#recognizing Him and serving Him in all suffering humanity

[vamptastic]

every yom kippur i have a new, profound revelation about the meaning of the holiday and every yom kippur the following year i have a new, wildly different one.

[matan4il]

I’m muslim but I’m upset with the free Palestine movement especially as a woman. they are only making it worse for Muslim women subject to governments which are misusing the teachings of the Quran. they do not care even about Uyghur or Rohingya Muslims

I'm a day late, but I hope it's still okay to wish you Jumaat Mubaraka, lovely Nonnie! *hugs*

I feel you. A few years ago, I took a course and ended up becoming friends with the lady who happened to choose the seat next to me. She's a Muslim Israeli Arab woman. She had the audacity of divorcing her husband. She has a son who came out as gay, and she had the audacity to accept him as he is. Under Hamas or the Palestinian Authority's rule, she could be severely punished socially for either. Worse, her son would likely be terrified for his life, and might have ended up like one of my gay Palestinian friends, who have been forced into heterosexual marriages because the threat to their lives was so great. Instead, her son lives in Tel Aviv, is openly gay, and is an advocate for both the State of Israel and gay Israeli Arabs and Palestinians. She's an advocate for the State of Israel and Israeli Arab Muslim women. She gets to speak and be heard because she's an Israeli citizen. And it's not by chance that she is one. Her family made a choice in 1948, to stand by the Jews, rather than join the Arab attack on them. She once opened the Quran, showed me a specific surah, and told me, "This is why I know that as a Muslim, I must love the Jews, and stand by their state."

She has her own agency in choosing her position on the State of Israel, she has her well being, her son's, and that of many other Israeli Muslim Arab women and gay people to consider, and the anti-Israel crowd doesn't care about any of that. She's just an obstacle standing in the way of the narrative they've chosen, she shows reality is more complex than the black and white framing they embraced, which allows them to openly hate Jews while inflating their own egos, as if they're being righteous.

Not to mention coming up with ridiculous stuff like, "Palestinian men beat their wives because of the Israeli occupation!" This is honestly one of the dumbest things I've ever heard, only topped by "Israel is using cow/dolphin spies." But think of the practical implication. It means as long as Israel exists, no one's gonna hold Palestinian men accountable for the violence they're committing against their own wives. It's a betrayal of Palestinian women, all supposedly in the name of helping Palestinian nationalism.

(on top of the criticism voiced by UN Watch, it's insane how one of the speakers blaming domestic violence against Palestinian women on Israel is the UN representative of "Etat de Palestine," state of Palestine... What an easy way to avoid a state's duty to protect the women living under its rule from any and all violence, including domestic! If you're an independent state, and deserve recognition from the world, then you also have the responsibility to tackle domestic violence. If you're not independent, then why are you demanding to be recognized as such?)

And yes, the lack of care for actual Israeli Arabs and Palestinians is what I often talk about, but you're right that the damage caused by the anti-Israel crowd is bigger than just to Jews, Israeli Arabs, and Palestinians. Holding up an Islamist cause, backing up the Islamist movement and showing them how the west can be easily won, this will only serve to harm more people. Including Muslims who are more vulnerable to human rights abuses, like women and gay people.

In the vid above, as another example, the UN Watch speaker asks the UN to compare the data on domestic violence suffered by Palestinian women, to that suffered by Jordanian, Lebanese, Egyptian women and so on... Maybe if they couldn't use Israel as their punching bag, they'd have to look at domestic violence against women in the whole region, and actually do something about it. But nah, it's easier to write off Israel as the guilty party when it comes to Palestinian domestic violence, and pretend like that's the only place in the entire Middle East where this violence stands out as an issue. And that's before we talk about observing the levels of anti-women violence in non-Arab Muslim countries, such as Iran, where the government itself has imprisoned and even killed women for not wearing a hijab correctly. This is a betrayal of Muslim women at large.

And in addition to all that, like you said, this crowd also doesn't give a shit about the Muslims being persecuted in any conflict that doesn't allow the blame to be laid on the 'evil Jews.' Even when the numbers targeted are much greater, and the scope of abuse far more severe.

Thank you for the ask, and I hope you're okay! I hope the world cares more about Muslim women, rather than posturing as if it does, but only when it can be used against Jews. xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[gallierhouse]

Do you have any thoughts on Madeleine as a foil for Armand? Personally I think that’s why he had her killed.

I do. I think he hates her because she reminds him of his weakness, but he also respects her, and maybe sees how she’s like him at the same time. They’re the same animal. Survivors surviving. The key difference between them isn’t really that Madeleine doesn’t suffer the conflict that plagues Armand, or that she finds vampirism easy in all the ways he finds difficult, but more that Madeleine is capable of real sacrifice when Armand is only ever capable of self-serving sacrifice. In the end, after all she’s done to survive (she survived the war, slept with a Nazi soldier so she wouldn’t starve — this is implied when she talks about how she finds her neighbor’s corpse, the shearing and the assault after the war, reacting calmly to Claudia murdering and eating all those people in her shop, agreeing to be turned, etc.) she decides to die with Claudia, for love. Even though she didn’t have to, even though Claudia told her to pick herself and survive. In the end she picked love.

Armand never picks love. In the end he’ll pick survival. Armand is a great romantic, and he always puts the needs of his partner above his own, but ultimately, when the chips are down, he’ll choose to save himself. There isn’t anyone in this world he’d sacrifice his life for. He’ll sacrifice everything else, mind you, but he won’t sacrifice that. He will happily carve out parts of himself for someone he loves, play whatever part they want them to, let them do anything they want to him, but that’s the one thing he will not do. In the end he won’t ever pick someone above himself. And that’s fine, it’s not a moral victory or loss. Armand’s comfortable with sacrifice as service, cutting off parts of yourself for the promise of someone else’s love, sacrificing for the sake of getting something in return, sacrificing for the sake of keeping someone close to you, sacrificing for the sake of getting to say, “This is everything I do for you, and you still don’t love me? This is all I do for you, you have to love me”, sacrificing for the sake of playing the martyr. He can’t actually sacrifice. He can’t sacrifice something and get nothing in return. Dying with someone gets you nothing. You’re just dead. Together, sure, but you’re not alive to enjoy it. Conversely, Madeleine really isn’t the type to perform acts of service for someone else. She would never be someone’s servant. She’s independent, she’s strong-willed, her companionship with Claudia is a partnership of equals. She’s utterly powerless, both as a human and a vampire (the harassment and assault she faces from her neighbors, her age as a vampire) but she’s not afraid of Claudia, Louis or Armand. Even when she should be. She’s openly dismissive and rude to Armand. She calls him “young man,” asks him if he’s even noticed there’s been a war when he asks how she’ll survive once nothing of her time is left, tells him that he doesn’t know if Claudia will last. She has a spine. Maybe more of a spine than she should have. She’s his opposite in that sense, really, and I do think it annoys him when she says she wouldn’t have a problem eating people since she doesn’t have a problem eating her food now. He tests her with all the difficulties of vampirism, she always has a response. Why should it be so easy for her when it’s so hard for him? I don’t even think Armand sees humans as people (and I doubt he sees most vampires as people, either) so he’s experiencing a really odd situation, like if a dog suddenly started winning an argument against you. By the end of it he recognizes her personhood, maybe even respects the drive she has, but it’s still worthless. She’s mortal, she’s fragile, she’ll die like the rest of them, no amount of psychological fortitude changes material reality. But then Madeleine gets turned (and he hates it, obviously, he hates that Louis picked Claudia over him, he hates that Louis would even turn someone, he hates that Louis did this terrible thing and he hates that he did it because he loved Claudia more than he loved him, he hates that Louis doesn’t need him, he hates that there’s this new fucking vampire in town, and she’s a fucking bitch, even if there’s something real and tragic about her that he can understand). Then in the end Madeleine decides to die during on that stage with Claudia. She does everything Armand is incapable of and more. And she’s weak and she dies. And he kills her and he survives. And then the cycle goes on.

[crazy-ache]

Hope (Elucien drabble & head canon)

For anyone who wonders, what exactly did Lucien see when he tugged on the bond with Elain in ACOWAR? Based off a headcanon of mine in this post. Word Court: 1400

Read on AO3 or Below the Cut

See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate. 

That is what the ancient healer had told them after examining Elain. Majda had looked right at Lucien and determined that he was the best course of action in figuring out how to best help Elain — to alleviate the suffering of a human girl the Cauldron changed and who lost everything with it. 

The words rang and rang through his head. It was the only thing he could hear, since neither he nor Elain were talking as they sipped tea in the foyer of the townhouse. What was there to even say? Feyre and Mor chaperoned by the bay windows, feigning distraction even if he felt the pelting of their stares with every muscle movement. There was no nicety or respectable conversation that could be shared that would make Elain desire him — not when the iron engagement ring wrapped around her finger served as a constant reminder of what he would never be to her. 

So there would be no words. He only focused on what he could do for his mate…which was to help. Lucien’s tea chilled as the minutes passed by while he worked on stilling his breath, pooling all of his mind and heart and magic toward the tether of the mating bond. 

Elain sat in silence and sipped from her teacup, never even so much as glancing in his direction. 

From Lucien’s metal eye, he could tangibly sense the golden bond that tied them both together, a visceral connection of magic so raw and powerful, it pulsed like a heartbeat. He breathed through his nose, unmoving, pouring himself into that bond. From deep within, he could feel the way it hummed quietly, as if in waiting and wanting. For a moment he imagined opening his heart, casting open every window and door and gate and shield he had harbored throughout his centuries—and only then was he able to feel his soul reach forward, wrapping his essence around that gilded thread.

A thread of fate. Woven long before either of them had ever existed. 

Rib to rib they were bound. 

He didn’t quite know how, but he was holding the thread. He pulled and pulled, moving further down the bond, as if he were climbing a rope—or a lifeline. The closer he pushed forward, he felt the murkiness of magic entangle around him. Where there was darkness, there was now light, like fragments of stained glass filtering through, until all he could see were flickers of images flooding his being.

He recognized the ruby red of his gleaming hair first. Then the deep scars that bore into his back across his bare skin. Lucien was smiling, a deep rumble echoing in his chest as daylight caught in his golden and russet eyes. His lips trailed up the spine of a female, slow and savoring, all the way up to her freckled shoulder. 

She turned her head and beamed, lips aching to find him.

Elain. It was Elain. It was her as she was now, but her body no longer ravished or weak. Beautiful, brown eyes clear, and shining brighter and warmer than the sun. 

Startled at their passionate, intimacy, Lucien accidentally tugged back on their bond. He could feel Elain here, as if they had been standing in the same room, watching the same scene unfold. When he had tugged the bond, she had ran off, as if he had surprised her with his presence. The images halted instantly; the thrumming connection of their bond vanished like the shattering of glass, breaking and cracking into an oblivion. 

He found himself back in the foyer. Elain shot to her feet and swiftly sent her down her teacup.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. He hadn’t meant to intrude, hadn’t meant to induce such a provocative image that could only be from the hungry, maddening instincts of the mating bond. There wasn’t a bone in her body that desired him in such a way, he knew. Even if he what he had seen had filled him with a burning light he couldn’t control the thundering of his heart in his chest. 

“What—what was that?” 

Lucien could tell from the calm confusion on her face that she hadn’t been aware that he had seen it as well. Otherwise she very well may have thrown the tea in his face for the offense. She had only felt the sudden pull at the end. 

“It—it was a tug. On the bond.” 

That viper sister of hers was already in the room, wielding her words like a blade. “What did you do.” 

He debated telling the truth, for just a single moment. But the fierce anger and mistrust on both Nesta and Feyre’s face prevented the words from coming out—and then when he glanced back at Elain, he could feel her heart racing in sync with his own. But hers was not for the same reason. He swallowed the truth. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.” 

Elain moved closer to Nesta. “It felt…strange,” she breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” 

And as she stared at him, he could see the lucidity fade and fade into the depths of murkiness, into a place he could not find her. She shook her head, blinding twice, and turned to her eldest sister. “Twin raves are coming, one white and one black.” 

They ushered her away and Lucien could not breathe. They were always taking her away from him. Nonsensical images and ramblings—that’s all he had surely seen. It meant nothing. 

But the bond. That was indeed a real thread. One he could see and touch and feel. He told both Feyre and More, but it was really to himself in disbelief. A reminder that it had actually happened.

”And?” Mor asked. 

“And I got to Elain’s end of it when she ran off.” He ran both his hands through his hair, thinking of how Elain had run off—likely from embarrassment and loathing.

“Did you sense anything?” Feyre asked. 

“No—I didn’t have time. I felt her, but…” A blush bloomed across his unstained cheek. 

He had failed to figure out how to help her. But he would never forget that image—their bodies tangled, his arms wrapped around her, his lips memorizing the expanse of her skin. The happiness that had settled into his face and the joy she had reflected back at him. 

The kind of happiness he had never known before. 

****

“The Cauldron made you a seer.” 

They all stared at Elain as the truth finally broke free from the holds of her loneliness and suffering. Seer, seer, seer. The word sucked the air from the room and captured everyone in a stronghold of realization. All this time, she had been muttering and enduring the whims of magic, visions of a future they had not understood at the time.

Except for Lucien, who stared and stared. 

Lucien wasn’t stuck on that word that both seemed to claim and free Elain in a single moment. Lucien was thinking of what else Madja had told him before. Days ago. 

The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls. 

If Elain was a seer, if she was the beholder of visions and glimpses of the future, then it could only mean what he had witnessed through their bond had been a foretelling of what was to come. 

They spoke of queens and firebirds and an onyx box. He was still thinking of the way he kissed the knobs of her spine, his tongue tasting the freckles of her skin. He was thinking of her smile. He remembered the way there had been happiness and desire and—above all else—love. 

But was it within the realm of possibility? Truly? 

There was no doubt when he spoke up to the room. “I’ll go,” he had told them. What they didn’t know was it had been more of a vow than anything else. A vow to go to the ends of the world to discover if her vision was real. To prove her powers true. Because if it was right about this one—

Then maybe he could allow himself to hope that their future would one day come true, too. 

For hope was more dangerous than this journey. But for her, for the glimpse of happiness he had seen shared with her—it would be worth it. 

[ya-rr-ow]

I understand Teru couldn’t really do much this chapter even though I would have loved to see a little more from him. Still I think it’s interesting to see his thought process, specifically on how he thinks about Akane. He notes that “the clock keepers are moving slower than usual,” and by clock keepers he is referring to Akane as he has seen Akane fight many times using his powers.

As we saw in chapter 108, the betrayal (although it wasn’t really a betrayal but whatever) served as a reminder to Teru that Akane is still half supernatural even though he is technically human. I think saying that he “lost the only person he trusts” is a little extreme but I see the logic behind it. He had seen Akane’s human side so often that he started to trust him a little more, recognizing that he wasn’t just another dangerous supernatural. When Akane “betrayed” him however, his supernatural side showed more than ever and this hurt Teru. He learned from a very young age that “there is no such thing as a good supernatural” yet he was still able to let his guard down around one and suffered the consequences.

That’s not to say that Teru now hates Akane forever and doesn’t care about him at all, but it will definitely be a dent in their relationship as Teru can no longer deny the supernatural side of Akane.

This is just my interpretation of it, if you disagree that’s totally fine as media is subjective!

[singswan-springswan]

I just had a fever dream about Jason so y'all gonna have to suffer through me ranting about it buckle up.

literally I just gave him bird wings

In this au he's an "avian" which is not a human... or maybe it is? Anyway just people with bird wings so like. think partial wing au. These "avians" are really rare and I guess functionally they are humans except for the obvious; no powers etc. Maybe they can have kids with humans too idk I'm not worldbuilding 😭

The avian peoples can hide their wings away and shapeshift into humans ig. Their ability to do so varies from individual to individual. Some can do it at will, others have to be triggered to pop them out or bring them in.

Jason can summon his wings at will but he's always had a hard time shifting back to human especially if there's some kind of stressor present. Sometimes he needs to meditate in order to put them away.

His wings were super pretty when he was a kid. When he gets his full plumage it's very light and majestic and glossy and mostly white, with very subtle accents of grey. Sometimes even gold if the sun hits them right. Think marble angel statue etc. Jason is very proud of his wings. He doesn't keep them out all the time, but they sure come in handy during patrol.

He's delighted to be Robin because of the bird theme. Dick is super mad about it.

Jason is kidnapped multiple times for his wings. As you can imagine, there's a big black market for avian products. Probably why there are so few of them :/ anyway he's a scrappy feller so obviously he manages to escape every time, and his efforts improve after all the Robin training. Intrigue about the newest Wayne boy with the pretty wings is borderline vicious. Where did Bruce find such an attractive avian child? Most everyone who recognizes Jason as Bruce's kid ask to see his wings

He likes to wear them around the house because he likes to show them off and he feels comfortable in the Manor. Bruce and Alfred help him preen while he reads or talks about his day and it's great bonding time. Bruce always tells him his wings are beautiful and he should be proud of them and it makes Jason happy. Also, before coming to the Manor Jason had already had a few run-ins with traffickers and is super hesitant to flaunt his feathers but Bruce makes his promise to never lay an unwanted hand on Jason and promises to be gentle with his wings and he is and he's very respectful and treats Jason's wings with reverence every time Jason asks for help taking care of them ouagh. He has a few feathers lying around the house in his study and on his nightstand next to the framed picture of his two sons.

All the Titans compliment Jason's wings and he's blushing so hard the whole time it makes him dizzy

The wings add another layer to the "Robin is magic!" theme

When Jason and Dick get on less hostile terms, Jason makes jokes about Dick being a Flying Grayson despite not being an avian. Dick never takes it well because he's still salty about Jason stealing Robin but at least he's stopped attacking him for it

The "Little Wing" nickname is so much more pertinent now although it serves less as a symbol of Dick's acceptance and more just emphasizing the obvious

Oh no! Jason gets murdered!

The Joker beat him to kriff, but he absolutely desecrated Jason's wings. I'm talking mangled mutilated every bone broken feathers torn out shredded and bloody poor Jason :(

Bruce frames the few feathers he has and cries over them a ton like the unhealthy coping mechanism walking that he is.

Jason never summons his wings after crawling out of his grave. Obviously there's not much to shift into there and he subconsciously knows that exposing himself as an avian is dangerous when Bruce isn't there to protect him

The Lazarus pit heals the scarring on his wings. It takes a while for the feathers to grow back in. The colors change

His new plumage comes in red (womp womp) and Jason is so upset about it because he loved his pretty white feathers that looked like they'd been dipped in champagne and looked innocent and safe. Now his wings are much bigger and scarier and he feels like a different person. Talia tells him he's being dramatic (he is) but also she helps him preen when he can't bring himself to and she teaches him how to fight with the different weight. She also tries to train him to have better control over shifting in and out of them with little success. Maybe it's a classic case of "needing to find inner peace first" lol

Over the course of his time with the League, hints of black begin bleeding in like ink. It looks kinda creepy and Jason hates it even more but Talia teaches him how to use the intimidating factor to his advantage.

Damian draws him whenever he gets the chance. He thinks he's being sneaky.

When Jason decides to go back to Gotham and be a little menace Talia asks him what he's going to call himself. By that point, the black is more prominent, but "Red Hood" still feels aesthetically appropriate.

The Red Hood doesn't show his wings though. It's just a personal poetic symbol for Jason. Keeps him focused on what he's lost and what he's fighting for in the end etc.

His plan proceeds pretty much as canon, everything goes smoothly, Batman's getting thoroughly obsessed, Black Mask is losing his marbles, even that new Replacement Robin is lying low with an up and coming serial killer on a rampage in the Alley.

Then a particular run-in with Batman changes things. Unbeknownst to Jason, Batman's been going down a check-list trying to gather every possible drop of information about Hood (as he does), and of course he has to check if Hood is an avian. like. as an afterthought. They are a pretty rare species, but it's worth checking anyway. How's he going to do that? Glad you asked

Apparently there's a specific move to trigger an avian into revealing their wings. Probably some kind of nerve strike. Bruce learned it while he was in the League because why not. In the middle of his fight with Hood, he manages to sneak the move in, and boom, suddenly Jason's wings are out in all their glory.

As part of the shapeshifting physics we're going to pretend that the wings can pass through clothing. As long as it's flush to the skin. Maybe. So Jason's wings appear beneath his jacket and they're huge and he is very much thrown off balance and caught off guard and of course feeling significantly violated.

Bruce never told him he could do something like that. He's flabbergasted. It's the perfect opening for Batman to subdue him. Which uh.

Of course Batman only knows the Red Hood as a mass murdering crime lord/Rouge adjacent so he's not super gentle. And he knows about the vulnerable parts of an avian's wings do you see where this is going

Jason goes into survival mode because he's high on adrenaline and feeling extremely vulnerable and remember how the Joker treated him? Jason apparently has trauma about other people touching his wings now. He was fine with Talia because he knew that not only did she have no intention of hurting him but she was actively trying to help (in her own weird way). Batman is a different story. They are in the middle of a fight after all. So Jason kinda panics and can't focus on shifting his wings back in meanwhile he's scrambling to try and fend Batman off and protect himself but now that he's off his game Bruce easily overpowers him

Batman gets his wings tied up somehow and it takes everything in Jason not to devolve into a crying pleading heap of feathers. He's lashing out while Batman tries to sedate him. This isn't going the way Jason planned. Eventually Batman has to hold him down because he's thrashing so hard and wow that doesn't resemble the fearsome crime lord from the rumors

Batman ends up grabbing his wings to avoid being bludgeoned and Jason breaks a bone or two in one of them. He fully shrieks at that point. He's always been sensitive about his wings and hated having them restrained and he's scared and irrational and the trauma has him in a stranglehold. Part of it is the fact that Bruce is the one responsible for hurting him. If nothing else, Jason could always count on Bruce being respectful of his wings, so to have him break a bone (never mind that he doesn't know it's Jason) is really rattling

Bruce meanwhile is doing his best to arrest this helmeted freak who thinks it's funny to cosplay as his son's murderer and unwillingly having his heart strings pulled because not only is this villainous man apparently an avian (just like his son) but also Bruce feels slightly bad about using his knowledge of avian vulnerabilities to take him down. ouch. His protective dad mode activates in the subconscious when Hood's desperation to escape becomes glaringly obvious. Batman has to stop himself from asking who hurt you. Wrong thing to say when he is in the process of hurting the crime lord in question

Jason manages to escape somehow. idk exactly. He's resourceful. Anyway he makes his getaway by a hairsbreadth leaving Batman mildly baffled and even more determined than ever to hunt down the Red Hood. He will need to alter parts of his plan. He can't keep running into Batman if Batman's going to force his wings out again. Of course, Talia taught him how to fight with them, but neither of them realized how difficult that would be when fighting Batman dredged up all the trauma yikes

Batman manages to find Hood again and tries to confront him. Jason does not let him get close tells him to stay the heck away and shoots at him to drive the point home because kriff if he's going to repeat that awful experience from last time. He had a Shadow help set his wing and he complained to Talia about it over the phone. after crying. ugly crying. He didn't leave his safehouse for a few days and spent the whole time eating ice cream and crying and reading macbeth.

Bruce updates the file on Red Hood to include his avian species. Tim saw it and said wow how many avians do you find in Gotham what if it's Jason. Bruce did not find that joke funny, Tim. (to be fair, Tim was running on fifty hours without sleep and at least one mug of coffee brewed from Redbull) Bruce goes to bed that night crying holding one of the feathers he kept from Jason's white wings

When the reveal finally comes, I'm thinking it's some ridiculous scenario involving Jason getting knocked out and Batman having to save him and Bruce naturally takes advantage of this opportunity to kidnap Jason and bring him back to the Batcave. He takes the helmet off too. Tim says wow no kidding huh. Then he has to punt the helmet before it can blow up in Bruce's hands because Bruce is well. He's having a moment.

Jason wakes up with his wrist cuffed to his cot in the Cave medbay. He freaks out. He shifts into his wings on instinct and tries to fly away before realizing the bed is too heavy to let him. His weapons have been thoroughly pillaged. He's having another panic attack. rip. Bruce is there and Alfred convinced him to change out of the Batman suit but he's there and he's also having a nervous breakdown. The first thing he does when Jason calms down (gets lightheaded) enough to stop trying to break out of the cuff by brute force or knock everything within range over is apologize for breaking his wing. Jason's having a bad day. He's already got head trauma from whatever knocked him out in the first place and his plans are in shambles and by God he is not supposed to be in the Batcave with a weirdly watery eyed Bruce. Jason just uh. stares at him.

Tim hears the noise and comes rushing in with Alfred at his heels. Tim's doing damage control analysis. Alfred is openly crying and all just "Master Jason" blah blah "it's so good to have you home" he goes to hold Jason's face like a baby and suddenly Jason feels like crying too. His plans are ruined.

Tim's like good now that you're awake what the heck happened to your wings. Jason threatens to slit his throat. Bruce is now also crying because Jason may look different but there's no denying that this defensive rough around the edges street kid is his kid and oh no he broke his wing :(( Jail for father jail for one thousand years etc.

Dick shows up. Bruce called him to inform him that they'd apprehended the Red Hood and that he was in need of medical attention so naturally... they brought him to the Cave (Bruce has a soft spot for avians and he knew that if he handed Hood over to the authorities he would have been taken advantage of). Dick said what the heck is wrong with you Bruce I'm on my way. So he rushed over thinking he was going to walk into a chaotic atmosphere and he wasn't wrong but he wasn't expecting so much crying to be involved. He also has a mental breakdown. You know how it is. Lots of hand tremors. Screaming. Big ugly sobs. Glaring at Bruce demanding to know why he didn't think to tell him his little brother was back from the dead???? *horrified* what happened to your wings? because Jason's wings somehow look even creepier in the light

Jason keeps trying to shift them back in but he can't focus. He feels very exposed and obviously upset. His beautiful perfect plans are ruined :(( He had so many wonderful plans :((( He was going to break the Joker out of Arkham :((((((( And force Bruce to murder him :(((((((((((( looks like that's not happening anymore

Dick attaches himself to Jason with an octopus hug despite Jason's insistence that he will snap Dick's stupid neck. Tim sees his chance to make the situation worse and joins the hug. Jason half-heartedly attempts to push them off

Eventually they remove the cuff even though Jason makes repeated death threats and as soon as he's free he bolts. Doesn't leave the Cave but he needs to get away and gather his wits so he finds a perch near the Cave ceiling (one of many Bruce installed for him back in the day) and refuses to come down. That's fine. Everyone was trying to process the fact that he's alive anyway. Bruce sits on the ground far below and waits the whole time.

Jason is forced to come down by his need to pee. Also Alfred made tea and biscuits and despite Jason's vendetta, he did miss his family. Conversations are had. They fight and say mean things and Jason still can't pull his wings back in but they've reached a consensus. Bruce is in awe the his baby is back. He's willing to do anything to keep him this time around. He tells Jason that his wings are still beautiful (again, sorry for hurting them that one time), and for every bone of yours the Joker broke I'll break one of his just say the word Jay-lad. Tim pipes up didn't you already do that? Bruce says he'll do it as often as Jason wants lol. This man is so unstable. Jason is very touched. He maintains that the Joker is better off dead, but then he can't really hurt people if he's in a body cast so... sure he'll take the win.

When Jason works up the courage to go into the Manor he sees all his old feathers lying around and it makes him oddly happy. He wants to find it weird, and he definitely makes fun of Bruce for keeping them, but secretly he's so touched and he likes having them so he can still see his pretty white feathers.

Jason gives the best hugs. Okay I know Dick is famous for his octopus hugs but Jason's hugs are objectively the best in canon because it feels like Bruce but without the weight of transaction or expectation PLUS Jason has wings now so imagine getting the best hug of your life and then being cocooned in warm fluffy wings on top of that I would die.

Cass comes home and everyone's like ooh update Red Hood turned out to be Jason! This is your little brother btw and she's like ??? yeah I know. They freak out. How did you know Cass. She says dude look at him. and they reexamine the whole Red Hood scheme (aborted) and the fabricated rivalry with Batman and the speech pattern and the strategic maneuvers and the iconic dramatic flair and they're like okay yeah that makes sense. But you never met him Cass you had no point of reference. FOOLS. MUST THE GODDESS JUSTIFY HERSELF TO YOU??

Anyway everything is fine and Damian joins the family and he makes so many paintings of Jason and his portrait is the first one they have framed with Jason and his new wings. Happily ever after

[yanderes-galore]

Heyyy, can I could request a romantic yandere Arcane Silco x human waitress darling with prompts 5.) and 20.) ? pls 🤞

I'm assuming my prompts so sure, I'll see what I can do :) I recently finished Arcane so I'm quite pumped to write this. You said waitress so I took that as female darling! Possible OOC Silco, not sure though as this is the first time I've written for him. I hope it's coherent, I finished this really late at night lol.

Yandere! Silco Prompts 5 + 20

"Manipulation? No, dear, I'm just encouraging you!"

"I've been waiting too long for this...."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Pub harassment (not by Silco... entirely(?)), Drug use (Shimmer), Alcohol, Manipulation, Murder mentioned, Forced/Dubious relationship, Stalking, Coercion, Slight intimacy implied.

When working at one of Zaun's most popular pubs you're bound to have your regulars. Be it one of the Zaun top dogs or your typical Shimmer addicted trencher, some people you happen to recognize. Being a waitress was how you made ends meet and a pub happened to be where others collected.

You knew the dangers of your job yet put up with it. Due to all the Shimmer and alcohol being passed around in the pub you worked at, the occasional strange comment was common. In fact, some customers were weird with their wait staff after being given a drink.

You never touched the stuff. Shimmer and alcohol seemed like a slippery slope. Plus you've seen how it destroys people.

Your job mostly consisted of serving drinks and food. Customers tended to be happy with their substances and food. Meanwhile you try to tolerate the behavior of customers. However, you never get used to how handsy they can be.

"Your drinks." You say simply to a table, placing down the order. The Zaunian thank you with a crude smile before you turn around. That is... until you're pulled into a lap.

You shriek and struggle, trying to get off their lap. Their grip is that of iron and you feel your heartbeat quicken. You fear for what they'll do until you hear a booming voice.

"Let the girl go, what kind of filth do you think you are?"

With that you find yourself freed from the drunken customer. Your breathing is still fast but you turn to your savior. You then freeze due to his attire.

Silco.

Why would Silco be here?

You had no doubts it was him. The clothing, the scars, that eye. Zaun's Eye was here in the pub you work at... and he saved you.

Silco then looks to you with a look of pity in his eyes. A young woman working in a pub... harassed by drunks. All he wanted was to find Sevika for a task.

"Waitress." Silco calls, making you give him a tired and still scared look. "Could I speak with you?"

You follow the man to a secluded booth and watch as he sits down. His look is stern yet he appears concerned. You frown in embarrassment.

"Sorry, sir..." you sigh softly. "It happens-" You notice a grimace on his face.

"Happens? How often?" Silco's voice is smooth, gesturing for you to sit down. Hesitantly you comply and sit down across from him.

"Well, usually not very often. But people get a bit rowdy when on substances." You elaborate, refusing to make eye contact. You feel thankful... but embarrassed.

"I see. I'm sorry a girl such as yourself has to go through such a thing." Silco comments and you shrug.

"Have to suffer to make a living sometimes... right?" You shrug, trying to ease the tense conversation.

"Yes... I suppose you're right." Silco responds, casting a glace at the problematic table.

"Could I get you anything, sir?" You ask, standing up.

"Silco is fine. I just came to find someone, but I suppose a drink can't hurt." Silco grins towards you and you nod, taking his request down before retrieving the drink.

Silco didn't stay too long after that. He finished his drink and left with a woman who frequents the pub. You almost felt guilty taking the tip he offered... it was bigger than the ones you usually get, if any at all.

That wasn't the last time you met Silco, either.

Far from it, actually.

In fact, after that Silco had become the newest regular in the pub. He always sat in the same spot out of the way to not draw attention. He always asked you to serve him. He always dragged you in for talk. Plus, he always left you a good tip.

At first you were intimidated around him due to his reputation, yet you tried warming up to him. When he was around you never had any trouble. Even when you did, the customers that caused it strangely don't come back.

Good riddance, honestly.

Silco quickly became a friend to you while you worked the pub. His conversations went from general to more personal as you spoke with one another. He became someone you could trust.

Loyalty is what runs Zaun... it's only natural you'd trust a powerful man such as him.

Silco originally just pitied you for being yet another struggling Zaunite. Yet he began to find himself drawn to you. You often haunted his thoughts when he was away.

You always worked so hard to please. When you spoke with him you listened to every little word and tried to downplay your hardships. You kept appearing in his head... so Silco gave into temptation and frequented the pub you work at just to watch you work.

Silco thrives off the trust you give him. He cultivates it for his own interests later down the road. It's so easy too.

As friends Silco gets rid of any rowdy customers you have to deal with. All it takes is him asking Jinx and the deed is done. This way you'll be so much safer at work, plus if he's not here then Sevika is.

He isn't sure why he's so drawn to you. Is it your resilience or did he just become attached because you looked so helpless? Either way... Silco can't seem to get you out of his head.

In fact... while he's watching you work... he comes to the realization he finds you attractive.

No wonder he's so attached.

Once he realizes, the longer he talks to and watches you, he enjoys your presence more than he thought... he wants to have more. Surely you can do better than working at a pub that treats you like dirt, right? He could get you something so much better.

Hell, he could do so much better for you. You shouldn't be forced to work here. As friends... or maybe even a future boyfriend or husband... he should help you out.

You trust him, don't you?

"Silco, I couldn't possibly accept such an offer."

He had offered you a job. Silco had become a regular long enough, had known you long enough, that he wanted you to work for him. The entire time he has a smile on his face... yet it feels sinister?

"I'm sure you can. I'd love to have you as an employee. You trust me, don't you?" Silco's tone is sweet as honey, leaning his head on his hands.

"I just don't feel comfortable working with all the shimmer...." You try to excuse, earning a hum from Silco.

"You won't need to touch it, dear. I can find you something... out of the way." Silco persists, gaze digging into you.

"I'm just not-"

"Dear... you trust me, right?" Silco asks, sitting up straight.

"Not if you manipulate me like this...." You say softly, looking at him sadly. "I already said no."

"Manipulation?" Silco blinks, looking shocked. "No, dear, I'm just encouraging you!"

"Are you now?"

"Please... all I want is the best for you. I just want to help. Won't you please give it a chance?" Silco continues, never taking his eyes off you.

"... if you're so insistent." You give in, Silco giving you a pleased look in return.

"Good... I knew you'd listen to me. I promise you it will be so much better than the pub." Silco promises before you two part ways.

Silco kept to that promise because he cares for you so much. He made sure to keep your trust by keeping you happy. After all... this was the best way to court you, no?

With some well placed charisma, Silco can be quite the charmer. He speaks to you in honeyed words, he is sure to check the working conditions for you are perfect. Silco wouldn't dare allow anything to ruin you.

When it comes to building the relationship he wants with you... he needs to perfect it. He plans his actions carefully and appeals to you in any way he can. It isn't long until you trust him completely... which leads to what he's wanted for a long time since he's met you.

"I love you."

Those three words is what he's been waiting to say and hear when it comes to you. His heart quickens when he looks at you and you break his stoic nature. Just looking at you doesn't appear to be enough.

Which lead to him being rather enthusiastic at the idea of giving into his desires once he has you.

"I've been waiting too long for this...." He mumbles into your skin. He won't tell you how long he's wanted to kiss you... as it doesn't matter now. With careful planning... he's done it.

He has you.

In his eyes he saved you from your life at that pub. With him you have no worries. In fact, you even have someone who loves you.

Someone who'd burn cities for you.

Silco doesn't care that he'd made Jinx kill for you. He doesn't care that this relationship of yours has been fabricated from the start. He's just glad to have you.

In fact... he doesn't have to stop. He'll do more violence in your name. He'll even continue to lure you in deeper with more kisses, bites, and pleasure.

You make him such a happy man. You're such a beautiful woman... all for him. Silco feels no guilt about how he's gotten to this point.

Why should he?

Charming the people has always been how he's gotten what he wants... along with some planned bloodshed.

[hoshinoyozora]

Tale of the Timeless Couple

🖤 Pairing: Yandere! Malleus Draconia x Female! Reader

💛 Word Count: 1,1k+

❤ Warnings: -

[Edited]

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission. Also, don’t ask for a sequel unless I like the story enough to write one. Please reblog so other people can see my stories!

Youths were known for their naivety, and just like many others, it was the cause of your downfall too.

Beguiled by the promise of happily ever after, as shown in those romantic movies and books, you’d mindlessly agreed to eternal life with your soon-to-be husband, Malleus Draconia. It was especially enforced by the bitter knowledge that Crowley had never intended for you to return, and that you’d have no means of funding yourself after graduation due to the lack of necessary documents. It was either you marry a rich man and become slightly more ‘recognized’ as the proper citizen of Twisted Wonderland, or doomed to work as a maid in someone else’s house. Malleus, of course, saw no error in your judgment, despite the seeming shallowness of it, and swiftly carried out your transformation.

Due to your relationship with him, you’d always been a part of his little family. But only now did you fully integrate into it, into their lifestyle. The Draconia Family. The Royal Family.

It was blissful in the first few years, as many marriages were, burdened only by the new responsibility of being a ruler to both humans and dark creatures. Malleus and Lilia helped you with the Royal affairs, while Silver and Sebek familiarized you with the Draconia knighthood system. Sometimes, Malleus’s grandmother would visit and chat with you, offering either piece of valuable advice or rumors that would aid you in some way. You weren’t really allowed to go anywhere anymore, and definitely not without tight security. But Malleus permitted you to attend your friends’ weddings, just as how he permitted them to attend yours; a visit that excited nearly the guests in there due to it being a Royal one, and thus, exclusive.

Their occasional letters were probably the highlight of your day, and you thanked Malleus for having the bigger heart not to get jealous and cut off the only connection to your past and humanity. Your heart warmed when you saw pictures of their babies, noting all the resemblances in their features, and mused about what kind of face your child would have.

It was serene.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

Perhaps it began when you received Deuce’s letter containing a photo of him and Ace in an overdue reunion at a restaurant. Your eyes, sharper from the transformation, noticed all signs of aging on their faces. Instinctively, you touched yours and felt only the youthful smoothness of the skin. You rushed to the mirror, and your stomach sank once you realized the signs would never appear in you. For some, it might be a blessing. But for you, it only served to remind you of what you lost.

Your humanity, in all its glory. Ugliness and beauty. The smoothness and the wrinkles.

And then, several years went by, until Jack passed away peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by his big family. You mourned in your office whilst clutching the letter Ace sent to you, unable to attend the funeral without messing with everyone’s schedules.

Black was the color of the Draconia family, but that day, it took on a special meaning.

Ace followed, still a mischievous man to his old age with a more tamed pride. Deuce remained as a policeman until a particularly nasty magic incident occurred, leaving Epel as your only living friend. No longer fixated on the idea of a ‘manly man’, he confessed to you that he was actually lonely. His wife had long died, and his children had all grown up and moved out of the house. You wished you could’ve visited and comforted him, but once again, duty was your obstacle.

Until you belatedly found out that Epel had suffered a heart attack after helping with his family’s farm.

“What are you thinking about, my love?”

A pair of arms hugged your swollen stomach from behind, but you remained motionless as you gazed through the window. Malleus rested his chin on your shoulder and stared at your profile.

“Well?”

“Nothing much.”

“You know better than to lie to me, my love.” said he, twirling a lock of your hair with his left finger. “If you have a problem, you can talk to me and we shall find a solution together.”

Malleus wouldn’t understand that the problem you had was beyond repair, and you feared his response should you reveal the truth.

“All of my friends died, Malleus. Except Sebek, but he’s just a guard to me now.”

“Humans have always had short lifespans.”

You flinched, and you wondered why you reacted that way when you were basically near immortal now. Perhaps some human instincts hadn’t fully disappeared yet.

“I miss them.”

Malleus fell quiet, and your heartbeat slowly picked up with each second passed in silence.

“It is a normal reaction,” he drawled as though empathy was something unfamiliar to him. “and you’ll get over it in due time.”

You wetted your lips, preparing yourself to ask the question that had been haunting you.

“What would you do… if I were to go home?”

“You don’t think I’d allow you to do it, do you?”

You stiffened in his embrace.

“… What?”

“Crowley had always been very slow when it comes to finding your way home, but he hadn’t completely stopped until I ordered him otherwise.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Luckily, you learned that it was futile to place any hope on him, so I wouldn’t have to inform you anything.”

“Why…?”

“Why? Because we were meant to be together, of course. The moment you agreed to be my lover is the moment you agreed to be mine forever.” Malleus sighed blissfully, tightening his hold on you. “And it doesn’t really matter whether you accepted my proposal or not, although it does make everything a whole lot easier. I don’t wish to hurt you, after all.”

You were mistaken. You were horribly mistaken. There was no happily ever after in marrying him. Financially, yes, but mentally? Literally?

“What about my friends?”

“I told you, they’re humans. They have terribly shorter lifespans than ours. Therefore, I don’t need to worry about them so much. Not when they’ll die sooner or later.” Malleus hummed, swaying your body in an invisible yet haunting tune. “Although, of course, I still have to supervise all of your correspondence.”

It was understandable, and you should’ve expected it. Some letters might contain threats, however unlikely it was, and Malleus was merely ensuring the safety of everyone involved. But the knowledge that he read everything that you wrote to them – intimate things that you were more comfortable sharing with your friends than your husband – unnerved you.

Maybe it was why he spent more time with you when you complained to Deuce about him being busier nowadays.

“Now, don’t overthink about the past. You’ll upset our baby.”

He caressed the bulge in your stomach, where the long-awaited child resided.

A shame that you couldn’t share baby pictures with your friends, not even the news of your pregnancy.

[petitelepus]

Hello! I saw that requests were open and decided not to miss my chance. Can you please make a story about Slave!Gyomei x reader. Perhaps the reader suffers from loneliness and because of this decides to find a reasonable interlocutor.

Summary: You're lonely and somehow find yourself in a Slave Market, looking for something you're missing.

Warnings: Slavery, Slight Torture, Cigarette Burns

A/N: Slave!AU, Demon Slaves, Gyomei Himejima, Gender Neutral!Reader

Part 1 - Part 2

Living alone had its ups and downs, you kinda knew it before you moved out on your own. You were independent and could leave a bar of chocolate on the table without fear of someone like a dog or another human eating it… But it also meant that you had no one to share that chocolate, your comfort treat, with.

Speaking of chocolate, you were running low. You got your bag and headed out and get some more.

After an hour and one grocery stop later, you were on your way back home when you noticed a flyer stapled into a utility pole. Normally you wouldn't pay them much mind, but this time the bold letters caught your attention.

'SLAVES ON SALE'

You blinked as you read the headline again and again and something small lit inside you. Hope? Maybe a slave would be your answer? Someone who would need to depend on you, someone who wouldn't leave you, and who would keep you company when you would feel down?

You couldn't believe yourself or your legs worked on their own and… Against all odds, you went to the address that read on the flyer. You were actually in this huge warehouse, a Slave market, looking at the different kinds of slaves they had there…

But as you were looking at them, you took a look at their prices and came to the conclusion that you wouldn't have enough money to buy one, even if some were in the sale.

Well, looking never hurt, right?

"Looking for a slave?"

You took your words back, simply looking got you in trouble. You turned to look and saw a man grinning at you. You wondered briefly who he was, but then you realized that he must have been the salesman. You smiled nervously as you nodded, "Y- yeah, but I'm just looking…"

"Just looking?" The man raised an eyebrow at you, "Not buying?"

"They are actually… A little too pricey for me… Sorry…?" You felt a little ashamed to admit it, but sometimes it was the best way to escape from an unwanted conversation.

"I see," The salesman nodded, before pointing at the backdoor behind him with his thumb, "I got something back there that might interest you!"

"Oh, I couldn't-!"

"I insist!" The man laughed, "We don't want our customers leaving empty-handed and unsatisfied!"

You really weren't sure if you should follow him, but how did it hurt to take a look? So you nodded meekly and the man smiled brightly as he took you to the backroom… And you nearly gagged when you smelled the air in there. Heavy with iron, you recognized it as a scent of blood.

"Pardon the smell but we keep the… Let's call them cheap slaves in here." The man said and you frowned as you looked around, seeing all the different Demons in cages… And they all looked absolutely awful. Starved, fearful, aggressive…

You were curious, you had to ask, "Why are these Demons cheap?"

You could have asked why they looked so awful, but you didn't dare.

"There are hundreds of different reasons." The salesman said, "The main reason is that they aren't perfect. Fuck, I'm going to be honest, some are plain awful and just waiting to be put down but according to laws, we can't just throw them out and let the sun take care of them. They say it's inhumane."

The man dug around his pockets, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. You frowned as you watched him inhale the cancer smoke and then spit on the ground, "I call bullshit. These things are alive only to serve us."

Okay, you did not like this man, like, at all. All of sudden, the earlier charming salesman was gone, and in his place was this greedy money-loving bastard. He was awful and you wanted to get away from him as soon as you just possibly could but-!

"Namu-Amidabutsu…" You heard a deep voice chant quietly and you turned to look and saw a Demon chained to the wall. Unlike him, other Demons were strictly in cages, but you soon realized why he was chained. This Demon was HUGE.

"Ah, looking at the big guy here, huh?" The salesman walked next to you and you swallowed nervously, "Ah, a little?"

"Honestly, this thing is a huge piece of shit," The man grunted as he took a drag of his cigarette, "Fucker is blind as a bat!"

"Blind?" You repeated, confused. Didn't Demons heal, no matter what happened to them?

"Shouldn't he heal or something?" You asked and the salesman groaned, "For some reason, it doesn't heal like other Demons."

You couldn't help yourself, your curiosity was caught, "Why?"

"Beats me." The man shrugged, "Could be that it was born that way. Either way, it's damaged goods and no one wants it."

"Oh…" You didn't know what to say. The man frowned, "Look, people want Demons because they heal. People can fuck them up and no matter what they do, Demons heal."

You nodded, and the man stepped forward towards the chained Demon. You blinked, confused but then he grabbed his cigarette and held it up so you could see it.

"Observe," He nodded, and then he pressed the cigarette's burning tip against the chained slave's arm. You covered your mouth so you wouldn't scream out loud in shock. The hideous hiss as the tip burned the slave's arm and the smell made you absolutely horrified and nauseous.

The slave didn't seem to react to pain at all, but your body moved before you could even realize it.

"Stop that!" You cried out as you jumped forward and smacked the salesman's hand, sending the fucking cigarette flying. The man looked at you and fucking laughed, "Easy! I'm just showing you! Look!"

You grounded your teeth together as you looked and sure enough, there was an angry-looking red spot on the slave's arm. You felt so sick and angry. This man was a monster, and you knew you couldn't leave this poor blind slave to his mercy!

"Okay!" You cried out and the salesman looked at you, "Okay?"

"How much?" You asked, much to the man's confusion, "Huh?"

"How much is he?" You repeated the question with more details. The salesman looked at you, no doubt surprised and then he grinned, "You want a blind slave that can't even heal?"

"Is there a problem?"

"No. I don't care what you want to do with a defective slave like this. Whip it, burn it, or fuck it, choice is yours."

You let out a sigh you hadn't realized you were holding in. You felt relieved, but it was short-lived.

"Though, now that I think of it…" The salesman rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "I guess someone could like a Demon that they can mark as much as they want…?"

Oh no, you didn't like that idea, not at all.

"I already told you, I'm buying him…!" You grunted as you dug your wallet out of your bag and showed the twisted evil man your bank card, "So how much?"

The man grinned and took you to the front room where he would charge you and you followed him there… Little did you know, the slave you were about to own had been listening and observing you the whole time…

After some paperwork and generous payment, you were a proud slave's owner, though, you didn't feel so proud… You looked at the papers in your hand and sighed as you slipped them into your bag. Time to get your slave and take him home with you.

The earlier salesman who managed to overtalk you into getting this Demon disappeared as soon as you had paid, but he returned soon to the front room with your new slave following close behind him.

Jesus, the Demon was even bigger when he was standing upright!

He was wearing some old tarp as if it was a raincoat to shield himself from the sun and you took notice that his wrists were tied together with a rope. The salesman was holding onto the end of the said rope as he led the blind Demon to you.

"Here you go! You're the proud owner of a slave now!" The man laughed as he handed the rope to you and you gave him a small nod, trying to get this over and done with, "Thanks…"

"Remember! No refunds!" He laughed as you turned and left the Slave Market with your new Demon…

It had taken some time to gain his ownership and the sun was already setting when you left the warehouse full of slaves. You could sense and see people staring at you and your Demon as you walked down the streets.

You glanced at your slave with a small frown, "I'm sorry, we will be at my place soon so hold on just a little longer…"

The Demon nodded quietly and you sighed as you continued walking, all the way to your small apartment. You went out to get chocolate and you came back with a Demon. What a day.

When you got back home, the Demon stayed by your doorway while you closed all the curtains so he wouldn't get burnt by the sun even by accident. Once you were done you grabbed a knife from the kitchen and made your way to the Demon so you could cut down the ropes around his wrists.

"Just a second, don't move…" You whispered gently, "I have a knife, but please don't fear, I'm not going to hurt you…"

The Demon nodded quietly and you took his hands and cut the rope. You frowned as soon as the pieces of rope fell on the ground and you saw the angry red marks on his wrists. That stupid salesman had tied the poor Demon's wrists together too tightly.

"Your wrist…" You whispered sadly as you put the knife away and gently turned his hands in yours so you could see how hurt he was.

"I think I have some cream that should help you…" You thought out loud quietly and suddenly the Demon's hands turned and he grasped your hands… So gently, you didn't know a Demon as big as him was able to be that gentle.

"Namu-Amidabutsu… Thank you for your concern, Master…" He said and you blinked stunned by how deep his voice was, but it fit him perfectly.

"Are you-?" You were going to ask when you noticed that he was actually crying! You couldn't help yourself, you panicked, "A- Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Why are you crying? I'm sorry!"

"Please, don't panic." He said as he gently squeezed your hands, "I am fine."

"But you're crying?" You asked and he nodded, "I am."

"But you aren't hurt?"

"I'm hurt, but it's nothing I can't handle."

"That… That's not good." You frowned as you squeezed his hands back and then pulled him inside from your apartment's entrance and into your small living room. You helped him to sit down on your couch and while it was a pretty big couch, he made it look small.

"I don't want you to be in pain," You said and he blinked as he looked in your direction with his milky white eyes, "I… I understand."

"Good," You nodded, "Stay here, I'm going to get something for that nasty burn on your arm and your wrists."

The Demon nodded and you quickly went to grab the first aid kit from your bathroom and returned to the Demon just as quickly. You put the kit on the couch and moved to pull the old stinky tarp off from the Demon, but you froze for a moment when you saw the rags he was wearing.

Old, ugly, stinky, and way too small for him. They looked like they were made from some old burlap. You would have to buy him something proper and clean to wear.

"Just a second…" You said as you threw the tarp aside and got out everything you needed to disinfect his wounds from the first aid kit.

"You know how to treat wounds?" The Demon asked curiously.

"It's surprisingly easy." You nodded, "But I did take a first aid course. One can learn a lot there and it looks good when applying for a job."

"I see."

Could he?

"This is going to sting a little," You warned him and he nodded, praying under his breath as you made sure he wouldn't get any infection and then you proceeded to clean and bandage his wounds. Oh, how many scars he had… He must have gone through so much, and just imagining it almost hurt you.

While you worked, you could almost feel like you were being observed and when you looked up, you saw him looking in your direction, even if he was blind.

"And we are done!" You nodded, pleased with yourself and the Demon nodded as he carefully traced the bandages around his wrists, "Thank you, Master."

"You're welcome." You nodded and the Demon turned to look at you and despite his tears, he was smiling, "I knew you were a good person the moment I heard your voice."

"How? I mean, what told you that?" You asked and the Demon nodded, "You never addressed me as an object but as a person. So far… I haven't heard anyone talk to us Demons that way."

"That's because you're living beings also." You replied honestly, "And I hate seeing others in pain or hurt."

"Then… Why did you come to that Slave Market?" The Demon asked.

"I…" You frowned as you thought what you should say. Tell the truth or lie?

"I… I don't know, I…" You pressed your lips tightly together, "I saw a flier, and I…"

"You?" He asked gently and you sighed, "And I guess… I was lonely?"

"I see…" He nodded and you frowned, expecting him to dismiss you and tell you that it would pass and everyone felt that way sometimes. That you should go out more and speak to more people so you would not feel so lonely. No one seemed to understand that it wasn't that easy…!

But instead, he started crying, "You're a good person, Master. I can tell you mean me no harm."

You blinked, stunned and you looked at the Demon who was smiling so gently at you. You couldn't almost believe what you were hearing, he was actually on your side!

You kept looking at him, trying to find even the smallest hint that he was lying and just saying what would please you, but all you saw was a genuine sweet smile.

"You're staring, Master." He said suddenly and you blushed, feeling caught like a child with the cookie jar.

"H- How could you tell?" You asked and the Demon nodded, "I can see… In my own way."

"Oh, cool!" You nodded and then you realized something, "I'm sorry, I forgot to ask your name!"

"It's alright." The Demon gave you a small smile, "My name is Gyomei."

"Gyomei," You nodded with a small smile, "You have a very nice name. It fits you."

"Thank you." He nodded, tears streaming down his face as he pressed the palms of his hands against each other like he was praying and hung his head, "If you allow me Master, I will take away your loneliness."

"You…" You were stunned, "You really think you can do that?"

"I don't think." He nodded, "I know."

You may have been crazy or desperate or Hell, even both, but you believed him and little did you know, it would be the best decision in your life.

[lostinstem]

Let's talk about Ruvik fanon and the amount of unnecessary hate Jiménez receives

Tw: poor english lmao

Something that I have seen too much during the five years I have been in this unfortunately dead fandom is that some people believe Ruvik became purely evil due to the incident he suffered. In reality, it is not at all like that. It generates a certain rejection in me that he was seen as a poor victim who only wanted to get his sister back.

It is essential to recognize that Ruvik possessed an exceptional mind from an early age, exhibiting traits of psychopathy due to his lack of empathy towards the animals he killed. His intelligence, along with his ability to understand and manipulate complex concepts, distinguished him from the rest, as well as isolated him. From a young age, his intellectual brilliance not only allowed him to excel in various fields of knowledge but also pushed him into a state of loneliness and emotional distancing.

This emotional distancing is a characteristic feature of psychopathy, a condition that often manifests in childhood and worsens over time. Throughout his childhood, Ruvik demonstrated a lack of empathy towards others, even his own family. His reactions to the suffering of others were cold and indifferent, indicating a significant emotional disconnection. This disturbing behavior became evident in his cruelty towards animals and his inability to relate emotionally to other human beings, showing an early inclination towards manipulation and control.

He was aware of his actions even though he was a child. He grew up in an environment of high social status and traditional morality, where values and standards of conduct were instilled. His sensitivity allowed him to discern between good and evil, understanding the ethical implications of his actions from an early age. Although he was just a child, his psychopathic traits and formidable intellect made him an individual dangerously obsessed with control and experimentation, foreshadowing what he would eventually become

All of these characteristics are evident prior to the fire. It should be mentioned that Ruvik's traumas acted as catalysts that exacerbated his internal psychopathic tendencies. His childhood manifested signs of a disturbed mind where traumatic events served to trigger his complete instability and even push him to his full limit.

Marcelo Jiménez

It's not his fault that Ruvik is so fucked up lol

I would like to introduce this character because, in addition to being important, many solidify the distorted fanon vision of Ruvik due to the impact of Jiménez's actions on him and why he ends up unfairly being one of the most hated characters in the game.

The main game presents Jiménez from a perspective that highlights the dire consequences of his experiments, leading to a negative and superficial perception of his character. However, when explored further in the DLC, a more complex and empathetic dimension of Jiménez, often overlooked, is revealed.

Jiménez is constantly blamed for Ruvik's death and the theft of his research, but it is crucial to analyze what is truly behind this. The dilemma Jiménez faced was complex. On the one hand, he felt loyalty and respect toward Ruvik, his colleague and friend. On the other hand, there was immense pressure from Mobius. The decision to steal Ruvik's research was not a simple betrayal but a desperate act to save his career and maintain access to the resources necessary to continue the research. Although morally questionable, this action is best understood in the context of constant coercion and threat.

Mobius's threats were clear: if Jiménez did not provide more information and progress on the stem project, he would be replaced. This threat was not trivial. The loss of his position at Beacon Psychiatric Hospital involved more than just dismissal; it meant the end of his career and the loss of access to resources essential for his research. Furthermore, these threats suggested a potential risk to his life, given Mobius's power to remove obstacles from his path.

It is obviously not justified that he stole Ruvik's research without permission, but he had an understandable reason.

Regarding the murder of Ruvik, it is essential to underline a very important point: Jiménez did not kill him; Mobius did. Jiménez only intervened when Ruvik had managed to make the stem system work solely with his brain waves, and was gradually withdrawing from the project to the point of almost never visiting the laboratory.

In entry #201, Jiménez expresses his deep fear of what Mobius could do to Ruvik. This entry reflects Jiménez’s fear of possible reprisals from Mobius and his concern about the situation, considering both the threats and Ruvik's refusal to participate in the laboratory. Technically, it was Jiménez's only option to force him (without knowing that Mobius intended to kill him).

Clear proof of the remorse Jiménez feels is found in entry #209, where, in addition to expressing disbelief at having been part of such an atrocity, he shows a visible decline in his way of recounting it. Jiménez demonstrates respect for Ruvik's work rather than mere greed, while Mobius pursued his own goals with ruthless determination, focusing primarily on large-scale control and manipulation. The stem project, in which Ruvik was deeply involved, had immense potential for mind control and the creation of alternate realities, something Mobius viewed as a tool to consolidate his power. The organization did not value Ruvik's scientific discoveries and advances for their intrinsic merit but solely for how they could be exploited for its own purposes.

It remains to be mentioned that Jiménez integrated Ruvik into Mobius because they had found out about his existence, he wanted to provide him with better facilities along with support to avoid his morbid inclinations (entry #120)

It's okay if you don't like the character, but I feel like most of the hate he gets is due to a lack of understanding.

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 31)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (30) | Next (32)

Content Warning: soft, safe, unwilling vore

Word Count: 2.4k

------ Chapter 31: A Tiny Assassin ------

Ronny tried to sneak away from his father as he was paraded through the halls of the castle, but Hardon wouldn’t let him leave. The king kept slapping his hand on his shoulder or his back as he rambled, making his son hiss in pain with his existing wounds. He was sure the sadistic man was doing it on purpose, to make him suffer more, so he gritted his teeth and didn’t complain. 

All the while, Tanya continued to slosh around in his stomach. Ronny idly squeezed and massaged his grumbling belly with his hand, aware of how uncomfortable she must be as she was jumbled up with his every stride. Guilt sank in as he recognized how scared and betrayed she must feel. This was likely her first time being eaten too, since she had been in his care the entire time. His stomach was gurgling audibly, working to churn up and digest its contents. He winced and gently rubbed his midsection with small circles. 

“Ronny, what’s wrong? You have a stomachache?” Hardon questioned sharply. “You haven’t been listening.” 

“Oh, no. Sorry. I think I just overate,” Ronny mumbled, hanging his head. The king stared at him a moment, with those piercing pale eyes of his, before resuming. He led Ronny into the throne room. He was lecturing Ronny, something about kings and ancestors and foreign kingdoms, but Ronny hadn’t been paying attention to most of the conversation. 

“Just don’t embarrass me in front of King Ivan or his son. This alliance is important,” Hardon concluded, his voice swelling with harsh authority. 

“Sure thing,” Ronny agreed. He couldn’t care less if he tried. 

“Let’s go to dinner now.” He grabbed his son’s shoulder and herded him forward. Ronny groaned internally. He wanted to retreat to the privacy of his bedroom, let Tanya out, and apologize to her, but his father was insistent. They marched into the dining room and sat down. Bianca was already present, fiddling with her fork as she waited. She gave Ronny a dismissive look, refusing to speak to him. 

Ronny slumped in his chair drearily, staring down at the silverware in morose contemplation. The king reached into his shirt and pulled out his necklace, with Candy squealing on the end. He unclasped her from the necklace and toyed with her in his fingers, rolling her and dropping her from hand to hand to scare her more. He delighted in every squeak of terror, grinning maliciously from ear to ear. Ronny tried to block out her cries. 

King Richard motioned for a servant. “Tell the kitchen they don’t need to serve me any humans tonight. I want this special little lady right here. And I’ll have my precious girl Millie for dessert.” He sniggered as Candy whined like a beaten animal. Bianca watched with apparent indifference. 

Ronny’s heart started to pound harder as an irrational anxiety gripped him by the throat. For some reason, he pictured being small himself, replacing Candy as the unfortunate victim in his father’s hands. He didn’t want to be here another second, in the oppressive atmosphere of the dining room. The excruciating feeling magnified, morphing into nausea and settling in his intestines. He wanted to expel Tanya into his hand and sprint away, but he felt stuck in his chair, like he was sitting in a big glob of glue. 

The panicky feeling only worsened when the servants brought out the dinner entrees. Ronny imagined that he was being pricked all over with needles, so intense was his discomfort. He was sweating profusely, yet his body felt as cold as ice. His plate was set in front of him and he visibly shuddered. By some ghastly stroke of fate, the poor girl he was slated to eat was none other than the same human that had been floundering in his lemonade earlier that day. She glared up at him, partially submerged in a mushy mess of sweet potato. 

Ronny stared back at her, blinking sweat out of his eyes. She didn’t display any resistance like she had before, when he ate her with the lobster. Had he completely broken her spirit, with his barbarism? A deluge of guilt flooded his core. He recalled Joey, giving his all to save her in a pathetic demonstration of futility, and experienced a stabbing cramp in his chest. He labored to breathe, only managing a ragged wheeze. 

What was wrong with him? He’d eaten plenty of humans before, without a second thought: Hell, he had one in his stomach right now! He’d been conditioned to see humans as food or property, not as people. A thick lump formed in his throat, like a dry mouthful of gravel: He doubted he could swallow anything even if he tried. He wiped his soggy forehead off with his sleeve. He was losing his mind, and if the squirming and gurgling in his viscera was any indication, he might be losing his lunch soon too. 

Eren monitored Ronny’s meltdown with confusion. At first, she’d been ecstatic to be placed in front of the heartless giant prince. She hated him, after he threatened to break her bones, ate her, and nearly drank her up. She couldn’t wait to slit his throat or belly open from the inside. While she discerned he was having some sort of inner crisis, she didn’t care. She wanted his blood on her hands. 

However, as she surveyed the vast expanse of the dining room table, alarm began to claw at her bowels. Chester. She hadn’t factored in Chester. The royal food tester was checking each plate for poison with his sensitive nose and palate. He examined the meals with meticulous detail, taking a small sample of each to ensure the food was bereft of harmful contamination. Eren had to wonder if he would be capable of detecting her hidden weapon. When she first met him, he’d successfully sniffed out the poisons concealed in her bodice and skirt, including the dagger steeped in venom. Would he sense the needle, even if it didn’t have any toxins on it? Would the smell of metal arouse his suspicions? She had no way of knowing. 

Bianca was sitting across the table from her brother, at least the distance of a football field to Eren, where Jackie was barely discernible alongside the roast duck. Eren wriggled with impatience as the dangerous giant moved at a leisurely pace, his back bent and his hands and face close to the plate. He seemed to be taking special care to investigate Jackie, which freaked out Eren even more. If he scrutinized her that closely, he was sure to discover the needle, even if his nose couldn’t catch it. 

The suspense was agonizing. Eren shifted and sweated under the strain, breathing fast and hard. She didn’t want to find out what would happen to her if she were caught. Attempting the assassination of a prince was no small crime: She’d lose her life, no doubt, and the loss would be pointless and devastating if she failed. Being confronted with the horror of her own mortality was paralyzing. She was tempted, briefly, to abandon her quest, and throw away the needle before anyone noticed. Prince Ronny was so preoccupied with his own problems, whatever they were, that she doubted he’d pay any heed to her treachery. 

However, Eren was no coward. She hadn’t come this far, and sacrificed her freedom and comfort, just to chicken out at the last minute when she finally had a chance at success, to strike back against the oppressive weight holding her down. She’d been given a chance to turn around already, and she had refused it. This moment was her time to shine and make a difference: to make the giants fear humans for once. She gripped her arm with determination, to quell her shaking and her racing pulse. It was now or never. She needed to stay the course. 

After what felt like an eternity, Chester moved on to King Richard’s plate. He spent less time on his meal, moving quickly and efficiently. Eren’s heart galloped harder, causing pain in her ribcage and lightheadedness. She could hardly bear the tension. She might have a heart attack long before she ever had a chance to kill anyone. Ronny wheezed above her while she struggled to breathe herself, as if they both were in an isolated chamber with insufficient air. 

Eren’s heart jumped into her throat as Chester approached, towering over her with menace. The massive man leaned down, bringing his face in close. His nose twitched and he stopped, giving Eren a look of realization as he scanned her form with his huge green eyes. Eren gasped. He knew. Her worst fears were confirmed. His lips parted as he prepared to expose her. 

“I’m not feeling well,” Ronny blurted out loudly. “I’m—I’m sick. I can’t eat this!” He clumsily leapt out of his chair, grabbing his plate, shoved it into the hands of the nearest servant, and catapulted out of the room. 

“Pity,” King Richard uttered with nonchalance. He leered down at Candy and pressed her into his pile of glazed carrots. He stirred the carrots with his fork, burying her underneath them and chuckling as she struggled to resurface. “We were going to have so much fun.” She released a pained whine in response, dreading her future torment. 

Eren lurched with Ronny’s rapid jerking movements, momentarily discombobulated as she collapsed into the orange mush. She pulled herself out, layered in sweet potato, as the giant now holding the plate walked out of the dining room to return the meal to the kitchen. Her eyes met Chester’s in the briefest of glimpses. The giant was staring after her with an unfaltering intensity. His mouth remained closed, containing her secret, but he knew. Eren recognized she had no chance of success from the beginning. She’d only been saved from a pointless death through an extraordinary stroke of luck. She hugged her knees, trembling, as the meaning behind the abrupt turn of events slowly sank in. 

While Eren was shuttled to the kitchen, Ronny sprinted back to the privacy of his own quarters. His legs bent like rubber beneath him as he ran. He barely made it up the stairs before he retched and vomited, unloading the contents of his stomach onto the stone floor outside his chambers. He rasped for breath, quivering as if ill, pouring sweat and deathly pale. 

Tanya looked even worse. She was huddled up in a tight circle, knees to her chest, sobbing and gasping. Ronny swallowed and gingerly scooped her up in his palms. He felt better, to see her and have her outside of his body again, but his heart sank at her pitiful appearance. She was filthy, naked, tinged red from the heat of his insides, and soaked from head to toe in rancid puke. 

“Prince Ronny!” his personal servant exclaimed in shock, hurrying his way. 

“Servant! Clean this up!” Ronny snarled, clutching Tanya protectively to his chest. He hastened to his feet, staggering into his room and shutting the door behind him. 

“Tanya… Tanya, are you okay?” he asked gently, holding her close to his face to get a good look at her. She was too distressed to reply as she cried violently. Ronny entered his adjacent bathroom, where his servants had dutifully left clean water and soap. The water wasn’t heated, but Ronny wasn’t concerned with that. He didn’t care anymore about his dignity, or his princely duties, or his own regal appearance. At that moment, Tanya was his world. He dipped her frail body in the cool water and carefully washed her. His heart was tearing at the seams with regret over his own cowardice, and his inability to stand up to his monstrous father. 

He set her down on a soft towel to quickly splash water on his own face and rinse the sour filth out of his mouth. He swept his hair back on his head in agitation with a wet hand as he regarded Tanya. She was turned away from him, still crunched into a fetal position. She flinched at his touch as he picked her up again, cradling her in his palm. 

“Tanya, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for what I’ve done,” Ronny gushed in a messy fountain of remorse. “I didn’t mean to cause you any harm, honestly! If I saw another way out I would’ve taken it, but my father…” He trailed off, gnawing on his lip. Tanya gave no indication that she was listening as she sniffled and hiccupped. Ronny, not sure what else to do, petted her with his finger, massaging her back in small circles. He stayed kneeled on the bathroom floor for a while, continuing to stroke her in a way he hoped was comforting, until her breathing became more steady. Even so, she hid her face in her arms. She didn’t stretch out or look at Ronny once. 

With a sigh heavy enough to crush boulders into dust, Ronny finally stood up, as his legs were losing blood flow from his uncomfortable position on the floor. He trudged over to Tanya’s little house and tucked her into the doll-sized bed sadly. He had failed her. He had completely failed her. He undressed himself without the help of his servant, preferring solitude over comfort, and flopped into bed himself.  

He stared mindlessly at the ceiling. He was tired, in body and soul. Ronny had eaten many humans in the past, with no consideration for their feelings. He’d kept them stewing in his digestive tract for hours, extracted them numb or sobbing, and cast them aside like refuse. His servants usually disposed of them for him, spiriting them away to the kitchen, where they disappeared from his thoughts until they reappeared on his plate another day. 

This was the first time he’d been forced to clean one off himself, to soil his own unblemished hands. This was the first time he’d ever gotten to know one, to view her as an actual person and not an object. This was the first time he’d confided his deepest fears and feelings to one—to anyone, really. And this was the first time he had to suffer laying in bed, listening to a small maiden he’d hurt shed tears without respite, all night long. 

Chapter 32

Tag List: @yummynomms @tinycoded360

[arachnixe]

A Better Family

(Part 2 of Night’s Longing - Previous: Den of Depravity)

A man kneels on a stone floor, coughing blood. His face is a battleground of despair versus anger, and he clenches his fists in a futile gesture of resistance.

“If it helps, I’m sorry in my own way. I’d hoped to let you live, but I cannot do that if you will not play your role in this story.” A figure, cloaked in darkness, circles the dying man like a vulture.

“Damn you, Alucard. I should have known it was you. I see now it was always you. The count—” Another coughing fit interrupts him. “I won’t let you get away with this.”

“You are not in much of a position at all to ‘let’ me do anything, Morris.”

“I can still… curse with the best of them. Enough blood here for it, at least.” The man puts a red, dripping hand to his forehead and breathes a prayer. “By the bloodline of the Boltman clan, I curse you. We will wipe your progeny from the world. When you die, it will be at our hands. On my life, I swear it. In the name of my family I do hereby vow. We will be your end, Dracula.“

In a flash of light, the man collapses. Somewhere far away, a child wakes up from a nightmare of his father dying, his face wet with tears.

---

I, on the other hand, wake up with a smile on my face. Get wrecked, old man. If I have to suffer your curse, at least I have the consolation prize of playing dream witness to your embarrassing last moments on your knees again and again. It’s a damn shame, I think, that one of my ancestors apparently was successful at killing Dracula at some point. Wasn’t enough to end the curse on my family, though. I guess we are supposed to kill every last vampire to fulfill the prophecy.

That won’t happen if I have any say in it. I am determined to be the last of my line.

“Wait, she’s awake again already?”

“What did I tell you? This girl is the best.”

I open my eyes, blinking through the haze and trying to reorient myself. It’s still night, and I’m lying across the laps of two beautiful women in a dimly lit booth. I only recognize one of them. “Hey, Vicky. Who’s your friend?”

“Not totally with it yet,” the stranger observes.

“Come on. You met Liz already, remember? My sister.”

“Right, the hot sister.” That rings a bell. I sit upright with Vicky’s aid and position myself comfortably between the two vampires. I’m still feeling a bit dizzy, and my limp neck struggles to prevent my head from lolling to the side. “Gonna have to get some calories and iron in me if you want to go again before morning.”

“Already got a big steak coming your way, Hanna. Extra rare, just how you like it.”

I can’t believe there’s a nightclub in this city that serves steak of all things. This place rules.

“Ooh, she does have good taste. Twice over, even.” Liz rewards my quality opinions with a kiss on the lips and a lustful squeeze of my boob. While she continues occupying my mouth, Vicky runs her hand up my thigh and takes a long, lingering lick from my collarbone to my jaw. The way they treat me like a premium cut of meat makes me shiver in anticipation of what’s to come later tonight.

I’m too distracted to notice when my own meal arrives until the smell reminds my stomach that I’m starving.

“Oops, looks like they thought that was for one of us,” Liz says.

No sides on the plate, just a fat fucking slab of barely seared beef swimming in blood—is that human blood?—in a presentation clearly intended for vampire clientele rather than a living human. This place must be damn fancy by vampire standards. Or maybe it’s just that full moon excess at work.

I’m drooling, too hungry to fret about the details. If Liz thinks a little blood is going to put me off my appetite, I’m happy to prove her wrong. I demolish the whole thing in record time, ripping chunks of flesh apart with my teeth and happily sipping the mixture of blood and beef juices until I clean the plate and give Liz a little wink in response to her shocked expression.

“And here I thought a place like this would have an aversion to stakes.“

Vicky laughs uproariously. It’s a universal truth that no vampire can resist puns about themselves.

“I’ve never been so turned on in my life,” Liz says. “You’re telling me she’s really a—“

Vicky hisses an interruption. “Not here. Don’t yell at me about taking a stupid risk and then turn around and talk about it in public!”

I’ve inferred that if a certain someone in a position of authority were to learn about me being a vampire hunter in their midst, I’d be in real danger. I’m durable, but I’m not invincible, and besides, the last thing I want to do is to have to kill a bunch of vampires who think they’re just protecting themselves.

There must be a way to earn some measure of trust from the clan, show them that I’m not a danger, that I’m not like my hateful family.

“What if I found a way to prove myself?” I ask. “Make some big show of loyalty that can’t be ignored. It’s all well and good for me to repeatedly give myself to a couple of the hottest women I’ve ever met, but I don’t think anyone’s gonna believe that’s an act of altruism, per se.“

Vicky nods, stroking my cheek with affection. “You’re a freak for sure, but that’s not quite enough on its own.”

“You could wipe out one of, uh… your kind’s cells,” Liz suggests. “One that’s been directly a problem for us. That would go a long way.”

My heart skips a beat at the suggestion. Wipe out. She means doing some straight-up murder. There’d be no coming back from that, but that’s the point, isn’t it? That’s what makes it a perfect test of loyalty. If I really want to make a difference, do some real good for the world, and spit on my family’s name in the process, here’s the perfect mission.

I lean back in the booth, turning my body to the side to face her directly. “Do you know of any specific one that would fit the bill?”

“It’s my job to know these things, my dear. Though I want to enjoy your company in full before I send you out on an obvious suicide mission. The cell I’m thinking of is run by a Boltman, which is a name that should strike fear into even your heart.” She squeezes my knee. “Of course, I wouldn’t blame you for changing your mind after hearing that.”

Vicky didn’t tell her, then. Or maybe she didn’t recognize the specific family affiliation identified by my tattoo. Not sure how to bring that up myself, so maybe I won’t just yet. Still, the name doesn’t change anything, really. It only helps me solidify my own feelings. I feel my face settling into an serious expression just shy of a scowl. “Quite the opposite.” My hand clenches into a fist. “I’m eager to take that family down most of all.”

---

There’s a difference between knowing of a hunter cell and knowing where to find it, of course, but I do have some advantages the vampires lack. I’m trained in several different hunter codes, naturally including the Boltman family’s.

Graffiti marks the location of safehouses, with special markings and modifications signaling how recently it was still believed to be uncompromised and whether other hunters are welcome. Some markings warn of nearby vampire dens with an estimated population count and risk level. Others hint at stashes nearby.

I meander the streets until I spot the first such sign: a stash. A false brick in an alleyway conceals some frozen sunlight and a silver chain. Smash one, pocket the other to pawn later, then keep looking. Where there’s one sign, more will be around the area.

The first safehouse I spot is unoccupied. Not too much of a surprise there; we keep plenty of redundant ones in case someone gets followed. Lucky break, though, someone has used it recently, and decoding the log book gives me clues about where to check next.

It takes only a few days to close in on the cell’s current location, and then no time at all to convince the guard to let me in. I know all the right words, and I flash them the tattoo that marks me as one of theirs. They have no reason to doubt me.

“Hey, Carlo!” The woman who lets me in shouts louder than I think reasonable. “This a cousin of yours or something?”

A shirtless man taking swings at the punching bag in another room stops what he’s doing, wipes the sweat off his face with a nearby towel, and approaches the two of us. He looks me up and down for a moment before responding.

“Not one I’ve met before.” He extends a hand. “Carlo Boltman.”

“Hanna.” I shake his hand. “Boltman too, that is.” I lift my shirt to show him my tattoo, a perfect match for his. I’m also dressed for the occasion in my hunter’s garb: strategically armored, belt full of essentials, and with knives and stakes strapped to me in easy to reach places. The leather gorget at my neck bears the seal of Clan Boltman, one repeated on my bracers and embossed on the back of my silver pendant.

“Hanna? Just like…?” Carlo turns and shouts toward another room. “Hey, Uncle Dan, come out here.”

Does everybody here feel the need to shout instead of walking over to—

“Well, well, well, the prodigal daughter returns to the fold. And here I thought you were content to steal from me and fuck off to a life of leisure.”

“Daniel. How good to see you well.” I keep my voice measured and composed, if icy, while addressing my father. I will not show him weakness. “I was unaware you considered it stealing to take the weapons and armor that were crafted for my measurements and with which I had grown accustomed during my training. I mistakenly assumed my father would bless his daughter with the tools she needs to strike out on her own and practice the family trade.”

He laughs. “Well, if you really have taken up the family trade in this godforsaken city, I may be willing to look past your transgressions. Tell me, how many vampires have you successfully hunted so far?”

“Five,” I reply without hesitation. “Two at once just a few days ago, in fact.” The smile of satisfaction I give him is even honest.

“Hmm.” He grunts. “Inadequate, but I do believe that’s within your capabilities. Be glad you didn’t try to lie to me.”

I almost pity Carlo, eyes darting back and forth at the two of us in our chilly confrontation. While it’s clear my father must have mentioned me before, it seems he wasn’t prepared for the truth of our strained relationship.

“I thought Carlo here would be the leader of this outfit, but I know you better than to assume you’d allow anyone else to call the shots when you’re around. So why don’t you tell me what you’re planning so that I can lend you my aid and we can part ways again?”

Daniel smirks. “No, this is my dear nephew’s mission. While I have graciously volunteered some input, I would never undermine the judgment of a fully trained and independent vampire hunter of our clan.”

We glare at each other for several silent seconds before I turn my gaze to my cousin. With a rueful grin, I say to Carlo, “I’m sorry about all this. You don’t deserve to be caught up in this kind of bickering. Would you brief me on what your group has planned?”

Carlo looks back toward my father, who gives a stern nod. “Well, first you need to know that we caught word Clan Sarthe is planning something big. ‘Resurrection of Dracula’ big, in fact.”

“You can’t ‘resurrect’ a vampire.”

My father snorts his disapproval with me. “Dracula is no run-of-the-mill vampire, girl. He’s the damn source of it all! And if you don’t want your job to get a whole lot harder, you won’t rest on your laurels hoping whatever ritual those bloodsuckers are planing is a dud.”

“Right,” Carlo continues. “We don’t want to take any chances. Which is why I called in a real veteran,” he gestures at Daniel, “and why we’re gearing up to hit the main hive.”

Leading me across the room, he unfurls an old-fashioned paper map of the city. That’s certainly my father’s influence; he is convinced all the tech companies are in the pocket of Big Vampire. I recognize a good number of the circled points on the map: several major dens I’m familiar with, including the Carmine. The circle he jabs at, however, is new to me.

“Warehouse district?”

“Right. The entrance is an unmarked building. We believe it leads to a network of tunnels that sprawls… well, we don’t know how far they go, but we’re pretty sure we can expose a lot of vamps to some surprise daylight with strategically placed explosives in the area.”

The plan is vile. The more he describes it, the gladder I become that I’m here to put a stop to this before they hurt any more innocents. I’m not even sure it would work, but a lot of vampires would die either way.

I nod thoughtfully and play my role, offering suggestions as though I intend to let them attempt this cruel scheme. I introduce myself to the other members of the cell, mostly ordinary people rather than true hunters. I don’t bother learning their names. The more time I spend around people like this, the more my own humanity disgusts me, the more apart I feel from all of them.

These people are not my real family. I know where I belong.

At night, most everyone falls asleep. The one exception, aside from me, is the guy keeping watch, just starting his night shift. The man doesn’t watch his back at all, and I quietly slip behind him and slit his throat.

It’s a nice safehouse, with enough rooms for everyone to have their own place to sleep even with six of us here. Better still, the walls are thick enough to muffle any brief struggle someone might offer, but I won’t need to rely on that as long as I hit them quickly and effectively. Fortunately, I am well trained in where and how to stab someone to prevent them from raising an alert.

Inside the first bedroom is the sweet girl who let me in. She sleeps on her back. I crush her windpipe, and in the same fluid motion I stab her through the heart. Her blood soaks the sheets without so much as a squeak of distress.

The second bedroom is where things go wrong. Carlo is awake, with someone going down on him. He’s too distracted to notice my entrance right away, but I don’t get far before he starts to yell.

My knife sails in a graceful arc from my hand into his eye socket. I dive forward, drawing another to stab through the sheets into the back of the nobody fellating my cousin. Carlo scrambles, losing blood, clearly in a panic, and I drive my second knife up through his diaphragm. Soon he too collapses.

That shout. There’s no way it didn’t wake Daniel up. After weighing my options, I choose to dash from the room yelling, “we’ve got company!”

Perhaps my father really is a sentimental old fool to the end. He bursts from his own room, armed with the famous family blade, and as I watch him scan the hallways holding that sword of his aloft, he shows no suspicion whatsoever toward me.

“How many, Hanna?”

“Two, I think. No idea how they got in.”

He swears under his breath, moving past me to peek into Carlo’s room, trusting me to watch his back. “Shit, Hanna. At least I’ve got you here. I never told you this, but—“

It’s all the opportunity I need to drive my dagger into his neck. I lever it back and forth to really shred his carotid artery and send his blood spraying like a fountain. Fuck that feels good. Oh, that really feels good.

On an impulse, I lean forward and catch the spray of blood in my mouth. It’s not like I draw strength from it like a proper vampire, but I’ve learned to love that salty, metallic flavor in my own way, and today it tastes like my freedom from this damn family of mine.

“Fuck you, dad.” I smear crimson victory across my face and laugh with sheer, manic joy. “I’d tell you to go to hell, but you always said that’s where all vampires go when they die for good.” I slice deeper, all but severing his head, then follow up by stabbing him again and again in each vital organ. Can never be too sure with a vampire hunter. “I’m sure, whenever I end up dying, that’s where I’m going too. And I’d rather not have you around while I’m spending my afterlife with everyone I ever loved.” I spit on his body. “If hell is my fate, then you can go to heaven or go to oblivion, but wherever the fuck you end up, go there without me.”

I grab my phone and text my family to let them know that there are some rapidly cooling bodies for them to enjoy if they’re feeling peckish. Also, I’ll appreciate their help taking some photos and videos to document my beautiful sins.

[cauldronblssd]

Ch 20 - Found in the Sunlight

Elain assesses the attractiveness of the other Vanserras. (And thinks about murdering Beron)

Read on AO3

Tag List: @climbthemountain2020 @clockwork-ashes

Excerpt:

Being here troubled Lucien. Elain could feel the worry and confusion radiating down the bond. Those feelings had been growing in insistence the last few days since they’d begun their plans to travel to the Autumn Court. But now, they pushed towards her with startling vehemence.   

Mate. Mate. Protect him.   

The bond raged in her chest as they descended further into this cold palace. She recognized this feeling. It was the same seething anger that she’d felt in her vision. The strings of fate had pulled her here, towards the male that still haunted Lucien’s dreams. Some divine force had set her life into motion, leading her towards Lucien, accepting the bond so they might reach this place. It unsettled her, calling her to question again which feelings were her own and which were a product of the interference of the cauldron or the mother or whomever decided these things. Still, this part she felt sure about. She’d seen these halls in her visions, already knew what the male would look like before she’d ever set eyes on him. He’d tormented Lucien, his mother, and his brother for too long. Even Mor, had suffered as a result of this male. Her sister, too, had all but been hunted through the Winter Court as a result.   

Every feeling of worry and fear and guilt that Lucien sent down the bond only grew her own feelings of righteous anger. She was an Archeron, after all. The cutting cold of the dagger pinned to her thigh radiated against her skin, as if it too, sensed its fate. Ahead of her, Bingham walked at a steady but cautious pace. Perhaps he felt uncertain of his role in delivering the outcast Vanserra brother to the High Lord. She liked him, she decided, though she had little to base it on but her own intuition. Surely, the staff would be relieved to answer to Lucien instead of the terrible Beron. She imagined they served him in fear rather than any true loyalty. Though there are vicious people in every walk of life, as she’d learned all too well in her years as a human.   

At last, they entered the large room that served as the private receiving room for the Vanserra family. Immediately, her eyes found what could only be Lucien’s mother. Her long red hair gleamed under the flickering flames and her gentle eyes gleamed wet with tears as she glanced towards her son. Next to her, offering a much colder response, stood the harsh face of the High Lord. He might have been attractive, had his hatred not seeped into his every expression. He had something of Eris in him, with his high cheekbones and an elegant way to his movements. But where Eris was all regal airs and cunning glances, true hatred emanated from Beron. It was not a farce, or a mask, as Rhys often donned in the Court of Nightmares. Her own magic answered as if the cauldron itself recognized the abomination to the powers it granted to the High Lord.  

Standing next to him, his face set in a sneer of disdain, stood Eris. Her heart ached for him, knowing the way he had smiled at her with brotherly affection the last time she’d seen him at her wedding. Next to him, standing in a straight line that had to be practiced, stood three redheaded males that must be the other Vanserra brothers - handsome, though none of them could compare to Lucien. He radiated with power and beauty next to her. All eyes turned to him, surely assessing the reason for his return. But she imagined people always be drawn to him in a place such as this. The sun in this cavernous palace, one couldn’t help but turn one’s face towards him, soaking up his warmth like the best summer day.   

Elain gripped Lucien’s hand tightly. His palm was sweating though he kept his hold relaxed and his face impassive. She released his hand, and just as instructed, offered a deep curtsy with a bow of her head, while Lucien bowed at the waist. She wanted to spit at Beron’s feet, but forced herself into the docile subservient female she knew he’d expect.   

When she raised her gaze, Beron was starting at Lucien with a calculating smile. “Son, how kind of you to return at last.” He did not glance in her direction, ignoring her entirely. She wished she were brave like Feyre, with some clever way to take Beron down a notch. Instead, she stood politely with her hands crossed together in front of her, as if she were at a human ball and not standing in front of the sort of cruel and powerful fae she’d been raised to fear. She practiced her Valkyrie breathing exercises, her familiar refrain, I belong to no one , running through her mind.   

“Thank you for having us. Your invitation is most appreciated.” Lucien kept his voice neutral, in his best play at emissary.   

“And who do you serve these days, Rhysand, or Tamlin? The last I heard you had no place in Prythian at all. You were slumming it with some humans, were you not?” Elain struggled not to suck in a breath. She hadn’t expected Beron to know about Jurian and Vassa, and she suspected Lucien had not either.   

“I am emissary to the Night Court and visit Spring and the Human Lands as it benefits the court.”   

“Yes, well, I can see how you would prefer traipsing about with human scum rather than reside in your own court by blood. Though it does pain your mother so.” 

“It’s a pleasure to be back with family, and see mother, of course. I’m sorry if my absence causes her worry.” He offered a slight bow of his head to Beron and then towards his mother, keeping his face neutral. Elain supposed that his time away caused his mother rather a lot of worry, but she, too, revealed nothing, offering only a slight smile in response. Elain could imagine that were Beron not there, there might have been a tearful reunion, with hugs and laughter and relief. Instead, it seemed she was not granted permission to speak at all, nor were his brothers.   

Beron only flicked his hand in the air with a long-suffering sigh, a dismissal. “Bray, see they find their rooms, please.” He turned away, sitting stiffly on his throne as he summoned one of his guards forward for some sort of instruction. Elain blinked, taking it in before one of the middle brothers, with the signature auburn hair trimmed to his shoulders, ushered them forward with an outstretched hand.

[greetingfromthedead]

8. Eye of the Storm

Series: Mermaid!AU Depth of Despair

Pairing: Vash x GN!Reader

Word count: 2.2k

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

You threw your life away. No matter how you look at it, you arrive at the same conclusion. It is your burden to bear, and yours alone. Vash should not suffer because of you; he should be able to move on with his life. You want him to be happy, and forget the nightmares you must have left him with. He saw you, everything about you. And he will never be able to erase that image from his mind. He saw who you really are, submerged in the water where you belong. He saw the monster, and you lifted the glamour that would blind him to your true nature. You cannot hide from his gaze anymore, and you hope you never have to, because the guilt is already eating you alive.

At first, you swam away, heading for the distant horizon you have never been to before, but the further you got, the heavier your heart felt. It doesn't feel right to leave Vash behind, hoping he will survive and simply leave all these horrors behind him. Nicholas knows about him; others probably do too. They will make him a target just to spite you. Vash won't be safe from your kin anymore. None of this is his fault, so you cannot turn your back on him.

And so you remain. A sentry not to your people but to your enemy. Lingering near enough to the shore to know if anyone tries to make their way up the river to where Vash lives. You are careful not to be seen by anyone, not by humans or other merfolk. Loneliness quickly creeps into your bones. Vash had given you a taste of companionship, understanding, and friendship, but now it only serves as a bitter reminder of the weight of your misdeeds.

You glide along the sandy ocean floor, the sea grass brushing against the scales on your back, caressing the fins and your long tail. It is dark, but sleep has eluded you for a while. The minimal magic found in raw fish meat keeps you going, but physically, you still feel exhausted and weak. The warm light from the lighthouse shimmers at the tips of the waves, glimmering as you keep watch. At first, everything is quiet; only the lapping of the waves against the beaches and reefs lulls your mind away from thoughts of guilt and doom. But then you notice something else. A different rhythm disturbs the currents, and you recognize it as oars hitting the water, propelling what must be a small boat. You pay it no mind; the humans don't interest you anymore; you keep away and just let the fishermen go about their business. You're somewhat glad for the nets they string up in the bay area; it keeps others away, and you've learned to be careful and even steal fish from the traps. You would have brushed it all off and ignored it if a faint and distorted melody didn't mix with the splashes of the oars. You recognize it as one you've heard the drunken sailors sing in the ports and on their boats. A very old song.

In the moonlit waves, where the sea meets sky, A sailor’s heart beats with a longing sigh. He sails the ocean, both near and far, Dreaming of his love, beneath the evening star.

It stirs you from your absentmindedness back into reality. You can only barely make out the words being sung, but you've always listened from the shadows of the pier when others have picked up a song, this one being among the favorites of the locals.

Oh, the sea, it whispers tales of woe, Of a sailor’s love in the depths below. With a heart so true, and a soul so free, He yearns for his mermaid, beneath the sea.

This time the shanty isn't accompanied by many slurry voices or a happy instrument. Instead, it sounds sad and haunting. The lone male voice sings by himself, to whom you do not know. Nobody answers or lends their voice to the melody. The longing, mournful notes echo through the water and draw you closer.

Her eyes like pearls, her hair like gold, A beauty so rare, a sight to behold. In the silent depths, where the shadows play, She sings a song that guides his way.

The timbre of the voice sounds familiar even through the disruption of the water, nearly disappearing into the crashing of the currents as the unruly surface of the sea forms tufts of sea foam that skip along the tips of the waves. You swim underneath the simple little boat. Your body is longer than the vessel facing off the rolling tides and stormy winds.

But the waves, they keep them far apart, A cruel fate for a sailor’s heart. So he sails on, through storm and tide, With the hope that one day she’ll be by his side.

You don't bother to wait and to hide your changing form. Your webbed hands take hold on the edge of the boat, your claws scraping the wood before they start to retract. You hoist yourself up enough to see over the edge, salty water dripping from your hair, and the scales and gills disappear from your skin as you inhale the sweet, dry air. The lantern swinging from a hook at the rear of the boat casts light onto your face as the large catlike pupils turn human.

"Is being human really so tedious that one must voluntarily tempt death?" you ask the man clad in red. His eyes widened the moment you appeared, and the melody stopped too as his mouth remained agape at the sight before him. "I told you to stay away from water. Yet here you are."

"I had to see you." Vash says after a moment of gathering himself. He lifts up the oars and puts them into the boat. He looks ready to get out of his seat to come to you as he leans closer. "You left so suddenly, I didn't even get a word out."

"What is there left to say?" You ask as you pull yourself along the side of the boat until you are next to him, the boat tipping towards you.

"More than I am capable of saying." Vash leans closer, his hands supporting his burly form on the same edge you hang off from. "Why did you just leave? Please, tell me."

"I didn't want to hear the terror in your voice." You reply simply, pulling yourself a touch closer to him to see any small change in his dimly lit expression. "Are you not afraid of me?"

"No," he says softly, a hint of a smile dancing on one corner of his mouth. "Why would I be afraid of you? You have never hurt me, or caused me harm. You brought me back to the beach, back to safety. You protected me from one of your own."

"I am a monster," you remind him, "someone your songs caution sailors about."

"You are not a monster. You're a creature from the depths of the sea. You may not be entirely human, but that doesn't make you a monster. Flowers are different from one another, but that doesn't diminish them. It doesn't take away from their marvel." His hand shifts from the edge of the boat to your damp cheek. "You are otherworldly, a beauty beyond the human realm. Inside and out, you are gorgeous. You always are."

"You can see through the glamour now. Look again, and you won't be fooled by the devious magic of my kin." One of your hands grabs hold to the arm that reaches for you.

"I see no difference. From the day I first saw you until this very moment, you look the same—your beautiful self. I don't know what glamour you speak of; I only know what my eyes tell me." He says tenderly, leaning further and further, risking turning his boat over to see you close. His forehead nearly touches yours.

His words make no sense to you. How could he not notice the glamour disappearing? Is the hag stone not working? He would have had to obey your command to stay away from the water if it didn't. Even now, you can see the pebble hanging from the leathery strap around his neck, and you sense your magic in it. What he sees must be the truth; at least when it comes to you.

Compared to most others of your kin, you indeed might look more human in the water, a lot less unsettling than those who have amassed their power and strength, but on the surface, everyone has a human appearance that looks convincing enough to fool anyone unweary. It is a strange irony when it comes to your kind: the more power you gather, the more monstrous your true appearance will become, but on dry land, your glamour will make you even more beautiful to any human being. The moment they lay eyes on a siren, their perception will shatter like glass. Perhaps you are simply so weak that he doesn't notice a difference. You've never talked to a human before him, so you wouldn't know.

"But there is another reason I needed to see you again." Vash continues, but then suddenly stops. The only sound filling the air is the sound of the waves. "I waited for you in the bay; I sent flowers to the open water in hopes you would find them. I can't get you off my mind."

You now feel both his hands cupping your face. You're surprised he hasn't yet fallen into the water with how he leans over the edge. Vash's face is so close; with each sway of the boat, the warm skin of his forehead brushes against yours. You can feel the heat of his breath on your lips and the longing in your heart. The sweet scent of his magic wafts over you like the tide.

"You kissed me." He says so quietly that the words barely reach your ears over the sound of water.

"I had to. A mermaid's kiss will grant you breath, even underwater. You would have drowned otherwise." You answer honestly. It is the truth, just not all of it.

"I see. Of course. That's all it was." Vash nods and pulls back, giving you more room as he leans away, his long-fingered hands releasing your face. He looks unusual. It might be the long shadows cast on his face by the lighthouse and the lantern, but his eyes look different now; the familiar laughter and warmth mix with a hint of sorrow.

You will forever continue to hurt him. No matter what you do, he will be in pain. Your heart still skips in your chest as he pulls more into the boat, and you release the arm you still held on to. You can still hang on to the feeling of his warm skin against yours, as you know you need to let go. You cannot give in to the longing in your chest. His eyes look dark, like the night sky, and his pale skin is reminiscent of the shade of seafoam under the pale moonlight. He doesn't let you retract your arm away from him, instead grabbing on to your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"It doesn't change the fact that you haunt me. Every waking hour, you're all I can think about. Every night, I dream of you." He suddenly says, more insistently than before. "How can I stay away from water if that's where I can find you? You did enchant me with everything you are, and I finally heard your voice."

Everything about him draws you closer. You reach out your other hand towards his face, the sorrowful lines around his eyes deepening as he looks at you with a mixture of longing and sadness. His skin is warm, with a flush of pink brought on by the wind and your touch. His eyes soften as he leans closer again. His hand that holds yours pulls it closer, pressing it gently against his breast. You feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. You only have eyes for him—the shadows dancing on his face and between your bodies. In that moment, nothing else exists in your world except for him, his parted lips, and the warmth of his touch.

Neither of you see through the glimmer on the surface of the water; you don't notice the shadows looming in the inky blackness until they surround you. Hands reach out from the sea, scaly and wet. The long webbed fingers grab hold of your shoulders and your hair, talons digging into the flesh of your arms as they pull you away. You feel more hands grab hold of your tail, dragging you down into the dark abyss below.

It all happens in an instant. The last thing you hear is Vash calling out your name as the waves crash in over you, his fingers slipping from your grasp. The changelings around you hiss and wail, their eyes glowing in the darkness as they close in. There are too many of them to fight off, their claws and teeth dig into your flesh as the fiery glimmer of the lighthouse on the water's surface disappears into the murky darkness of the ocean.

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

You can check out the Depth of Despair Masterlist for more info.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

[samasmith23]

Thunderbolt's Moonstone: A Case Study in Psychiatric Villainy...

Throughout my read-through of Kurt Busiek & Mark Bagley's classic run on the Thunderbolts so far, easily one of the most uniquely fascinating yet terrifying members of this team of supervillains disguised as superheroes has undoubtedly been Meteorite, aka Dr. Karla Sofen, aka Moonstone!

Essentially serving as the team's second-in-command underneath Citizen V (aka, Baron Helmut Zemo), Moonstone was formerly a renowned psychiatrist who frequently engaged in unethical practices with her patients in order to gain power over others while advancing her own career. For instance in the Thunderbolts (1997) #-1 as part of Marvel's "Flashback Month" (wherein all of the company's titles released a special "-1" issue which flashed back to the early history of the Marvel Universe), its revealed that while Dr. Sofen was working with a woman suffering from low self-esteem due to her husband cheating on her, Dr. Sofen was secretly the one sleeping with said-patient's adulterous husband. In addition to citing the expansion of her psychiatric business as the motivation for manipulating her patient, Dr. Sofen also implies that she feels a sense of power through manipulating her patients, that it "just feels wonderful" to "make enormous changes in this woman's life -- in the way she sees the world.... with just words and suggestions."

Part of what makes Karla Sofen especially terrifying as a character to me is that in addition to being an expert psychological manipulator, she's able to easily deceive others by presenting herself as a kindhearted and benevolent figure who merely wants to use her expertise to understand and help others. But this benevolent facade underlies Dr. Sofen’s desire to possess power over others, obtaining said-power through her keen understanding of the human mind and how to exploit it. It was this willingness to violate ethical medical boundaries for her own personal gain which eventually led to Dr. Sofen becoming the assistant of the notorious Captain America villain and HYDRA leader Dr. Faustus. It was during this time that Dr. Sofen became even more skilled as a psychological manipulator, and she utilized Dr. Faustus' techniques in order to trick the original Moonstone (aka Lloyd Bloch) into surrendering the Kree device which granted him his super-strength, flight & energy projection abilities to her.

Moonstone plays an incredibly fascinating role as the Thunderbolts' member "Meteorite." Its revealed in Thunderbolts Annual 1997, Moonstone was the last member that Zemo "recruited" into his new Masters of Evil. During a mass-prison breakout at the the Vault (a maximum security prison specifically designed for supervillains), the Thunderbolts made their public debut by recapturing the majority of the escapees. Unbeknownst to the the prison guards however, the Thunderbolts secretly abducted Moonstone, and Zemo blackmailed the former psychiatrist turned supervillain into joining the group in exchange for her freedom. And if Moonstone refused Zemo's officer, the Thunderbolts would have turned her back to the Vault where she would undoubtedly receive an increased prison sentence for participating in the escape attempt (Moonstone was previously close to finishing her sentence).

But while Zemo recruited Moonstone due to her psychological expertise and ability to help her fellow Masters of Evil in successfully fooling the general public with their superhero disguises, writer Kurt Busiek portrays Moonstone as having her own secret agenda which threatens to undermine Zemo's master plan with the Thunderbolts. Staying true to her background as a psychological manipulator, Moonstone is portrayed as an opportunistic schemer who's "nature is to watch, and think, and consider."

This observant and manipulative behavior is effectively demonstrated through Moonstone's interactions with her fellow Masters of Evil, whom she quickly recognizes are becoming too accustomed to their new disguises as superheroes. As early as the first issue of Thunderbolts, Moonstone is shown to be secretly monitoring and observing her teammates behavior when she witnesses the developing romantic relationship between fellow teammates M.A.C.H.-1/Beetle & Songbird/Screaming-Mimi. Its through their romance that Songbird is able to gradually overcome her own personal insecurities which have made her susceptible to Zemo's manipulation, while M.A.C.H.-1 begins to enjoy the public recognition and appreciation that being a hero grants him. Similarly at the end of Issue #2 , Moonstone notices that Atlas/Goliath is developing feelings for the Thunderbolt's city liaison for New York's mayor's office, Dallas Riordan. As the Thunderbolts become more widely embraced by New York City, Atlas continues to get closer to Riordan, even though he recognizes that pursuing a relationship with her would easily risk exposing the team's status as the Masters of Evil in disguise.

The relationships between M.A.C.H.-1 & Songbird and Atlas & Dallas respectively help to expose a growing rift between Baron Zemo & Moonstone's in-relation to their individual goals. As the son of the notorious Nazi war criminal of the same name, Zemo views his subordinates purely as mere tools which can help him fulfill his ultimate plan for world domination. And as such, Baron Zemo begins to fear that the Thunderbolts are "enjoying their roles too much," that their relationships are "softening them -- making them more human," which in-turn weakens them as living weapons that he can easily exploit. Conversely, Moonstone allows M.A.C.H.-1, Songbird, and Atlas' relationships to continue naturally developing, even actively encouraging said-relationships under the guise of fulfilling her responsibilities of "keeping the team functioning and convincing in their roles" as superheroes.

The tension between Moonstone & Baron Zemo's is further increased through the Thunderbolts' recruitment of the newly empowered meta-human, Jolt (aka, Hallie Takahama). An orphan whose parents were killed during the Onslaught incident, Hallie ended up becoming a surrogate big sister figure to several other fellow orphan children who were forced to survive on the streets following the disaster. Hallie and the other orphans were then kidnapped by Captain America villain and Hitler's chief-scientist in the Marvel Universe, Arnim Zola, whose experiments resulted in Hallie being granted electrical superpowers while the other children were sadly mutated into monsters who were then killed. Hallie managed to escape captivity and assisted the Thunderbolts in putting a stop to Zola's barbaric experiments.

However, due to Baron Zemo live-broadcasting the battle in order to increase the Thunderbolts' positive PR, Hallie was seen fighting alongside the team as the new super heroine Jolt. Realizing that the public loved Jolt and that it would make the team look bad if they turned her away, Moonstone encouraged Zemo into recruiting Jolt into the Thunderbolts. Consequently, this forced the Thunderbolts to continue acting like superheroes 24/7 and to hide their past lives as supervillains in front of Jolt, much to Zemo's dismay and to Moonstone's satisfaction.

Moonstone's interactions with Jolt in particular also serve to highlight the unsettling ambiguity behind the former's schemes and manipulations. For instance, in their civilian identities Dr. Sofen not only tries to get some insight into Hallie's recent traumatic experiences while offering her emotional support (just like a therapist would), but even makes significant strides to help make the Thunderbolts' headquarters a new home for Hallie.

What I find so unnerving about these interactions however is that Busiek leaves it intentionally vague as to whether or not Moonstone is being sincere in her actions. Is she telling Jolt that she views her like a daughter because she genuinely means it, or is she saying it just because she views Jolt as yet another individual to manipulate and take advantage of? Or is it a little bit of both? I ask this because while Busiek clearly portrays Moonstone's as seeing Jolt's recruitment as an opportunity to undermine Zemo's plans, the narration at the end of Issue #2 indicates that similar to M.A.C.H.-1, Songbird & Atlas, Moonstone is similarly beginning to feel a sense satisfaction at playing the hero:

"It's a heady feeling to play hero -- and to be accepted. She felt it herself -- in the heat of of battle, she forgot the role she was playing, forgot everything but the need to save the boy -- and the rush that came with victory. It feels good that rush. Maybe too good."

Its the combination these various factors that easily make Moonstone one of the most disturbingly intriguing members of the Thunderbolts. From her characterization as a manipulative and conniving psychiatrist who's willing to unethically exploit others for her own agendas, to the ambiguity surrounding her embracement of being a "superhero," to the nature of relationships with her fellow teammates, and her efforts to subtly undermine Baron Zemo, Dr. Karla Sofen is easily one of the most compelling and scary supervillainesses that I've recently encountered in superhero comics. And I am very curious to witness how Moonstone's arc progresses throughout the rest of Kurt Busiek & Mark Bagley's original Thunderbolts run!

[meggannn]

mass effect x imperial radch fic

happy N7 day! there's still an hour left so I am NOT LATE.

I wanted to write more of this in time for today but got distracted, so have... all of what I managed to write of this fusion fic a month ago.

Summary: When Shepard fishes a half-dead turian out of Omega’s slums, she doesn’t expect to recognize him; doesn’t expect his help in her quest for answers and revenge; and certainly doesn’t imagine the galactic upheaval that will follow. Rating: T

—

Bodies are everywhere on Omega, but this one catches EDI’s attention, even with the face caved in and the markings scraped off.

Shepard, the cool voice says in her ear, this is a former servicemate.

Sometimes it tests her last nerve. EDI is technically correct, but referring to any of the Hierarchy citizens as mates—as if her tenure had been voluntary, as if they had been equals—she finds offensive in the highest degree, and EDI should have picked up on that by now. Shepard resists the urge to curl her lip as she passes by the dumpster. She is too busy mentally reviewing her notes for her upcoming meeting with Aria to also rifle through their shared memories for a turian she has happened to cross paths with again.

A member of the Eye, EDI clarifies, and Shepard pauses.

What do you mean?

EDI doesn’t reply. It’s lately been exploring relaying information through silences, whenever it’s feeling judgmental or Shepard is being particularly dense.

Every crewmember from the Eye of Menae is dead, of course. Except her and her passenger. This one shouldn’t exist. She wonders, not for the first time, if EDI is malfunctioning, and then, not for the first time, dismisses the thought because nobody could fix it if it was, anyway.

Shepard turns around and eyes the body again.

A limp, possibly broken arm is hanging out of the skip. The helmeted head is half-crushed, revealing a pulpy mass of blue blood and a cracked, dangling mandible. The markings had been notably scraped off, crudely, likely postmortem. She thinks, based on the fringe, that it might be male. Whoever left this turian in this state did not want him recognized; Omega had already declared him forgotten. Nonconsensual Scraping was a crime in the Hierarchy punishable by jail time and/or Reeducation. It was a wonder they hadn’t dumped him in the incinerator, but perhaps there was a message in that. He wasn’t even worth the trouble to bring him down to the chutes.

She can’t identify turians without their markings, of course; even with them, it’s a challenge. But EDI can. And yet EDI is keeping quiet.

A golden symbol on the bicep catches her eye, and her stomach does sink at that recognition, because she has seen it before. On the Eye of Menae; not on any official signage, but doodled on the back of datapads, scratched into terminal corners, which she had scrubbed weekly, and could have informed a superior about, but didn’t.

She’d assumed it was some turian colony symbol, or sports team logo, or perhaps even a gang symbol. She doesn’t remember the lieutenant’s name. He had been young when he served on the Eye, newly appointed in the wake of the First Contact War due to some personal connection with the Palavenian Primarch, and everyone had known it. He had been resentful of that judgment and barely interacted with any of the ancillaries—any of the humans—which had been fine with her.

“He’s dead,” Shepard says. “And it’s not as if I can give him a funeral.” Or as if she’d want to.

He is not dead, EDI says, throwing her for a loop twice in as many minutes. He has suffered multiple contusions, fractures, and what appears to be explosion trauma to the face and neck, not to mention the Scraping. But he is alive.

His name finally comes to her. She doesn’t have any particularly strong memories of the skinny lieutenant who had served with her on Engineering Deck; outside of his graffiti habits, he had been neither remarkable nor noteworthy. Most turian lieutenants hadn’t wanted to talk to their new client race anyway: Humans creeped them out, with their ugly skin and weird, confusing fringe that “leaks” everywhere.

“After Aria,” she says.

He needs medical attention if he is to survive the night.

She nearly swears at it. All her usual rejections in response to EDI drawing her attention to satisfy some curiosity about organics—We’re busy, I can’t afford it—dry up here, because they aren’t, and she can. “Fine,” she says, aware that she sounds petulant. “I’m paying for a doctor and that’s all.”

As she drags the body out of the skip, she hopes no one would ever ask her why she saved Garrus Vakarian’s life. She couldn’t rightfully say, Because the ancillary program installed in my head told me to—nobody could know about EDI, and she’s fully capable of resisting its influence now anyway, even as persistent as it could be. She hopes no one would ever ask because even as she sets his arm and lumbers off to find a doctor with his limp body hoisted onto her back, she still does not know why herself.

–

Three hours later, she has dragged Vakarian to two clinics that refused to take him for reasons they will not explain, his face slowly soaking blood on her shoulder, and she is reconsidering every decision she’s made this afternoon.

We do not have enough information, EDI replies after Shepard has called her out for their situation. I cannot determine a cause for their disinclination without more knowledge of local politics.

They have more than enough information, Shepard wants to snap. She’s been spat on or refused service nearly every hour she’s interacted with someone here. She’s a human, and the galaxy is full of bigots. But EDI is turian-made, programmed to view and treat every Citizen as equal despite racial politics, and sometimes convincing an AI of organic realities is like arguing with a wall.

Even with her implants, lugging around a two-hundred-pound turian for hours is exhausting. She is starting to wonder if he’s actually died by now, but EDI would surely say something if he had, and not achieving her goal after this long is starting to feel like a point of personal pride.

She dumps him outside of a motel for a moment while she walks in and rents a room. The bored batarian behind the counter fortunately doesn’t blink at the blood staining her clothes; it’s nothing remarkable around Omega, but on a human, it could be used as an excuse to deny entry.

Shepard thanks him, then drags the turian inside and over to the creaking elevator. As she passes, the batarian raises his brows in a way that says, If people come after you, I’m ratting you out immediately, which she supposes is fair.

She dumps Garrus Vakarian onto the single bed and observes him, prone and anonymous. Even knowing his name, having seen him daily and stood with him onboard the Eye during routine inspections, she still would not have been able to recognize him out of a lineup now. She should really learn how to tell turians apart; but then again, he wouldn’t be able to recognize her, either.

Most aliens find humans unsettling to look at: their eye contact too alarming, their smiles too rude, their hair too weird, and on and on. Salarians are forever complaining how some humans looked identical, and others too different due to some indecipherable criteria Shepard can’t understand; she supposes whatever their categorizations, they are not unlike human concepts of gender and race, which remain baffling to most aliens fifteen years post-First Contact. Asari are at least polite to one’s face, perhaps because due to the overlap of external body appearances, though Shepard never expected help from them as a Council race who had voted for humanity’s subjugation.

Operating from a weird suspicion, before she leaves the room, she strips the logo from his armor and tucks it into her pocket.

She has done what she can for him without tools or help. She mentally questions how much effort she will put into this; but she is, unfortunately, versed in turian anatomy enough to know his state is critical, and even if she had forgotten, EDI is there to supplement her knowledge with the extranet and her own database on turian biology. So she sets off to a local pharmacy—which contains a bare bones stock of medigel, painkillers, and gauze—then asks the clerk for a local, quiet doctor, and flashes some credits. They give her the address of a fellow around the corner and warn her he might not take humans.

The turian doctor is a retired vet who indeed nearly closes the door on her, claiming he cannot help aliens, before she puts her foot in the gap and explains her turian bodyguard has been attacked and needs immediate care. She blames it on clan discrimination—the Hierarchy would have Citizens believe that is not a thing, but Shepard knows organic behavior too well to believe that’s true—and explains that he has been “Scraped” as proof, something they say only gangs are barbaric enough to perform on another.

Turians can’t pale, but he does grow eerily quiet at that news. “Wait here,” he says, and disappears into his apartment for five minutes before emerging with a medical bag and a new visor, which feeds him data. “Before I go anywhere, I’ll need half up front.”

So she pays him half up front, adding it to the tab that Vakarian will owe her when all of this is done.

In the motel, Doctor Ubex looks at Garrus Vakarian for all of half a second before tsk-hissing—a turian expression of annoyance—and getting to work.

“He’ll survive,” he tells her half an hour later, after he’s stitched Vakarian’s face back together and plastered it with a bandage. “Although in what condition, I can't say. You’ll have to stay awake and apply the disinfectant and medigel to his face every other hour for the first twelve hours, then refresh until it gets bloody. I don’t have the energy to stay up all night, and it would quadruple your bill, anyway.”

Her appointment with Aria was already down the drain today. “How much medigel will that be?”

“More than whatever you have. It’s not just the side, it’s all over his mandibles and nose. Wherever the markings were—the Scraping was unprofessional, it rubbed off a protective layer of chitin. His face will be prone to infection until it grows back, which may take months. Come here.” He motions her over and she reluctantly steps up to his side, looking where he points to a clear-blue ooze coming from the side of Vakarian’s nose. “He’ll need regular medigel applications for the next several days, until the discharge stops.” He taps his visor and more information scrolls through his feed. “The rest of it is just bone-setting. They should be done in the next few days with the splints, but he should move as little as possible and be fed non-chewables until he can use his left side without pain. I managed to save the teeth, but he’s in for a painful recovery even with meds.”

He leaves her with a set of verbal instructions that she doesn’t bother writing down; EDI records everything for her anyway. With a final word of caution to avoid going planetside until the chitin grows back, she pays him his remaining fee, and he pauses in the doorway.

“If you have any more questions, ask me now,” he says. “I won’t answer my door if you come back. I don’t want to get involved in whatever this is.”

Shepard doesn't know enough about turian biology to know what else she should ask; she has already asked EDI’s questions during the initial interrogation. “That’s all. Thank you, Doctor.”

After he leaves, EDI comments, He served him without question, unlike the others.

Shepard strides over to the sagging armchair, watching Vakarian’s chest rise and fall on the bed, his bandaged face unmoving, and doesn’t reply.

I imagine your suspicion was correct. The others recognized the logo, and feared to treat him to anger his enemies. It had nothing to do with your race.

Shepard keeps her sights focused on her inexplicable new charge, and does not say, Shut the fuck up.