Goose!Dean Crack Post 1 (SFW)

Art inspired by Untitled Goose Game and a Discord prompt: goose!Dean playing a prank on a poor unsuspecting Sam.

Goose!Dean Crack Post 2 (SFW)

Goose!Dean really wants that burger. Cas disagrees.

LeafZelindor - @leafzelindor -

Ink/Suptober collection (SFW)

Just the short collection of the destiel pics I did during Inktober/suptober.

Art for Crayons and Candybars (SFW)

Artwork done for the DCBB fic Crayons and Candybars, written by I. Franco

rauko-is-a-free-elf - @rauko-is-a-free-elf - FeaRauko

Ocean’s Brawl (M, 55k)

In a time of oppression, the Winchester brothers and their family of misfit pirates sail the seas attacking slave traders and offering the liberated passage to safe-havens, or–if they choose it–a home on the Impala as part of Team Free Will.

Dean meets Castiel, a Naval Captain with orders to enlist him and his band of honorable sea rovers as privateers. Dean refuses, but they end up working together when Castiel offers his vessel as transport for some rescued slaves. Castiel, in turn, travels with Dean as collateral to ensure there is no foul play.

Along the way, Castiel witnesses the horrors of slavery and begins to doubt his cause, even fighting alongside Dean against a French vessel–Castiel’s own people. Castiel comes to admire this wild crew and their kind hearts…perhaps falling for one man in particular.

Tags: pirate!Dean, naval officer!Cas, enemies to lovers, team free will, openly bi!Dean, demisexual!Cas, swashbuckling, battles, shanties

Rapunzel, Rapunzel (SFW)

Art for @diminuel‘s fic, Rapunzel, Rapunzel

Tags: Rapunzel!au, fairy tale!au, prince!Dean, witch!Cas

Bisexualdemondean - outfit (SFW)

Art created for bisexualdemondean in response to the question: "What if I just wanted to look sluttier?"

Tags: demon!dean art, bisexualdemondean art

Autumn - Eileen (SFW)

Art for Day 1 of winchester-reload's suptoberart challenge

Tags: Eileen Leahy

"Good Thing I'm Yours, Then" (SFW)

Art for winchester-reaload's suptober challenge: Day 3 - Royalty Inspired by @casbeanwrites‘ fic Kiss Me Where I Lay Down

Tags: servant!Dean, prince!cas, fic art

"Kids These Days" - Art for Clarity (SFW)

Destiel art for @aloha-cowgirl‘s fic Clarity

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #spn #profound monthly masterpost #profoundnet #october masterpost #member fic #member art #member graphic

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gaslightgatekeepgodot · 6 years ago

Text

A (sizeable) rant/essay concerning my experiences in the Tumblr JJBA fandom.

None of you asked to hear this, but I’m getting pretty pissed off at some people in particular (I will not name names, though I may heavily implicate some people) and it’s finally started to kinda spill over. So I’m letting it spill; take it or leave it.

I’m... Fairly irate at the moment, and writing out my feelings does tend to help me calm down in situations like this, so if I was going to put this anywhere the best place for it is probably on the public internet. Again, take it or leave it: this is the internet, you don’t have to interact with me if this concerns you or your ideals. Just click that handy little block button on my profile and you never have to see little Nat mouthing off again.

If you want me to summarise (I know not everyone wants/is able to read a fluffed-up pillar of text) or explain my reasoning behind anything I’ve said below the cut, feel free to direct message me here or on Discord @nati bati yi#1462. Once I get this off my chest I’ll be more than willing to chat to people about it. <3

(Before I say anything else, this is not intended to be a callout in any way, shape or form. I don’t mention the specific names of anybody, and the actions I do mention here will only point to specific people if you know them too. Anyone on the outside should have zero idea of who anyone I bring up is; I do not want anyone to get harassed over this, and I very much do not want to start drama - that’s what inspired me to go off and write this hunk of garbage in the first place. I’m just... Sick to death of the fandom as a whole.)

Anyway. Here we go.

From what I’ve been able to tell, being in this fandom for just under a year now, there are two main halves to it: the gay-hating, stale-meme-parroting dudebro side, who seem to mostly congregate around YouTube and Reddit, and... Whatever the side based on Tumblr (and probably now Twitter) is. I don’t spend a lot of time on Reddit, so naturally I’ve been more exposed to the Tumblr side of the fandom, and after experiencing the ideals some people here want to force on other people I’ve come to the conclusion I’d almost rather be immersed in the bigoted dudebro side. And I say this as an ace-spec/gay trans man.

I’ll start with the blocklist.

I think most of us on Tumblr came to the conclusion that the blocklist was utter bullshit, but I did see a few people in a Discord server I have since left (I will expand on this later) defending the reasoning behind some ships being on there, citing the fact they had been abused in a relationship with a similar age gap. I can definitely see why that would bother a person, and I do not want to erase the fact that people have been and will be abused in similar relationships, but you can’t project your singular experience onto every fictional, non-canon character relationship and every person who ships it. For one, not every relationship is going to turn out the same just because it meets this one criteria of “the age gap is too big”, and, also, you don’t have to write fiction to totally reflect reality. You are in full creative control. Maybe if the characters were real people they wouldn’t click, but if you’re drawing a picture or writing a fanfic you don’t have to go along with that. You can write them so that they’re good to each other, while still keeping it in character. Araki has said that Jotaro and Kakyoin’s personalities don’t work together very well, and that they wouldn’t have become friends or even spoken to each other if Jotaro wasn’t a Stand user... But Jotaro/Kakyoin just happens to be the most-written about JJBA ship on AO3. Me? I love Jotakak. It’s about the only thing I do ship. And I’ve read some quite frankly amazing fanfiction where the two boys are paired and they work together, and it’s still very much in character. Of course, I’m very much against loli/shota content or content depicting characters who don’t look very old- if someone drew Koichi in a sexual situation I would be pissed as all hell, but I don’t have to engage with that content any further. I can just filter out the tag/block the OP and move on. You don’t need to make a fuss and tell/imply to people that they are paedophilic for enjoying well-written content where a 17-year-old is in a healthy relationship with a 22-year-old, platonic or otherwise.

My second point brings in some of the things I’ve learned while studying media this past year. My main point here: not everyone in an audience is the same. There is a reason differential decoding and the uses and gratifications theory exist. The uses and gratifications theory states, at its most basic, that the audience of a media text is active, not passive; i.e. they are not just absorbing every piece of data thrown at them by the text they are consuming, and they are consuming different media to satisfy a need- for JJBA, that need could be entertainment, escapism, identifying with a character similar to yourself or to give you something to talk about with your friends. Differential decoding arises when someone consuming a piece of the media does not entirely go along with the creator’s preferred reading of it- an example might be how a sizeable amount of people enjoy villainous or “disgusting” characters such as Dio, Cioccolata, Stroheim or Melone, when they were clearly written in canon to be abhorrent, unlikable people for varying reasons. I can also say that, because the audience is active, and consume media based on their personal needs, that somebody writing fanfic of a ship you don’t like isn’t going to make incest or paedophilia more socially acceptable. I don’t consume that content, because I don’t feel the need to. Sure, real paedos might, but they’re a minority. Just because a couple hundred people or so read a fanfic on the free web where a grown adult does the dirty with a little kid, doesn’t mean to say everyone in the world will suddenly start thinking it’s ok. Mention it to any sane person in real life and they will not like that idea any more than you do.

And my third point is more a personal thing than anything else, but there is a community I used to be part of (and was part of almost from the beginning) where I didn’t feel welcome because of people causing drama over things like what I mentioned above. I started multiple discourses entirely by accident by saying I didn’t understand why everyone though X ship was horribly problematic and worth getting mad at people over. I still don’t feel like anyone deserves to be harassed over characters and ships they enjoy, but that doesn’t mean to say I support all of it. Along with generally feeling ignored by a lot of the moderators of that server, as well as their friends, I was just sick to death of how they seemed to single out some certain people to say, “hey, don’t do this” when other people seemed exempt. I was verbally warned for posting innuendos in a general chat (but it’s not like I could anywhere else on the server, because I’m not 18 yet), but at least once every day I would see two people flirting in-character in whatever channel they happened to meet in, and it never seemed to be in a roleplay channel- I couldn’t see into NSFW to check if they did it there too, but the fact it would leak out into gen concerned me. They would throw innuendo after innuendo at each other, and they never seemed to stop, or be told to stop. Yes, I could have messaged the moderators to say it made me uncomfy, but one of them was a moderator themselves, so I felt a little out my element doing so.

Another thing that bothered me is when I tried to join an offshoot of that server for kin, and the admin - I assume - of said offshoot server messaged me (with some other conversation concerning it in between) that, despite the fact I only wanted in to help me figure out what it meant to me, I wasn’t allowed in because somebody was uncomfy with doubles. I completely understand that, but I had spoken to the only person it could have been (I wasn’t given a name, but it wasn’t difficult to figure out who it was) multiple times about that character and how similar we were- hell, we had even roleplayed together as doubles of that character and no problems were ever expressed to me. If anything it seemed like we left off in a spot we could have carried on from later. It might not have been intended that way, but being told I wasn’t allowed in there made me feel excluded from the community nonetheless, especially because I’d had a few people tell me the night before that they wanted more people in there and that I’d be totally welcome. I was also told, before any of this happened, that the same person blocked a friend of mine in another server for going on a small rant about how they didn’t like the way Josuke acted in the episode where he plays dice with Rohan and ends up burning his house down, because they kin Josuke..? At least, that’s what was relayed to me.

But, hey ho, it’s all behind me now. I won’t lie; I don’t really plan on ever going back. I don’t want to engage anymore, because it makes me uncomfortable and anxious thinking about it, so I most likely will unfollow most (if not all) of the blogs pertaining to that community tonight. I do have a few people still there who I miss speaking to, but I’ve DM’d all of them on Discord at least once since I’ve left and talked to them about either how I miss them or something entirely unrelated to the server. I’d like to talk more with them, but DMs are always awkward for me to begin with... I have a feeling they might not want to talk after reading this, and I think I’m ready to accept that? Might be difficult not being able to scream about fanfic as much, but I won’t impose on anyone if my presence makes them uncomfy. I don’t want to be that guy.

I’ll say it again: now that I’ve got this off my chest and subsequently calmed down a lot, I’m more than willing to talk about any of it. Just shoot me a message on Discord and I’ll reply when I’m able and feeling up to talking about it again. For now I’m probably just going to go back to pissing about on Flight Rising or play Smash or something

#melon sounds #jjba #this doesn't mean i won't be consuming or creating fanon content anymore #you can pry kakyoin content from my cold dead hands #i just don't want to engage with the fandom as a community anymore.#which is hell because i want to roleplay #but i guess i could just do one-on-one/kceb for now #ilu kceb. you're all the best #but uhhh hit me up if you want to 1x1... i only feel fully comfy playing kakyoin at the moment but i love AUs and canon divergence #if we get close enough i could try my hand at playing someone else #and yeah. i'm not angry anymore #writing this has calmed me down immensely. jj&c bois will know how ready to fight someone i was #anyway. goodbye for now.#it's viddy gaem time

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raevenlywrites · 6 years ago

Text

Excerpt Tag

Thanks for the tag @converginglives I like this idea of expanding the last line tag, since we all kinda bend the rules on it anyways :P I’m tagging back @cirianne @oceanwriter and @silvertalonwriteblr

I’m also tagging my update list, cause this is a pretty lengthy bit: @chaos-reign @ageekyreader @merigreenleaf @a-sundeen

In honor of Seth’s birthday, I’m posting my favorite chapter from Asylum’s first draft. I did a series of dreams/memories of Seth’s while trying to figure out who he was a character vs. who Naj was, how they interacted in the past, and so on. It’s a loooooong one, so I’m tossing it under a cut, and I don’t remember if it’s spoilery or not, so read at your own risk if you care about that sort of thing.

He scowled at the figured curled up on the sand before him. He couldn't be mad at him, but he was still so full of anger and hurt, even after giving everything he had in the whispering dark. Why were the negative emotions always the first to return? Why couldn't he recall his mother's face, his cousin's laughter, a kind word, a sunny day? It was always the things he tried to keep buried that rose to the surface first. He sat down in the white sand, hurling a handful of sparks to call a fire into life before him. He watched the shadows play across his sleeping companion, wondering if he should wake him. He never rested, never slept, and something about watching the other man lay there made him want to shake him. He didn't feel like himself at all. He was usually so much better at keeping his calm. He turned his gaze to the waxing moon, days away from zenith. The desert always seemed so haunted beneath the silvery light, but it was preferable to the empty stretches of darkness left when il'li Dareiya turned her face away. Balance. Where was his balance? He searched the goddess's face for answers, but she was as empty and silent as he.

He turned back to the crackling fire, willing the heat to seep into him, to chase away the chill from his bones. Funny, but he never seemed to feel the cold of the Whispering Dark before. Numb, yes, empty, yes, but never the cold. Could it be the hawk?

And what was he going to do with her? She was clearly not the devious raptor spell caster she might have seemed—no, it appeared she knew just enough to be a danger to herself and those around her. And he'd shown her how to add more fuel to the fire. What a mess. With a sigh, Naj pushed himself to his feet, deliberately divorcing himself from the tangle of thoughts and memories he should be putting to order. Let Seth do it, when he finally woke. The man never slept, and Naj didn't have it in his heart to wake him, no matter how angry with him he was. But he wasn't of a mind to Seth's work for him, either. He turned away and walked out of the desert without a backward glance.

–

The earth pressed close and cold around them. The smell of an extinguished torch was an acrid tickle at the edge of the shadows. He longed for a fire, but he knew why Aezir held their magic closed tight against them. Just a little longer, a few more days in the darkness, and the danger would be past. He hoped. They'd already gone so deep into the tunnels, flushed out of every corner they'd found to hide in...

A stern cough brought Seth from his fear, and he wrapped himself tighter around Naj, even as Aezir shifted his foot to brush against Seth's leg. The long hours without contact from his nest was taking its toll. Not to mention the eerily silent dark.

He knew they were dead. Anyone who had not fled like they had were certainly smoldering in the remains of the temple above. How ironic that the Ahn'Ki Dai had been burned out of their stronghold. Perhaps that biting smell was more than just the torch.

Seth tossed in his sleep as the fire popped on the sand beside him. One memory of flames gave way to another, a long line of unbroken pain smoldering in his mind.

They were coming, and Master isn't here. Why had he left him behind?

The Dai was fallen, there was nothing left to protect, nothing left to fear. So why had he been left with the nest, when Master marched off to war? Because there was still a war to fight, even with the temple razed. Their enemies would not stop until everything was s'Era, lost to the shadows.

This nest was nothing but shadows. Children of the gods, left to scrabble and fend for themselves in the ruins of a broken world. There had been power here, once. It had never been paradise, but it had been ours, and we will have it again...

A mind brushed over his, and he shrunk away, pulling deeper into himself as he went serpent still, willing himself to be silent, unnoticed.

Why were the raptors always so agitated?

Or, more importantly, why were they the ones sent to tend the ill? He was certain he'd fare much better with quiet, a serpent nursemaid, and the chance to simply sleep.

But rough arms were around him, forcing him to sit up and drink. The herbs were suspended in what felt like raw power, and he sputtered and gagged on the strength of the spirit.

The falcon swore at him, called him an ignorant hatchling as she rushed to clean the mess from her skin. What could they possibly fear from touching something they expected him to drink? But it was true, under all the prickly agitation and the hot anger, there was a thread of fear.

He took what little energy he had and wrapped the remains of the potion in a venom crystal. He spat the little pearly lump out onto the bed and covered it with his hand.

He gritted his teeth in an attempt to stifle his growing agitation as Sioban calmly batted his spell away, again. They'd been at it for what felt like days, and the only thing he'd set on fire was the room around him. The smothering heat surely was not helping his mood.

But they could not leave until burned away the spelled rope that bound her, proving him an acceptable student and her a capable teacher.

“It's still lacking substance, naja. Just get angry already and try to burn me, will you? I assure you, your little fireballs will have no effect on me.”

The golden hawk met his gaze with an almost bored nonchalance, but he could tell she was losing her patience. Had she never worked with serpent-kin before? If so, she was failing this test as surely as he. Her emotions were plastered across her aura, digging and niggling at him every time he tried to hold a thought. She angry, aggravated, impatient, haughty—everything he'd come to expect from raptor-kin. But laying over it all like a slick mildew was fear. He never seen that in a raptor's aura. Never. It was the first thing they learned to hide as children, and the last thing they'd ever admit to feeling. How precarious was her position that the clearly high-born hawk hen was all but sweating her fear?

It wasn't him—most of the raptors had hardly given him any notice when he'd traveled with his father to the h'somu of the D'ahnkkhna priesthood to establish peaceful intent. Only the serpent-kin of the mixed group would speak to them, after the initial presentation, and Seth was certain it was only their constant guard that had granted them entrance to towering mountain stronghold at all. No, none of the feathered folk he'd encountered then or now had paid him any mind—so what was Sioban afraid of?

He couldn't attack her, not like this. He couldn't strike at anyone resonating so strongly with fear. With a tired sigh, he pushed himself up from the cross-legged position he'd been instructed to sit in and climbed down from his raised dais. As he approached hers, the hawk froze, not even a hissed breath marring her perfect stillness.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Seth stilled, not the motionless terror that she was caught in, but the quiet emptiness that all serpents could assume. He counted heartbeats, one, two, three, until taking another step forward. Her wrists surged against the bonds pinning her to the altar, eyes growing to show whites all the way around, but still she did not breathe. Was she drawing power?

Still, Seth could not raise a hand against her, even if she claimed it was the only route to free them both. He could not, and would not do it, so instead of sending another ungrounded surge of flame to lick uselessly at the walls, he'd resolved to try something different.

“Don't touch me!”

The desperate shriek that pierced the silence send prickles racing along Seth's skin to tighten in painful gooseflesh. She was terrified, and not even trying to hide it any longer as she writhed against the bonds she knew she could not break. Her breath returned to her in ragged, rapid gasps, and her wild eyes now squeezed tightly shut against the coming inevitability.

What inevitability? What does she know that I do not?

He drew a long breath, willing it to be steady and strong against the bitter tang of her panic. He took another,and another, trying to drain the room of her desperation, trying to impose his calm over it, trying to find balance in his soul against the terrified pounding of her heart.

“What are you so afraid of?”

It was a question never asked of any avian, and it was barely asked now. Seth could not bring his voice to anything louder than the brush of a whisper, but her eyes flew open and locked on him just the same. They stared at each other for a moment, his confusion and her fear both wore open and naked between them, then her words came in a babbling rush as the dam of her resolve broke.

“Don't you know what they want to do with us? Don't you know why we're here? Monsters, they're all monsters, and they want to make more of the same. What they want—it's madness, nothing but madness! They'll take us back to the burning times, to those savage wars—there won't be a single feather or scale left unsigned—they can't be allowed to do this!”

Her babbling broke off into a cascade of prayer, a rush of words in the old tongue that Seth could barely understand. They'd been forbidden to speak it outside of a set circle, didn't she know that, for fear the power they could accidentally call. But the words of flight and grace and mercy she summoned never came, despite the desperation in her pleas. The only answer was a falling of darkness complete, the sound of steel on stone, and the wet gurgle as her prayer broke off and winged its way to the heavens.

Music drifted over the white sand, a tinkling of sound as faint and distant as the starlight. It came on a small wind, gentle and warm as a mother's kiss. Seth's hair ruffled in the breeze, air cooling the sweat on his brow. The tension in his face eased, and the campfire beside him quieted to a bed of banked coals.

There was always fire burning in the big pit in the middle of the long house, no matter how hot it was outside. Even if it was a simple bed of coals, buried under a fine layer of ash, the fire was never allowed to completely burn out.

He sat before the pit, little face screwed up in concentration. He could feel the fire beneath the ashes, but he had no idea how to call it. It was fire. It didn't listen. It didn't come bounding gleefully into the room when you whistled, didn't alight on an arm held out to the sky, didn't beg for fish scraps when it followed you to the river. It was fire.

And yet, his mother said this was his lesson for the day. Call the fire. She sat at the far end of the long room, calmly working at her loom, seeming to ignore him. He knew better—den'Shelena saw everything. Like the great eye of Dareiya herself, mother's namesake, the moon saw day and night alike, in darkness and light. Nothing was hidden from her.

But the fire remained hidden from him. He wanted to cry. Wanted to yell at the fire, to kick and rage and command it to rise, as he'd learned to command his scales. Was that the trick to it? Did he need to touch his serpent self?

Tentatively, he let a ripple of pale scales slide over his hand. His mother coughed, and he jerked back, tucking his hand guiltily behind him. But she kept weaving, picking up a shuttle of crimson thread, and he turned back to the fire. His hand was sheathed in red scales now, and when his mother remained silent, he reached out and brushed the ashes from the coals.

Mother had taught him to be very, very careful of his manners.

All growing up, hours in the long house had been spent practicing greetings and gestures, the languages of their neighbors, along with the dances and magics and stories of their own people. He felt confident he could handle anything, even with his adult's wrappings still unfinished on his mother's loom. Surely it was long enough by now?

But even without the ceremonial garment, his parents had agreed that he should travel with his father's group to the h'somu Danhkkhna. It was probably better this way, actually, because dressed in the wrappings of a child, his mistakes could be more easily forgiven—Oh yes, overhearing that little bit of conversation had done wonders for his meditation, practicing to clamp his aura down tight so as not to offend their avian neighbors with his emotions.

And what of their offense to him, hmm? Why should he have to pretend to be something he was not, cut away a part of him so precious, so as not to be seen as improper? What exactly was proper about pretending not to be moved by the world around him? Mother said it would be a different story if they were coming to the longhouse—but of course, that would never happen. If a leh'Danhkkhna'ra came here, it would be a serpent member of their ranks. And even that was unlikely—why visit a small village on the borders of leshkan and lefu holdings, instead of visiting their respective strongholds?

And yet lah'Seth was expected to make the journey to the h'somu. And his son was expected to come with him.

But we don't even want to be a kingdom, he'd complained to this mother. Why do we have to act like one?

Because we want the right not to be a kingdom, she'd answered, and left the longhouse without another word.

She wouldn't return for another three days. And by then, he was finally emptied of everything.

Hannah was a piece of the sunlight itself.

Her mother, h'eija of the priesthood was even more radiant, shining with a light that came from within, but Hannah was still young enough that she merely glowed with power, rather than blazed.

Her golden wings had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Standing behind her mother's seat, an intricately carved stool with no back that let her wings spread wide behind her, Hannah was almost lost in the golden haze. She held herself so perfectly straight and still, he had wondered if she were part of the carvings. Though, honestly, he'd wondered that about everyone in the room. They could be standing in audience before an assembly of statues, cold jewels and precious metals wrought into the image of living beings, but completely devoid of life.

Then Hannah had shifted, ever so slightly, to get a better look at their party.

He wouldn't have noticed it, except for the small flash of light as her mother's blaze reflected off a razor-edged feather in Hannah's wing. He told her this as they lunched on the balcony, after the formal introductions were over. She'd been dying to know what had draw his attention to her, over all the glittering throng of the priesthood. She'd stood perfectly patient throughout the rest of the audience, and even kept up the image of polite but detached interest through most of lunch. But finally, her curiosity got the better of her, and it had colored her aura with the slightest of tint. In a serpent, it would have gone completely unnoticed. But it was the first inkling of emotion he'd gotten off of any of these cold, beautiful people, and he'd pounced on it without a thought.

He'd apologized profusely, but that slip had allowed Hannah to finally breathe, and for the rest of the afternoon, they'd talked quietly and still politely about each others peoples, but he had finally felt like he was talking to another living person, and it had done much to put him at ease.

He thought of the little golden girl for weeks afterwards, a million questions he'd wished he'd been brave enough ask niggling at him in the night. Don't you get lonely, locked in your own skin like that? What's it like, being groomed to rule but not knowing for a certainty that it will be your duty? How do you work so closely with serpents and not laugh or cry or yell like they do? Why had our parents talked of allegiances, and fealties, and duties?

Are we going to be enemies some day?

Bird passed him another stone, and he hurled it violently into the river. It didn't skip lightly, as all of Bird's had, and he didn't care. He hadn't wanted to play this stupid game in the first place. Bird sighed and heaved to his feet, popping his back with a stretch.

“Alright, rei'shkan, let's have it. You've taken enough of your rage out on the river. Time to talk.”

He scowled and thought about throwing himself in the river, but he knew Bird would never let him hear the end of it if he had to half-drown himself saving his best friend.

“I don't want any of it, Bird. You know that.”

“Aaand?”

That man had no sympathy. And he had to admit, Bird was fully a man now. Sometime over the summer, when he had been in the mountains, his friend had grown up without him. Why he had had to go and Bird had been allowed to stay, he didn't understand. Bird's second form actually bore the mark of the king cobra. Who cared that he himself was technically closer to the royal line? Who cared about royalty this far out into the woods anyways? The fact that Bird still called him simply rei'shkan, cobra, was probably the only reason he hadn't slipped his guard and cousin and went off to brood on his own. reijye Xane Kismeron lah'Seth'ra felt less like an actual name than it ever had, and more and more like the ropes he knew it to be. Whether harness or noose, he hadn't yet decided.

Bird poked him in the back with the butt of his spear, earning his lanky cousin a growl. Bird only met it with a snort.

“Brooding's done now, unless you want to go to be the h'somu and join the priesthood. I'm sure they could use another savage to watch over their little hatchlings.”

With the fluid grace and alarming speed of his animal form, he sprang from the ground and punched Bird firmly in the face.

“Don't talk about Hannah!”

Bird looked up the dirt, crooked grin on his face, blood trickling down his chin.

“Finally, he speaks.”

He didn't answer, fine tremors running through his limbs. If he spoke now, he would burn his cousin alive. Or pound his head into the dirt until his brains spilled out. Or both. His cobra temper had finally had enough.

Bird pushed himself into a sitting position, but otherwise didn't move. He wouldn't be the one to start this fight. Any more than he'd already done with his words.

“If she's that important to you, do something about it.”

Apparently, Bird didn't feel he'd said his piece yet. It was all he could do to calm his own anger, so he remained silent. Bird took that for an invitation to continue.

“You're of royal blood, lah'Seth'ra. It may not count for much among our fathers, but the h'somu thought enough of it to invite you over me. You're eligible for the priesthood, the real priesthood, and not just some glorified baby sitting job.” After a slight pause to taste the air, he added, “You could work together, as equals. H'il'li.”

Finally, he was calmed enough to speak.

“You know I can't, Bird. I don't have a twin, like my father. The line is completely dependent on me. My threads haven't been on Fate's shuttle for a long time. I'm already locked by weave and weft. And what has been woven can't be unthreaded without tearing apart all else, the good and the bad.”

“And why must they be unraveled?” Bird said immediately, giving him no quarter. “It is you that hold to them, not the other way around. Let them go, and dance.”

It was so easy for his cousin. Bird would never be expected to lead, never be called on to sit on any serpent throne—the real one in Obsidian Castle or the just as heavy but never acknowledged one of his father's people. Bird was the person who understood him the most, and even he couldn't grasp the impossibility of his suggestion, his devil-may-care dare to dance freely. He couldn't. He could not, so that his people could have the choice to. He gave the freedom they held so very dear, so that at least someone could dance. So that they could take that freedom for granted.

Suddenly, he was very, very angry. His rage flickered across his skin, lines of fire racing up and down his bare limbs and middle, his face. The fire burned all along his body, because it had no where else to go. He couldn't direct it outward, at any effigy of his imprisonment. He couldn't flame and rage at the cage that held him. So he burned, brighter and brighter like a falling star, spending its all in one last desperate dive to the earth.

When he'd burned himself out, Bird covered him with a blanket against the growing chill of the night, and climbed a tree to keep watch over their camp.

The fire raged across the white desert, re-charring trees that had already stood empty and black. Only the large dark rock by the lake, and the man sleeping in the hollow of it's lee, remained untouched. The little campfire at Seth's side went out, starved for oxygen as the larger inferno blazed on, razing the already desolate landscape.

Seth's lips dried and cracked in the heat, and whatever other words he'd been about to say died. What tenuous grasp on wakefulness he'd had was stolen away, as the fire stole his breath, and he collapsed again into unconsciousness.

–

Llorinda's fingers on the laces at his hips tickled. He wanted to bat her away, but he understood her need to make sure everything looked just so. He'd asked her to do it, out of the same fastidious need. And because she was the only female who's eye he trusted that he actually could ask such things of.

“You'll be fine, Meron,” she said lightly, eyes still on her work.

He wanted to scowl or give some curt reply, but the annoyance in his aura, and the anxiety underneath, were clear enough. Though he held his aura more closely than his neighbors—especially after visiting the h'somu in the mountains—skin to skin contact would tell her almost his every thought. It didn't help that she was one of his oldest friends.

Or rather, it did help. Llorinda's presence, her support by extension, did much to soothe his frazzled nerves. She didn't say, “I know,” didn't give the laces a firmer tug than necessary to drive the point home. She just quietly went about her work, sitting back on her heels occasionally to judge their evenness, and let him stew in his own dread.

It's just a dance, he told himself. Just one stupid little dance you've practiced a hundred times. With his nerves this ramped up, he was just as likely to call the fire on accident as with the ceremonial dance. Either way, the central fire would be lit for the year, and his people's prosperity would be assured.

The only real question was whether or not his dignity would survive the winter.

“Up or down?”

He started from his thoughts at Llorinda's question, and stared stupidly down at her until she asked again.

“U-up, of course,” he said.

She nodded and began to lace the pants just under his knees. Her lack of comment prompted him to continue. “It's traditional, isn't it? Cuffs are worn high for any fire dances.”

Llorinda nodded again, holding one end of the cord in her teeth as she worked. Once free of the burden she answered. “I know how to dress a leh'shcarmn for a ki'ramn. I was asking you how you'd prefer to be dressed.”

He paused and mulled over her words, knowing she'd made the distinction for a reason. Was it belittling his skills, calling his footwork into question? If he wore them down, his calves wouldn't be painted with the gold markings that would glint in the firelight, showing off the steps.

No, that wasn't it. Llorinda would tease him about just about anything, but not things of real importance. He was truly nervous about this, and she would know it, and wouldn't undermine his confidence.

So what was she asking? She hadn't stopped lacing the cuff up around his knee, like he'd asked, so why even say anything? Would she be willing to take them back down if he changed his mind? He wouldn't want to make her redo the all over again—

And it wouldn't be like her to waste the effort, if she thought he really might. So she knew he wanted them up, but wanted him to think about why.

Was he wearing them this way, simply because of tradition? What was he trying to prove? Yes, the night was about proving their reijye was a capable areta, able to call the magic of his birthright and fit to lead them. But most of them had seen him call fire at one time or another before, albeit informally. So what was this evening really about?

How would you prefer to be dressed?

She was asking him to present his real face to the people, he realized. His friend was challenging him to be more than icon and leader to the people he lived and loved with. To stop holding himself back, to truly dance when he called the fire.

But could he do it? Could he let his people in, let them see the pain that hovered just behind his smile, darted in the shadows at the corners of his eyes, sighed out with his every laugh and joke?

“I prefer them laced down.”

“I know.”

Still she laced them above the knee, moving on to fix the next cuff.

–

“Your cakes taste like dirt.”

Raith made a face as Llorinda passed him a bun, frosted in honey paste. That self-pleased smile touched at the edge of her lips, and he always wondered what she was thinking when she wore that look. It couldn't be pride in her work. Raith was right. They did taste like dirt.

Marl stumbled forward, helped along by Bird's knee, and blushed furiously. Llorinda smiled prettily, batting her eyes and turning a little rosy herself. He wondered when the two of them were finally going to get together. Marl had fancied her all growing up, and the feeling only seemed to be deepening.

“G-good morning, Miss Llorinda.”

The other baker apprentices surfaced in a flurry of giggles, trying to look busy setting out the morning's ware, but they were almost as gossipy as dancers. One stuck her thumb right in the middle of a fruit tart. She'd been too busy watching their group to notice.

He was never sure what drew their attention. The infamous Four Winds, his band of closest friends, or the strangely reserved romance between Marl and Llorinda. Both sights were sure to yield excellent gossip.

Bird mimicked Marl's greeting in a high falsetto, tossing his head and looking for all the world like the stork he was nicknamed for. He wanted to throw a fish at him and see if he'd catch it with his teeth or his face.

Raith elbowed him, coming to Marl's defense. “Manners are just as important to have as to hear,” he chided him, pushing him away from Marl and Llorinda. Bird stammered, “But you just said they taste like dirt!”, struggling to get around Raith's corralling.

“That I did, and they do, but there's no call to make fun of them. Good morning, Miss Llorinda.” He never looked back as he literally pushed Bird to another stall.

He walked away himself, shaking his head. He heard Marl behind him declaring that he loved Llorinda's baking, and thought this year's h'Cheres cakes would be the best year, echoed by another twitting of giggles from the other bakers.

He just smiled and ate his breakfast, chewing on the grit.

–

A hot wind blew across the desert, but it was a gentle warmth compared to the blaze from before. It carried the smell of sun and spices, a bustling marketplace somewhere far, far away. The heat wrapped around Seth, chasing away the chill that been trying to settle on him after the campfire had gone out.

For the first time since falling asleep, the creases in Seth's forehead eased. He didn't quite smile, but he was finally resting easily.

-?-

Seth woke in an instant, feeling the sudden press of so much earth above him. He was deep in a cave, warm and close like a mother, and it terrified him. He should be in the desert, if he were anywhere other than Naj's side, and this much earth made him feel suffocated.

He drew a harsh zig zag in the air above his chest—zt, the symbol of negating. It would hide his presence and calm his panic until he could figure out what was going on. It was just an ignorant gesture, an old wives' charm to ward off the evil eye, unlikely to do anything more than soothe him.

He certainly hadn't expected it to tear a jagged line in the darkness.

Where his hand had moved, the cool white sand of the desert night glowed like a lightning strike, harsh against the darkness. Seth began methodically wiping it away, using proper banishing circles to chase away the darkness, like he would the remains of any other spell gone awry. The darkness didn't dissipate easily, more phantom earth falling in to fill whatever he had banished. He worked slowly and carefully, cutting the darkness with a frantic zt when his window to the outside world vanished in the darkness again. He would not panic. He would not let this rising feeling of dread overcome him.

Not even when the view outside his prison changed.

No longer did the zt cut the darkness to reveal the white desert. Now it opened up to a view of the stage, dark except for one harsh spotlight. He couldn't see much, didn't dare waste his concentration on making sense of it, because every moment he wasn't actively pushing away the darkness, it caved back in on him. Somewhere, after hours or minutes in the long, false night, the cave had gone from earthly to sinister. Feelings of movement flashed behind him—always behind him—and the impression of eyes and teeth in the dark. He felt hunted, stalked, trapped, and it ate away at his calm, urging him toward the madness of fight or flight. So far, he was still in command of his senses, but for how long? How long until his panic made him forget something, made him slip? Until the image of the dark stage no longer soothed him with the promise of freedom. The white desert was his home, his safe place. The slice of stage in the spotlight was almost as dark as the press around him.

In a way, Seth was lucky this darkness was so foreboding. If it had called to him, soothed him in the way of the whispering dark... Things did call to him, groping in the darkness for him as if knowing he was there, but he pushed it all away with a banishing zt. Whatever wanted him in this darkness, it couldn't have him.

Of course, his gesture had only opened a larger window onto the stage.

A woman in the center of the spotlight. Dark streaks marred her flesh, but he couldn't make out if they were wounds, or...

Another figure stepped between them, icy shadows radiating off of him, spilling in through the window. Seth drew back with a hiss, but it made no sound. He clutched at his throat, panic clawing at his chest, and the darkness closed back in around him.

The same icy shadows that had been rolling off the man on stage.

“I trust you understand what's happening?”

It wasn't a question—it was so thick with promise and seduction, it was almost more foreplay than anything else. And it made Seth's stomach roil. He began to sing, knowing it would make no sound but hoping that if he focused on his own words, it would block out that other voice. He'd spent many a long hours in his first training with the Dai, singing and singing until his throat cracked and bled, unless his instructor had broken his jaw before that point. And even still, he'd sing in his mind, drawing strength from the one thing that had kept him sane as a serpent who hadn't been allowed to freely dance.

Song was his savior now.

He sang poems and ballads of ancient heroes, sang love songs and tragedies and children's ditties—anything and everything he could think of. He filled the darkness with silent music and desperate tears as he wiped and wiped at the darkness, not daring to draw another window. Still, the occasional sound broke through. Screaming. Laughing. Moaning, not all of it in pain. Each sound spurred him to sing louder, until eventually, even his trial-hardened determination gave out, and he was swallowed up by the darkness.

When he woke again, he was still wrapped in darkness. But it was the warm and welcoming darkness of before, the press of the earth. It still panicked him, but the place in his brain where fear lived was empty and cold. He was glad for that.

All around him, threads of that otherness, that icy darkness still lingered. He reached for one and tried to follow it, hoping it would lead to something other than darkness, but it vanished the instant he touched it.

Not without leaving its mark.

The ghostly memories of pain and sick laughter pierced through his mind, searing an image into his brain like a brand. Nica, hanging limp and lifeless, dark marks covering her flesh. Blood or magic, he couldn't tell, and it didn't matter. Her head fell back in a wordless scream, but he could still feel the sound of it through the emotion that poured off of her. She was breaking, and she knew it. Soon, Azriel would grow bored of her and search for new playthings among her nestmates. She had to hold out, had to endure until he was finished, had to keep her nest safe—

Another scream, and a sense of violation Seth had never before felt. Rape had been just another tool in the Dai trainers' arsenal, another way to break their captives down into tools, but it had never been like this. It didn't have a damned thing to do with the disconnect between their bodies—Azriel was violating their soul. The things he did with their flesh were mere echoes of the things he did with their minds, and Seth nearly feel unconscious against it.

But Nica had held strong, and that kept the memory alive and burning in his mind. Even when he was too weak, she remained, and did what it took to keep her nest safe. How she'd forged such mettle in herself, in so few years compared to his own, he'd never fathom. But she was strong, stronger than him, and she would protect what was hers.

In that moment, Seth was determined to stand at her back. This woman would hold against all the nightmares that might rise from Naj's past. This woman was strong enough to see him through terrors, remembered and resurfaced, and she would protect him with her all. He didn't know yet how he could help, but he would pledge his all to upholding Nica, and in doing so fulfill his promise to Naj, and Aezir.

Finally, the memory ended, and Seth fell mercifully into the black. His last thought was an almost amused realization that the whispering dark would never hold sway over him again.

He awoke again and again in the darkness, surrounding him with gentle warmth. Each time, he reached for a thread, bracing as it unraveled and pressed upon him a new memory. They danced and blurred together in a long line of torture, release, blackness. He was beginning to wonder if he'd died, and this was his eternal punishment, for the perversion of Li'Daea's gifts he'd allowed himself to become. He should have found a way to kill himself in those first days as a Dai captive, to escape with his magic pure and untainted, never bent against his fellow man. But the time for such things was past. And so, with another waking in the dark behind him, he reached for a thread.

Seth almost didn't understand what was happening, this change from the endless litany. The thread had wrapped around him, racing up his wrist, coiling around his chest, splitting off into many, many strands to wrap around his legs and neck, to cover his mouth. He was too bewildered to untangle the idea that he was being pulled, drawn inexorably toward...somewhere?

The blackness was changing, losing its thickness and morphing into black smoke. Endless upon endless billows of black, inky smoke. All being drawn Somewhere.

Not drawn. Pushed. Something was pushing the darkness away, willing it to be Elsewhere, anywhere else, so long as it didn't settle on her.

But it had to go to her. It had been meant for her. He had drawn shares of it into himself, and it hadn't been intended to happen that way. So now that she was near, or he was nearer her, the spell wrapped in on itself, on the pieces of itself that he carried, and tried to drag him back home.

The motion was stop and go. The pulling was insistent, constant, but whatever was allowing them to bridge the gap to her was intermittent. As his wits gathered, Seth remembered that the her was Nica, and the spell was a demon's, and he had sworn to himself to her. He dug his will in deep, anchoring it to the darkness that was warm and safe, and pull the smoke around himself.

Memories beat at him, bits of the spell trying to wear him down. He would not yield. If the spell wanted Nica, then he would keep it here with himself with his dying breath. He drew the smoke inside him, dragging it down, down, willing it to become his. Each vision of Nica's torment only made him stronger, showing him the determination radiating from her bruised and broken body. If she could endure, he would endure, and give her whatever strength he had. Nica would lead this nest, would keep Naj safe, and Seth could rest. Even if it meant resting in this endless darkness.

#OC Seth #WIP excerpts #asylum spoilers #tag games

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unnaturalcuriosity · 6 years ago

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UnnaturalCuriousity’s Rules Post {For Mobile Users}

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🔬 Since Dr. Kantalo’s job is to know a lot about other alien species, and she is meant to be a highly intelligent character, she will know in depth information about canon alien races from Universe 7. (Saiyans, Namekians etc.) This will include things like what makes them weak in combat. (For Saiyans it’s having their tail pulled unless it’s been trained. For Namekians it’s whistling.) If your muse is an OC whose backstory includes any contact with the Planet Trade Organization/Frieza Force, it would make sense for her to learn/know moderate to advanced information about your OC’s alien race when we interact. However, in order to avoid making you feel like I’m godmodding/metagaming I will ask permission OOC to mention such details and plot with you before using such information in a response. If having my muse know things about your OC muse’s race that comes from your about page and headcanon posts bothers you, please let me know and we can come up with reasons for why she wouldn’t know them in that great of depth. Know that having Dr. Kantalo possessing knowledge about your muse’s race isn’t the same as knowing their personal history/background. Not unless we plot for them to have some existing relationship prior to the start of our first thread. 🔬 If you are a personal blog following me because you are interested in my original characters and the content I publish here, all I ask is that you don't reblog asks that involve my RP partners and don't reblog our roleplay threads. That's considered rude in the RPC as it can interfere with our activity feed and our ability to track threads. I would also prefer if people didn't reblog my headcanon posts that are specific to my roleplay portrayal of my muses. Reblogging posts of artwork done of my OC is fine, so long as you don't erase the credits of who drew it and you don't try to claim credit for making my OCs. 🔬 If you'd like to draw my OC/s I would be thrilled to see it! You can submit it or post the artwork and tag this blog (and if you want to my personal blog, @raxceni). Make sure to credit me as the person who owns/made the OC/s you drew. 🔬 I am 18+ and so is my muse. Topics that are Safe for Tumblr but are still better suited for a mature audience from the past and present are tagged as #lemon goodness or #touch of citrus if it's questionably mature. Past and present content that I believe needs a trigger warning are tagged with #tw; _____ for possible triggering content. If you have specific triggers let me know and I’ll do my best to remember and accommodate. {Trigger Warning Tags Master Post link} 🔬 I will never hold it against a person if they want to unfollow me or drop me as a roleplay partner for any reason. If you wish to speak to me about the reasons why, you may do so but please be civil. 🔬 I consider myself a Continuity Queen™ which means I remember things and want to keep relationships and serious rp threads consistent. The little things are important to me, but not to the point where it interferes with enjoyment of roleplaying. If your muse is struggling to interact with mine, you can talk to me about do-overs and re-plotting. I may discuss ways we can salvage the relationship with what we’ve already done, but if that doesn’t work out doing things over is fine. (But it must be communicated to me!!!) A do-over that won't guarantee that they'll get along the way you or I want though. If I see you trying and putting in effort, I'll return that effort on my end. Likewise, if you notice any inconsistencies in our thread on my end, let me know and we can correct the issue together.

Mun Activity & Selectivity

🔬 I am selective for this roleplay blog due to time. That means I’m not going to roleplay with anyone I’m not following/mutuals with. I’m a busy/easy to tire tired person that tires easily due to some health issues I’ve been dealing with since 2018. I also run two other rp blogs. I won’t force myself to roleplay with people I don’t feel a strong enough interest with in terms of their muse, roleplay writing style, etc. I will always encourage people to talk to me, but know that it won’t guarantee anything. It’s nothing personal if I choose not to roleplay with you. Not everyone is a good roleplay partner for each other, and it’s not about being “better” or “worse” than someone else. I don’t mind telling you why I’m not interested, but don’t be rude or try to force interactions. 🔬 I ask that nobody tags me in serious roleplay or IC interaction threads without speaking with me first and getting my consent so we can plot things out. (Unless I reach out to you first IC or OOC.) Especially if we aren't following each other. Mutuals can send IC interaction asks if I reblog memes. If non-mutuals ignore this rule I will not respond to the starter and I may even block you because you haven't taken the time to read my rules or notice my header information that clearly states that this blog is selective. 🔬 If we start to/continue to roleplay together please be patient with me and keep in mind that I will be slow to respond to our threads. As you probably know I run two other canon muse blogs, and they are fairly active. You can always come talk with me about our thread/s and plot with me to give direction to our thread/s that engages both our muses mutually. If you feel like a thread got lost and/or it's been awhile since we last spoke or I last responded come talk to me. You can check if I'm keeping track of a thread by visiting my {Thread Tracker link.}

Unacceptable Roleplay Etiquette:

🔬 Various types of powerplay, godmoding, force shipping, etc. 🔬 Toxic behaviors and attitudes (like jealousy) that cause problems for yourself and others. 🔬 Muns projecting themselves into their character so much that muse = mun. 🔬 Muses and/or muns who are under 18 approaching me and my muse for shipping and/or smut. 🔬 Using me and my muse for any reason that isn’t for IC plot that’s planned. 🔬 Muns assuming that muse = mun and treating me poorly because of it. 🔬 Genuine lack of respect for muns as people who come first before our hobby. 🔬 Muns who create rp blogs on a whim and delete/abandon them with little to no notice frequently once they lose interest in that muse, and not because the mun is just busy IRL or having health issues. Depending on the offense, I will first speak with you about the issue. However, if the bad behavior doesn’t stop or I don’t like how you respond, I am well within my right to drop threads and not interact with you. I have a zero tolerance policy for toxic people and their abusive antics. If I find out you are guilty of being malicious towards anyone in the rp community presently or have in the past and continue to be toxic, I am not obligated to give you a second chance. I came here to have fun, not instruct adults on how to be decent human beings.

Writing Fight Threads With Me

🔬 I am selective with who I write fight scenes with. Some people make it awkward because of what they consider to be godmodding etc. and because of that I often lose interest in those threads. 🔬 You MUST SPEAK TO ME OOC if you're interested in doing a thread where our muses fight or spar.

How to Treat the Muse

🔬 DO NOT treat my muse like she's here to dote on and worship your muse, regardless of any connections/alliances she might have to other canon DBZ characters. She follows her orders, and respects her superiors and co-workers, but she's not here a push-over. 🔬 Dr. Kantalo may be a female OC, but she's not here for romance and smut. She's not that kind of woman. If you treat her like she's a sexual prize to own or win over, you're proving to me that you have no idea what she's really like, and that you haven't read my rules. 🔬 If you approach my muse with insults and an attitude, expect that she'll remember the things you say and do. While she's got a friendly disposition and she's not easily offended, Dr. Kantalo can be quite opportunistic. Even vindictive. Give her a reason not to like you, and your muse may regret it.

Stance on Shipping

🔬 In general, I am not interested in shipping with my OCs. Moya is a NPC kind of OC and Dr. Kantalo is Aro-Ace (meaning she doesn't experience either romantic attraction or sexual attraction to other people) and she’s physically unable to reproduce. Pursuing a ship with her seems pointless from my perspective. Emotionally she'd be weird to ship with too. In general I'm not interested in shipping with my OCs. 🔬 I have written her in a domestic partnership that lacked typical romantic dynamics and was not sexual with a friend of mine in the past. Neither labeled themselves as a "couple" either. While I doubt she'll be open to another domestic partnership, I wouldn't want to rule out the possibility of it happening either. 🔬 REMINDER: If there is any shipping stuff going on it won’t happen with muses or muns under 18 years of age.

Adult Themes

🔬 As of 12/17/18, it is supposedly alright to write erotica based on Tumblr’s guidelines, but I have no interest in writing smut on Tumblr. Nor am I keen about writing it with my OCs. 🔬 Dr. Kantalo isn't sex repulsed and she will speak of sex in a straightforward manner from a scientific point of view. If sex comes up as a topic in her posts, I will tag it with #lemon goodness or #touch of citrus. 🔬 While she's not repulsed by sex, Dr. Kantalo doesn’t feel sexual desires/urges. She may get curious about it and discuss it analytically. I would prefer it if you don't approach me and my muse for adult situations where she takes an active part in them. If you want to do so for the sake of comedy to get your muse rejected that's fine. But if I feel like you're getting pushy/forceful I will end things in a manner that makes you and your muse look foolish for not understanding that "no means no" along with ending communication and IC interactions with you.

If you've read these rules up to this point and want me to know, send me an ask saying, "I love science!" This isn't a password or requirement for me to interact with you. I just like knowing that people read my rules.

#Mobile Rules #long post

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