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valiantstarlights · 1 year ago

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[Urban Fantasy Spy AU] Try to Hide Your Hand

Agent Hob Gadling and Tech Officer Dream Endless go on a mission together to extract Agent Ethel Cripps from Fawney Rig.

This is a @dreamlingforukraine fic commission for @seiya-starsniper. ✨️ Thank you for your generosity and your patience 🙇‍♀️ Sorry I went kinda crazy with this. But I had a lot of fun worldbuilding, so 😂

The title is from the song, "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell, which is the theme song for the James Bond (Craig) film, Casino Royale.

CW: Dark themes because the Burgesses and their goons are the scum of the earth. There will be murder and noncon pet play, but the noncon is only on Burgess and Co.'s part. Dream and Hob are communicating with each other all the time and everything is consensual between the two of them. I promise there's gonna be fluffy fluff in the end. 🙏

Hob sits with his legs spread open, Dream kneeling between them, his dark head of hair resting against the junction of Hob's pelvis and thigh, and he hates it.

To be clear, he doesn't hate Dream. Not right now, anyway.

No, it's the situation they're in that he hates in particular right now.

Agent Ethel Cripps, The Agency's undercover spy assigned to monitor and report on the Burgesses, reached out to Head Office less than a month ago and said she wanted out. She has requested that she be extracted ASAP.

'I'm pregnant,' she said in her encrypted voice mail. She sounded so near to tears that it moved Hob's heart when he first heard her message. 'I want to get out of here.'

According to her file, Agent Cripps has demon blood. It's weak enough that she doesn't have the same strengths and weaknesses as her ancestors, but she still retained the classic half-demon appearance. Her file included a photo of her: a young blonde woman with delicate curving white horns complementing her short bob. She had been smiling in her picture.

Hob hasn't gone on to a mission with her yet since she's only been with The Agency for less than a century, but he heard that she was good at her job, feeding The Agency rare but important information about the Burgesses' human and creature trafficking schedules, resulting in many successful rescue operations.

Thus, her case was deemed urgent and important enough for The Agency to send in two of their best to extract her: a field agent to be the face and the muscle, and a tech officer to make sure the three of them get in and out safely without setting off any alarms, potentially leave listening bugs behind or retrieve important documents, and arrange for transportation, accommodations, and other essential minutiae.

Unfortunately, the two people assigned to take on the mission are Hob Gadling and Dream Endless, and everyone who has been in The Agency for more than a couple of years know that the two of them do not exactly get along.

More unfortunately, they have to pose as a human master and their half-other pet, because it's the standard within the Burgess family. Roderick has his own pet, and so does his remaining son. And so does everyone who is anyone within their ranks.

All half-other pets have either been trafficked from somewhere or were born in captivity. They're effectively modern day slaves.

Hob (a full human with an immortality mutation) has been working for The Agency for around 600 years now. But he remembers the day that certain bombshell was dropped on him and Dream.

Dream (a half-eldritch being along with his siblings, and who has been working for The Agency for longer than Hob has been alive) had sat so still on his side of the table that he could have been mistaken for a statue.

Hob had immediately protested. Slavery of all kinds repulses him, and though he dislikes Dream's guts, he would not have him act as someone lesser than him. Having had to go undercover as a slaver in the 1700s had been his worst mission, and he would rather not repeat the experience.

Death, Dream's older sister and their direct superior, listened to his tirade patiently, before telling him that other avenues have been considered; of course they have. But going undercover as a human master and his half-other pet is the one avenue that guarantees the highest chance of success.

All they had to do is show up at one of the Burgesses' casinos, have Hob win enough rounds with Dream as his 'companion,' commit enough violence where cameras are located, and they would soon be invited to Fawney Rig. Once there, Hob will be invited to play against the captains and the lieutenants. He'll have to win until they get into the same game as Agent Cripps and her human master.

Agent Cripps had not disclosed just who her human master is, which leads The Agency to believe that it might be either Roderick or Randall Burgess. Hob is going to have to win a bazillion games.

"If it's the games you are worried about," Dream said, speaking to him for the first time since they entered the room, "you need not worry. I can count cards, and have quite the skill for card games. We will, of course, have to devise a reliable method of nonverbal signals between the two of us so we can communicate with each other without saying a word; but it shouldn't be too difficult."

"Yeah," Hob spat at him. "Because that's the thing I'm most worried about."

Dream had frowned at him and said, quite stupidly, in Hob's opinion, "What else are you worried about, then?"

Hob had scoffed in disbelief, stood up, excused himself, and headed straight to The Agency's training salles to let out some steam. He imagined he was punching Roderick and Randall Burgess's faces, all the while cursing the day Dream was dropped on his head as a baby because that is the only reasonable explanation why he can be so fucking stupid.

He must have been at it for an hour when he realized that Dream was in the same room as him. He wondered how long the man had been standing there.

"What do you want?" he snapped. He didn't mean to. He's just so, so mad. At Lord Time and Lady Night. Who must have dropped Dream as a child for a minimum of fifty times. "You here to tell me the mission is important? Because yeah, I know."

"I'm here to remind you of your duty to The Agency," Dream told him. "I was under the impression that you didn't need any reminding, and yet, here we are."

Hob snorted and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. "Yeah, right." Like Dream would stoop so low as to take time out of his day to find where Hob is just to insult him. "What's the real reason you're here?"

Dream fidgeted minutely. Anyone else wouldn't have noticed, but Hob did. "I have agreed to go on this mission," he said, "and I would like for you to be my partner."

For a moment, it was so silent in the salles that a pin drop would have sounded like a gunshot.

"You fucking what?" Hob demanded. "Why the fuck would you agree? And why in god's name do you want me to be your partner?"

'You hate my guts,' he didn't say. 'You'd rather go down ten flights of stairs than share an elevator ride with me.'

Dream let out a laborious sigh, like Hob is being the stupid one here. "The mission will require my partner to be indifferent and occasionally cruel to me. I had thought that it would be an easy task for you."

Hob was actually getting a headache from this. "You thought it would be easy-- Dream. You know that kind of play has to be consensual, right? And maybe that's not how Burgess and his goons do it, but it's how it's done, normally. Please tell me you know that."

Dream pursed his lips, no doubt offended by Hob's perceived slight to his intelligence. Whatever. Hob was already so fucking tired. "Would you rather another tech officer accompany you on this mission, then?"

Hob immediately thought of Eleanor, but just as quickly dismissed it. He and Eleanor dated a while back in the 1500s, but she was married now, and going on this mission would be weird for them both. But he's not going to tell Dream all of that, so instead he asked a question of his own. "What about you? Wouldn't you rather go on this mission with another field agent you actually get along with?"

Specifically, Hob was thinking of Corinthian (who is a vampire? Hob isn't sure), who oozes sex appeal every second of his life, and was Dream's favorite field agent for always returning tech in repairable conditions, even if he has to lose an occasional eye for it.

Or heck, maybe even Shaxberd, that stuck-up, mousy-looking simp (who is definitely a were-sewer rat). Hob didn't think he'd do a good job playing as Dream's human master believably, though.

"No," Dream said to his shoes. "You are...adequately competent in what you do, and data shows that the two of us working on this mission together would result in a higher chance of success. It is why my sister called for us in the first place."

Hob mouthed 'adequately competent' to himself and incredulously shook his head. "That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me in 600 years, and I still feel insulted."

"Good," Dream quipped. "You should be grateful I didn't give you any more praise than that, else your head become too big to fit through The Agency's doors."

Christ. Hob could already see how many headache pills he's going to have to take if he goes on this mission with Dream.

Not that he has already decided to go.

"Fine," Hob said, and turned his back on Dream to face the training dummy again. Time to wallop Dream's parents for child abuse once more. "I'll think about it."

"Think quickly," Dream said, and also turned to leave. "That is, if you can manage to do so without hurting yourself."

Just to spite him, Hob immediately called Death and agreed to be Dream's partner as soon as Dream left the salles.

And now, a couple of weeks later, in the dungeon below Fawney Rig, Dream is on his knees between Hob's legs, wearing only a black diaphanous robe and bejewelled chains, both functional and decorative, breathing on Hob's (still) clothed dick (thank god), while Hob plays with Roderick and Randall Burgess, along with five of their most trusted advisors. Two have already lost, and they have gone up to their rooms to lick their wounds and perhaps take their anger out on their pets.

Everyone had laughed when Randall shared that thought, and Hob did too, even if he felt sick to his stomach while doing so.

Hob takes a deep breath as subtly as he can. Roderick Burgess is sitting on his immediate right, and he supposes it means that he's sitting in a place of honor, regardless of how dubious that honor is. Next to Roderick is his son Randall, next to Randall is an empty seat where one of the advisors who lost had been sitting, and next to the empty chair is the machine that serves as the croupier.

Hob is surprised the croupier is not a sentient being, but he supposes that even advisors cannot be trusted not to cheat. The game, really, is how best to cheat without seeming to, and so far, Hob thinks he's winning.

Because Hob, personally? He's not that good at cards.

But Dream? Dream is a goddamn shark, and it is only thanks to him that Hob even got this far.

On the other side of the croupier sits an elegant old East Asian woman named Mrs. Chu, to her right is an empty chair where another advisor who lost had been sitting, next to that is a large bruiser of a man named Mr. Melendez, next to him is a walrus-looking guy named Mr. Wallace, and on his right is Hob, who had been going by Mr. Rupert Gadlen for the past couple of weeks.

And of course, all the pets are either on their knees on the floor, or on their master's lap. Dream had signalled to Hob that he'd rather be kneeling on the floor, and Hob signalled an 'okay' back, even as he made a lewd comment to get Dream to drop on his knees.

The group had laughed warmly at him, thinking that he really is one of them. Hob had immediately signalled his apology to Dream right after he sat down.

Also, it turns out, Agent Cripps is posing as the pet of Roderick Burgess himself. So that's fun. She's sitting on his lap with her back towards them, and Hob doesn't know how they're going to signal each other what the plan is, but Dream signalled him to leave it up to him, and so Hob did.

He trusts Dream.

They might dislike each other for a multitude of reasons going back 600 years, but he trusts him when it comes down to it. And he has trusted Dream to win all his games for the past couple of weeks, so he'll trust him this final night.

And then they'll finally be able to go back home and put this entire mess of a mission behind them.

Hob almost shot an entire room full of Fawney Rig security personnel the moment one of the guards clapped a power suppressing shackle around Dream's neck, and he's been gritting his teeth for what seems like two entire weeks straight, thinking about Dream shivering and cold and being treated poorly since this mission has started, so yeah. He's so fucking ready to complete this mission.

Preferably by shooting everyone in sight as a parting gift and burning Fawney Rig to the ground.

But he will not shoot until Dream signals him to.

And Dream has been feeding him information about the other people in the room via Morse Code to his leg during lulls in the game, so Hob knows who the biggest threats are, who is doing poorly financially and can't afford to be reckless and lose, and in what order he should shoot when Dream gives the signal.

Hob replies to Dream with a pat on the head for 'I understand,' a gentle tug on Dream's ear for 'Repeat,' and a firm squeeze on his shoulder for 'Continue?'

The 'continue' sign is mostly for the games. Hob would caress Dream's cheek and press Morse Code on his skin telling him the cards on his hand as well as the cards in the middle of the table, and Dream would squeeze his ankle once for 'yes,' and twice for 'no.'

And then there's an entire separate system on just how much money Hob should bet and how he should come off as: cocky or unsure, neutral or reckless.

Hob may be a little in love with Dream's brain as he had Hob learn all these signals before the mission. Just his brain though. Because Dream as a teacher has a lot of room for improvement. Like, an entire ballroom's worth of room.

Hob places the blame, once again, at Lord and Lady Endless's feet.

"Mr. Gadlen?"

Hob's gaze snaps to Mr. Wallace, the walrus-looking guy to his left, as the man waits for his response.

A quick glance around the table shows that no one has folded yet.

'Yes,' Dream signs. 'Raise.'

"Raise," Hob says obediently, and slides a couple more stacks of chips to the middle of the table after Dream taps out how much he should raise.

"You're pretty ballsy for a newcomer," Randall Burgess says, and pinches his pet's nipple, making them cry out in pain.

His pet is a twenty-something brown-skinned man wearing the same kind of robes as Dream, but in green. He looks miserable and drugged out of his mind, arms chained behind him, his balance on Randall's lap precarious.

Hob bares his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "Well, you know what they say: no guts, no glory."

"Indeed," Roderick Burgess says to Hob's right. For now, he seems content in ignoring Agent Cripps on his lap, and Hob hates that he's thankful for even that small mercy. "I built this family's fearsome reputation with my own two hands from the ground up, and doing so got me covered in guts."

The remaining advisors chuckles at that, and so Hob does as well.

"That sure would explain your vigor, sir," Hob dares to say. He knows beforehand that Roderick favored boldness and praise from his underlings, and Hob has met a lot of people like him in his previous missions to know just how to play him. Because Roderick might be old for a human, but Hob is many times his elder.

Roderick stares him down for a moment before laughing. Right on cue, his advisors laugh along. "I think you would do well within my ranks, Mr. Gadlen," Roderick says. "Lord knows I need more bold and competent people around me."

Hob has heard the rumors about Roderick killing his other son a couple of years prior for being 'too weak.' He doesn't wonder if it's true. He knows it is.

"I'm flattered," Hob says. "Truly, I am. But I hope you still think well of me after I steal everyone's money tonight."

This time, there were no laugh cues, because everyone genuinely laughed at his audacity.

"Oh, yeah, I like him," Randall tells his father. "I think he'd do well managing the casino in Vegas or our chop shops in Leipzig. Whip the guys into shape and possibly bring in new customers."

Roderick hums and studies Hob over Agent Cripps's shoulder. "What say you, Mr. Gadlen? Joining the Burgess family is one of the best decisions you will ever make in your life, and we don't often ask people to join."

"Why invite me, then, if you don't mind me asking?" Hob asks. "I only wanted to win some cash a couple of weeks ago, and now here I am."

"Talent," Roderick says simply. "I've learned to recognize it over the years, and you have it in spades. And other than that, we can see that your morals align with ours, and that is a rarer thing nowadays. Tell me, have you ever killed a man?"

"Yeah," Hob says. He puts a hand on Dream's shoulder, just as Dream puts one hand around his ankle. Hob ready to ask, and Dream ready to give the signal, if need be. "Brief boxing stint in my twenties. A couple of thugs tried to rob me on my way home. Showed them what they were looking for."

Randall, to Hob's disgust, had dragged his pet to sit over his crotch area and was grinding against the man's ass. "How did you kill them?" he asks breathlessly.

Hob looks straight into Randall's eyes as he says his next words. "One of them got his head bashed against a wall. The other's head I cut off using the door of a closet that someone had thrown away."

Randall moans and continues dry humping his pet. Hob does not look away or make a face, but he makes a note to make the fucker's death slow and painful. Have him bleed for hours, maybe.

"Creative," Mrs. Chu says. Her dress made her look like a glittering red insect. "And have you ever went to jail?"

Hob smiles at her. "No, ma'am. And I never sent anyone to jail either. Why let them live for years when you can take their lives away yourself? I'm not one to deprive myself of the thrill of killing."

"Good," Roderick says approvingly. "Very good. I think you're exactly what we're looking for, Mr. Gadlen." Then, unexpectedly, "All in favor of him joining us?"

As it turns out, not everyone was on board. Mr. Melendez, the bruiser type, sitting on Mr. Wallace's left and partially covered by the man's bulk, and who has mostly been keeping silent this whole time, is very much against Hob joining the Burgess family right this second.

He threw his cards on the table, slammed his fist against the table's surface, and made the chips rattle and neatly stacked chip columns fall.

Roderick looks impassively at the man, visibly angered by his previously perfectly arranged chips now a disorganized mess in front of him. "Is there a problem, Federico?"

"A problem?" Federico Melendez repeats. "The problem, Mr. Burgess, is you letting a whelp join the family out of the blue when I had to wait for years to be given an invitation. And have I not proven myself to be better than him? Am I to be replaced?"

"I remember your initiation," Randall sneers at him. "The fact that you took too long to finish only means that you are, deep down, just another weak-willed piece of trash."

This is new information, evidenced by how Dream frantically taps, 'Initiation?' against Hob's thigh.

'IDK,' Hob taps quickly. Hopefully Dream knows what that means.

"Why you snivelling brat--"

"Enough," Roderick says, and looks to Hob. "Mr. Gadlen. Kill this man and you will be considered for our initiation."

As Mr. Melendez rages at Roderick's words this time, Hob squeezes Dream's shoulder. 'Continue?'

Dream hesitates, then squeezes Hob's ankle once. 'Yes.'

Hob smiles grimly, but gamely stands up. "Sure," he says. "I don't know what initiation you're all talking about, but I'm always down to fight someone to the death." To Mr. Melendez, whose first name Hob just learned a minute ago, he says, "Sorry, man, but you heard the boss."

Hob makes quick work of it, and was nauseated to see that, upon turning away from the bloody pulp that had been Mr. Melendez, he is greeted with the sight of everyone at the table in various states of undress, all of them in compromising positions with their pets.

Thankfully, Dream is left to sit and wait for him. If anyone had tried to touch him, Hob knows he'd start shooting every sick bastard in the room regardless of Dream's lack of command.

"Excellent job, Mr. Gadlen," Roderick says from his seat, which has been pushed back to allow Agent Cripps to service him. Hob's trigger finger twitches, but he does not look away. "And what artistry. We've never seen a man so beautifully murdered."

"Never," Mr. Wallace agrees. His pet, an androgynous smoke being, is facing Hob enough that he can see their dark misty tears falling down their face.

"Now he has to go through the initiation, Father," Randall begs. His own pet is bent over, head low on the ground but fists clenched.

"Please, Roderick," Mrs. Chu says. "He will make a good replacement for Federico." Hob cannot see her pet, which he had noticed earlier was some type of dragonoid being, but that's probably for the better.

Mr. Melendez's pet, meanwhile, is currently cowering in the corner of the room. They look to be an anemone-like creature, and had curled in on themselves every time Hob landed a hit on their now deceased owner, implying that Mr. Melendez had been physically hurting them when he was still alive.

Hob bites the insides of his cheek to keep from screaming.

Soon, he tells himself. Soon, I'll rid the world of their slavers.

"Everyone in agreement?" Roderick asks the room at large.

A chorus of 'aye's were heard, and Roderick inclines his head like a benevolent god. "Then we shall commence the initiation."

"What about the game?" Hob asks as he sits back on his chair. What? He's really looking forward to stealing everyone's money (with Dream's help), and using it to fund the therapy bills of every half-other currently in Fawney Rig.

"We can continue after," Roderick assures him. "Now. The initiation."

Hob waits. He could feel Dream put his hands back on him again, ready to signal him. He places his own hand on Dream's shoulder.

"It's nothing nefarious," Roderick says, which just makes Hob certain that it absolutely is. "You need only to fornicate with your pet in front of us, orgasm, and you will be considered as one of us."

Hob stops breathing.

He's pretty sure Dream has stopped breathing as well.

But everyone was looking at him, and not at Dream at the moment, and he has to focus. "What's the catch?" he asks, feeling his heart beating against his throat. He cannot. He will not take Dream against his will.

"No catch," Mrs. Chu tells him. "But we do want a show."

"It's been a while since we've seen a good show," Mr. Wallace agrees. "Not since Randall, I believe?"

Randall laughs. "Yeah. Alex was so pathetic I had to take his pet from him." He shakes his pet's shoulder roughly. "Isn't that right, Paul?"

His pet, Paul, starts crying, and on the ground below him where his tears fell, flowers start to bloom.

Jesus Christ. Hob really is looking forward to killing every single one of them.

"Well, Mr. Gadlen?" Roderick says. "Will you give us a show?"

Hob is sure they'll kill him if he says no. He doesn't need Dream squeezing his ankle once for 'yes' to know that. But still.

'Continue?' he asks Dream.

A harder single squeeze, and he can almost hear the accompanying thought that goes with it. 'Yes, you bloody idiot!'

"Yeah, alright," Hob says. He sure fucking hope Dream knows what he's doing. "Up you get, baby."

Unbeknownst to Hob, Dream had secretly been communicating with Agent Cripps throughout the night. Ethel's long forked tail had been tapping Morse Code against Dream's foot under the table the entire time, and most of the information she gave him he had relayed to Hob.

Dream glances at Ethel now, and sees the fiery determination in her eyes. As Hob lifts him up on the table, Ethel gives him the tiniest of nods, and Dream immediately pinches Hob's arm hard.

The signal to wreak havoc.

A split second later, Dream has dived under the table as both Ethel and Hob draw their guns and kill the most important members of the Burgess family.

It barely lasted a minute.

"Thank you," Ethel says, as the three of them stand in front of the towering inferno that used to be Fawney Rig.

As soon as the last body hit the ground, Ethel had told the androgynous smoke being to teleport Hob into the remaining advisors' rooms, and Hob had done his duty and helped free those two advisors' pets as well.

And when every innocent party is safely outside, Mrs. Chu's half-dragon pet had set the mansion ablaze.

"Don't mention it," Hob tells her. Dream was a little off to the side, making phone calls to rescue personnel, while a group of a dozen or more half-other beings watch as Fawney Rig burns. Most of them were crying and holding on to each other. Hob was glad he managed to get a bunch of blankets so they could wrap themselves in it.

"No, seriously, thank you," Ethel insists. "I felt like I was going insane back there, and I hated every second that I exposed the two of you to their vile world."

"You can say that again," Hob mutters. "Christ. So Randall killed his own brother?"

Ethel looks around and steps closer to Hob. "No," she says in a low voice. "He made Paul do it. He used to be Alex's companion, but...well... It's one thing to dote on a pet and another to love them."

From within the group of half-others, Hob could see Paul with tear streaks on his face and flowers at his feet, holding onto Mrs. Chu's half-dragonoid who, Hob can see now, has a large acid burn on one side of his face.

Now, Hob never goes back to saying old curse words, but he feels like this is an appropriate time for one. "God's fucking wounds."

At this point, Dream joins them. For some reason, he steps closer to Hob than he normally would. When Hob steps back, Dream steps even closer, and gives Hob the stink-eye while doing it.

Hob doesn't know what the fuck his problem is, but he's too tired to think right now. Let Dream be weird. All he wants is to get back to headquarters and maybe eat some fries and drink a chocolate milkshake.

"Thank you for the rescue, Mr. Endless," Ethel tells Dream. For some reason, she has stepped back from Hob.

Great. Two half-others being weird.

"You are welcome," Dream says. Then, in a more gentle voice, "Will you be keeping the baby?"

"Oh, yes," Ethel says, determined. "I really want to have a baby, but I was told decades ago by The Agency doctors that I would have a hard time getting pregnant. Now that it happened, though..." She laughs, and it only sounds a little bit broken. "My child will know exactly what their father was, but I will teach them to be better. I might have hated everything I witnessed while being the elder Burgess's pet, but I'm proud of myself for managing to survive."

"Are you kidding?" Hob says incredulously. "Agent Cripps, you're a fucking badass. I was in there for six hours tops and I want to drink a gallon of brain bleach. And you lasted for years? Comic book superheroes have nothing on you. You're an actual goddess. I present thee pregnant people food at the foot of your temple."

"Stop flirting with a pregnant woman," Dream snipes beside him as Ethel laughs. It sounded lighter than her previous laugh, though, which had been Hob's goal all along.

"He wouldn't," Ethel tells Dream, her eyes twinkling. "Not when he has you."

"We're not together," Hob says, at the same time Dream says, "He does not have me."

Ethel just smiles at them. "Alright," she says, just as they spot The Agency's helicopters in the distance. "If you say so."

As soon as they drop Ethel and the rest of the half-others who had been kept as pets at Fawney Rig in Medical, Hob and Dream, without a single word, walk together towards Death's office.

Her half-phantasm secretary told them she was in, but that she is currently taking a conference call and would therefore be unavailable for at least another half hour. The secretary then told them that she was going to grab a quick midnight lunch from the cafeteria, and if they want, they could wait.

They nodded tiredly at her as she phased through a wall, and immediately slump on the long couch outside Death's office.

Or, to be more accurate, Dream goes to get a couple of hot bottled tea drinks from a nearby vending machine, bonks Hob's head with one of the bottles to make him take it, and drops gracefully beside him.

Hob, on the other hand, just straight up sits down, exhausted, and slouches like a drunk starfish, his head resting on the wall behind the couch.

As soon as he felt the warm bottle hit him gently on the forehead, he automatically grabs it, then turns his head a little to look at Dream sitting beside him.

He looks tired as well. It had been a draining, two-week long mission, and Hob doesn't think he looks any better himself.

"Do you need aftercare or something?" he asks, because they still may not like each other, but Hob has always been a caring person. And if Dream doesn't like it, then he can suck his dick. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Why, are you offering?" Dream asks. It's a testament to how tired he was that his words don't hold the usual sting in them.

Hob grins, unable to stop the fond feelings blooming in his gut and equally unable to stop the fondness from showing on his face. Fawney Rig must have truly driven him nuts. Did he really just think that Dream looks so cute when he's being bitchy?

"Maybe," he says, and Dream catches him with a smile on his face. Dammit. "Why, you wanna cuddle?"

Jesus, Gadling. Get a grip and stop running your mouth.

Dream wheezes. He sounds like a dying goat. "Perhaps," he says. His eyes are twinkling. Hob knows he shouldn't find his laugh endearing, but he does. He probably needs to go to Medical to get his head checked out. Dream gestures to Hob's lap. "May I?"

Hob knows, intellectually, that this is a very dangerous game of chicken they're playing. If they don't stop, Hob is gonna wake up one day with Dream Endless on his bed, lovely in his half-asleep state, Hob with two cups of coffee in his hands (and maybe even an entire breakfast tray heaped with food), and both of them will be wearing wedding rings.

"Sure, go ahead," Hob says, trying to look inviting and possibly only succeeding in looking like a beached jellyfish. "That is, if you're capable of not falling off on your ass."

"You will find," Dream says, as he stands up more elegantly than Hob will ever do in his life, "that I am capable of a great many things." He then plops down unceremoniously on Hob's lap and immediately cuddles up to him.

Despite his words, Hob's arms automatically hold Dream in place to prevent him from falling off. He knows he still smells like blood and gunpowder from earlier, but Dream doesn't seem to mind. "Don't fall asleep on me," he warns Dream.

"Zzzzz," Dream says, like a goddamn bee.

Hob barks out a laugh at that. He's so ridiculous, honestly. Why doesn't he know that? It has literally been centuries since they started working together. He feels like he should know that.

"I hate you," Hob tells him, but his tone is enamored and, strangely enough, having Dream on his lap like this is serving to be a great aftercare for him as well.

"You love me," Dream mumbles, already sounding half-asleep. His knees must be hurting from kneeling most of the night. Hob starts rubbing them gently, but scoffs at Dream's words.

His other hand cards gently through Dream's hair, the motion lulling them both to a deeper, more relaxed state. They're going to have to wake up before Death's secretary comes back, and then debrief with Death. But having Dream in his lap, warm and pliant, feels so good that Hob finds himself closing his eyes as well. "You wish."

'I do,' Dream thinks, before he falls asleep completely, feeling safer than he's ever felt in eons.

Death finds the two of them curled up together on the couch thirty minutes later, and discreetly takes a picture of the two before gently waking them up.

It's regrettable that they have to debrief when they are obviously exhausted, but the earlier it's done, the clearer their memory is.

Dream and Hob peaceably goes into her office and gives their report, but she does not fail to notice how Hob has yet to let go of Dream's hand upon waking. And more than that, Dream is holding Hob's hand with both of his in his own lap. Both of them seem unaware of this new development between them.

Death hides her smile behind her teacup as she sips some calming tea and allows them to continue giving their report.

Bonus:

"Agent Gadling! Do not-- oh, for goodness's sake. If you are incapacitated and captured, I will not hesitate to bench you for a century."

"A century, huh?" Hob's unfairly seductive voice says through the comms. Dream hates it. He always have. And now that Hob knows why he does, he's exploiting Dream's weakness. "You gonna tie me up in bed, too?"

A couple of other tech officers giggle at that. Dream sends a scathing glare towards them, and they quickly scurry away.

"I will tie you next to an anthill."

"Yikes," Hob says cheerfully and ducks behind a wall. "Still not sorry, though. I know you've been wanting to have a petrified pseudodragon egg, so I got you two."

Dream does not swoon. Because that would be undignified.

"You risked capture to get me a couple of petrified pseudodragon eggs," he says in his sternest voice. Not the sexy stern voice that Hob likes, but the I'm-gonna-beat-your-ass-and-send-your-soul-straight-to-Hell voice. He shakes his head. His boyfriend is just so fucking stupid sometimes. "You are aware I cannot simply sit on them to get them to hatch?"

A hail of gunfire interrupts Hob's laughter. Dream watches on the screen, heart in his throat, how Hob evades his pursuers, runs down a garbage-strewn alley, and hitches a ride on a passing delivery truck.

He lets out a breath he doesn't know he's been holding. "I hate you," Dream tells him, so he knows. He must always be reminded.

Hob, through the hidden camera pinned on his lapel, shows Dream the two jet black pseudodragon eggs he got from the villain of the week's evil lair. One of them is pure black, and the other has a line of white running down the middle of its shell. "You love me."

#urban fantasy spy AU #this is a 6k words fic (!!!)#which is definitely more than the required 2k words #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #dreamlingforukraine #good job my thumbs #the rest of my fingers also contributed so 👏👏👏#i'm very normal about this AU obviously 😂

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fibula-rasa · 8 months ago

Text

Favorite New-to-me Films—March ‘24

(listed in order pictured above, L to R)

READ on BELOW the JUMP!

Forbidden Fruit (1921)

[letterboxd | imdb]

C.B. DeMille and Jeanie MacPherson’s second swing at this modernized Cinderella story about overcoming a bad husband, now with eye-popping fantasy sequences designed by Natacha Rambova. [Gif sets incoming!]

Mary Maddock (Agnes Ayres) does seamstress work and takes in laundry to support her layabout, no-goodnik husband. Her wealthy clients (Kathlyn Williams & Theodore Roberts) hatch a scheme to use a social event to settle a business deal with handsome young entrepreneur Nelson Rogers (Forrest Stanley). Mary accepts the job to keep Rogers occupied, with the unintended consequence of the two falling in love. When Mary’s husband makes a surprise appearance, the jig is up. But, after her husband’s chicanery has deadly consequences, Mary and Rogers are free to live happily ever after. CW: a pet bird is killed.

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The Woman King (2022)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Giving an epic treatment to fitting subject matter, Gina Prince-Bythewood, Maria Bello, and Dana Stevens tell the story of the Agojie, a real-life group of warriors from the kingdom of Dahomey in West Africa, and General Nanisca (Viola Davis), a fictional leader of the warriors. The Woman King has a creative approach to history, to which a lot of critical attention has been paid—it’s certainly worth seeking education on relevant historical topics.

That said, it was a gutsy and risky proposition to tell a story tied into the Transatlantic slave trade focused entirely on the West African and Portuguese side for an American (and English speaking) audience. Also, as an avid fan of Xena: Warrior Princess and the Eddas/sagas of Iceland and Scandinavia, I appreciated the filmmakers taking a legendary approach to this location and time period. In its deliberately extra-historical engagement with history, The Woman King also brought to mind for me Senegalese filmmaker Ousmane Sembène‘s Ceddo (1971), which I highly recommend. (Obviously the films have wildly different tones/styles tho!)

As you might imagine from the description, heavy CWs for violence (including SA), blood, and slavery.

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Why Change Your Wife? (1920)

[letterboxd | imdb]

A month ago, I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me that I’d be putting not one but two DeMille movies on my new-to-me favorites list! I initially watched them as reference for the cosplay I mentioned in the last monthly round-up post, but ended up enjoying both! Often there are elements of DeMille’s films that hamper my ability to enjoy them fully, whether it’s goofy class politics (hello Saturday Night), racist depictions (hi The Woman God Forgot, which I also watched for the first time this past month), or that I simply rarely enjoy christian bible epics.

That’s not to say Why Change Your Wife? is somehow perfect—it features pretty sexist attitudes. But, having learned a little bit about DeMille’s unconventional marriage, I see it less of a story of wives failing and more of a story about how two people who have a solid partnership can lose themselves when they lose each other. Here I’m referring to the first part of the film, before Swanson’s Beth and Meighan’s Robert get divorced. Beth isn’t being true to herself when she’s on her mental-improvement kick—there are sufficient details thrown in that show that she and Robert have drifted apart and she’s responding to it by morphing into a maiden aunt type. The film could’ve made Robert’s role in their marriage’s demise a little more overt, but I do think DeMille and screenwriters Olga Printzlau, Sada Cowan, and William DeMille must have been concerned about the American public’s response to a story that normalizes divorce in 1920. For context, we didn’t have no-fault divorce here in the US until the 1970s.

Anyway, why should you watch it? Gloria Swanson and Bebe Daniels offer fun and energetic characterizations as the two Mrs. Gordons, and they share a pretty wild fight scene. The costumes by Natacha Rambova are funky and interesting. The film features an absolutely adorable dog too! (If anyone recognizes the dog please LMK!) [Gif sets for this film are also on the way!]

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Intohimon vallassa (1947)

[letterboxd | imdb | ELONET]

Teuvo Tulio don’t miss.

The heir to the biggest farm in the county, Aino (Regina Linnanheimo), is forced into an arranged marriage, but the man she really loves, Olavi (Kullervo Kalske), sticks around and becomes the town blacksmith. Years pass and Aino’s husband becomes an alcoholic and an abuser. Olavi keeps his distance as Aino’s marriage implodes in a particularly disturbing fashion. CW: domestic abuse, alcoholism, implied death of dog

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Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem (2023)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Look at me watching more than one movie this year that was made in this century! Anyways, I’ve been a turtle fan as long as I can remember (photographic evidence below) and I love that the comics have been re-adapted so well in the last 15 or so years for younger generations. (The 2012 show is very cute btw, worth checking out especially if you have kids.)

This take features a unique and kinetic animation style with an accessible story touching on what makes someone an outcast and how both adults and kids can navigate that. Mutant Mayhem features probably my new favorite depictions of April and of Splinter. Also, even though the non-turtle characters are almost all celebrity voice actors, the voice acting quality is very high.

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Montana Moon (1930)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Sweet romantic story with comedic elements about a millionaire’s willful daughter (Joan Crawford) who, fleeing an awkward situation on a train ride with her family, runs into a cowboy (Johnny Mack Brown). The two quickly fall in love and are married, but the newlyweds face challenges when the differences in their lifestyles come into sharp relief. I love Crawford’s costuming and styling in this and her performance elevates the material. There are extended sequences with classic country-western music tho, so if that grates on you, you might want to take a pass on this one.

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Leda – The Fantastic Adventure of Yohko (1985)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Yoko Asagiri is a young girl struggling to confess her feelings to the boy she likes. She decides to confess via a song she composed herself, but the song turns out to be a key to another world. Yoko teams up with a talking dog and a tiny warrior girl with a giant robot to fight the villainous Zell, who wants to use Yoko’s song to conquer her world. The animation and designs are top-notch as is the music. I personally enjoyed all of the Oz vibes suffused throughout the OVA.

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Tomatos Another Day (1934)

[letterboxd | imdb | Eastman House]

Also known as “It Never Happened,” this is ostensibly a short film about a woman carrying on an affair and said affair being discovered by her husband. What Tomatos Another Day actually is is a send up of early talkies conceived and executed by independent filmmaker James Sibley Watson Jr. and collaborator Alec Wilder. If you’ve been around my blog for a while, you probably already know that I love Watson’s Fall of the House of Usher (1928) [Gifs/Stills]. However, I haven’t seen much else of his work! Thankfully, Eastman House has preserved and digitized a couple of his films and I plan on watching more soon. The link above has the short film with an introduction and outtakes!

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Past Lives (2023)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Past Lives is a quiet but emotionally-rich love story by Celine Song that spans decades but also a single eventful week. I loved the way that the story was structured and how much the film relied on thoughtful pauses to communicate complicated emotions. The actors, Greta Lee, Teo Yoo, and John Magaro, all put in great work here. If you haven’t seen it yet, but plan to watch it, prepare to cry a bit.

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The Mind Reader (1933)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Warren William plays a carny with a different gimmick for every town in the midwest. When the Depression affects his take, he and his cohorts, Frank (Alan Jenkins) and Sam (Clarence Muse), come up with a new scheme: fortune telling. As Chandra the Great, the crew start to rake it in, but when Chandra falls for an upright citizen (Constance Cummings), the scheme and their freedom is put in jeopardy.

I’m not accustomed to William playing this particular brand of sleazebag, but he really kills it as Chandra/Chandler/Munro. I appreciated how creative and adventurous the cinematography and editing is—not an especially common trait for pre-code films. I also made some still sets for the film!

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Honorable Mention: Hard to Handle (1933) [letterboxd | imdb]

This film gets honorable mention because while I didn’t think it was particularly good, a few call outs are deserved. The bad: the plot was unnecessarily convoluted and the recurring sequences with fat people were iffy at best. The better: Ruth Donnelly shines as the comedically base mother of Mary Brian and she even gets to do a bit of physical comedy. Donnelly, Brian, and Cagney have a nice chemistry together throughout. In terms of costuming, the matching outfits of Brian and Donnelly are funny, but made funnier by the sheer quantity of mother-daughter ensembles they wear. The neutral: the film is packed with topical Depression-era references: notably Florida investment swindles and trends like dance marathons and the grapefruit diet. All-in-all, the filmmakers could have done less and achieved more.

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The only big post I completed this month was a massive undertaking: Lost, but Not Forgotten: Omar Khayyam / A Lover’s Oath and a timeline for the film’s production and release.

Otherwise, I made themed gif and still sets from:

Torture Garden (1967)

The Marriage Circle (1924)

Le Altre (1969)

The Mind Reader (1933)

As for April, the cosplay I mentioned should be up very soon. If I have the time, both Lost, but Not Forgotten and How’d They Do That should have new installments posted and I have a few movies/shows on my themed gif/still agenda.

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☕Appreciate my work? Buy me a coffee! ☕

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broodwolf221 · 8 months ago

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happy fridayyyy i am eyeballing solas/bull/dorian (or any combo thereof) for 'anemoia - nostalgia for a time you’ve never known'

okay this one gave me so many ideassss it was hard to choose a specific direction but it was so much fun ty ty uwu @dadrunkwriting 605 words cws: slavery mentions

Although it was beyond foolish to do so, they had grown closer. Early on there had been a spark of… something between him and Dorian, something he knew better than to pursue, although he did appreciate the man’s honed wit and clever way with magic. They pushed at each other because it was easier for both of them, and when Dorian had eventually been pursued by Bull, Solas had breathed a sigh of relief. That he regretted the missed opportunity did not mean it would have been wise to follow through on.

When they both began to pursue him, when they found excuses to enter the rotunda together, when they were unnecessarily intimate around Solas while they met his eyes… he was very surprised. Then he was uncomfortable for a while. And eventually, he was intrigued.

One night he had fallen in with them. Permitted the pursuit to become a capture, thinking that this would be the end of it. Surely he was nothing more than an interesting diversion to them. A curiosity. But they bid him stay in bed with them overnight. And when he woke he was treated to gentle, undemanding intimacy. It was puzzling, but he could not deny a certain interest.

Now it had been ongoing for some time, their strange little trio. They paid him as much attention as they paid each other. He was no simple diversion but an entire part of this arrangement. However, over time he noticed that Dorian’s gaze began to have something strange in it. At first he thought the other man was tiring of him, or that he was jealous—he tried to retreat, to pull away, but he was always pulled back into their mutual gravity.

Eventually he realized what the something was, and he thought he might have preferred disinterest.

Dorian was guilty.

Eventually he had pressed for an answer. They were all three of them together, tangled limbs in a bed that should have been too small for them, and Solas pressed his questions against the soft skin of Dorian’s shoulder. Bull was silent while Dorian stiffened between them, until eventually he sighed and his tension fled. He answered with none of his usual blithe grace, the depth of his feeling clear in the dimly lit room and the press of flesh, and when he was done explaining Solas slowly traced patterns against his chest.

Dorian Pavus was from Tevinter. Tevinter, where elves were enslaved as a matter of course. Tevinter, which history told had conquered Arlathan. Tevinter, the villain of modern history. And Dorian felt horribly guilty for laying with him, feeling the burden of his ancestry—and above all, mourning that Tevinter had supposedly destroyed the magnificence of Arlathan.

“You forget,” Solas said at last, voice muted in the shared space. “That I have seen much of Arlathan in my journeys. It was no bastion of progress, no perfect world. It was as flawed as your Tevinter, in its time. I have seen no nation so vast as these that was without its sins, and Arlathan was no different. You are not to be held to account for the loss of… my people’s magic, or our supposed immortality. It is in the past. This is the present.”

A strange speech to give, each word feeling thick and pitifully ironic in his mouth. Part of him was wary to even speak this, overly conscious of Bull’s eye on him, of his profound training… wary that he was giving something away. But it had to be said. Dorian had to be soothed, for Solas could not tolerate the lingering guilt in his gaze.

#broodwrites #dadw time #adoribullas #??#dorian #the iron bull #solas #soadoribull #<- bf once again coming up with a banger of a ship name

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earl-grey-love · 3 months ago

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[CW: Politics, current world events, body image, segregation, all that icky stuff]

I've been on the internet for nearly 20 years. While it wasn't the very first era of the internet, it was when it started its massive boom into popularity. But back then, even when I was a teenager, when you turned off your pc, you no longer had access to the internet. Most "smart" phones of that time could barely open a browser. They were good for texting and calling mostly.

But nowadays you're plugged into the internet literally 24/7. Even TVs and "smart" fridges/speakers/lights/all kinds of shit do. Even the youngest and oldest of people have smart phones/ipads practically glued to their hands or sides all day every day. The effects this has had on society literally fill tens of thousands of research documents and articles, and counting. We are lonelier and yet more connected than we have ever been in human history, and it's only getting worse.

Now, I'm not here to vilify phones and the internet, and people who use them. Nuh-uh. That'd not only be incorrect, but also weird and hypocrital. It's not our fault we're addicted to this stuff. It's DESIGNED that way. It always has been. But back when I was a teenager, this shit wasn't this bad because we could turn it off. Now we're expected to be at available at the click of a button to anyone who wants us 24/7. This affects relationships, work life balance, and directly the mental health of everybody. Especially when we naturally cope with these negative experiences and emotions by using addictive software like apps we can endlessly scroll on and post to get validation.

Now I've never been a huge fan of social media, but back in the day it was far easier to make meaningful connections. Nowadays, I see so many hate comments on literally anything and everything on the internet that it genuinely makes me ill. People cannot use social media for what it was designed for. If you post something mildly embarrassing or cringe or anything remotely "socially unacceptable", you'll be subjected to literal medieval torture in the form of mass public humiliation. Every single week theres new "discourse" about some poor fucker who dared to be a little cringe, a little controversial, a little human, on the internet.

And it's no surprise 99% of those victims are queer, bipoc, fem presenting, transgender, non-christian, children/teens, and/or anyone that's considered a minority or otherwise shunned. People without power. Like good fucking god, I thought cancel culture was about giving people with power social consequences for the fucked up shit they do, because legal systems are pay to win, yet I rarely see the actual bad people targetted. Cancel culture these days is 90% of the time little more than cyberbullying en mass. It's disgusting.

I blame the cringe culture epidemic of 2016. It changed the internet forever and irreparably so. Everyone who got cringe cultured back then were exactly the minority groups I just named. Godforbid you become a minority person who gets just a little bit of fame and fortune, your own community will put you back in your place. And it's not even community's fault either, it's corporations.

Corporations have, in modern times, always decided what we do. What we think. What we eat. What we wear. What we dream of. Now it's shoved down our throats 24/7 because we can't unplug from it. Everything you see when you scroll these days is an advertisement for something. Nothing is sacred any more. Even the anti-capitalist or rebellious movements of by-gone eras are now co-opted for cash, or are even outright exclusionary these days (see, cottagecore, goth/punk, etc). It's nearly impossible for anything to exist without immediate being churned out of a fast market fuelled by modern day slavery, just so the already rich can get a few more bucks for their fifth home.

Meanwhile, we've never been poorer and more overworked. Why the fuck do people have to work multiple jobs and have multi-income households just so people CAN EAT. That's fucking dystopian. People cannot afford basic living necessities like food, water, shelter and healthcare. All of this shit should be fucking free and yet people have to sell their souls for it??? Their bodies their lives their happiness their health, just for some fucking paper and that paper is NEVER enough.

All while we can barely survive, we get ad after ad shoved in our face of all the things we need to buy to be "cool" or "happy" or "worthy of love". We gotta be thin, we gotta be sexy, we gotta have a sleek car and a perfectly tasteful and organised wardrobe, and don't you dare eat animal products or buy fast fashion!! You have to be perfect all of the time. Go to work, do your job, have a perfect home, never be disabled, never have a thought you weren't programmed to have. Keep giving us more money by the way!

Meanwhile all the rights generations have worked hard for are stripped away. Bit by bit, as we're now too overworked and worn down to even notice. Media outlets don't cover it anymore because someone posted something cringe on tiktok and that's obviously more important than gen0cide. And see that? I had to censor it because we're not even allowed to openly talk on the internet any more. Sure, we're allowed to buy billions of tonnes of platic per year, but godforbid we talk about human rights. Or s*x or "unaliving" or schmental schmelth or grape.

Are we even allowed to be human? Because we're being denied the right to even be alive.

I'm both terrified of and terrified for the people younger than me. I see the way they live and talk to each other and now that Oz.empic Chic is in style, I'm more terrified than ever. Please be kind to each other. Don't fall for the divisive, hateful, violence perpetuating culture that social media has become. Love yourself and love each other, because our communities are all we have. If that's taken from us, then we have nothing left.

#I don't post politics usually #but I can't hold it in any more #sunny speaks

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whump-about-it · 2 years ago

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Salve/ Pain Killers/ Bad Coping Mechanisms

@whumpril day 6

CW: swearing, drug abuse, implied slavery, suggestion of alcohol abuse

Caretaker watched as Whumpee held their hand in front of their face and spread their fingers, examining the damage of their latest fight. Caretaker had managed to get the bleeding to stop before Whumpee insisted they stop toughing them. They were surprised Whumpee had let them do that much since they had a bad habit of insisting they could do everything on their own.

There was a nasty cut on Whumpee's palm and a bite mark below their thumb. Their knuckles were bruised and cut, and Caretaker could now see how their wrist was swelling and the way they winced when they rotated their hand. No wonder they had wanted Caretaker to stop touching them, they had been holding them by the wrist.

"Here" Caretaker pulled some salve from their first aid kit and held it out to Whumpee who looked at it suspiciously. "Put it on the cuts it should help them heal."

"What kind of bullshit is that?" Whumpee huffed but took the salve anyway.

"Modern medicine. Something you'd know a little bit about if you ever went to a hospital."

"I hate doctors" Whumpee told Caretaker flatly for about the 500th time since they'd met. Caretaker had never met anyone who consistently needed a doctor more, or had seen one less. They supposed that was why they kept them around. Caretaker was by no means a medical professional, but they knew the basics. Including how not to ask too many questions.

Caretaker watched as Whumpee applied the salve, then passed over the gauze and bandages.

"You should really get your wrist x-rayed though"

"It's just a sprain." Whumpee insisted. "I've broken it before, I know what it feels like."

"Of course you've broken it before" Caretaker mumbled to themselves, then raised their voice "At least buy a brace for it so you don't hurt it more."

"A brace won't fit it with the bandages."

"It would if you did an actual medical wrap."

Both Caretaker and Whumpee looked down at Whumpee's hand. They had used up almost the entire roll of gauze bandaging it. Only instead of bandaging their hand Whumpee had absentmindedly wrapped it as though they were going to be boxing.

"Oh," Whumpee muttered uncomfortably. Their normally stoic exterior cracked a bit as they began to unwrap the excess gauze. "Sorry."

By the time Whumpee finished rerolling the unneeded gauze Caretaker had had enough of watching them wince at the pain of trying to hold their wrist still.

Caretaker got up and poured Whumpee a glass of water, handing it to them as they began to rummage through the first aid kit again.

"Got anything stronger?"

"Yep" Caretaker pulled the bottle of painkillers they had been looking for out of the first aid kit and held them out to Whumpee. Their reaction was instantious, but no where near the reaction Caretaker had been expecting.

Whumpee jumped out of their seat as though Caretaker had just brandished a gun at them and took several steps backwards.

"What the hell Caretaker!" They cried. "Put those away!"

"Seriously!" Caretaker cried back "They're just pain killers. I'm not trying to poison you!"

"Just put them away Caretaker. Please."

"Fine!" Caretaker relented only because they weren't sure they had ever seen that look on Whumpee's face before. "What were you planning on taking for your hand then?"

"Nothing" Whumpee insisted sitting back down, though they still looked oddly uncomfortable.

"You can't be serious! That's a bad sprain! And the cut on you palm has got to be killing you."

"It's not that bad."

"You always say that. But I can see you flinching. Are you some kind of sadist or something?"

"First of all, the word you're looking for is masochist. And secondly, don't be gross." Whumpee huffed. They looked back down at their hand, winced for the umpteenth time then looked back up at Caretaker who raised an expectant eyebrow. Caretaker was a patient person. But their patience only went so far, and Whumpee couldn't really expect them not want an explanation.

"You know how I used to work for Whumper right?" Whumpee said after a long silence.

"Yes" Caretaker answered not able to totally keep the distain out of their voice. They hadn't known Whumpee then. Nor had they ever met Whumper. And Whumpee had only ever brought them up a few times. But they had heard through the grape vine that saying Whumpee had "worked" for Whumper was a bit of a stretch. It implied they had had a choice in the matter.

Whumpee ignored Caretaker's tone and carded their good hand through their hair.

"They like fighting. They liked when I fought. They'd make me do it a lot. It didn't matter if I was still injured from the last one. Concussions, broken hands, cracked ribs. If I could still swing, I could fight."

"Luckily, Whumper had a friend... A doctor, as long as we're putting everything on the table. They used to get me free pain killers to manage all my injuries. They didn't seem to care about what or how much I was taking as long as I was keeping up with Whumper's demands."

"Pretty quickly I figured out that they worked just as well for the mental pain as they did the physical. Even after I got out, it took me a long time before I stopped taking them. And if I'm being honest the only reason I did was because I couldn't afford the habit. It wasn't until I was clean that I realized how fucked up the whole thing was. Anyway, I'd rather just deal with the pain than go back to that."

The two sat in silence for awhile while Caretaker tried to process everything Whumpee had just told them. It explained a lot. Like why they hated doctors. And why they liked picking fights.

"I'm sorry." Caretaker finally said "I didn't know."

"Well I don't try and advertise it." Whumpee said with a shrug and a half smile.

"Understood" Caretaker responded "Can I at least get you some ice though? For the swelling?"

"Yeah, I don't have a problem with ice. And a beer if you've got any."

"Sure thing" Caretaker said over their shoulder on their way to the freezer. "But you know alcohol is a slippery slope too."

"Let me deal with one problem at a time." Whumpee called back.

#whump #whumpril #whumprilday6 #caretaker x whumpee #whumpee x caretaker #salve #pain killers #bad coping mechanisms #tw drug addiction #past abuse #stoic whumpee

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luneemeritus · 1 year ago

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About Cinderella and the "perfect abuse survivor" concept (cw: trauma and human discussions)

It's no news that many modern feminists call Cinderella a weak person that couldn't escape her abuse and railed on a man to save her, and this vision is completely bullshit victim-blaming and sexism and blablabla (specially when she never railed on a man to save her, she felt in love with the prince without even knowing who he was).

However, as much as I defend Cinderella from this hipocrit victim-blaming point of view, I also can see a problematic aspect about her story.

Cinderella's arc is based on the fact that she remained kind and pure even after years of abuse and slavery. Ok, this is very beautiful and inspiring... in fiction. Because in fact, the ideal that abuse survivors should remain kind and pure is not only unrealistic, but also toxic. This is a vision that comes from people who didn't experience trauma (which is good, trauma is horrible, but without experience you can't know how it really is like).

No one is pure or too good enough, everyone has toxic behaviour and selfishness inside, no matter how kind you try to act. As an abuse survivor, the steriotype of "perfect abuse survivor who remains a kind, selfless and pure person" reflects a cruel hipocrisy from our society. Abuse survivors can and will commit mistakes, selfish, childish and impulsive actions, they will experience problematic feelings and will have difficulty in facing their trauma. I endure this every day, because i'm human lol 💀

That doesn't make them evil, crazy, "incel" or worthless. That doesn't make their trauma less important or their feelings less real. And even abusive people can recognize their mistakes and change for the better. The world is not black and white like most Disney films portray.

So yeah this is basically what I needed to say about Cinderella and its influence on society. Please don't expect abuse survivors to be pure selfless angels when we exactly the opposite: broken human beings. Think of Cinderella as a way of overcoming a trauma and trying to be a better person for yourself and others, rather than "if you fail your trauma doesn't matter/you deserve isolationg/you're as awful as your abuser".

#cinderella #disney #art #feminism #cw: abuse #abuse survivor

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lya-dustin · 1 year ago

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Slight preview for part ii for Food of Love

(Apologies to all, my oc Eva (from my other blog @evita-shelby ) has tossed me in the trunk and decided she wants to exist in some form in the last kingdom)

Also Osferth was passed on as Alfred’s maternal kinsman by him and was allegedly named heir after Edward's son in a will charterd in 909. I took some liberties with that, also Osferth was given a pretty good inheritance.

The Kingdom of León is modern day Leon and Castile in northern spain, at the time most of the Iberian Peninsula was ruled by the Emirate of Córdoba)

Cw: mentions of slavery, witchcraft and one little murder

“He is a monk!” Your mother exclaimed in disgust. "And an honest one, really, daughter, I would have preferred a Dane."

You had expected them to be angry for going out of your way to get a husband, but then again, your family was not at all like the others.

“He is second in line for King Alfred’s throne, my love. His belief in god can be excused for now.” Your father pinched the bridge of his nose as his wife fumed over the match. “A cold or a hunting accident could make your daughter Queen of Wessex.”

“You had no qualms on having them as guests these past nights.” You interject having inherited your mother’s stubborn streak and your father takes that as is cue to leave on the excuse of checking on some buisness or the other.

“That is because guests leave, besides you know well why I am opposed to this match.” Your mother countered. “What would happen if he came to discover what we are?”

You are witches, your mother had come from a long line of them before the family fell from grace in the Kingdom of León and were sold into slavery.

According to lore she was such a beauty she was sold to the Emir of Córdoba ,but escaped before the men had the chance to get her to the Emir.

After that she used her clairvoyance to find a ship heading somewhere she would not risk recapture by her enemies and find a man who she saw in a dream.

She is very sure you have inherited her gifts, but you have grown and no ability like that has manifested in you.

Perhaps your daughters will have it, you hope Osferth does not mind a bit of magic if it does happen.

“Father Beocca’s wife is a witch, and he speaks well of her.” You point out. “And as father said, a cold could make him king. He is also a warrior and friends with Irishmen and Danes, he is not prejudiced against us like the last priest you killed.”

That priest didn’t choke on a bone, mother stared at him until he did when he told father he mustn’t be ruled by his foreign wife.

“Fine, you may wed him, but the moment the little monk proves to be unworthy of you, I get to kill him.” Your mother relented thinking he won’t return for you as he promised. “But I do like that you showed initiative, well done, my girl.”

#the food of love fic #osferth x fem!reader #osferth x you #osferth x reader #the last kingdom fanfic #ewan mitchell

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alatismeni-theitsa · 2 years ago

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wrt the nationalism i experienced at my old Greek School, which was part of the larger North London Greek Community even if it was technically just outside London, I remember there were big get-togethers of the various schools for the likes of 25th March. Normal stuff really. I remember we were asked to do some art, and as I was a teenager literally called Peace and with a conscientious objector for a dad, I was pretty opposite in values to the general militarism etc around it, so i slightly... took the piss by drawing Bouboulina anime-fied in a way that was Well Drawn but also Not Reverent.

Anyway, the thing that actually shocked me amongst all this (as opposed to just a bit of discomfort and eyerolling). As a fluent speaker, the teachers liked to show me off by writing speeches for me to give at some events. My tutor had written, very carefully, a big speech for me, and usually I begrudgingly went along with them, but i refused to read this one bit, in which I was expected to declare (cw: self harm, implied suicide, blood): <...κι αν χρειαστεί, δεν θα διστάσω να ανοίξω τις φλέβες μου σαν βρύσες για να ποτίσω το δέντρο της ελευθερίας, ζήτω η Ελλάδα, ζήτω η Κύπρος, ζήτω η ελευθερία>. When I refused point-blank, he looked at me with confusion and said - bearing in mind that i was 16 at this time - so wait, you Wouldn't die for your homeland???? Also bearing in mind this was 13 years ago or so and its still pretty embedded in my memory.

Idk how representative this particular anecdote is but as this was intended for a large event i imagine it wasn't expected to be controversial. He was a little extra I think, probably in part to being a Cypriot refugee himself and therefore having a v different emotional relationship w nationality. Despite module options for A levels (final exams/qualifications for subjects for 18yrolds in the UK) that included Greek Lit and Greek Poetry, he'd only teach Cypriot History and Cypriot Geography, which to me, as an Athenian who generally sucks at any kind of History or Geography, didnt really appeal. I only found out there were other modules when I got to the exam and saw them available. Seeing as they were available, I assume he was something of an outlier, as most kids doing Modern Greek exams would probably have been 3rd-gen Cypriots.

Γειααα! Given the Greek history and how we preserve remembrance, I don't think the sentence you mentioned is controversial, either. But as always, there's more nuance to it, so please bear with me! (quick historical recap for people not familiar with recent Greek history + the psychology of Greeks and Greek immigrants)

Under the boot of the Turks, the Bulgarians, the Italians, the English (and who knows who else) Greeks (and other Balkan nations) quickly realized that advocating for people with the same ethnicity was the only way not to be assimilated at best and eradicated at worst. For centuries Greeks weren't heard by their masters (who also called them "chattel" - "ραγιάδες") at times so after 400 and 600 years they said "if you don't advocate for us, if you treat us like this, fuck you, we are going to become independent". Since 1821 they became an example of revolt for all slaves in Europe and the Americas (without claiming they were the only inspiration) and warmly greeted and aided by Haiti, the first nation to abolish slavery.

I don't need to write much about the Balkan wars, ww1, and the Macedonian struggle, where being ethnically Greek automatically made you an enemy. (without saying Greeks were always on the right side of things or never committed any atrocities), or mention the Greco-Turkish War which ended with the peak of the Greek (Armenian and Assyrian, too) genocide.

Additionally, most of us have heard how the Greeks were treated in ww2 under the Bulgarians and under the Italians and Germans when the country was occupied. Or about the Greek programs in USSR (1937) and Turkey (1955 and 1960) to erase the Greek identity that in many ways still goes on to this day. (Pushing for the Turkish and Russian language and customs only, calling the Greek history of oppression "propaganda", erasing names of Greek villages, etc)

Again, being Greek was pretty much a ticket to punishment and oppression.

Cyprus is included in many of these cases as it suffered long from the Turks until 1878 and then it fell to English hands who filled the citizens with hallow promises (and good ol' colonialism) and let them eat each other alive - resulting in the Turkish occupation of half the island. Although all citizens suffered from the turmoil and the Greek side wasn't a saint, it was mostly random average Greeks who were kicked out of their homes when the invasion happened (1974).

War after war created a generational trauma that cannot be shaken away and that can affect someone when they've lived around people who remember their family getting executed by Turks, or Bulgarians. In that climate, fighting for your ethnos to the point of bleeding became something natural, like bleeding for freedom of speech, worker's rights, for lgbt+ rights, refugee rights, and more.

So, yes, your tutor definitely came from this background so I am not surprised he was that way after living through the tensions and being forced to leave his home because he wasn't the "right" ethnicity. His love for his ethnicity differs from the love a native UK or US person has, in the sense that it comes from the side of the oppressed, not the oppressor. (On top of that, he could also be a weird person as a character, since you mentioned he didn't want to teach anything that wasn't related to Cyprus)

There's no coddling up for how much blood was shed, no χρυσό χάπι for what a country does to you when it occupies you. I want to stress a lot how I hate the idea of war and the idealization of war. However, one doesn't exactly speak politely to the new oppressor, who wants to assimilate others and spread their own influence. I haven't seen a nation talk its way out of occupation and the inevitable repression, so to speak. And when the n-th invasion happens for Greece (for our specific hypothetical example) I don't think there will be any change in how things will be resolved. In a way, the school events remind you that, and also that history is a cycle.

With Turkey as a neighbor, things are still politically tense, and many Greeks still fear another invasion. (At the moment I don't think Turkey will attack for many reasons and bc we are NATO allies but I am telling how the situation is) Let's not forget our state has been allied with Russia for a long time and we betrayed that bond with whatever sanctions might come from Russia to us. When Russia invaded Ukraine, most Greek men around me were fearing the draft. From where we stand on the map, we don't exactly feel safe. War is a possibility and many Greeks feel fight-ready psychologically, or jumpy when they hear the news. (I belong to the chill group and still get anxious from time to time) That might color the patriotic statements with an intensity that doesn't feel natural in other nations which may not feel that close to getting a war on their soil.

As for the militarization in the events, the first thing I'll say is that war and the army can be totally rotten and there's a ton of propaganda we must resist, and I'll admit that even the Greek army when doing the defense has crossed the line at times. Buuuut realistically, it's difficult to resist an invasion from - say - the nazis without an armed force. That's why the army has a place in Greek remembrance events.

Thousands of Greeks fought in the frozen Pindus mountains against the Axis force because they all knew what would happen if the enemy got to Greece. And lo and behold, once the fascists took control of my city, thousands were sent to concentration camps where they were incinerated (700 recorded children among them). In just three years, 1/3 of Greece died under occupation. Fighting to prevent that - even if they failed eventually - is objectively valiant. Not to mention, the resisting armies of various countries achieved weakening the Axis forces to the point they finally got beaten.

Of course, there is no need for panic in the present. No objective need or extreme speeches where teens shout "I will shed my blood". I am fully aware of how expressions of the desire to protect what was - again with blood - given can be weird and reach extremes. Such yearly school events are the norm in Greece.

It's worth mentioning that such texts were written (or based on texts written) at the time of the oppression so they are emotionally charged and often carry the bloodshed of war which was very real for the country back then. That's the reason they are not considered controversial. (add to the mix the constant fear of imminent invasion we still live in 2023)

Another reason they may not be considered controversial is that we are used to them but also don't exactly follow them. Such events may be a yearly reality here (multiple times per year) but a kind of mundane one and people go about their lives without so much gravity given to the event statements.

Sure, it's atmospheric and it's good to remember the dead, but it's the usual grind, ya know... We get reminded of the war for a few days in very sentimental ceremonies and then we move on. The majority of Greeks in Greece are unlike your tutor, in spite of taking part in these school festivities and in the school parade. And the teachers are usually chill about it.

It can have negative effects, though. For starters, I believe the student parade accompanying the military was established during the 70's junta where nationalism was often regarded as the solution. So we are not on a good base here 👀

Most Greeks shun extreme militarism (we know what disgusting people lead in our army and what bigoted ideas they hold) and the belief that we are better than other nations. I can totally understand how a 16-year-old could feel uncomfortable when made to read the phrase you were made to read. In Greece, I think most (not all) 16-year-olds would roll their eyes and go along (because we know it's mainly fanfare for the drama 😂) and they wouldn't be phased by it.

For example, my teen self would perhaps read the "κι αν χρειαστεί, δεν θα διστάσω να ανοίξω τις φλέβες μου σαν βρύσες για να ποτίσω το δέντρο της ελευθερίας, ζήτω η Ελλάδα, ζήτω η Κύπρος, ζήτω η ελευθερία" and see some poetry in it BUT I wouldn't actually want to do it 😅 Nobody does and nobody cares, except the few rare radical people, who exist in all countries in equal measure. And we know that the rest of the students just wanted to stay out of class and didn't give two shits about how serious this is supposed to be 😂 We were aware we were preaching to the choir - who already knows this stuff and just wanted to go home. We are kinda desensitized, I think.

But teens also have their own political sentiments, which may clash with how the school festivities are organized, so we should take them into account. The students (and all people) should be free to not partake in events opposite to their ideals. And many teachers, too, are uncomfortable with how these events are conducted and wish to tone them down. There are some teachers here who are more into it so they add more passion and grand statements.

Different areas and families experienced oppression and genocide in various ways, so I don't have a concrete statement fit to dictate how much passion and poetic symbolism they'll use in their remembrance events and how they promise that the same harm will never come to their families again - as long as one doesn't fall into bigoted traps and militarization. Meaning that if the issue makes them sentimental and they want to mention blood and blades against slavery, that's their own thing.

But it also means that you are (obviously) allowed to remember the fallen and celebrate the existence of the nation without bold statements if you don't feel like it. (Or perhaps one doesn't want nations to exist at all so we go to another level altogether, and maybe you don't want a remembering at all, which is another discussion)

Thank you very much for reading all this! I wrote so many things to demonstrate Greek history is quite heavy and complex, which in turn creates complex situations for the people who are left to do the remembering.

Other people who took part in such Greek events, write your opinions down if you like!

#greek history #nationalism #national identity #idk what other tags to put really #greeks of diaspora #slavery #answered #modern Greece

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autumnbrambleagain · 1 year ago

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i uploaded my backlog of Yhelm's story, i'm gonna do the same with Sasfsets

cw of slavery and abuse and self-destruction and murder and if i tag it it gets deleted faster so the modern meta is apaprently post everything untagged because we've made the website Safer

idek idec staff dead i'm gonna play in the ashes until i'm swept away

continue to find us on actual websites like (in order of how often we'll check it (even just putting these links in is now a struggle because tumblr helpfully tries to format them into media links that can't be moved easily thanks tumblr die faster i guess)):

https://www.furaffinity.net/user/coracleboat

https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnBramble/

https://cohost.org/autumnbramble

https://itaku.ee/profile/autumnbramble

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silkenblankets · 2 years ago

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Welcome ❣️❣️ 🫶🫶

This blog is managed by two separate people. We are COLLAB WRITING BUDDIES! Byte handles the no comfort only pain and Trash (MEEE) handles the MWA MWA caretaker fluff.

Trash

she/her || rodent enthusiast || my favorite genre is a mix between modern and medieval || my favorite whump is post-rescue pet whump || all of my posts are signed with 💖 and my prompt hashtag is “trashtalk”

Byte

he/they/gear || robot and company obsessed || his favorite genre is dystopian || likes psychological torture the best || signs his posts with 🤖 and his prompt tag is "bytespeak"

THANKS FOR VISITING!! All of our stories are underneath the cut!

- 💖

CW;; Pet whump, institutionalized slavery, abuse

Bow For Me

Set in a world where slavery is encouraged, Hazel Pepperlite had a very sheltered upbringing. She had never been allowed to interact with the farm pets. Their philosophy was that pets were used for work and pleasure only, and their four children never needed to step foot into the pet quarters. Thus, Hazel had never found her opinion on the slavery.

That soon changed when she met her husband. Treating her with kindness at first, it soon changed when they married and had a child. Hazel was treated just like he treated his pets, and when Hazel's daughter Lula turned five she finally found the courage to run away.

Alone, on the street with no where to go, a wild pack of escaped pets accept her with weary arms… along with their leader Bow-Bow— named by Lula herself.

CW;; Pet whump, institutionalized slavery, abuse

Day #1 Day #2 Day #2 pt. 2

IronByte A series by Byte

Follows a machine as it learns of sentience, life, and purpose. All under Creator's guidance.

CW;; Abuse, tbd

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four]

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whywouldyouaskthatpod · 4 months ago

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youtube

Ep 46 | The Rise of Feminism in the US: Woman vs Woman

Feminism has roots across many cultures, but how did it get its start in the United States? How did we as a culture begin to move forward with the Women's Rights movement? We take a look back at the pillars of feminism and take bites out of the classic stories being told in modern day textbooks regarding the fight for rights. We might even be downright critical of some foremothers who, we think, get a little too much hero worship sometimes. The road is harsh— how can it get better? ** At about 7:15, Remy misspeaks and says "Geraldine Brooks" in reference to the Black poet Gwendolyn Brooks ("We Real Cool", "The Mother" etc). Sorry for the slip-up!

CW: Misogyny, Racism, Slavery, Death, The Use of a 19th Century Racial Slur (while quoting a historic figure, NOT the N-word), at the very end we talk about Intersectional Views which means we touch on in passing Homelessness, Poverty, Privilege

Below is a link to our resource page for this episode where you can see our sources and listen to the Spotify link. But this episode is also available wherever you get your podcasts.

The Rise of Feminism in the U.S: Woman vs Woman

#Youtube #wwyat #podcast #throwback thursday #history #women's history #black history #american history #feminism #feminist history

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fantasiesandfolklore · 5 months ago

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The Phoenix Queen — Relta Fun/Misc Facts [Part I of ?]

CW: Very mild lemons (more like a sour orange), death in childbirth mention, slavery mention, colonization mention, illegitimate children

Relta bleaches her hair at times to keep it clean, subsequently being a strawberry blonde at times.

Relta is a skilled combatant even without magic, knowing how to use a variety of sword/blade types — including foreign ones — and is knowledgeable about poisons and antidotes as well.

Relta makes her own perfumes in the little free time she has

At age 25 Relta became her father’s regent, which is uncommon in Lunaruz, but her father was becoming too bloodthirsty and The Council decided he needed to be reined in a bit. Thus Relta being Princess Regent of Lunaruz until her coronation at age 30.

Relta’s FCs are Charlotte Hope (up to 25 years old) and Rebecca Ferguson (25+)

Relta’s voice claim is Susan Egan (Meg from Disney’s Hercules [1997] / The first Belle from BATB on Broadway), including her singing voice

Relta is a polyglot, including local dialects and allies’ languages

Relta has a special, secret chamber attached to her bedroom and meeting room for “special guests” (aka her lovers). She has a variety of “fun” things in said chamber, and it is decorated beautifully.

Relta is a collector of antique/ancient books, tomes, and scrolls.

Relta has a professional dog handler that helps her train her wolf-dog.

Relta also has a cat, as of age 16, that is her familiar.

Doves, dolphins, sparrows, swans, hares, geese, bees, fish, and butterflies are all fond of the Queen as well due to her being connected to Lady Aphrodite.

Relta loves sailing, and is excited when she gets to go on overseas diplomatic missions. She is an excellent passenger, along with also knowing basics of sailing a large ship.

Relta named the first ship built for the Navy after her great-grandmother, calling it the Charlotte de Lunaruz. It was used for the entirety of Relta’s reign, retiring only when she did.

Relta stepped down from the throne five years late, as she knew there was unrest regarding her heir also being a woman.

Relta identifies as, in modern terms, bisexual and demiromantic/biromantic. She suppresses her romantic side though.

Relta adores children and is the godmother to many of her allies’ and friends’ children. She spoils all of them, but not spoiling them rotten of course.

Relta sets up the first steps toward becoming a democracy in the end of her reign, knowing her heir would continue the work and end the monarchy’s reign at their resignation.

Relta kept diaries since she was able to write proper letters, developing a cipher for them so no one would know the political notes she took. Only her father and Lady Aislin (half-sister) know how to decipher the diaries.

Relta makes jewelry out of any gifts from friends, such as crystals or flowers.

Relta’s favorite flower is the Lunaruzian White Lavender, which only grows in Lunaruz and is an albino mutation of lavender. It is in most of her self made perfumes, and there is always a bouquet of it in her room.

After using magic on a large scale (such as in combat), Relta gets migraines, and hides out in her chambers for about three days each time

The “color” of Relta’s magic, and thus the weapons she materializes, is crimson.

Relta’s personal coat of arms, not the family’s or Lunaruz’s, include a crest with pomegranates and Lunaruzian White Lavender, with a dove on one side holding an olive branch and a phoenix on the other side. It is embroidered somewhere on all her clothing.

Relta is a skilled archer and fencer, finding the hobbies in her teens after she read all the books of interest that she was allowed access to as a youth.

Literacy rates in Lunaruz went to 100% under Relta’s reign within the first ten years.

Relta’s favorite fruits are oranges and pomegranates, both of which grow in various areas of Lunaruz. She uses them for her rituals rather often as well.

Relta can communicate with spirits and deities due to her small amount of divine blood — the same blood that gives her such powerful magic. She mainly focuses on her patroness (Aphrodite Areia) and patron (Thoth).

Relta took a pilgrimage to the Mediterranean's equivalent in this verse to see what would for us be Greece, along with seeing what would be Egypt.

Relta’s love languages are primarily quality time and gift giving.

Relta has a small scar on her right palm from a ritual done in her youth when she was declared to the public as Aphrodite Areia incarnated. It never healed properly due to the properties of the blade used — it being of one of the few substances able to hurt or kill Relta and her relatives.

Relta raises her bastard niece in court, declaring the girl her ward but never explaining why to anyone except some of her more trusted lovers. She instead just says she wanted to give back to the people of Lunaruz, and this “orphan girl” was her first step. She began raising Eleanor beginning when Eleanor was age 5, first having the young child be raised by her grandmother for safety.

Eleanor and Relta adore each other, Eleanor knowing the secret as she sees how much she looks like Relta and King Ares. She initially thought she was a secret child of Relta’s until she learned about the king’s second daughter who died in childbirth.

Relta is why Lunaruz was kept out of the Crusades (yes, they still happened…), insisting upon religious freedom. The Pope nearly cut ties with Lunaruz over this, until Relta explained in her kingdom, laws for freedom of religion were specifically made for monotheists like Catholics and had to bite his tongue.

Relta’s youngest sibling, Lady Madeline, was essentially Relta’s daughter due to Lady Madeline’s own mother having no interest in giving King Ares more female offspring, and trying for a son until she died. Lady Madeline is Lady Eleanor’s mother, which is part of why Relta is so fond of Eleanor. Lady Madeline may have died in childbirth, but Relta was at her side when she delivered Eleanor despite the king forbidding it.

Relta’s birthday, based on our calendar system, is June 21st 1485 (sub-verse dependent). [I will expand on this in another post]

Relta’s childhood friend was, for a time, her world/universe’s version of Catherine of Aragon. She warned Catherine about Henry, for Henry had hit on Aislin himself much to Relta’s disgust at the time despite the two being closer in age compared to Henry and CoA.

Relta is anti-colonialism and anti-slavery. She enacts many laws protecting Lunaruz from these issues. It is also why Lunaruz never became an “empire”, as it had no colonies.

Relta loathes war, yet under her reign the military was the strongest it’d ever been in Lunaruzian history — especially the Navy.

A ship was named after Relta, called The Phoenix, and bears Relta’s personal crest on its flag.

If she were to take a modern DNA ancestry test, most of Relta’s results would line up with our world/universe’s: Greece, Scotland, Rus (Russia), and Spain.

Relta loathes her step-parents, despite Lord Heron’s attempts to win her over as he truly loved her mother for more than just a spiteful affair.

Relta is 10 years Aislin’s senior, and 12 years Madeline’s senior. She took on an extra protective role over them because of this and despite hating their parents.

#Muse: relta #v: phoenix queen #v: the phoenix queen #verse info #mobile post #Mild lemons

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the-therapist-is-ace · 11 months ago

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(Dark vibe ahead I suppose?

CW: nonconsensual drug use, physical and psychological abuse, human experimentation)

You knew something was off the moment they locked the door behind them, and put themselves between you and your only way out.

You knew something was off when they told you, in a cold voice, that you scored the highest that they ever registered while keeping their hands out of view.

You knew something was off when they told you the governement had great expectations of you, and that you better not mess it up.

You knew something was off when you couldn't see one of the men in front of you. The sentiment only grew when you felt a stabbing pain at the back of your neck, and when you started to feel more and more lightheaded and dizzy.

You knew no more after that though. Everything ended up fading to black.

Actually, no that's wrong.

You knew something was off for a long time already.

Your mother was a governement official to begin with. And your father, was a member of a group of fanatics. (A cult. It was a cult, but nobody wanted to admit it.)

Both of them always had high hopes for you to score a great score at the infamous test. And while talking about its content was forbidden, parents could always try to influence their children's chances with education.

It was actually stupidly common to see "tips" and ads on the internet or on the TV about techniques to increase people's chances at the Test.

But that wasn't what your parents did. No, if it was, you probably would have been more normal than you were at the moment.

You knew how you were: tired. Both physically and mentally, your parents made sure you wouldn't catch any breaks before taking the Test. So tired in fact, that you couldn't care less where the men in suits were carrying you to. All you felt before passing out was happiness about being able to sleep, without fearing a punishment because it wasn't your fault you collapsed this time. Actually, the last thought you had was precisely:

"Sorry Mom and Dad, can't shock me awake this time."

You don't remember the Test in itself. You remember getting up and following a staff to a room yes. You remember leaving the room, also yes. But what actually happened was a blur of memories.

And that's not normal. Everyone else remember the Test. Except you. Maybe that's one of the reason you got a high score to begin with?

Or perhaps the memories of all the horrors your father showed you were too much to remember anything else.

Or perhaps it was your mother? She hit you too hard and actually made you have brain damage?

Whatever the case was, you couldn't remember. Not that you tried hard to anyway.

Your parents made sure of that.

Apparently, they were convinced that a high tolerance to... Everything, horrors both mental and physical, insults and humiliations is the key to ace the Test.

Well, apparently they were right because you got the highest score possible. Anyway.

Your father had made sure that you were on the recieving end of all the guilt-tripping and public humiliation methods his cult used.

That you knew of all the wars, the massacres, the modern slavery, the killings in name of faith. That you were spared no atrocities, and that you commited them to memory too; because you would be tested on it regulary. One forgotten equal to watch a documentary on it.

But god forbid that you were actually moved by it.

If you even showed the slightest hint of sadness, or empathy, you would be locked in the closet, where on the other side your father would recite all sort of sermons.

You were generally left out of it after a day or two, without eating obviously. Though, it was only if you behaved and not fought back. Any attempts was a day more inside.

After a day you were generally not energic enough to say anything.

Besides, you had your mother's training to go through too.

If your father handle all the psychological resilience part, your mother took the physical part on.

Everyday, without fail (asides from when you were in the closet) training, training, training. Or well, rather being beaten over and over and over again with different types of objects.

When you were young and stupid, you asked to a teacher what such a thing would be called.

They answered "torture of course, the worst kind." And looked really concerned about how you could know about this.

Torture, you thought. You saw plenty of documentaries about it. Well, it was close enough to be put under the same term you supposed.

You ended up learning how to fight from it too strangely. Or rather, you learned to dodge and block the hits, when you were in... a rather rebellious period. Teenager rebellion maybe? Who knows.

You stopped trying to fight back when your mother started to give each blows you dodged or blocked to your father. He wasn't a fighter. He could have died.

So you stopped.

(A part of you at the time was screaming to let her kill him. After all, it meant no more awful documentaries, no humiliations or guilt-tripping. It also meant no more training, since she would most likely go to jail for it.)

(A missed opportunity you supposed)

But all of this doesn't matter now.

You passed the stupid Test. You're being taken away like your dear parents always wanted. Heck, you even got the best score in all history. That should make them happy... right?

And now you're very, very tired so you give up to the feeling of sleepiness.

You wonder how long they will let you sleep... A little bit more than two hours at a time would be nice.

When you come back to, you feel oddly refreshed. Seems like they actually let you sleep more! That's great.

Perhaps an actual bed would have been better than a table, but then again it's not like you can complain.

You can't move either. They strapped you on it. Which is stupid. Where the fuck do they want you to go? Whoever's in charge isn't very clever.

You made a point to tell the scientists that came afterwards right away.

They look confused for a second, but didn't replied which alright, fair. You're not exactly the greatest interlocutor.

Uh. They're way more gentle about putting I.V's in your arms than your parents were. Odd. But not unwelcome you suppose.

They're mumbling about resilience. So it's that the Test is about? You got the highest ever probably. Resilience.

You're the most resilient person that exist. Both physically, and mentally... Do they want to maybe study it? That would explain the Test itself.

But study it for what?

...Frankly, you don't care. They're making you feel tired again. That's nice you suppose, that means you get to sleep more, and probably means you won't feel a thing they were going to do either.

The days after that passed in a blurr.

You can't tell apart the day from the night, since there's always scientists or guards around you. You still don't get why.

When you're not on the table, you're left alone in a room. And while it doesn't have much, it still have a nice bed, so there's that.

They're trying to get answers from you too sometimes. Asking about personal experience, how was your childhood, do you perhaps know what got you to this much resilience (they check it regularly, at least once a week. But compared to what your father showed you everyday, it was laughable) and how you're feeling about it.

You just told them what your parents did to you everyday. You... think they weren't expected that, considering one of them threw up from it, and everyone turned paled.

...These guys are weird you decided. Scientists but they can't handle the science of what they're studying. They're studying resilience and are trying to build a strong one artificially -if the nature of the Test was any indication- but aren't able to accept what it entails.

You think you found the worst scientists ever. But by politeness, you don't say a thing about it.

One of the scientist assigned to monitor your sleep actually talks a bit to you. You think she feels bad about you being their guinea pig without even knowing what their goal is. Not that you cared anyway, but you suppose it's always nice to be informed.

They're trying to create a vaccine against suffering. Both mental and physical. And for that, they're studying how people like you, people who suffered and survived, handled it.

You think it's fucked up. But hey, you're no one to talk.

Apparently they isolated a chemical, that acts a bit like morphine on psychological trauma not so long ago. Thanks to you apparently, so... go you, you suppose.

Soon after that, they launched their first vaccine.

Then their second.

Then third...

Until one day, the tests stopped. Apparently this vaccine in particular works.

It was released not so long ago, and everyone is already fighting each other to get it.

The scientists of the team are getting Noble Prizes left and right. They're quitting their jobs one after another, stating that they did what they had to, and now have more than enough money to live comfortably for the rest of their lives.

And... It leaves you.

And the other test subjects, but you don't know where they are in the facility.

You don't know how old you are. Don't know how long it had been since the Test. Don't know where you are, don't know what to do.

Your parents molded you so you wouldn't try to run away, or... do anything unless prompted to. Destroyed your fighting spirit and free will at the same time as your innocence and curiosity.

But now, there's no one to return to. (Even after so long, you don't want to go back to your parents. What would be the point? They got what they wanted already.) You're... all alone. The staff -those who were left- told you they were going to let you go soon.

And you'd be left in the world, with enough money to also live comfortably for some times. Apparently, some of the most empathic scientists opened a donation to give you and the other subjects some money. They argued that it was thanks to you and the others if they could make that breakthrough and...

You supposed they're not wrong.

But now you're in the outside world and you don't know what to do. Time for a plan.

...Perhaps you should try to find a place to stay. That'd be a first step.

Then maybe work your way to a semblance of normalcy. You didn't had that in so long, why not treat yourself a bit...

Hey, you helped science cure humanity of its suffering, even you can recognize you deserve a treat.

Then you'll improvise. You weren't that bad at that stuff before, time to see if you still got it.

At the age of 18 you take a mandatory test. Talking about the test is prohibited. If you score a 95% or above you’re taken away. You just scored the highest in the world.

#writing prompt #the therapist's writing #cw: child abuse #cw: human experimentation #cw: nonconsensual drug use

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