#the amount of CHILDRENS CORPSES i have to see

[turtle-paced]

Did Jaime love Tywin or feel any sort of affection for his father in your opinion? After what he did to Elia and her children and later Tysha he had no delusions about the sort of man Tywin was. He was guilty and somewhat upset after Tywin died do you think that indicates some small amount of love?

Yes, I think Jaime absolutely did love Tywin. When Jaime was imprisoned, he asked for news of his father. When Tywin was murdered, Jaime keeps vigil over his bier (albeit as Kingsguard, which 100% would have pissed Tywin off).

But again, this is all in the context of Tywin's parental abuse.

It was queer, but he felt no grief. Where are my tears? Where is my rage? Jaime Lannister had never lacked for rage. "Father," he told the corpse, "it was you who told me that tears were a mark of weakness in a man, so you cannot expect that I should cry for you." Jaime I, AFFC

He had a terrible fight with his father not long before Tywin's death that ended in Tywin basically disowning him. Jaime freed Tyrion, who murdered Tywin - keeping in mind that Tyrion was in prison sentenced to death because Cersei accused Tyrion of murdering her and Jaime's son, and Tywin (at minimum) went along with Cersei's handling of the trial. Jaime's got some big and complex emotions to feel, and as we see in the quote above, Tywin did not encourage Jaime to develop a full suite of tools to handle those emotions.

Tywin did a lot of damage to all his children. Jaime might love his father, in spite of all the murders and atrocities he did to other people that Jaime academically knows about - but he's also starting to actually reckon with how Tywin and his ethos and his works have fucked up Jaime (and the rest of his family) on a deeply personal level. Jaime is literally standing there trying to work out how he feels about that.

It doesn't mean that Jaime didn't love Tywin and never loved Tywin. It's part and parcel of what makes Tywin exactly as horrible as he is. Part and parcel of the terrible irony of Lannisters, too - all Tywin's children loved him so much they did their best to follow his example, something that has done them no favours in developing the ability to love others. Or themselves.

[fionacle]

hey i know people want to spread the word but they could also tag when there are corpses in their posts. typically when there is gore in an image you tag that. don’t fucking make me block the palestine tag if it gets bad enough i will seriously fucking do it. tag your fucking gore. shock value to unwilling viewers, especially minors, will not help your cause. tag. your fucking. gore.

[mydadleft471]

For The Love Of A Daughter

Summary: After getting caught looking for food to feed your daughter, Lord Messmer takes pity on you and extends mercy.

Spoilers for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. Slight warning for descriptions of violence and death.

This was requested by anonymous! I'll link the request here. This was SO MUCH FUN. I've never really wrote anything involving young children before, so I'm going off of the scant interactions I've had with some younger family members. I've also never wrote for a GN! reader. It was easier than I thought lmao. Thank you for the request anon!

I'm really considering making this a series tbh! If you'd like to see more, please let me know! I could've spent the whole day writing but I need to go eat lmao. (I've been writing for 2 hours help)

As always, thank you so much for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! I haven't had this much fun writing in such a long time and it makes me so unbelievably happy that I'm able to write things that make other people happy. Hope everyone enjoys!

Your lungs were on fire.

You hadn’t stopped running from the moment you entered the Land of Shadow. A few Tarnished once accompanied you, but they had been slain and you had no choice to move on for your sake and hers.

The little girl carefully strapped to your shoulders was maybe about 4 years old. You’d found her in the rubble of an old village in Caelid accompanied by two corpses, most likely her mother and father. Her sweet green eyes pierced yours and you knew you couldn’t leave her there. You were never much of a fighter anyways. Your hands were gentle and steady and your nerves did not hold strong in the throes of battle.

She only had one thing with her: a golden locket with a piece of folded paper inside with the name Jasmine written on it. You were unsure if that was her name or her mother’s, but you called her that. You found it fitting for her.

Currently, you were running from a pack of armed men all wielding the same unnatural fire. You had carefully snuck up to a dark looking castle in search of any food you could find, when suddenly, guards had honed in on your position and you ran for it, not knowing if they would be kind to you and your child.

Booking it straight for a charred town, you tried to maneuver your way around its buildings to confuse the men chasing you. After randomly choosing directions to turn and heading down a few alleyways, you found your way to a staircase. You squeezed yourself down into it, hoping that you were out of sight to go unnoticed.

You heard the thundering of footsteps approach your position and you held your breath. Jasmine began to squirm from where she was attached to your shoulders, so you quietly repositioned her in your arms. Her little hands meekly clutched your arm; it had been two days since she had last had something semi-filling.

You froze as you heard the sound of clanking metal approaching you. A man ducked down and his eyes found yours, your heart nearly stopping. He shouted to alert the other guards and they soon surrounded you. You couldn’t see them, but you heard so many footsteps. You were found.

“Come out, or we’ll drag you out.”

Slowly, you slid yourself from your hiding place, clutching Jasmine to your chest defensively.

“Please, I beg of you, let me go. She’s hungry. I was looking for food, that’s all.” Your voice wavers at the sight of so many weapons.

“Lord Messmer will decide your fate. You will come with us.”

With your head hung low, you follow their orders. They search you for any possessions you might have, which is basically nothing but a half-empty waterskin and a dull dagger, and confiscate them. They eye Jasmine, looking for anything she might be hiding, but they don’t dare touch her. Mercifully, they allow you to hold her as they march you back to the blackened castle you ran from.

You make your way up what must be a thousand stairs and your legs ache from the amount of walking you’ve done. Slowing down causes a guard to firmly grab your shoulder and keep you going at a brisk pace. Jasmine hides her face in your shoulder and you try to calm her by rubbing circles into her back. You would promise her that it would be okay, but you can imagine her parents promising that same thing, and now they were dead and she was being carried into an unknown place.

If it came down to it, you’d beg for her to remain safe and allow them to kill you.

Finally, the guards stopped you in front of a large metal door. It was intricately decorated and instilled true fear into you. This must be where Lord Messmer resided

“You will show respect at all times. Speak only when spoken to, or we will put you to the sword.”

You merely nod in response, not willing to test how quickly they would kill you.

The doors open with a protesting creak and the metal slides against the stone floor with an unnatural sound. It grates your ears and you cover Jasmine’s to save her from the awful noise. Two guards flank your shoulders and tap your shoulder, signaling for you to move forwards.

The room is lit with a few candles shimmering in the stagnant air. It smells like sulfur and blood. The guards stop you and push down on your shoulders, and you kneel. Jasmine stays in your arms, small hands wrapped tightly around your neck.

“My Lord, we’ve found an intruder. They were scouring around the castle and fled when seen. They say that they were looking for food for their child.” The guard barks out.

You keep your head down, terrified to look up. 

“A child, here?” A new, lower voice cascades across the room sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“A child does not belong in the Land of Shadow. Thou hast endangered them.” He doesn’t sound pleased. “Prithee, tell me thy reasoning for bringing one so fragile here.”

“I found her in Caelid, My Lord. Since then, we’ve been traveling with a group of Tarnished and our path led us here.” Your voice shakes as you speak.

“‘Tis not thy child in thine arms?”

You shake your head. “No, My Lord. She was in a ruined village, surrounded by rubble and rot. I couldn’t leave her there.” Your heart stings at the painful memory.

“Intriguing. What reason didst thou have to come to my castle?”

“As your guard said, My Lord. She is hungry. Food is not easy to come by here.”

“Dost thou remember when last she ate?”

“Two days ago was her last full meal. Since then, we’ve been living off of rowa fruits.”

Silence is your response, until you hear heavy footsteps approaching you. You squeeze your eyes shut and hug Jasmine tight. She trembles in your arms.

“The child has a name, I presume?” His voice is only a few feet away from you now.

“Jasmine, My Lord.”

He sighs. “How was thee treated by my men?”

“They didn’t take her away from me, My Lord. They never hurt us.”

He lets out what you assume is a sigh of relief. Something thumps against the ground making you jump. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the hilt of his weapon. You remember other Tarnished referring to Lord Messmer as the Impaler, and you shuddered in fear.

“Thy only crime is trespassing, but do not thinkest me heartless. Thou art forgiven, and I shall extend mercy unto thee.” His tone changes as he addresses one of his men. “They shalt be taken to comfortable quarters and attended by female staff only. Shall any man lay a hand upon the child, they shalt be killed immediately, without mercy.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The guard leaves the room quickly, probably thanking his lucky stars for permission to exit the room.

“Rise. Thou needn’t stare at the floors any longer.” His voice softens as he speaks to you.

With shaking legs, you do as he asks and you spare a glance in his direction. He towers over you, serpents coiling around his slender frame, and you notice he has one eye that glimmers a brilliant gold. His great spear is held firmly in his right hand.

“Thank you. Truly.” You do your best to bow in your current state. Without adrenaline, you’re extremely shaky. You almost collapse, but a serpent gently coils around your waist and holds you up.

“I shall have food sent to thine quarters immediately.” You can almost hear worry in his voice.

You nod and mindlessly pat the serpent holding you up gently. It nuzzles into your palm.

As if on cue, a female servant with deep brown hair enters the room and you see a smile work her way onto her face at the sight of Jasmine.

“Is this who you would have me attend to, My Lord?”

“Yes. They are exhausted and have been without proper food for days. Ensure they are looked after.”

The woman places a hand on your shoulder and the serpent withdraws itself from your waist. You feel extremely unsteady, but the woman is stronger than she looks. 

“Come on now, love. Let’s get you some food.” She hooks your arm over her shoulder and wraps her other arm around your back. 

Slowly, she guides you out of the stagnant room and towards your quarters. She keeps you upright and doesn’t allow you to sway.

“Lord Messmer has taken pity on you, truly. Usually, trespassers are not dealt with so lightly.” She explains to you.

You don’t desire to dwell on what your fate could’ve been, so you quickly change the subject. “Do you have a name?” You ask her and she smiles once more.

“Sianet. A pleasure to serve you.”

You reach your room and Sianet gently helps you inside, settling you on a large, extremely comfortable bed. She goes to shut your door, then grabs a large pitcher of water. She helps you drink, the cold water a welcome luxury.

“Would you like some, little one?” She holds out the glass to Jasmine who keeps her head tucked into your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay. You should drink some water. It’s cold.” You keep your voice steady and she slowly raises her head. Her eyes quickly scan around the room and she looks at Sianet.

“Hello, sweet thing. Do you have a name?”

You prepare yourself to answer for her, as Jasmine really only speaks to you, but you’re shocked when she replies on her own, her voice a meek whisper.

“My name is Jasmine.”

Sianet smiles wider, her white teeth almost blinding. “That’s a lovely name, Jasmine. Would you have some water for me?”

Jasmine nods and grabs at the glass. Sianet helps her drink, tipping the cup back slowly. Once she finishes drinking, the glass is put beside the pitcher on the table next to your bed.

“Your dinner should be ready soon. While we wait, shall I draw a bath for the little one?”

Jasmine’s eyes light up and she nods furiously. Sianet laughs and makes her way to the corner of the room, beckoning for her to follow. Jasmine looks at you with wide eyes.

“Can I follow her?”

“Go on. You stink.” She giggles and launches herself off your lap, toddling off after Sianet.

You flop unceremoniously onto the bed and shut your eyes. You had been wandering for so long that you almost forgot what a proper bed felt like. You remind yourself that you’re safe, even if only for a little while. You can relax and rest. You’ve earned it.

A sudden knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. You hear Jasmine and Sianet talking in the next room, so you make your way to the door yourself. Opening it, you are surprised to see Lord Messmer himself. His serpents flick their tongues at you, almost like a greeting.

“What can I do for you, Lord Messmer?”

“I came to ensure thy room was to thine liking.”

You smile at him. “I’ve never stayed somewhere so beautiful. I have no complaints, My Lord.”

His eye twinkles and he peers around you to look inside the room. You silently berate yourself for your horrible manners.

“My apologies, My Lord. Would you like to come in?”

“I shalt not invade thy privacy. Where hast thy child gone?”

“She’s currently taking a much needed bath. She’s okay.” To confirm your words, Jasmine lets out a delighted squeak. The corners of his lip turn up in a small smile.

“Sianet: is she to thine liking as well?”

“She’s very attentive and sweet. You don’t need to worry.”

He clears his throat. “Thy room is guarded well. If thou have need for anything, thou must only ask.”

“Thank you, My Lord. I hope you know how much this means to us.”

“‘Tis no matter. ‘Twould make me a monster to not attend to thee, especially the child.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, but… why are you helping us? Sianet told me that trespassers are usually not dealt with in such a manner.”

His expression falters a little. You worry you overstepped.

“Thou did not hurt my men. Thou did not invade my castle with ill intent.” He pauses, looking away from you. “And it hath been countless moons since a child has inhabited the Land of Shadow.”

“I see.”

Silence encompasses you both, and you take in the details of his face. He has strong cheekbones and a proud, regal nose. His golden eye shimmers in the dim candlelight around you.

“I shalt not bother thee any longer. Give my regards to thy child, and if thou hast need for anything, I permit thee ask.”

“Thank you, Lord Messmer. I’m lucky to have met you.”

His eye widens and a peaceful smile finds itself on his face. He looks handsome like that, you think to yourself.

He bows slightly and leaves you, his serpents coiling themselves around him as he gets further from your door. You shut it and sigh, returning to your bed. The mattress envelops you in a comfortable embrace, and you swear you could fall asleep now and not wake up for a few days. Exhaustion clings to your nerves and bones, and your eyelids grow heavy. You shut them and find yourself immediately succumbing to slumber.

“Wake up! Food’s here!” You’re rudely awoken by Jasmine bouncing excitedly on the bed. You groan and sit up, your body creaking in protest at the sudden movement.

“Alright! I’m up.” She giggles and grabs your hand, pulling you to stand.

Yawning, you do. Rubbing your eyes, you notice that Sianet is carefully arranging a table of food. The smell makes your mouth water. Jasmine runs to help her, her skin now cleaned and clothed in a new dress. Her little feet pad across the marble floors and you don’t remember ever seeing her so excited.

“Sleep well?” Sianet asks, turning her head to meet your gaze.

“Better than I’ve ever slept before. Until someone interrupted.” Jasmine giggles and runs behind a chair, hiding from your teasing.

“I am glad.” She dusts her hands off on her apron and stands back. “Your dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Sianet.”

You make your way over to the table and sit down in one of the chairs. Just like your bed, it is extremely comfortable. Before you is a large spread of meats, fruits, and a few desserts. You had been given a bottle of wine to indulge in if you so desired. You can’t remember a time when you had so much choice in what to eat.

Jasmine is lifted into her chair by Sianet, which has been outfitted with a booster seat, and her eyes go wide at the amount of food. You see her gaze immediately lock onto a small tray of chocolate.

“You can’t have just chocolate for dinner, Jasmine.”

She scowls. “You’re right. There’s not enough.” You laugh and shake your head.

“If you need me, say something to the guards. I must go and ensure you have clothes. A bath has been drawn for you already.” 

“Thank you, Sianet. We appreciate it.”

“Thank you for giving me a bath.” Jasmine has already stuffed a piece of chocolate in her mouth.

“Of course. I will be back shortly.” She bows her head and takes her leave.

You and Jasmine have your fill of whatever you want. You indulge in some chocolate and a glass of wine and eat until you’re completely full. You imagine this is how Messmer lives each and every day.

You could get used to this.

You make an effort to clean up your plates and stack them so they can be easily taken away and Jasmine makes her way over to the bed. Once you’re finished, you sit beside her.

“Will you tuck me in?”

“Of course.” You pull the soft blankets up and over her, folding them delicately so she can keep her arms out. She smiles and wiggles, getting comfy.

“Mother used to tuck me in every night.” She never spoke of her parents, so this was surprising to you. “She had long hair and a pretty smile. But that’s all I can remember.”

Your heart pinches painfully. “I’m sorry, little one.” You grab her hand and squeeze it.

“Why?”

“Because you can’t really remember your mother.”

“That’s okay. I have you.” She smiles at you and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You finally know that she’s safe and fed and warm, unlike so many other nights. She is protected by a demigod in his home. Nobody can touch her. She can finally be a child.

“You will always have me,” you promise.

She shuts her eyes and you gently stroke her hair. The brown shimmers in the candlelight. You wonder if her mother had brown hair. When you found her parents, you were so worried about Jasmine that you never looked at them hard enough to remember. Maybe that was for the best.

You rise slowly from the bed to not disturb her sleep, and gently tip-toe your way to the bathroom. Like the bedroom, it was extravagant. Marble floors and tiles and a large candelabra hung from the ceiling, painting the room in a serene glow. The bath sat full, the water still steaming with some petals gently floating on the water. The room smelled like vanilla.

Undressing yourself, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Bruises litter your body like constellations and scars are forever etched on your flesh. You’ve grown skinny, far too skinny, from not eating. You prioritized Jasmine’s food over yours. You did not want her to grow up malnourished.

Tearing your gaze away from yourself, you step into the water and sit down, your body relaxing into the water immediately. The warmth permeates your skin and soothes your bones. The tub is big enough for you to full submerge yourself if you so choose, and you do. The only noise you hear is the gentle swooshing of water. It’s almost like being in a void.  You remain under the water until your lungs quickly remind you that you need to resurface for air, and you do. Your hair now wet, you shampoo and condition it, leaving it soft and silky smooth. You choose a purple soap sitting on the edge of the tub and thoroughly lather yourself in it, basking in the lavender scent.

You remain in the water until it begins to chill, and you step out. Drying yourself off, you notice a silk robe hanging on the rack by the door. It is much too large for you, but you don’t really care. You take it and wrap yourself in it. Once more, you look at yourself in the mirror, and you don’t recognize who stands there. They have soft hair and smooth, clean skin wrapped in fine silks. You remind yourself that it is, in fact, you who stands there.

Making your way out of the washroom, you smile as you see Jasmine still sleeping soundly in the bed. The fireplace nearby roars and you begin to extinguish a few candles. Gently settling into the bed beside Jasmine, you lay a kiss to her forehead before shutting your eyes and returning to St. Trina’s domain once more.

Little did you know that Messmer himself had ignited the fireplace and brought you one of his robes. He doubted that he’d tell you. But he’d be a liar if he said seeing you in his robe didn’t make his heart flutter in his chest.

[please-read-my-bio0]

Now, since you're here, please let me tell you about @haithamnayef

Haitham's little boy, Mohammed, has been struck in the head with a shrapnel. He hasn't received the cures he urgently needs. His health is deteriorating every day. His life is a risk.

He is just an innocent child, why does he have to face this?

His only hope is to evacuate to receive the treatment he needs.

$20,000 is the amount needed to evacuate Mohmmed, along with a caretaker. Currently, the fundraiser is only at $2,871. Time is running out. Please, save this sweet child.

And if you need another incentive to donate, people here on tumbrl are doing art commissions, raffles and writing commission to raise money for palestinian fundraisers. Just search for them.

Vetted here

Tagging for reach:

@dirhwangdaseul @gorgugplushie @genderkoolaid @opencommunion @stuckinapril

@sawasawako @metanarrates @beserkerjewel @mar64ds @soon-palestine

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@skunkes @danijaci @girl-biter @cupiidzbow @junkirat

@maybuds @beetlebongos @littlegermanboy @dykentery @itwashotwestayedinthewater

@fishfingersandscarves @sunshinetomorrow @thetyrannosaur @worm-suggestion @nyaskitten

P.S.

As you can see, I have mentioned movies that are owned by Disney or can be found on Amazon Prime. Remember not to use their official platforms, as they are supporting the genocide.

[genericpuff]

And so the titan finally falls.

Its corpse will be hung on display for the public's gawking until August 29th, after which it will be sent into the lockup known as Daily Pass, where completed series go to die.

Okay, all jokes aside though, this day was always coming so if you're unfamiliar with Daily Pass, here's the gist of how it works:

Any Originals series completed on Webtoons is eligible to go into their Daily Pass library. Any income made from this system is, theoretically, meant to go to the creator, but I say theoretically because we don't know what the split is between creators and WT's, and if there's any sort of Minimum Revenue Threshold shenanigans like with FastPass that would prevent a creator from receiving their share. That said, there are creators who have confirmed that Daily Pass is meant to help creators profit off their works after they're completed, so we at least know that.

As for how Daily Pass works:

Once behind Daily Pass, the majority of episodes (save for the first several episodes to give people enough content to get hooked on) are re-locked and only available under any of the three following conditions:

a.) Once per day you get one Daily Pass ticket per Daily Pass series to unlock any locked episode from that respective series. Meaning if you spend a Daily Pass ticket on Lore Olympus, you don't get another ticket to use for Lore Olympus for the day, but you'll still have a ticket to use for any other series you haven't unlocked yet that day. Ticket unlocks remain unlocked for 14 days, after which the episode will be locked again;

b.) If you have already spent your one Daily Pass ticket on a series you're reading but you REALLY want to read more episodes and don't want to wait until tomorrow, you will have the option to either pay for episodes with coins (which, unlike the Daily Pass ticket, is a permanent unlock) or use Ad Pass on eligible episodes (this is a temporary unlock like the Daily Pass ticket, but is only applied for THREE DAYS unlike the 14 you get from the Daily Pass ticket);

c.) Any episodes you FastPassed from a series original run are permanently unlocked, so if you were someone who paid for episode unlocks of LO every week, then congrats! None of those previous qualifications apply to you and you can re-read the series to your heart's content! You win at Daily Pass!

Now if you got through all that and are now thinking, "why is this so confusing???" don't worry, you're not alone! Readers fucking hate this system! I can't wrap my head around how it's in any way profitable for the creators when the people who are willing to pay for it ALREADY FUCKING PAID AND DON'T HAVE TO PAY AGAIN and the people who AREN'T willing to pay for it probably didn't see it as worth paying for the first time around when the comic was still new and updating - so why in the world would they pay for it NOW when they could just use Daily Pass tickets once per day when they were already willing to wait each WEEK for free unlocks?

Granted, the coin cost on Daily Pass series are usually lowered to accommodate the fact that they're completed, but the reality is that many Webtoon readers are already pretty reserved when it comes to spending coins on the app. This is largely due to WT's demographic being predominantly made up of teenagers and children, and while that can make for great viewing metrics, it's not so great in turning around a profit, because kids and teens don't typically have disposable income to spend on webcomics, let alone disposable income that has to be paid through an app store which typically requires credit cards/Paypal/etc.

The bitter irony is that the audience that has the most time to burn on the app also have the least amount of money to go around. So oftentimes - at least from what I've observed after using the app for years - readers will often be VERY picky with what they put their coins towards. Which begs the question again but in a different light - why in the world would someone choose to spend coins from their limited allowance on the app on a completed series that was once available to read for free and technically still can be read for free through ads and Daily Pass tickets?

I realize I'm digressing quite a bit, but all of what I'm going off about is already being reflected in the reactions I've seen from fans of LO who aren't excited to see it go behind Daily Pass (at least, the part of the audience that's been informed, god knows there will be a huge chunk of people asking where tf LO went after it goes behind DP lmao). Daily Pass in and of itself is just a crappy, inconvenient way to re-read completed comics. Even if you opt to do the Daily Pass ticket system, that's still essentially turning the act of re-reading comics into a chore, as it restricts you from binge-reading episodes which you typically would want to do with a series that's already been completed. The concept of new episodes every day might sound appealing as it's more frequent than the original once-a-week schedule, but in practice, it can often have the opposite effect of ruining the reading experience by turning it into a daily task rather than a pass-time the reader can freely participate in at their own pace.

All that said, it will definitely be interesting to see how LO does once it goes behind that Daily Pass wall. I think at best it will probably see an influx of traffic in the coming weeks from the people who either want to re-read it one more time, or the people who never finished it in the first place and see this as motivation to do so (and yes, if you haven't finished LO yourself yet, absolutely do so if you want to see for yourself how it ends BEFORE it becomes an inconvenience LOL). After that though, it'll probably be entirely on the physical copies to drive future sales, but those are a long way away from being completed.

When all is said and done, August 29th will mark the true end of the LO era of Webtoons. If the series finale was a funeral, then this is the moment we set its ashes adrift in the sea and say our final goodbyes.

It certainly was a hell of a ride. The good, the bad, and the absolutely insufferable.

[weirdsht]

Longing - LoTCF & Molan! Reader

notes: There's so much I want to include here but it's so long already... I might make a part 2. Also I woke up and decided to change the way I address reader lol. I used to use _____ because it was easier to type but I've decided to go for aesthetics now (disillusioned will still have the same format though so readers won't be shocked with the change).

tags: female reader, death, blood, injuries, angst(?), hurt/comfort

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

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[Name] Molan was about to fall asleep when intruders suddenly infiltrated the Molan Estate.

“...Mom I’m scared.”

The 5-year-old clutched her mother’s skirt. Screaming and clashing of weapons can be heard throughout the house.

Her mother said nothing at first. Opting to get her greatsword from underneath the child’s bed first.

“Baby you started learning stealth techniques with your brother right?”

[Name] nodded as she felt her mother squeeze her hand.

“Remember what Dad taught you okay? You might have to use it tonight. Think of it as an exercise to see how well you’ve learned.”

The situation is scary, but despite that [name] feels calm because her mother is smiling at her.

But that doesn’t stop her hand from shaking as she hears their family members’ screams.

Slowly, the mother-daughter duo slithered out of the bedroom. Their main goal is to find Ron and Beacrox before escaping the estate.

Run, hide, roll over, they did everything just to avoid the eyes of the masked people attacking their estate. As they run away corpses of their family members and servants can be seen everywhere they go. The stench of their blood overtook [name]’s senses making her want to puke.

Everything seemed to be going well at first. However, they have been discovered after a few minutes of sneaking around. It was inevitable. With every corner being surrounded by those mysterious people massacring the Molans.

“[NAME]!”

[Name]’s mother just hadn’t expected one of those bastard’s swords to pierce the child’s chest instead.

The Molan Mistress was surrounded. She was trying her best to fend off everyone who dared to hurt her child.

But her efforts weren’t enough.

One of the enemies still managed to slip past her greatsword.

At that moment Beacrox, her first child, entered the room they were in. His eyes were shaking along with his legs as he ran to hide behind her mother.

“Beacrox take care of your sister.”

Her voice was calm. Fitting as the wife of the Molan Patriarch. Her hand tightly clenched on her greatsword. Eyes fierce, their gaze holds a promise of protecting her children.

Meanwhile, Beacrox sat on the ground. His arms cradled his baby sister while also trying to apply pressure to where she was hurt.

“Orabeoni… it hurts… it really hurts…”

“Just hold on a little longer. Father will get here soon.”

Beacrox’s hands are covered in blood. [Name]’s blood. No matter how hard he tries he can’t stop the bleeding. He can’t stop his younger sister’s body from going cold.

“Orabeoni… Orabeoni…”

[Name] tried to lift her small hands, but was too weak to do so. Beacrox shushed her, reassuring her that she’d be fine. That she’ll make it through the night. That they’ll get out of here alive.

She has to. Beacrox doesn’t think he’ll ever be the same if his baby sister dies here.

“I’m scared… Everything hurts.”

Beacrox is scared too. Scared of the copious amounts of blood escaping her little body. Scared of her body slowly becoming colder as the seconds fly by. Scared of her eyes that are slowly fluttering themself close.

“Hey, hey, you can’t sleep yet. We have to wait for Father first okay?”

Despite all of those things, the Molan heir stood strong. He has to. He needs to be strong enough for the two of them.

[Name] tries hard to follow her brother’s orders. However, the task starts to feel impossible to accomplish as time goes on. Sleep tempts her, tells her that if she closes her eyes the pain will disappear.

Her surroundings became more and more hazy and her family's voices grew quieter until she couldn’t hear them anymore. She was fighting to stay awake despite her body desperately shutting down.

“Dad…”

She mumbles as she sees a blur of a person that she thinks she recognizes as her father. 

“It’s okay. Everything is okay now. We’ll get out of here.”

Ron tries to reassure the girl but she can’t hear him anymore. He pressed his fingers on her pulse desperately trying to find one. Once he found it he asked his son to monitor the pulse as he aides his wife.

Bathump

“Baby stay with me. Dad’s here now. Dad will get you out of here.”

Thump

“[Name] you can’t close your eyes. Beacrox try to keep her eyes open!”

thump

“Mom! Dad! I- I can’t! I can barely feel her pulse. She’s also not breathing anymore!”

…thump

“Run. I’ll handle it here. Go with your father!”

“But what about [name]???”

“...It’s too late for her…”

…thum…

…

Only then did Beacrox let go of [name]’s wrist. Even after removing his hand, he felt like he could still hear it.

Her last pulse.

The feeling of it lingered in Beacrox’s hand. He clenches and lets go of his hand, but still…

Still, he could feel it.

Even as he runs away while looking at his father’s back. Even decades later when his serving the Henituse family as a chef. 

That feeling never goes away.

Meanwhile, the one left at the Molan Estate is still fighting. Desperately fighting the intruders with all her might.

She knows she’s outnumbered. She knows that she will die at their hands. She knows she has no fighting chance.

But still, she fights.

In hopes of buying her husband and her son time. In hopes of letting them escape and live to see another day.

And as she expected, she didn’t last long. After a few minutes of swinging her greatsword, he had finally succumbed to her wounds. Her body fell on the ground of what used to be their home. Of what used to be a safe space for her and her family.

Luckily, they left her alone after that. Figuring that she’ll die on her own either way. It gave her a chance to crawl over to her daughter. Gave her the chance to hug her one last time before her inevitable doom.

[Name]’s body was still bleeding. It had slowed down considerably thanks to Beacrox’s efforts but it was still bleeding. But her mother didn’t mind. She didn’t mind the puddle of blood gathering underneath her daughter’s body.

She just wants to hug her child one last time.

That’s why she ignored everything. The sticky blood, [name]’s cold body, her own ragged breathing. She ignored all of it and imagined that they were back in her daughter’s room. That she’s just hugging her daughter to sleep after telling her a bedtime story.

…thump

Ron’s wife wasn’t sure if she heard that right.

…thump …thump

She pressed her ears closer to [name]’s heart and heard the faintest of pulse. It was almost nonexistent. 

But it meant that there was still hope for her daughter.

Gathering her strength. She draped over her body on top of her daughter. This effectively hid her and put pressure on her wound.

She didn’t know if her daughter would survive. But she knows that she won't. This is her last ditch effort to make her daughter live. The only thing she can do with her dying body.

Kissing the crown of her sweet baby’s head for one last time, she let her body finally succumb to its wounds after fighting for so long.

Gasp!

[Name] gasped awake from her sleep as she dreamed of that night again. It’s been a few years since then. She has somehow managed to escape with her limited stealth skills at that time. Managed to go outside the borders of the Molden Kingdom in order to live.

For the first few years, she had to live on the streets. It was a sudden change. From having her own room and servants to barely eating one day a meal. But still, she persevered. It’s what her mother would have wanted.

She has nothing on her except the clothes on her back. She can’t even use her real name anymore for fear that someone will recognize it. 

However, she did have her father’s teachings.

It may not have been much as she was just starting out before their family fell apart. But she still practised them every chance she got. Tries to expand what she knows by remembering what she has read and her experience while living on the streets.

“You’re already taking another job? Go out and play or something! You’re too young to be taking job after job!”

Her hard work paid off in the form of her being a mercenary. She used her skills and wits to qualify for such a dangerous job. In turn, she became a full pledge mercenary at the young age of 12.

Every mission was life-threatening. She never knows if a mission is going to be her last one. But it puts a roof over her head and a warm meal on her plate.

“Nalom, why do you take so many jobs? You already have enough money to last you for at least 3 months.”

One of the mercenaries ruffled her hair but she ignored it. Focusing her attention on the name she was called.

Nalom…

The opposite of Molan.

Cheesy. She knows it was cheesy to make her alias just the reverse spelling of her last name. But she feels like she will inevitably forget her real name if she doesn’t do it.

She might have lost everything that night but she promised herself that she’ll take revenge one day. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, she will get it done.

Hence why she takes job after job. Honing her skills and pushing her limits. Trying to discreetly sniff out any information about the secret organization that attacked the Molans.

“Bud I heard we’re going on a war with Arm?“

The now 27-year-old [name] sneaked behind Bud.

“Nalom! How many times do I have to keep telling you that you’ll give me a heart attack if you keep sneaking up on me like that?”

[Name] ignored the Mercenary King holding onto his chest as she waited for an answer.

“Yes, the veterans will attack their secret base in a few days.”

“I’m included right?”

Bud Illis looks at her as if she’s joking.

“Of course you are. You’ve been here for 15 years. There’s no way you’re not a veteran.”

Good.

That way she’ll finally get her revenge.

“By the way. Is the investigation about our first base done yet?”

[Name] could see Bud’s shoulder tense at the question. She honestly didn’t care much. It was devastating that it had been blown up and the directory is now gone but it’s not like anyone from their side died. So it’s not her problem.

Well at first at least.

Until she heard the rumours that the one who attacked the directory was Molan’s last patriarch.

“Not yet. I wasn’t there when it happened and we’re putting all our efforts into the upcoming attack that’s why the investigation is taking longer.”

She could sense that Bud was only telling half the truth but she let it go.

“Say Nalom, did you learn your stealth techniques from someone?“

The Mercenary King asked just as she was about to go out of his office.

“No, I learned during my time living on the streets.”

A half-life. It was only fair since Bud also lied to her.

With that [name] closed the door behind her making her unable to hear the conversation that happened in her absence.

“Her techniques feel similar to Patriarch-nim…”

Bud mumbled under his breath once the stealthy mercenary was gone.

“It’s different but their foundations are similar.”

Glenn agreed from the couch. Both of them wondered if there was a chance that Nalom was somehow connected to the Molans.

“Where’s the kid?”

One of the mercenaries asked as they prepared to attack Arm’s secret base.

“I don’t know, you know how Nalom is. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Another mercenary reassured the guy.

“Nalom? Who’s that?”

Cale asked Bud who was also trying to look for the missing mercenary.

“She’s our youngest veteran, only 27-years-old. But she’s the best among the mercenaries when it comes to stealth.”

Bud checked one last corner before sighing and giving up.

“She was here just a second ago… Well, it’s not like she can’t handle herself. But she has never gone on her own during large-scale attacks.”

The Mercenary King decided to trust the missing mercenary and continued with the original plan.

“Who goes there!?”

Beacrox hears a familiar yet foreign voice ask him as he dodges a flying dagger.

“I should be the one asking you…”

Brown hair that was the same shade as his own greeted him. Her one hand preparing to throw another dagger while her other hand was clutching on a flag that had been drawn on.

22 years. It has been 22 years since he last saw his little sister. His last memory of her was her body growing colder in his arms as he felt her pulse slowly stop.

Even today he could still feel her pulse linger in his hands.

“[Name].”

Beacrox called out. If only he knew that it was the first time in 22 years since anyone had called [name] by that name. 

He could see the mercenary stop in her tracks. Her arm lowered as she processed his voice and the name he called her.

“Orabeoni?”

She asked and Beacrox nodded. Yes, it’s him. It’s her orabeoni. 

[Name] slowly walked towards him. Her steps slow and staggering. Almost falling in his arms once she was close enough.

“It’s you. It’s really you. You’re alive.”

She cried in Beacrox's arms and for one he didn’t mind that his clothes were being tainted. He’ll take as much dirt as he needs as long as he can hug his sister in his arms.

Bathump. Bathump.

Instinctively his hand reached out to her wrist. The same wrist he held onto that night. But unlike that time, her pulse is loud and clear. Full of vitality.

Alive

“What’s taking you so long? I thought you were going to check out who was sneaking around your sister’s room?”

Ron’s voice echoed through the halls as he walked closer to where the siblings were.

“Dad’s alive? It was really Dad who blew up the first mercenary base?”

[Name] heard her brother hummed in affirmation. His chest vibrates against her cheek as they are still hugging each other.

Ron’s footsteps were silent but [name] could sense that he was close. Letting go of the hug, she stepped outside of her room to greet him.

They didn’t say anything. They don’t need to. 

For Ron will be able to recognize his daughter anywhere.

That’s why he didn’t say anything and just accepted his running daughter with open arms. Hugging her tightly, as if trying to make up for the two decades they have been apart.

“Dad I was so lonely. I was so scared.”

She confided in her dad. The veteran mercenary who’s the best in stealth and wields double daggers is gone. In the arms of her dad, she’s simply [Name] Molan. She’s just the daughter he loves. 

The daughter he thought he lost.

“It’s fine now. Everything is fine. You can tell your dad everything that happened.”

Ron stroked his daughter’s hair. His hands shaking ever so slightly.

Tears gathered in his eyes but only Beacrox noticed them. 

The chef said nothing about his father’s vulnerability. He stayed silent even when a lone tear managed to escape his father’s eyes.

His strong father. The same one who bulldozed through everything just to keep him alive. The same father who worked hard to train him while discreetly investigating the organization that attacked them. His father showed no weakness.

That same father of his has been overcome by emotion.

And Beacrox can’t say anything about it for he was the same.

[banquetwriter]

୨୧ distant love pt: 2 ୨୧

pairing: Rick Grimes ♡︎ fem!Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ canon typical violence, Rick is low-key a cheater (not on reader tho), not beta read we die like Carl

summary: ʚ basically a filler chapter from the CDC to the prison post-Woodburyɞ

Words: 2002

An: hey babies I wrote this on my phone again 😔 also i haven’t seen the earlier seasons in a very long time so mb if it’s not exactly accurate 😔😔

Part 1 Part 3

SUPPORT ME

You and Rick had kept your distance most of the morning. Looking at Shane’s black eye. “Dad, are you hungover? Mom said you would be.” Carl asks as Rick sits down at the table. You let yourself stifle a giggle at the kids' antics. Rick being drunk last night would explain his forward-ness.

You followed the group after breakfast as Jenner explained what exactly was happening to everyone. Why would the dead rise?

You watched as the x-ray video’s corpse re-animated. God that was scary. What was scarier was Jenner locking the doors. You covered your mouth as tears streamed down your face. “Oh my god.” you whimpered out.

You were going to die. You of course found yourself turning to Rick. Who was holding his wife and child? Your heart sinks.

Of course, he would be with them. You were a sidepiece. Why would he protect you? Care for you? He made his choice. It was one that you're going to have to be ok with. Even if you weren't going to live very long.

That's when the doors opened and Rick screamed for everyone else to get their stuff. You ran as fast as you could to escape. Avoiding the shards of glass that spilled everywhere Rick threw the explosive at the glass.

Your eyes rest on Lori and Rick as they sit in the front of the camper. You weren't sure how you could have ever found a real relationship with him. You think back to Lori’s words. Trying to push the two of you together. Your heart burned for her.

How low was she that she wanted her husband to sleep with another woman? You suppose she felt guilty for her and Shane being together. This was a different thought, wasn't it? Rick said he loved you. You weren't sure how much of that you believed.

It was you who saw the way Rick was after Otis accidentally shot Carl. It was you who hugged him, feeling his arms search for a sign that his boy was still alive. It was Rick who begged you to stay with him.

You wanted to, you really did. But that would have been inappropriate and unfair to Carl. This could very well be his last night alive. He shouldn't be confused about why you were there.

You see the color leave his face as he donates more and more blood to his son. Trying to comfort his wife but his eyes linger on your figure unfaithfully. Your curves would comfort him. Your soft skin and happy smiles. That's what he fell for.

He wished this wasn't the way it was. He wished he had met you instead of Lori. Marrying the first girl he could. I mean he did love Lori. As the mother of his children, he would always hold a place for her. She just wasn't you, was she?

You on the other hand shoved your feelings down, deeper than the Mariana trench. Trying to help keep the camp outside on Hershel's Farm going. Doing menial tasks like laundry or cooking. Offering to clean any weapons the group needed youto.

Trying to comfort Lori at every turn, silently becoming almost like a best friend to her. Holding her shoulders as if to say you're sorry for screwing her husband.

You used to help go on runs with Glenn and Maggie until you found them shaking up in the convenience store. It was cute to see young love budding, but seeing them naked was not something you were down to see again.

It made you jealous to see them so in love. You wished you and Rick could be that way. But alas, that's not what life has in store for you. Love. What a joke. A nimbly fickle thing.

You kept a good amount of distance between you and Shane. Not daring to go near him. One night you sat around the campfire with lori and carol. It had been a long day of playing catch-up with chores since Lori had been helping Carl rehabilitate.

“Alright girls, I'm off to bed,” Carol says with a tight-lipped smile. You and Lori talked a little bit about Glenn and Maggie.

“Y/n?” she asks looking up at you. Her gaunt and skinny face looks more and more malnourished these days. “Mm?” you ask, looking at her. “I-I know how he looks at you.” her voice barely above a whisper. You lick your lips, shaking your head.

“Lori, stop,” you ask her. Pleading almost. “You can't keep doing this to yourself, he loves you-” You try to keep your voice down but your heart breaks. “Y/n I'm pregnant,” she says.

For a second your world stops. The fires crackles keeping you grounded. You opened your mouth, unable to say anything. The amount of possible words dying in your throat. “I want it to be Rick’s. I need it to be Rick's,” she says, tears spilling down her face.

Your hands slip up to your face covering it. You let out a low breath. This wasn't about you. This was about her. You think over and over again trying to calm down all the raging emotions going through you.

“Does anyone else know?” you ask slowly, she must be feeling a whirlwind of things none of which you were entitled to have an opinion on. “Glenn does, I needed him to go out n get the tests,” she whispers straightening out her shirt, raising her hand up to her mouth and biting her nails.

Lori is absolutely exhausted, and you know more than ever she should be resting. You stay silent noting that neither potential fathers know she is pregnant. “I don't know what I'm going to do, Glenn has been trying to take care of me.” She gives a pitiful smile.

Her face was tear-stained, the streaks illuminated by the fire. “Well you need prenatal care no doubt.” you said scooting closer to her, grabbing her hands. “I think telling everyone will be the best course of action, when…” you said, pulling her into a hug.

“When you're ready,” you mumble against her shoulder. She thanked you with a sad smile standing up. You didn't sleep well that night. Not that you ever did now. You thought about the women in the next tent over probably also not sleeping.

You thought about the baby that was currently draining her of her energy. You thought of Carl. Recovering from a gunshot wound at such a young age, probably confused and scared most of the time.

And of course you thought of the man also sleeping in that tent. The one that seemed to consume your every thought. You thought of him always. It was a shame. You wished you were Lori sometimes. Sleeping in his arms pregnant with a baby.

You physically shake your head to rid yourself of your selfish thoughts. You were scared of Shane, scared of your feelings for Rick, and scared for Lori.

You were scared of the way your heart wanted to leap out of your chest every time Rick tried to talk to you. The way his rough hands would touch the soft skin of your arms. “Rick…” you breathe out trying to shy away from the older man.

The way he would beg you to stay close to him, his hot breath tickling your neck at his closeness. “This isn't the right time Rick.” you would whisper, eyes flicking up to see his teary ones.

Dark almost permanent circles surrounded his eyes. You pull away from his grasp and run out of the Greene’s house. You stood by Daryl's side as you read him shitty books you found on runs trying to provide him an ounce of comfort as he recovers from the bullet wound that Andrea gave him.

And be would try and provide an ounce of that comfort to you as the barn full of walkers is discovered. Taking all of your willpower not to vomit at the smell. Turning away from the group. Allowing yourself a moment, just a moment of selfish comfort.

As Rick’s arms wrap around you. Breathing in his musky scent. The sounds of the guns firing off still ring in your head. “It's ok, you're going to be ok,” Rick mumbles in your ear. His hand clasped gently in the back of your neck.

As soon as the moment is here it's gone as you see Shane’s angry face peering at the both of you from a few feet away. Your face fills with embarrassment, you rip away from his embrace instead choosing to hug Carol who was sobbing over the loss of her daughter.

You spent the next few days in a constant state of dissasostivate numbness. Unable to feel anything other than fear. Seeing Rick and Shane keep a man locked up in the barn for fear of what he could do.

Even though your group was the one keeping him held, handcuffed, and bound. As soon as he goes missing it seems to bring you out of your state as Shane comes running with a broken nose claiming that the prisoner ran away.

You ran into the house with all the women. Fearing for what was next. Trying to hide in case he came back with his group. Seeing all the panic spread through the group as the barn is set on fire. The horde of walkers attacking your slice of peace.

You barely make it out with your lives. Reconnecting with your group on the highway with everyone. Once again seeing Rick’s eyes falling on you as he hugs you with his family. You turn away from him, finding comfort in Daryl's embrace.

You watched as Rick distended into madness and anger after killing Shane. Demanding that whatever he said went. This was not the man you fell in love with. This was not the human your body craved comfort from.

Revealing how his son had to be the one to put his best friend down after he turned into a walker. Which was bizzare you never took him for type to get bit or even scratched.

That's when Rick reveals the delicate information that you all carry the virus. A crucial piece of information that sends the group into a frenzy of anger. You felt very sick. How could he keep that from you? From the group?

It only went downhill from there. Rick and Lori are always fighting as she grows more and more pregnant. The sheriff was unable to hide his anger towards her. Constantly on the run, even once you find and fortify the prison, the Governor and all of his bullshit wreaks havoc on the group.

It's been 6 months since Woodbury fell, you had a big group. Full of amazing people. A decent farm and garden. Life was decent. Judith was a beautiful baby girl.

You sighed setting your pencil down in the crease of your sketchbook. You had picked it up on a run not too long ago, at first mostly making a few sketches and doodles to entertain Carl.

Although lately, you have been trying to work through your feelings through the pages of the book. Unfortunately, most of them were about Rick. You always observed him when he was working in the fields.

You could almost see the heat radiating off of him. His t-shirt is clinging to his sweaty body. To his strong sculpted muscles. Fuck. He was so hot.

It brought you back to those nights in the quarry. His rough hands gripped your soft flesh. Back arching as you slammed into him. Tongues slipping into each other's throats.

You lick your lips slightly admiring your drawing. It was of a man who looked suspiciously like Rick. His tired haunted face and sculpted body were barely covered. “Hey.” a southern voice took you away from your explicit drawing.

You look up to see the man in your drawing staring right back at you.

[asksythe]

Hey just read your lovely hands fanfic and the concept of the blood pool being a prison for malevolent entities barred from the cycle of reincarnation is so COOL , is it a thing implied between the lines and we western audiences lack the cultural context to recognise it ?, or is it something you came up with if so can I have permission to incorporate the concept into my own fan works?

It is a cultural thing. It's not even implied in the novel. It's just outright stated. But it's one of those hundreds of tiny cultural details that probably fly over the head of the international audience.

Remember when the Wen people came back as bloody corpses to protect Wei Ying and fought back the fierce corpses riled up by the repaired Yin Hufu?

In this part, the novel describes the events following the first Sige of the Burial Mound. After the hundred cultivator houses slaughtered these defenseless elderlies, women, and children, they threw their corpses into the blood pool, thus forever barring them from reincarnation.

The phrase the novel uses is 永不超生 (lit. to never again be reborn, to be barred from the cycle of reincarnation forever). That's not a figure of speech. The novel is being literal. The Burial Mound itself is already a prison for all kinds of undead and ghost wraiths. The blood pool, by the novel descriptions, amounts to a maximum security cell. A ghost in the Burial Mound can eventually let go of their grudge/resentment and enters the afterlife/reincarnation. But anybody thrown into the blood pool doesn't have this option.

永不超生 is commonly portrayed in Chinese culture as a punishment by the authority of the underworld. That's not a judgment that a mortal is allowed to make.

The fact that the Hundred Houses carried out 永不超生 on the Wen is a detail that speaks of both their arrogance and their awareness of their guilt.

The Hundred Houses are well aware what they did to the Wen remnants is a sin. The custom of the time is, if you profess yourself to be the righteous side and slay someone seen as 'evil/villain,' it's customary to hang their corpses up for all to see.

Remember Nie Mingjue beheading Wen Xu and hanging Wen Xu's head at the gate of Uncleam Realm for all to see? NMJ is not doing that just because he has a vendetta against the Wen. He's doing that as part of ancient customs to declare to all that 'his kill is righteous,' that he doesn't need to hide it, and that Wen Xu and the Wens are villains that need to be put down.

That's the principle. Justice has no need to hide.

But not only did the Hundred Houses hide the corpses of the Wen remnants, but they also imprisoned their souls, hoping that would keep the Wen from coming back as grudge wraiths or for the karmic cycle itself to snap back for this sin.

The Hundred Houses built up the Wen remnants to be this evil army at Wei Ying's beck and call. So they need to be put down. But the truth is that they were just a bunch of elderlies, women, and children who spent all their lives being doctors (as they belong to the Qihuang branch, with their own pacifistic philosophy).

Had the Hundred Houses performed the custom and showed their supposedly righteous kill to the world, then the truth would out. That they were either liars or stupid, and that they best be prepared to repay for their transgression on both innocent Wens and on the authority of hell itself.

And that, my friend, is why the second Burial Mound Siege ended the way it did, and why the vast majority of those same cultivators left Wei Ying alone afterward. What do you think those same cultivators think when their victims break out of the supposedly unbreakable maximum security cell to save Wei Ying (another of their victims)? And then those same Wen souls entered the afterlife?

The Western vernacular for this part is: Karma is a tenacious bitch with a long memory. It doesn't matter how much they lie about their crime and act like they are righteous or how good they think they hide the proof of their deeds. Heaven and hell itself are watching.

....Sorry, I have some strong feelings about the treatment of the Wen remnants.

That is to say, feel free to incorporate it in your works.

[2ch3rr13s]

Too little, too late

im bored on a drive and I have nothing to do, so why not have some angst?? Mostly supposed to genshin, but I kinda wanna do honkai star rail too, so if you see traveler or paimon its trailblazer and march 7th :)

When he first heard you utter your words of affirmation for him, he knew not what to say or do. He knew that you had feelings for him, but for reasons unknown to either of you, he denied your feelings.

Seeing the pained expression on your face made him want to take back his words, but he knew this was for the best, other wise you'd only get hurt in the end.

Either way, it hurt you, with a heavy heart, and tears in your eyes you left him there alone as he tried to ignore the way his chest panged in guilt and agony at your expression.

It was the last time he ever seen you, he would wait and wait as if you would come back to him as casual as the the days before your confession, but why aren't you here now?

He'd be lying if he said his heart didn't drop when the Traveler (or Trailblazer) ran to him, a panicked expression with small tears in their eyes.

So when they told him of your injured state, he knew to get up and go along with them as the traveler led him to a clinic.

A nurse greeted the two, and out came a doctor from the back with a solemn expression and all bloodied, his eyes on the ground before he looked up a bit taken back from the amount of people.

He opened his mouth, but the doctor held up his hand, just as a nurse went to the back to console a sobbing Paimon (or March 7th). With the cries that reached his ears, you were no longer in this world anymore.

Traveler's (Trailblazer's) hands flew to their mouth as their own tears cascaded down their cheeks as they moved to go see your body before you were moved elsewhere for your burial.

As he was left there, he could help but feel as if it was his fault you were dead. If things would have went differently on that day, would you still be alive and in his arms?

No matter he forced himself to go to the back room, and nothing could prepare himself for what he seen in the small room.

Of course he looked over to Paimon and Traveler (March 7th and Trailblazer) who were sobbing like children, he want to console them, because he knew he would be the same if he looked over to your bloodied corpse on the medical bed.

His throat tighten, and he felt like he couldn't breathe when looked over to all the blood. Cuts, bruises, and large gashes covered your body as he felt his eyes burn.

A choke sob left his body as he took large stride to your side of the bed. He dropped to his knees and took one of your bloodies limp hands in his and he felt himself sob harder as he could no longer feel any warmth to you.

You were gone and you never got to hear the words he wished to say to you all those days ago. Nor will you ever get to hear him much he actually loved and adored you.

He was too late to realize his own feelings, how stupid of him, right Y/n?

ZHONGLI, XIAO, CHILDE, AYATO, DILUC, KAEYA, SAMPO, DAN HENG, WELT, kazuha, heizou, wanderer

[mudisgranapat]

I. Lights Out

Word Count: 2,7 k

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley X F! Reader

Content: zombie apocalypse, mention of dead bodies, mention of death, children

Summary: A virus has taken over the world, turning people into zombies. Amidst the chaos, Simon has managed to stick together with the other operators of Task Force 141, his life barely any different than it was before. That is, until the day he crosses paths with a woman that keeps a well hidden secret and holds something he has long forgotten existed: a baby

Note: This is my first fic (and first tumblr post)! Hopefully you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I already have the story planned out, and will be posting the next chapter soon if anyone cares about this. If not, I’ll pretend I never posted this lol

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.

.

Sitting on the back of the Humvee, Simon could almost believe that things were normal. The constant hum of the engine numbed his mind, as he stared into the sewing of the padding covering the old seat. Soap was seated directly across from him, blabbing his mouth to Gaz, who acted like he could hear anything besides the huge vehicle's obscene noise. Behind the steering wheel was his Captain, Price. Although, that didn’t seem to matter anymore. Not ranks, not names. Nothing was normal, and the reality outside that Humvee was something Simon, not even in his worst days, ever believed could happen.

He had witnessed bleak images. Cruelty in abundance. But the world he saw now was unlike anything he had ever seen before - the dead, roaming among the living. Not that he hadn’t encountered his fair amount of corpses, after all, that came with his job. But this, seeing the bodies of civilians, once full of life, now life-less and decaying at an evolving speed, nonetheless persisting, chasing the taste of human meet… It was different.

When the early signs of the apocalypse started to show, most of the people downplayed it, him included. He had always been a skeptic, and it just didn’t seem viable that a virus could bring down humanity with such strength. Regardless, Simon hadn’t been too worried about the so-called “end of the world”; He thought that his military ties would be enough to keep him informed with privileged intel of the real situation.

He had been deployed with the 141, far from civilization, when shit really went down. For obvious reasons, they came out empty-handed from the recon mission. Turns out terrorism doesn’t come first in the list of the insurgent’s priorities when there is a deathly virus going around. It was only at his team's fruitless attempt to land back at base that he found out that his ranks and years of service didn’t matter when the world was collapsing. They had been out for long enough that, when they came back, there was no more government in place. No hierarchy to follow, and no rules to structure society. And no one cared about them enough to let them know beforehand.

Some people had stayed in their houses, probably clutching their kitchen knives close to their hearts while they heard their neighbor's inhuman noises. Others had divided themselves into smaller groups, in the hopes of giving humanity a fighting chance. The lucky ones had made it to what once were the quarantine zones, now just simply a bigger group of people that managed to stick together and with far better resources. From there, all the typical apocalyptic mayhem developed: gangs, revolutionary groups, miracle safe spaces, cults, and so on. The chaos you would expect to see in a movie. Apparently, they weren’t that far from reality.

Along with the 141, Simon fell into the “smaller group” category - not that the four men would give humanity a fighting chance, they just didn’t really have anywhere else to go. Being military men, their lives revolved around structure and order, so it was natural for them to stick together. Whatever ties to the old world they had before had long been severed, and quickly they realized that it was less painful to hope that anyone they cared about had had the privilege of dying a quick death.

Not that that mattered to Simon either. He didn’t have anyone. So sitting at the back of that Humvee they had stolen from an abandoned base, things didn’t feel that different from what they used to be.

Soon enough, the group expanded, thanks to Soap, who had managed to fix an old radio and get in touch with a few other military personnel who were scattered around the globe. That is how they found Laswell: she had managed to seclude a select group of people from the military in one of the bases that were abandoned in the turmoil. They didn’t mention that she never tried to contact them while they were away on that recon mission, and she didn’t bring it up either. Now, over two years had passed, and the topic was long forgotten.

They were a bunch of people tied together by the hope they could still save humanity: scientists, agents, medics… Everyone had their place in the small society Laswell had created. And Simon… Well, he was a soldier. And soldiers are always useful when in the right hands. That was why things hadn’t changed much for him, and for the first time in his life, the fact that he never had a home to come back to was a relief.

Price was currently driving towards an abandoned research post, that had once been filled with people working to find a cure for the virus that plagued the world. Now, it was just a pile of junk and hopelessness, where Laswell swore they could still find valuable intel - maybe someone had forgotten to scrub their hard drive, or left behind a notebook with notes. At this point, even a post-it with bullet points would be considered a success.

As they pulled up to the location, they decided to park a few meters away from the entrance and proceeded with the skillfulness of a well-oiled machine. Soap and Gaz cleaned the era, taking out the few zombies in the vicinity with their knives, as Price and Ghost scanned for any intelligent life form that could possibly cause trouble. Not that they were expecting to find anything, it was just a precaution, as anyone who once lived there had either fled the area or become another roaming corpse.

They were about to follow the small dirt path that led to the makeshift building when Gaz held up his hand, a signal to stay put, while he used the other to hold the thermal vision glasses to his eyes. “I’m reading two heat signatures - one small and the other even smaller. Looks like it could be a woman and a child. The woman seems to be armed.”

“Let me see this, Gaz.” Says Price as he analyzes the scene himself. “He is right. Two signatures, one is armed.” Gaz makes a look of mock surprise behind the Captain, as he hadn’t just said that. He had become a lot more sassy since he could not be demoted.

“What do we do now?” Soap asks. “It’s not like we can just shoot a kid.”

Price pretends not to hear the last sentence. “I will approach, unarmed. They are probably just scared and trying to find a safe place to live. I’ll tell them we can give them some of our food if they come out and let us take a look at the place.” Before anyone can suggest an alternative, the Captain is removing his guns from the holster, and making his way towards the old science lab.

He is only a few feet away when the sound of gunshots fills the air. The bullets, all aimed just inches away from the captain’s boots, trace a line as if saying “Do not come any closer”. Immediately, the rest of the 141 aim their guns at where the shots came from, taking cover behind the trees, waiting for permission to shoot from the Captain, one that never comes.

“STAY THE FUCK AWAY!” A woman’s voice rings in their ears. This confirms part of what they had seen in the thermal goggles: there was a woman inside and she was, indeed, armed.

“I just want to talk, kid.” Price states calmly, standing his ground. He doesn’t take a step forward, so the shooter doesn’t feel challenged, but doesn’t take a step back either. He is not a man that backs away from a fight. “Name’s John. No need to shoot”.

“You can tell that to your men.” The woman is positioned behind a window, the scope of her gun pointing fearlessly at the bearded man. Not expertly, Simon notes to himself, as he can see the slight tremble that reverberates through the metal parts. Although her voice screams confidence, he can tell the person behind it is not as courageous. But she would probably still shoot that gun - Simon has seen more people pulling triggers out of fear than bravery.

“Alright. Stand down, boys.” And they do. “We just want to take a look around, we don’t want trouble”

The woman laughs. “You say, as you carry automatic weapons and wear a bulletproof vest.”

“Just protecting myself from these troublesome fellas around. You know, the ones with their face falling off, trying to eat people.”

“We both know no one needs that much gear to fight some brain-dead walkers.” She doesn’t seem to want to match the light-hearted tone John is trying to bring to the conversation. “Now get out, or my men will shoot you.”

Now it’s Price’s turn to laugh. “Sweetheart, we both know there’s no one else there with you.” He puts both his hands on the shoulder straps of his vest. “That is, except for the child.”

John was just trying to assert his dominance by showing he had more information than he had let on. However, an angry string of bullets directed toward his feet, again, showed that the comment had struck a nerve. “Get out.” She said through gritted teeth, loud enough for him to hear. “Or the next ones are going straight through that stupid fucking hat of yours.”

“Listen here, kid.” The Captain was angry now. He didn’t like when people commented on his hat. “I have three men ready to shoot your ass into oblivion if you don’t comply. If you can’t tell, they are military-trained, and they will have you down before you can aim at my stupid fucking hat. So quit being dumb and put that gun down.” It was surprising he had let her go as far as shooting at him twice, but he was done negotiating.

“Are you with the Resistance?” Simon almost wants to laugh at that name. The Resistance was a group that, surprise, surprise, wanted to resist the Government. People have too much faith in the Government, in his opinion, as it had crumbled before he came back from his mission. To be fair, it had been a long mission, so maybe he was being a little harsh. Now, the Resistance was a group of rebels that had nothing to rebel against, and who, ironically, had become the closest thing to a government you could have nowadays.

“No, we are not.” Simon could tell John’s patience was wearing thin. He isn’t a big fan of the Resistance either. “We are a group that’s still trying to fix things in this goddam world and that lab might have valuable information. Now let us through.”

At that, the woman puts the gun down and stands up. She probably didn’t know that, but by the tone of his Captaion’s voice, she had probably taken her last chance to avoid a conflict. “Name’s Y/N.” She says. Simon can see her face now - she looks like she is in her early twenties, with long hair tied in a tight ponytail. She disappears behind the window again, coming out the front door with a baby in her left arm and a pistol in her right hand. “I’m keeping the gun.”

“Suit yourself. Come on, boys.” With that, the three of them are taken out of their trance. He knows what they were thinking because he was thinking the same. Who in their right mind has a baby in the middle of a zombie apocalypse? Either this woman was crazy brave or crazy crazy. A baby was a rare sight, a healthy one even more so. But there she stood, baby in her arms and a furious gaze.

They walk past her and her gaze only intensifies. Clearly, the woman was hiding from something, or someone. But that was neither here nor there. They were on a mission, and they were going through with it regardless. Nothing had ever stood in 141’s way.

They don’t ask the baby’s name. Simon had a feeling she might point her gun to his head if he did. Not that he was curious, he could care less about the women or the child.

She doesn’t ask their names either. After all, there is no reason for formalities. If all goes well, they will be gone as suddenly as they appeared.

Inside, the lab was what you would have expected, except for a few things that showed that someone had been living there. It wasn’t hard to find their way around the place, although incredibly annoying to do when there was a five-something-foot-tall woman following them around with a disapproving look. He understood - after all, they were in her house. However, that wasn’t even a house in the first place. Simon tried to mock an equally disapproving look while scavaging for something useful. As if reading his mind, Johnny asks “May I ask why you are living here, of all places? I mean, there are real houses across the street, lass.” Always a gentleman, he was. He could tell the scot had put real effort into that sentence not to sound judgmental.

The building wasn’t too messy, courtesy of the current tenant. It wasn’t too big either. It resembled a house from the outside, and had two stories: the bottom floor looked pretty much like a regular house. It had one room filled with a not-so-normal number of beds, a bathroom, a simple kitchen, and tables everywhere, where it looked like people used to do research and eat, probably simultaneously. The top floor, on the other hand, seemed like something from another world: Wires covered the walls, feeding energy to dozens of different lab-related equipment. Some were big, some were small, and Simon couldn’t name them if his life depended on it.

“The place runs on solar energy. So the showers and appliances installed still work. Except for the cameras, I shut them down a long time ago, along with all this science crap.” So Simon’s intuition was right, she was hiding from something, and knew too much about the place for her to just have stumbled upon it on pure luck. They had already looked at the cameras and made sure that they weren’t working. They were small, installed mostly where it looked like the scientific research went down and at the entrance. She must have been looking for them, as he was pretty sure a regular civilian wouldn’t have been able to spot all of the cameras. But she did, despite the fact that it looked like those were the parts of the house that she used the least. And although Simon's first reaction was to be suspicious, he couldn’t deny that part of him was impressed.

“Smart.” Gaz said, but his tone seemed to reflect some suspicion as well. He had been sitting down in front of a computer since they arrived, trying to recover any data, while the rest of them tossed things around. Unfortunately for them, the scientists who had previously worked there had remembered to scrub the place clean - no documents or information was left behind. “Price, I think I got something.”

Whatever Gaz had been doing in that giant computer, seemed to have worked, as it looked like files were being restored. But the victory was short-lived, and they hardly had time to gather around the machine before the energy shut down. “What happened?” Soap asked.

“I don’t know, it looked like it was working.” Gaz proceeded to furiously tap the keyboard, probably having no idea what he was doing.

“Well, get it to work again then.”

“It’s not that simple, Soap.” As fast as the power went out, it came back on, and the distinct beep of the weird machines splattered around the place could be heard again. “It seems like the whole place rebooted. It was probably easier for them to have all the controls gathered in one place. Simpler.”

But Simon wasn’t focused on Gaz’s explanation. He was focused on the cameras, that he had physically confirmed were shut down, now red light shining bright. Apparently, the machines weren’t the only thing that had turned back on. “Shit.” He heard the woman say behind him. Her face was pale, and she hugged the baby tightly, shielding the child’s face against her chest.

Whatever she was hiding, Simon was willing to bet all his money it had to do with that baby.

[mondaymelon]

𖥔 ݁ ˖⩇⩇:⩇𝟣.𖥔 ݁ ˖

⤷ a halloween event hosted by @mondaymelon !!

taglist: @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @silaswritesthings, @neigesprincess, @mintydump, @kaeffeinee !!

“...That’s the briefing. Any questions?” Sango uncrossed her arms, glancing up from the paper she was reading off of. It was a chilly evening at the Bantan Sango Detective Agency, and you regretted not bringing an extra layer of clothing with you to work.

You sighed, your exhale turning white in the frosty air. The sky had already blended black, tiny pin pricks of bright stars resembling white paint scattered on a midnight canvas hung like a dusty backdrop. The days had been growing colder of late, and the maple leaves that loosely clung to the trees now blanketed the cobblestone streets. “Typical of you to hand me over to some tiring task right before the festival… that other guy, genius detective Shikanoin Heizou, why not ask him instead and spare me the trouble?”

The brunette’s expression grew strained. “You know I don’t talk to him anymore. Besides, he quit a long time ago. He works for the Tenryou commission now, and I hear that quite the skilled man. Wherever he is, he always finds a way to boast about him, I suppose…” Her voice trailed off with an exasperated groan. “It doesn’t matter. Are you going to take the job or not?”

“Do I really have a choice?” Judging by her scammer-like smile, you already knew the answer before you asked the question.

“Nope.” And just like that, she thrusted the manila folder of information into your arms, several pieces of paper flying out of it in the process. “Have fun, I’ll see you at the Halloween Festival later!” She sprinted away before you could even get in another word.

As expected. Sango was rather stone-faced, yet she only grew more and more animated as you got to know her. You didn’t know exactly what happened between her and that redhead detective, but you weren’t one to pry for details the other wasn’t willing to provide. Besides, you still had Ryuuji to pester for help… not. He had long since gone home for a weekend vacation.

“This is why I’m miserable.” You shook your head, reluctantly glancing through the information in the files given.

[ 48 missing people.

No attacks on children. Prime targets seem to be young adults regardless of gender.

Only three bodies have been retrieved.

Bodies are drained of blood. Puncture wounds in neck. Inscriptions on body...

Last event was Oct 24. Tanaka Oda, aged 24. Inferred to have gone missing at night. Had gambling problems but otherwise was a clean slate. ]

“Shit, this sounds like something from a legend… couldn’t these just be wild animal attacks?” You examined the photos, spotting the sunken eyes and dry flesh. “Ah, but unless it was an 8 foot tall bat… and the runes. How the fuck would a bat write? The work of a cult, maybe? Human sacrifice has been a thing before, and that would certainly explain the markings on the corpses, would it not…?” You didn’t have enough evidence to come to conclusions now, nor the sufficient amount of sleep. You had never exactly been the most intelligent, which made you question why Sango had even assigned this case to you in the first place. To give it to the least capable detective in the workforce must’ve meant that it must be an insignificant mystery, right? Then it’d only be a while until all the threads came unraveled. That, at the very least, provided you with a sense of comfort.

That sensation was a fleeting one, shattered by the shrill cry of a woman in the distance. High-pitched. Terrified. You snapped your head up, hastily shoving the evidence in your arm and sprinting towards the sound. It happened again, a broken cry piercing through the misty night. Smoky tendrils swirled in the air and curled around your ankles.

Where had the civilians gone? There wasn't a soul in sight. There were no lights in the windows. Food stands were left unattended as smoke rose from their stoves.

You pulled out into a clearing. There she was. She couldn't have been more than twenty years of age, her paper-white skin contrasting with the pink on her cheeks. Her kimono was strewn, creased as if someone had grabbed her with force. You could see the blood seeping from the bite wound on her neck. Her skin was icy cold. Her pulse had gone dead.

No. Not a wild animal.

This... A word, one spoken in storybooks, flashed in your mind.

There wasn't time to dwell on it. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribcage. There was someone. In the alleyway. They had seen everything.

"Huk...!"

He made a sound, then his body crumpled to the ground.

His inanimate corpse glowed with a sinister energy. Lines of foreign words circling around his arms and chest blazed forth, shining a deep red against the black night. A tongue you couldn't comprehend. A forgotten, ancient language that had long since been buried.

His body gave a spasm, shaking. It was as if he was a doll, and his joints creaked and groaned as they bent in upon themselves. Where his heart should have resided instead was a crystal-cut ruby, quivering in the open air. His eyes bulged, and then they were no longer there, bursting into a fountain of red. Then, he stilled.

He didn't move again.

Silence. Suffocating. There was something building in the back of your throat. You could taste the bitter bile on your tongue.

"F...Fuck."

Two bodies, cruelly bent and misshapen. The woman in the clearing, the blood pooling from her wounds growing cold. Her face was an almost ashen gray, and her dead marble eyes stared blankly into the sky. What was there to look at?

Then, the man. Twisted arms hung morbidly from his frame. His bloody, mangled sockets lay bare as they gazed at nothing at all. His bloodied body slowly dissipated as ashes in the wind. It was the smell of iron.

You exhaled a shallow breath. You could feel the tremble of your hands as you held them over your mouth. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit. You wanted to scream, cry. You shouldn't. You couldn't.

Droplets of crimson lay scattered on the ground. A trail of blood.

Blackened remains of the cursed. A trail of his ashes.

ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛʀɪᴀʟ.

next

[scarletskiesinthepaths]

can you talk about kuchel and levi pls i loved your last post abt levi

Hi, thank you so much for your question! I'm really excited because this is the first time I've received an ask like this :) Thank you as well for your kind words on my post!

Off the top of my head, I'll lay out some of my thoughts in general about Levi and Kuchel and some of the speculations I have regarding the circumstances they were in together:

Kuchel seemed to be a victim of sex trafficking. She fled to the Underground City to escape persecution, but prior to that, we can assume that she lived a relatively sheltered and privileged life, as the Ackermans served and protected the King. Because of this, it is unlikely she would have had the skills or knowledge to defend herself once reaching the Underground, so I'm assuming she was preyed upon—especially since it doesn't seem like she ever awakened her own Ackerman powers. We also know that human trafficking is common underground, given Mikasa's backstory and some of the "Bad Boy" panels that have been released.

Given that Kuchel became pregnant with Levi by one of her patrons while working as a prostitute, Levi is essentially the product of rape; Kuchel's occupation was more akin to forced labor and sexual slavery than it was willful employment. I'm certain the circumstances of his birth were never lost on Levi, as I'm sure he witnessed his mother being forced to have sex on a highly frequent basis due to their living arrangements.

To elaborate, I'm fairly certain Kuchel and Levi lived in the brothel she worked at. When Kenny went to search for Kuchel's address, the man he spoke with referred to her as "Olympia" (her prostitute name). That man was also aware of her health status in reference to her ability to see clients, so I'm assuming he was the brothel owner. Building upon Levi witnessing the sexual violence toward his mother by her clients, the reason I think this is the case is because I doubt Kuchel would have felt secure in having Levi leave the room. Given the danger of their situation and how hostile of an environment the Underground is, Kuchel would have wanted to ensure Levi's safety from kidnappers by keeping him in her presence. From what we see of the room Levi was in when Kenny found him, there was only one relatively small bed and a paltry amount of furniture. Not many places for Levi to hide, unfortunately.

The likelihood that Kuchel had postpartum depression (PPD) is quite high, as certain psychosocial circumstances increase the risk factors for developing PPD: stressful life events during the pregnancy, unplanned pregnancy, food insecurity, violence against women, low socioeconomic status, low social support, single marital status, sexual abuse history, and more. All of these aforementioned factors apply to Kuchel. It is exceedingly unlikely Kuchel would have had access to treatment for any PPD she may have had as well. Furthermore, it is well-known that PPD can adversely impact the maternal-infant relationship, particularly untreated PPD. This would have affected not only Kuchel's ability to attend to her own needs, but also Levi's needs.

Levi was dying from starvation when Kenny found him. I imagine Levi was stuck with his mother's decaying corpse for around a week, and one does not reach that level of starvation from going without food for a week. Simply from those panels alone, it is evident Levi had probably gone without sufficient access to food for months at a time. This demonstrates that Kuchel was having significant difficulties providing for Levi's basic needs. Based on this fact alone, Kuchel would not have had the capabilities and resources to provide Levi with higher-level needs, like the feelings of love and belonging that children need to thrive. I think Kuchel clearly loved and wanted Levi deeply, just based on the panel of her crying tears of happiness while holding Levi as an infant; however, the reality of her situation would have precluded her from properly relaying this love to Levi.

Let's take a look at Maslow's hierarchy of needs:

Basically, human needs are arranged in this hierarchy, with lower-level needs required for survival having to be satisfied before moving on to higher-level needs. Higher-level needs cannot be met if lower-level needs are not. The more one progresses through this hierarchy, the harder it is to continue to move through the hierarchy due to the practical and interpersonal barriers that inevitably occur. Physiological needs are the most important because no other needs can be satisfied unless those are met. Practically none of Levi's physiological needs were being met during his childhood:

We've established he had no food.

Given the poverty they were in and the nature of the Underground, a lack of clean drinking water makes sense.

The barest minimum of shelter was provided, given the small room they lived in. The shelter itself was inadequate and unsafe.

Levi was dressed in rags when Kenny found him, so we can extrapolate that he did not have much clothing.

Due to the lack of sunlight and the known effects on circadian rhythm, as well as Levi's known issues with insomnia during adulthood, consistent sleep was also an issue.

Clean air quality also seems like it'd be an issue Underground, given the lack of electricity. Torches and oil lamps probably contributed significantly to air pollution, along with the proper lack of air ventilation.

On a different note, we know from Kenny's conversation with the man who I assume was the brothel owner that Kuchel got sick from one of her clients. Of course, it's possible that Kuchel may have gotten some other sort of illness from her client, but given the occupational hazards of her labor, I'm assuming this was a sexually transmitted disease (STD). We already know Levi is extremely wary and concerned about disease when he's older to the point of being seen as a "clean freak"; it seems pretty easy to trace this concern to his experiences living underground. Given how Kuchel became sick, it's not a leap to think Levi might associate sex with disease, especially if he ever learned about the concept of STDs. Levi probably internalized some very negative messages and associations regarding sex from his childhood with his mother.

Anyway, those are some of the basic thoughts I have in my head regarding Kuchel and Levi's circumstances. I do have some more, so I would definitely love to write more posts at some point on this topic. Thanks again for reaching out!

[enigmaticstareyesee]

So.

I've been in this Warhammer 40k shit for less than a year and to be real, I'm really enjoying it.

Now, of course one of my fave characters is Fulgrim, you can (and maybe will) sue me. However, I am a deep sucker for character rising from the bottom, trying to (but essentially breaking themselves to) fit in, falling from heights because of their own hubris/insecurities and becoming something that they never foreseen for themselves. (And of course, hopefully, overcoming these personal obstacles and blooming into the person that they wanted to be.)

I haven't read the Fabius books yet but of course, I know about clone Fulgrim and (shockingly) I adore the idea of Clongrim and I see the MASSIVE amount of potential. However, The potential I see does not necessary align with what some of the more main fandom sees for Clonegrim.

I don't really want him coming back to the Imperium to just beg for forgiveness and worshipping his brother's feet and then becoming a lap dog for G-man.

I feel as though this would be a disservice to pre heresy Fulgrim, his character and the suffering He has inflicted on himself, his legion and the innocents of the Imperium.

If he was to come back, what I would really like to be shown is how productive and diplomatic (and dare I say how compassionate) Fulgrim is. I don't want him to grovel at anyone's feet because that doesn't achieve what Fulgrim (and the other Primacrhs) can achieve. ( Also not to be rude or to come off inductive, but the main's obsession with rooting for Clonegrim to beg on his kneels for forgive is a little strange)

Yes, I want him to apologise to his brothers, but I want him to work on those relationships through diplomacy and understanding. For chist sake, demon him beheaded G-man and that would put so much tension between those 2 which would challenge both of them, as they both are consummate professionals.( like the Lion came back in SoTF and can use his words, surely Fulgrim can) (he impressed his father, The Emperor, with the power of his words and their understanding)

Yes I want him to be held accountable for his legion but I want that to be shown through his cleverness and fighting ability. His repentment for how he had handled them before the fall and, low-key, after should a large part of redeeming himself for himself and for his legion. Like, The best way I can describe how he handled his legion was very much a parent who's constantly having to look after the youngest sickly child, while allowing all of his older children to have way too much freedom. (Only thing was all his kids were sick cus he was trying to find a cure)

Yes, I want him to see the state of humankind once he had sided the chaos, but I want him to be shown as productive within the current wars of the imperium.

(I just wanna make it clear to some people, I know that 40k is not a happy place with happy people, I currently know that the imperium is essentially a rotting corpse and that resources are stretched thin. I don't want Fulgrim to become a Knight in shining armour (fuck no, it would kill him) however I want him to helpful and use his Initiative, whether that is helping G-man on terra or helping other planets, hunting his demon brothers down or fucking doing something about the rich and pompous. that are infecting the Imperium.)

And yes, I want him to confront his obsession and need for perfectionism. I want him to confront his need to conform to a standard that he placed on himself and his legion (not fully, necessarily) but I want that to be shown through his determination and will power because those are the attributes that help him transform chemos and his little (200 or so) legion into spectacular things.

BUT

In anyway or shape or form do I want that to change the make-up wearing, long haired, purple and gold colour schemed, miner's son and factor working turned interstellar diplomatic, one of the best dualist, lover of arts, music and culture, sculpter himself and low-key blacksmith and charismatic Primach ?

No.

I want all of that to still play into Fulgrim being him, I just want him to be the comfortable in his own skin

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk, I'm literally making this post because I have been thinking about this character and his legion for 5 months and I've wanted to speak to people about him but I'm so awkward.

(Sorry for spelling and grammer mistakes)

[incorrectfatui]

Can I get a little more context on how you handle dottore? I am a little confused. You make it seem like he is weirdly lighthearted. You also make it seem like collei, and wanderer are his frustrated kids. He tortured them and other children for both science and fun canonically. He dissected his college girl friend and blamed her death and mauled corpse on Tigers. But you make him seem kinda innocent?

Hi hi! Thanks for asking! I‘ll do my best to explain.

First and foremost, I think it is worth noting that these Harbingers (minus Crucabena I guess) are intrinsically linked to comedy, having been based on character archetypes from commedia dell‘arte. If you scroll down a little on my blog, you‘ll see some script excperts that include Dottore, and I think you‘ll find he acts very similarly to how I try and portray him. I got into Genshin in the first place because of my love for this type of theatre- commedia dell‘arte is my special interest, and it will leak into my stuff here more often than not.

Secondly, I‘m well aware of Wanderers and Colleis lore, and I approach it seriously, when I refer to it in a serious context- which this blog is not. I center Scaramouche‘s (and to an extent, Collei‘s) trauma very heavily in my fanfictions, but this whole blog is focused on making memes about the Fatui- all of them. Yes, the main focus lies on the Harbingers, but I do my best to include all members- including former ones, like Collei.

And here‘s the thing- personally, I think portraying the interactions between Collei, Dottore and Scaramouche as light hearted is no inherently morally wrong.

You‘ll notice that even in the game itself, some of the Harbinger interactions can be seen as humorous, and Dottore specifically is VERY much shown in a comedic context in the webtoon- the very segment that Collei is likely referring to when she speaks about him, even. He sits around letting his subordinate speak for him, laughs like a clown, throws tantrums and does not appear scary at ALL until very close to the end of the webtoon. And personally, I think this dichotomy between Dottore appearing like a total idiot one moment, to more scary, like in game, in the next moment, can serve both as humor and shock value. And here‘s the thing- yes, Webttore is a segment, but the segments are based off of the real Dottore, not only in looks but in personality as well. For me, it all lies in the aspect of irony. Dottore, in game, had (and may still have) an extreme amount of power over Scaramouche and Collei. Reversing this, and having him be, more often than not in these quotes, be on the „less powerful“ site, i.e. humiliating himself, etc. is shifting these dynamics - which in itself, is a tactic often used in comedy. At the end of the day, they are not real people, and I do not think there is any harm in portraying them in humorous situations. I think everyone here is well aware that Dottore is a horrible person in game, and that the Harbingers are not some big found family- but you need to understand that this kind of dysfunctional family dynamic that you reference was a HUGE part of the reason the fandom around the Harbingers first developed in the first place. Other than that- I do this to all the Harbingers, as you can see. Yes, Dottore is arguably the worst of them, but none of them are good people. Childe tried to drown an entire city, Scaramouche himself is canonically a mass murderer, Sandrone has cut out a mans tongue in her only off screen appearance ingame. It is their dynamics that makes this fun, and while things like Dottolone are popular, the fact remains that Dottore‘s most well known canonical dynamics have been established with Scaramouche and Collei TLDR: Commedia dell‘arte reasons, Comedic Irony and Dottore‘s canonical comedic aspects

[highwayorgantrade]

Baptized By Fire (I)

Pairing: Ghost x (F)Reader

Request: Nope :)

Story Summary: Reader loses themselves to the mission - Ghost brings them back.

Chapter Summary: On your first specialized mission with Ghost and Soap, you were praying for everything to go right. Whether the idea was a sick joke or naivety, you did what you had to do to survive. Unfortunately, all actions have consequences.

Word Count: 2.8k

Song/Playlist:

Author's Note: Reader's callsign is Corpse! I got the idea for this fic by some ad I saw with these really cool titanium fangs, so I saw that and I was like yo lemme steal that rq so yeah I imagine reader having those but I don't really think it's necessary to the story! This is gonna be my first multi-chapter thing so I hope I can get everyone hooked bc LORRRDDDD the amount of stuff I have planned for this!

"When did intel say this guy was going to show up?" Soap grunted next to you, his rough voice teetering on the edge of being whiny. You knew the answer, everyone did. Three hours ago, a truck loaded with international weapons smugglers should have pulled outside of the house that you were sheltered in. The town had seen its last inhabitant months ago, right when this group began using it as a trading post. You were supposed to be in exfil by... Now, actually.

Ghost had parked himself in a barely-lit corner of the room, leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed. You wondered, every so often, if he was actually asleep, but when he ran through the motions of checking his gun, you were reminded of exactly who he was. Ghost would never fall asleep on a mission, no matter how late it was running.

"I'm going up to the second floor." You finally sighed. "Gonna see if I can scope anything out." You used to opportunity to stretch your legs - you had stayed crouched for so long, and the cold simply was not helping. And the longer you were in the presence of Ghost, the more your mind ran wild, and the overwhelming desire to impress him got worse and worse as time went on. Soap said nothing, and Ghost simply nodded at you.

Well, good enough.

The stairs were old, and it felt like they were screaming your presence when they creaked under your footsteps. As you walked past, the memories that this house once held were clear at every footstep. Picture frames of the family, forgotten behind, had dust collecting on the frames, and various pieces of artwork littered the walls, varying from classic Kahlo to children's messy fingerpainting. You pushed the door to each room open, trying to buy time by yourself. Each room was more or less the same - dresser, bed, window. Maybe a tapestry here and there.

You kneeled in front of a large, busted out window at the end of the hall, pulling binoculars out of your bag, and settling in. You held the binoculars up and sighed. Still the same landscape you've been staring at for the past three hours. The same faded market signs, dead outdoor plants and... Different SUV. You don't remember that being there, parked in an alleyway between two businesses. The windows were tinted dark, almost completely blacked out, so the hope of seeing anything inside was dashed.

The low, hushed voices of Soap and Ghost downstairs met your ears. You should tell them about the car. See something, say something, right? Part of you slightly resented the connection they had, but they've been working together for years. Countless missions and days together. These were your early days in Task Force 141, and this was your third mission with them. First mission using a specialized group like this, which is exactly why is was extra important that you didn't fuck up.

An uneasy feeling locked in your chest, and you stood, electing to rejoin the two of them. You shouldn't be alone, especially if a fight was about to break out.

"Contact!" Ghost's rough voice cut through the quiet, and almost as if on cue, a pair of gloved hands wrapped around your mouth and torso, setting off every single danger alarm your body had. Your vision darkened from the panic, and your desperate attempt to free yourself was going mostly unnoticed. The small point of pressure in your back told you that the barrel of a gun was pressed into your spine.

"Stop fucking fighting. They're not coming for you." A low, vaguely Eastern European voice growled into your ear before pulling you back into a random room. It was familiar, one of the parent's rooms, you'd assumed.

How did they get in? How the fuck did they get in without you noticing?

The window. The busted out windows in every room of the house. They came around the back entrance, and Ghost and Soap are about to be ambushed. Your eyes widened at the realization, and the man in front you smiled. Your target. This was him. Along with three other men, your outlook did not look good.

Panic clawed its way into your throat, but nonetheless, you made an effort to keep your face as stoic as possible. Your target leaned against the now-shut door of the room, and the sound of gunshots was echoing throughout the house.

"You are the one they call Corpse?" He looked you up and down, and gestured to one of his men. "Take her gun. And the knife. Scream, and I'll kill you and your friends." They followed his direction immediately, and the hand that was once around your mouth was removed. "Do you understand the situation you're in?" He was speaking to you like you were a child, and anger licked at your chest. Yes, obviously you understood the situation. You were trapped, with no chance of fighting, no weapons, and no way to communicate. You felt like a cornered dog, surrounded by people you know would kill you in a heartbeat.

You simply nodded, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek so hard, the metallic taste of blood was leaking into your throat.

Your target walked around the room, almost casually, and he smiled at the floor.

"There is a way for you to walk out of this alive, you know." He stopped, his back to the window. "Your force is rather... Mysterious. You come with us, and answer my questions. Any question I have, willingly. You'll be answering either way. The only question is how I'll be able to get you there." He smiled at you, like you two were having a pleasant conversation about world affairs.

The memory of Ghost's voice echoed in your head. "Don't let anyone take you to a second location. No matter what they are promising, they will kill you."

They will kill you. They want to kill you. They will hurt you. They will hurt Ghost and Soap, and who knows who else. You felt like a cornered animal, and all you could hear were gunshots and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You spoke for the first time in a while, and your own voice was unrecognizable to you.

"Fine."

And with that, your vision went black.

"See any more?" Soap's ragged breathing cut through his words, and Ghost's eyes were still trained on the street. Enemy bodies littered the world outside, and his vision was still adjusting to the world outside the scope of his rifle.

"No movement." Ghost finally put his weapon down, slightly grateful that the mission was over so they could all finally go back to base.

"Would've been easier with some fuckin' help." Soap grumbled, and cast a glance up at the stairs where he last saw your retreating back. Ghost didn't take a second thought about you going to scope out the landscape, he knew you were nervous around him, and in his chest, he felt a pang of regret. He could've been nicer to you, talked to you a little bit more, but he simply had no idea how to navigate his feelings around you. You simply showed up to base one day, and that was that for him. At first, he thought you were... Slightly aggravating. How easily you became friends with the Task Force, the sunshine that radiated out of you... He figured that you must not have seen that much war if you were still that damn happy.

It was difficult for Ghost to accept that he was wrong about your skills. At the firing range, in hand to hand combat, in everything, you were just ever-so-slightly better than him, and he tried to let some of his feelings known through the small things, like allowing you to enter a room before him, or simply sitting next to you during debriefings.

A resounding thud pulled him out of his thoughts, and immediately, his head whipped toward the direction, his heart sinking in his chest.

"Corpse, status!" Soap shouted, and his command was only met with silence. Before Ghost could think, he was on his feet and creeping up the stairs silently, his weapon at the ready. Soap followed closely behind, knowing that if Ghost was doing this, it was for damn good reason. A noise echoed through the house, and out onto the street, and both men stopped dead in their tracks. A scream, so guttural, animalistic, and angry pierced the air, and it chilled Ghost to the bone. He had heard a lot of noises during war, but none he heard were like this.

Of all the doors in that hallway, only one was closed, and Ghost nodded toward it. Soap and him stood on opposite sides of the door, and Ghost's heartbeat was racing as he thought about what could be on the other side of this door. You could be injured, dead, or worst of all, gone altogether. The door creaked open, and the sight that lay in front of them caused Soap and Ghost to freeze.

You were standing over four dead bodies, carnage spread around the room. Your uniform was covered in blood, and your hands and face had the same fate. Blood dripped from your chin, and your teeth were bared, a low noise emitting from your mouth as your chest rose and fell rapidly. The one fact they couldn't ignore: Every single body in that room had their throats shredded into oblivion.

"Corpse?" Soap spoke softly, the horror in his voice being poorly masked, but Ghost couldn't take his eyes off you. You were shaking, and the usual light that was in your eyes was gone, replaced by brutality and viciousness. Ghost handed his gun to Soap, wanting it clear out of the way if you decided to attack him as well. He stepped forward, the bottom of his boots leaving bloody footprints on the way to you. His grip on your chin forced you to look at him.

"Corpse, snap to. Come back, soldier."

"Corpse, snap to. Come back, soldier." Ghost's voice was the only clear thing in your mind, and you felt like you had just woken up from a very long nap. Your mind was hazy, and you focused on Ghost's eyes searching yours for any hint of remaining humanity. The last thing you remember: The target advancing toward you with a knife. That was it.

"Ghost, I- The target-" Your voice shook, and you finally took note of your surroundings. The target in question was long dead, sat against his wall, and his neck- "Oh, my God." As soon as your eyes set on the carnage in the room, Ghost wrapped his hand around your arm and began pulling you.

"No, don't look. Don't look." His hand came around your eyes, so the only think you could see was a slight hint of the blood-stained floor. Soap said nothing as Ghost led you out of the room, down the stairs, and into the freezing air. When you were outside, Ghost unclipped your helmet, and Soap rounded the corner.

"What the fuck was that massacre, Corpse?"

You wracked your brain for a good explanation, a hint of any memory that would allow you to explain something that you simply cannot remember, and you came up dead empty.

"I- I don't know, I can't remember." Your voice was small, almost lost to the wind blowing through the town. You had never seen Soap upset, and his response certainly wasn't helping your confusion.

"You don't know?" He looked at you incredulously. "You don't know how you... You tore open their throats?"

"No! I don't know! I can't remember!" You wished you could lie to him. You wished you could remember any minor detail of what happened, but after the target came at you, the only thing you remember is Ghost bringing you back.

The bright headlights of a familiar van approached, and you jumped at the sudden brightness.

"Soap, that's exfil. Get in the car and tell them to wait." Ghost's low tone was commanding, and Soap could only sigh and place himself in the passenger seat, undoubtedly already coming up with a mission report.

"Corpse, focus on me." Your eyes left the van, and Ghost had placed himself directly in front of you, so there was nowhere to look but in his eyes. "Do you or do you not remember what happened?" The intensity at which he spoke made you want to cry, the fear of disappointing him feeling real.

"No, I- I don't remember anything. All I can remember is him coming at me with a knife, and the other three guys, they said they would hurt you and Soap, and they wanted to take me somewhere else, but you told me to never go to a second location, and I just... I don't know."

"Hush, love, I believe ya. Did they hurt you?" His hand moved to grasp your bicep, and you looked down at the ground.

"No, I don't think so. I'm not sure."

Ghost sighed, and looked back at the vehicle.

"Right, then. We'll get ya checked out, just in case, okay? Come on." He began walking, but stopped when he realized you weren't following him.

"Ghost, did I-" You took a shaky breath, your question stuck in your throat. "Did I fuck up? Am I going to be kicked out?" Ghost stared at you, your question hanging in the air, until he took a step toward you.

"Corpse, you killed our target. And then some. You won't be kicked out for completing a mission. Price might tell you have to see some kind of psychiatrist or therapist, but that's it. That's all, I promise. Now, you're going to get in the van, we're going to go back to base, and you're gonna shower. Get to."

There was no arguing with Ghost, you knew that. You knew he was right, but that still didn't stop the little fire of annoyance lighting in your chest, and it was made worse that you didn't know what you were annoyed more by - The fact that he was so confident about the hypothetical outcome, or the thought of having to re-explain the situation to your Captain. You sighed as you wrenched open the back door of the car, the copper scent of your actions filling the enclosed space.

The ride back to base was quiet, the radio occasionally tuning in to a random station, speaking in a language you had no hope of understanding. The sun had begun to rise on the horizon, an orange glow cast on the landscape, and you sighed at the sun hitting your face, the feeling unmatched after being submerged in darkness for what felt like forever.

A few hours had passed, and Soap's snoring in the front seat was almost peaceful. You hadn't dared sneak a look at your Lieutenant - you weren't sure what curdled your heart more, the thought of him staring at you in disgust or disappointment, or worse, not at all. When the car passed through the security checkpoint for the base you called home, you couldn't seem to focus on one problem or thought at a time. Finally, the car stopped, and the growling engine cut off. Ghost gave Soap a rough shove to his shoulder, startling the man awake.

"Soap. Go." Ghost's voice seemed almost impossibly rougher after staying silent for hours. Soap cast you a remorseful look before exiting the vehicle, along with the driver. Anxiety held its place in the base of your throat, the scent of blood suddenly was drowning you, and your hands shook as you began to fidget with the seatbelt latch. "Corpse. Captain wants to speak with you."

Ha. You're fired. You're so fired. Your one passion, the one thing you know you were born to do-. "You're not in trouble. He just wants to know what happened." Ghost sighed, and pressed his thumb into the latch, releasing your seatbelt. "Damn it, soldier, fuckin' look at me when I talk to you." His voice immediately took on a harsher infliction, and you stared up at him, reminded of what exactly your relationship is to him - he is a Lieutenant, you are a Sergeant. Nothing more. "Obviously..." Ghost's eyes looked you up and down. "Get showered first." Your voice was barely above a whisper when you spoke.

"Yes, sir." When your boots made contact with the ground, it felt like the weight of... Everything collapsed on your shoulders. The sun felt too bright, your gear heavy and sticky, and Ghost's eyes boring holes into the back of your head all combined into the worst storm possible. You shook your head, your own eyes trained on the ground in front of you as you walked to your barracks. Just keep it together until you're alone. All you have to do is make it to your room. That's all. Don't fall apart until you're there.

Do not fall apart until you're there.

[vanilla-cigarillos]

A History of Vampires

Vampy vampy vampires! I’m not talking about Twilight; today I want to make a post talking about the real cultural significance of vampires in different folk beliefs around the world.

What Is A Vampire?

“...a mythical creature that subsists by feeding on the vital essence (generally in the form of blood) of the living.”

- Good ol’ Wikipedia

When we think of vampires, we picture Dracula in his brooding cloak sucking the life out of others. We see those characteristic fangs, an aversion to garlic, and a fatal vulnerability to sunlight. 

Vampiric creatures have been noted in cultures around the world for generations. 

A History of “Vampires” (Popularized in the West)

Cultures such as the Mesopotamians, Ancient Greeks, and Manipuri have folk tales of entities that are now considered to be precursors to modern-day vampires. Despite such occurrences of vampiric creatures in these ancient civilizations, the folklore for what most consider vampires today comes almost exclusively from early 18-thcentury Southeastern Europe. 

The term “vampire” itself was popularized in Western Europe after reports of mass hysteria during the 18th-century. Said hysteria originated from a pre-existing folk belief in Southeastern and Eastern Europe that in some cases ended in corpses being staked, and some people were even persecuted under the accusation of vampirism.

Early folk beliefs in vampires has typically been summed up to pre-existing ignorance of how the body would decompose after death, with people attempting to explain such decay through the existence of vampires.

The more personable and charismatic version of the vampire, born in fiction, came in 1819 with the publication of The Vampyre by John Polidori. Bram Stoker’s novel Dracula in 1897 would later on provide the basis of the modern vampire legend and be remembered as the most significant vampire novel in literature. However, it is worth noting that Stoker’s novel came after the publication of the 1872 novel Carmilla, published by Irish author Sheridan Le Fanu. 

Folk Beliefs

In Slavic and Chinese folk traditions, any corpse that was jumped over by an animal (especially a dog or cat) was feared to become a “vampire”. There was also believed to be a risk with a body having any wound that wasn’t treated with boiling water.

In Russian folklore, vampires were said to have been witches or people who had rebelled against the Russian Orthodox Church while alive. 

Within Jewish traditions, “alukah” is synonymous with vampires. The creature is said to be a living human being, but can change into a wolf. It also has the ability to fly by releasing its long hair, and would eventually die if not allowed to feed on blood for an extended amount of time. Once dead, a vampire could be prevented from becoming a demon by being buried with its mouth stuffed with soil.

Albanian mythology discusses both the “shtriga” and the “dhampir”. Shtriga is a vampiric witch that sucks blood from infants while they sleep at night, then turning into a flying insect. Only a shtriga could cure those she drained blood from. A cross made of pig bone could be placed at the entrance of a church on Easter Sunday, which would render any shtriga inside unable to leave. Then, they could be captured and killed. 

The Ashanti people in West Africa have folk tales of the iron-toothed and tree-dwelling “asanbosam” which can take the form of a firefly and hunts for children for their blood.

The Betsileo people of Madagascar have stories of “ramanga”, a vampire who drinks the blood and eats the nail clippings of nobles.

The Mapuche of southern Chile have stories of a bloodsucking snake known as “Peuchen”, with aloe vera being hung backwards behind or near a door to ward off vampiric entities across a variety of South American superstition. 

Aztec mythology has folk tales of the Cihuateteo, which are skeletal-faced spirits of humans who died in childbirth. These entities were said to steal children, and entered into sexual liaisons with the living, which would drive them to insanity.