#there is no escape from this cesspit

[falesten-iw]

On this day last year, my family faced a choice no one should ever have to make: stay in their home in Gaza and risk death or flee south, clinging to the slim hope of finding safety. Spoiler alert: there was no “right” answer. In Gaza, there never is. Families like mine would run from areas labeled dangerous, only to be bombed in so-called ‘humanitarian’ zones. Because in Gaza, no place is truly safe.

Each time they evacuated, they had the same gut-wrenching, desperate conversations on repeat: “Should we stay or go? Where would we even go? Do we send the women and children first, or do we all stick together?” Imagine trying to make life-and-death decisions with bombs falling around you.

One evening, a family friend offered them shelter, hoping the madness would calm down in a few days. My brothers agreed to move everyone there the next morning. But the bombs beat them to it. Just hours after that phone call, Israeli airstrikes hit our friend’s house. Thirty-five people, including children, gone. They never got a chance to move, and instead, they grieved for the lives lost.

They ran to Khan Younis, only for tragedy to follow. In November 2023, Israeli bombs hit my cousin’s house. I lost three cousins, their wives, and their children. It was chaos. Pieces of people scattered everywhere. A small child’s body lay unrecognizable until my cousin realized it was her son, Odi. His head was almost gone, but she knew him. She knew him by the shape of his teeth, his little toes. That’s the kind of loss no mother should ever face.

Since then, my family has moved over 50 times, haunted by the same questions: Where can they go next? How can they afford to survive another evacuation? Will they even manage to set up another flimsy tent?

And speaking of tents, imagine trying to live in one with your children. Picture makeshift cesspits serving as toilets, which fill up in a few weeks, forcing them to dig another. Comfort? Safety? Those words mean nothing. How do you sleep at night when your ‘home’ is a tent and your bathroom is a hole in the ground?

Talking about my family and Gaza breaks me, yet it also brings me a strange comfort. I refuse to let their stories fade. Their memories are beacons in the darkness, bittersweet reminders of joy and sorrow.

My family needs urgent help to survive this ongoing nightmare. Please, donate if you can. Share our story with your friends and family. Help us keep fighting, keep surviving.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead.

Note: There’s even a raffle for a handmade Palestinian thob if you want to participate : Link

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[kafkaesque22girlfriend]

The Damned P.1

Toji Zenin x fem! reader

Synopsis: forced to get in with the Zenin clan by your parents as a servant, Toji Zenin seemed to damn you more than himself….

Being a servant in the Zenin household was not for the weak-willed or the weak-minded, it took strong foundations of a strong mind to survive within these endless, lavishly adorned walls of the Zenin Compound. One of the three big clans in Jujutsu Society, blossoming the pure, clean bloodline of the strongest sorcerers in the modern and past Jujutsu eras.

Your parents pushed you into being here, young but not ditsy, focused yet polite. The Zenin really didn't care, they just wanted the free labour, but you did get a roof over your head when the Zenin took you in as a servant. Little did you know that your parents literally sent you off to serve strangers and live with them for God knows how long. Your cursed technique was strong and your parents wanted the Zenin to know that and get in with the family, even if you started as a lowly servant. To infiltrate? To gather information? To be married off? To destroy from the inside…? You didn’t know, nor did you care at this point.

The clan leader, Naobito Zenin, sent you off on your way as if he didn't give a single thought, as if he was washing away the dirt on his hands. You were young and inexperienced and you didn't deserve the reward of the bigger duties so you were sent Toji Zenin's way, the black sheep, the damned one in the Zenin clan. You would be the personal servant of Toji Zenin.

Which leads you here now, standing by the foot of his bed, ready to wake him up like you usually do. Late. It was nearing 11 am and the clan needed to be in the training quarters in about half an hour. You glanced at Toji, seeing the drool escape from his mouth, his hair roughed up, and the sheets that barely covered his naked chest. These were the only times you felt Toji not be intimidating. You opened up the curtains and the windows, letting the fresh air ventilate the room. He grunted when the light hit his eyes at the most perfectly uncomfortable angle.

“Get the hell out.” He groaned angrily as he covered his eyes with his bulky forearm.

“Rise and shine, Master Toji.” You say with a faint warmness, anything to keep this civilised and polite knowing he could lash out quickly. The light seeps through the room and bathes it in the sunlight. He looked peaceful lying there, it's shame you had to wake him. He never looked so peaceful while he was awake, and, sadly, we all know the reason why. Toii grumbled and groaned, lifting his arm from his eyes.

“Can't even fuckin' sleep in this damn house.” He opened his eyes and was met by the sight of the sun hitting against your silhouette. He then looked at your face and rolled his eyes, a sour expression filled his face once more. “And do me a favour, and don't call me 'master' if you don't want your teeth punched in.” Toji fucking hated that, fucking hated it all.

You immediately frown. “It's not like I want to call you that, you are my superior. I work for you, I have to refer to you as that.” You explain to Toji as if he didn't already know it clear as day. “Would you like me to bring in a gong and wake you up like that?” You say, a small smile tugging at your lips at the insane hypothetical.

“I don't give a damn if you have to call me that, just drop it.” He growled against his pillow, glaring at you in the process. Toji then sat up from the bed, resting his head on his right hand as he looked at you blankly. He couldn't help but believe that there was some charm to you in how you were so polite. Your expression had an innocence to it that he had never come across in the cesspit that was the Zenin compound. “If you dare bring a gong in here, I'll break it and then your ribs.”

You knew that he was very much capable of doing that, so you didn't push further. But your mouth ran faster than your brain.

“Well then Toji, if you break my ribs...who will be making you breakfast every morning? Speaking of which, if you want food, I'm making some. So get up.” You say a little more firmly this time, you've never been this challenging towards your superiors, part of you wants to take it back, what if the clan deject you for being disrespectful? You frown slightly and leave the room to head back to the kitchen and finish preparing his breakfast.

The first thing he did when you left the room was let out a groan of frustration. It was always like this, you were being too much of a pushover to him. Always too kind. That was what irritated him the most. Maybe he was projecting. He needed to stop thinking that. Toji got dressed into his montsuki and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and freshen himself up, he hated how every day started the same.

-

Soon, you heard his footsteps walking towards the kitchen, a few seconds later his hulking figure appeared at the doorway, leaning against the frame as he crossed his arms.

“I can make my own breakfast.” He declared in a low and husky voice.

“No, you can't.” You say politely but your words carry some weight to them that resounded throughout the whole room.

Each clan member had a specific section of the compound to themselves, so you had an entire kitchen to yourself to prepare food for Toji. He couldn't make his breakfast even if he tried, servants were solely assigned that duty.

You glance up at him leaning against the doorway, you finish plating up his Teishoku and serve them, you place it on the kitchen island in front of you. “Coffee sir-? I mean Toji..” You say softly, fumbling over your words but correcting yourself.

Your words irked him like nothing else, you were so nice to him. He loathed it. What made you so kind in the face of someone like him? “Quit this 'sir' bullshit.” He was trying to play it cool, his eyebrows slightly raised as he spoke. Internally he was confused by your ongoing kindness, you were like this from day one. He didn't like the fact that he had to work around your kindness.

“I apologize. Bad habit.” You let out a nervous chuckle, trying to ignore the burning green gaze zeroing in on you. Your expression was trying to hide the fact that you were uncomfortable with his presence. Toji was a little more than impressed by how you were handling him like this still. After all, most people would be scared shitless already.

As you hand him his coffee, Toji notices the band-aids on your fingers. The skin looked red and brittle and it made him raise an eyebrow. “What happened to them? And don't say 'nothing' or 'it's nothing.” Toii muttered under his breath, trying to distance himself but still be curious at the same time.

“Oh, I burned myself by accident, the stove was too hot.” You respond a little curtly, turning your back and starting cleaning up and clearing away. It was clear you didn't want to talk about it, the real reason was rather daunting as Naoya Zenin threatened to break your fingers because you didn't do a task correctly.

Toji watched with intent simmering eyes as you turned your back to him. The first thing was that your reasoning behind it was obvious bullshit. You were lying through your teeth but quite frankly he didn't car enough to pry even further. "You're really clumsy, aren't you?”

Your shoulders relax as you sigh out, thankful he wasn't reading into it. “I am...I am. ..quite clumsy.” You breathe out.

You both know damn well you were the opposite but for now, it'll do. You turn around and take his empty tray once he finishes eating, giving him an agreeable smile. “Your training starts soon.”

Toji raised his eyebrow as an unamused look was engrained on his face. Why was his rudeness not affecting you in any way? Maybe you weren't listening to a thing he said, which made him even more annoyed. So he decided to try another approach. He just...didn't like how you...talked to him. “Can you stop being so polite to me? I never understand why servants are like this to their masters. Just do your job and stop acting like this.” He grunted.

You turn around and glared at him, annoyed that he didn't realize that you’re just doing your job. Anything less than perfection and obedience would be punished. But then again...who the hell were you to argue with a Zenin? “If that's...what you prefer.” You shrug your shoulders. You thought maybe he would appreciate some form of kindness considering the way his family actively despised him.

“Good...because there's no reason to be nice to me when I'm anything but.” He warned me you lowly. Toji was expecting you to break and lash out at him. Yet your reaction and expression left him feeling a little off-put. Why? Why weren't you saying anything? Why aren't you letting him walk all over you? He didn't like those thoughts.

Reluctantly, you nod your head, lips thinning into a straight line, and you try to stay as neutral as possible. If this is what he wanted, who the hell were you to argue? After finishing cleaning the kitchen, you make a move to leave the room. As you made your way to leave, Toji couldn't help but notice that your back was as straight as an arrow. Your body looked so proper and elegant, unlike others. Just your simple back in that tight-fitting kimono was enough to make him stare a few moments longer than necessary. That's when he called out to you and spoke with a neutral expression: “Do you always have to be so proper and respectful?”

Yet his voice was...softer.

You stop in your tracks. “I'm just doing my job.” You reply quietly, trying to get him to grasp that you're just doing what you're supposed to do. You walk away and leave him wordless from the kitchen, letting your words linger in his brain a lot longer than he should have.

-

pt 2 coming soon, get ready for angst and sexy times in the near future.

[libraryofgage]

SpiderPool Steddie Part One

So, this is definitely gonna have multiple parts lmao

It's been bouncing around my brain for a while like the Addams Family Steddie AU lol

Anyway, lemme know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts ^_^

----

Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls is, at best, a dive bar. At worst, it's a cesspit in which the scummiest people in the city gather to bask in each other's scumminess. To Steve, however, it's the perfect place to collapse after a long patrol, splayed out like a starfish on the roof as the music playing inside vibrates the building itself.

Steve takes a deep breath, setting his bat down next to him before pushing his mask to the bridge of his nose. He then lies down on the roof, wishing not for the first time that the city's light pollution wasn't so bad. Seeing the stars and hunting for constellations would really help him ignore the cracked ribs screaming inside his chest and threatening to break if he even breathes wrong.

All things considered, though, it could be worse. Steve doesn't have any morning classes, Vecna didn't beat him up nearly as bad as he usually does during their fight earlier, and his accelerated healing means Steve will be able to breathe normally by morning. Robin would tell him he has a very low bar when it comes to judging how shitty his life currently is, but she isn't here, so her opinion doesn't matter. Dustin would tell him he should try not getting his ass whooped in the future. Thankfully, he also isn't here, making his opinion as meaningful as Robin's.

Steve closes his eyes, letting his shoulders relax and trying not to think about anything. It sort of works until his entire body suddenly tenses, every nerve on edge and goosebumps shooting across his arms. He shoots up, ignoring the harsh twinge in his ribs as he turns in a crouch and grabs his bat. Steve clenches his jaw, breathing harshly through his nose to keep from groaning in pain, and feels relieved he didn't completely remove his mask completely.

Over by the door leading to a staircase is a guy with ripped jeans, a worn-out shirt with "HELLFIRE CLUB" across the chest, a jean vest covered in patches and pins, and hair pulled back out of his face with a few wavy strands stubbornly escaping his hair tie. He's breathing a little heavily, his face flushed like he's just climbed a few flights of stairs. Actually, he probably has.

"Woah," the guy says, his voice soft enough that Steve would have missed it if not for the enhanced hearing. The guy clears his throat and holds up both hands, showing off a bottle of Jack Daniels in one and a bag with a grease-stained bottom in the other. "Uh, I come in peace. I didn't realize the rooftop was taken."

Steve has no clue what possesses him, but he forces himself to relax and set the bat down. "No, it's okay. I can head out," he says, staying seated despite his words. He's really hoping the guy will insist he doesn't need to; his ribs are still aching like a bitch.

Thankfully, the guy flashes a grin and slowly lowers his hands. "Nah, you're all good. Not every day I get to eat next to a hero. Want some fries?" he asks, walking over and sitting a good two feet away so there's plenty of room between them.

He tears open the bag to create an impromptu plate and puts it between them, the smell of greasy and undoubtedly delicious fries tempting enough that Steve picks up a smaller one and pops it into his mouth. "Thanks. Where are these from?" Steve asks, glancing over as the guy twists the cap of his bottle and takes a swig.

"A burger joint two streets down and one street over. On the corner."

Steve nods, making a mental note of the directions so he can get a burger before swinging home. He's got just enough in his pocket to afford one. "So, got a name?" Steve asks, figuring he's already eating the guy's fries and they're about to spend some time together on this roof. He should know the guy's name.

The guy's grin returns, and he sets the bottle down between them as well. It's tempting, but Steve doesn't trust his alcohol tolerance to hold up while his body is busy fixing his ribs. "Eddie. Do I get to know your name, too?"

Steve snorts and leans away slightly, putting a bit more distance between Eddie and his entirely too-grabbable mask. "Nice try," he says.

"Worth a shot," Eddie says, shrugging as he picks up a few fries. "So, Spider-Man, what brings you to Sister Margaret's? You enjoy the gay metal scene?"

"What's the difference between gay and regular metal?"

"Our hair is better," Eddie explains, dramatically flipping the few strands of hair escaping his tie.

Steve has to hold back a second snort, taking another fry and chewing on it before saying, "I like resting here after patrol. The whole building shakes with the music."

Eddie lights up, his eyes brightening and his back straightening some. "So, you're a fan of Corroded Coffin," he says, taking another swig of the Jack Daniels. It's only now that Steve realizes it's already a quarter of the way gone, and he wonders if Eddie's liver can handle that much alcohol all at once.

"Is that the name of the band?"

"Yep. They play here almost every night."

"I'm guessing you like them, too, then?"

Eddie hums, amusement dancing across his expression now, giving Steve the distinct feeling that there's some secret he simply isn't in on. "They're the best band I've ever heard. Their music is incredible. They really push the boundaries of the genre. And their lyrics? Amazingly layered with at least three meanings per line. I highly recommend actually coming in for a listen one of these days," Eddie says, leaning a little closer to Steve.

A beat of silence passes in which Steve holds Eddie's gaze. Or, he holds the gaze on his end; he's sure Eddie can't actually tell with the mask covering his eyes. "You're in the band," Steve says.

"Lead guitarist and singer, yes. I also write the songs."

"You're incredibly critical of yourself, really grounded in reality."

Eddie barks out a laugh. "I just happen to know my worth incredibly well."

"You have all the confidence of a mediocre white man on a job hunt."

Eddie gasps, placing a hand on his chest as he looks at Steve. "How dare you call me mediocre. I am revolutionary at worst and the second coming at best."

"You know the second coming involves, like, an apocalypse or something, right?"

"I'm Jewish, why would I bother with the fine details?" Well, Steve will give him that. "By the way," Eddie says, gesturing to Steve's bat as he continues, "do those nails actually see any use? Or are they just there to act as a threat?"

Steve looks down at his bat, considering it for a moment before carefully holding the middle and offering the handle to Eddie. Now that he's giving them a few moments of attention, he's realizing the nails embedded in the end are a little rusty and definitely need cleaning. "I try not to be deadly with it, but Vecna's got these lab-grown demon dogs and bats that always manage to break through my webs," Steve explains.

He watches as Eddie takes the bat, weighing it in his hands before shoving his palm into the nails. Steve jerks, a wordless shout escaping his throat as he launches himself over the fries and in front of Eddie. "Are you okay?!" he asks, grabbing Eddie's hand and shakily inspecting the nails sticking through it. Fuck, those are going to be a bitch to get out, and he'll probably have to swing Eddie to the hospital for a tetanus shot.

Being angry doesn't even register in his brain as Eddie laughs. "Don't worry about it, Spidey," he says, pulling his hand off the nails with a slight wince. He wiggles his fingers, letting Steve have a front-row seat to the injuries closing. "See, good as new."

And he's right. The injuries are good as new. In fact, there isn't even any scarring, and Steve almost rips his mask off to take a closer look but stops himself at the last minute. Instead, he grabs Eddie's hand and yanks it closer, turning it over to check his palm, too. "What the fuck?" he asks, looking up at Eddie, still gripping his hand tight.

"Super healing," Eddie explains. "Like, super duper. If I ever get decapitated, just hold my head to my neck, and I'll be right as rain."

"I'd rather not put that claim to the test," Steve says, frowning slightly as he runs his fingers over Eddie's palms, just to make sure the injuries aren't somehow hidden from sight.

"You know, I kissed the last guy who touched my palm like that," Eddie says, leaning in again with that grin.

Suddenly all Steve can think about is how Eddie's lips do look soft. And it has been a while since Steve actually kissed anyone. And he does think Eddie is funny. And he does find himself wondering if his smile will taste like the Jack Daniels and fries. And...and...

And Steve needs to go before he does anything he shouldn't be doing as Spider-Man.

He jerks back, dropping Eddie's hand like it burns, and ignores the ache in his ribs as he grabs his bat and stands. "I, uh, I need to get going. Thanks for the fries, Eddie," he says, hurrying over to the edge of the roof.

"Woah, just gonna eat and run on me, big boy?" Eddie asks, scrambling to his feet and over to where Steve is climbing onto the edge of the roof. "That's not very hero-like of you. You haven't even left me your name or number. How are you gonna pay me back $2.50 for the fries?"

"I had five," Steve says, turning to look at Eddie as he webs his bat to his back and pulls his mask down over his chin.

"The economy sucks, man."

Okay, he's got Steve there. Again. "Nice try, Eddie."

"Can you blame a guy? Your ass looks great in that spandex."

Steve is suddenly relieved his mask is back down, covering the furious blush spreading across his cheeks. He'd think it was just a joke, but the sincere and somewhat goofy smile tugging at Eddie's lips tells him it's more genuine than anything else. "Thanks," Steve says, giving Eddie a two-finger salute before taking a step back off the roof.

He shoots a web at the edge of the building, using the momentum to swing around the corner. His ribs are killing him with the movement, but he still manages to throw a, "See you later, Eds!" over his shoulder before he's completely out of earshot.

Later, Steve will wonder how Eddie got his super healing, if he's that flirtatious with every guy he meets on the roof of Sister Margaret's, and if he'll be there the next time Steve swings by. But that's for later. For now, he's just enjoying the breeze rushing over him and thinking about Eddie's eyes and his smile and his long fingers.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

"Oh dear, what an awkward situation."

Awkward indeed… 😅

With this, I’ve completed the “Rollo is tormented by visiting the dorms” series of headcanons 🫶 Hope you enjoyed, Roro-chan 💕 (I still have some Rollo at the Writing Desk interactions to post after this, so technically his torment isn’t over quite yet…)

A Big Diasomnia Welcome to Rollo!

“At last, I have completed my itinerary. There is nothing more for me to see here, nor do, at Night Raven College.” That’s what Rollo tells himself as his stay crawls to its final few days. He has done it—through sheer mental fortitude and hatred he has endured this cesspit and avoided being dragged into Draconia's domain!!

Rollo is returning to his temporary quarters for the night when he notices that the fireflies are out. Glowing orbs flit by him in a slow, showy dance. Strange, he thinks. It’s well into autumn now. They shouldn’t be out past summertime.

... But something is wrong. The fireflies are swarming, coalescing into a single humanoid form. There is a blinding flash, and the glowing orbs are flung outward again, ushering in a new presence. Tall, dark, handsome, and crowned by a distinctive set of devilish horns. Rollo takes a stumbling step backwards. "YOU!!"

Malleus Draconia, in the flesh. The fae prince gives a toothy smile, reaching out a hand to him. "Good evening, Flamme. What an honor it is to be reunited with you. It has been far too long.”

“Not nearly long enough if you ask me,” Rollo snaps. He turns away and briskly walks toward his housing, prepared to slam the door in Malleus’s face—but Malleus has poofed away and reappeared to block his path. “Going so soon? But we’ve yet to have the chance to properly catch up. I was going to extend an invitation to a most extravagant dinner party in Diasomnia."

"I have no interest in such a thing," Rollo declares, weaving around him. "Good-bye." This time, Malleus does not follow. He stands there, eyes intensely bearing into Rollo as he flings open the door to his abode and... "What in the world?!"

Beyond the frame is not the usual foyer, but instead a sinister new scene, morbid stone and diamond-stitched furniture faintly illuminated by eerie green candlelight. An ominous throne waits along the far end and up two mirrored slights of stairs. The Diasomnia lounge.

Rollo whips his head back, glaring at Malleus. "You're responsible for this wicked enchantment, aren't you? You're not giving me any say in this matter." To that, Malleus only darkly chuckles. "It is the duty of any good host to ensure that his guest is comfortable and feels... welcomed. Fufufu, I am playing my part well, wouldn't you agree?"

"Feh! To weaponize your magic for such a trivial, petty thing... I never thought the great and powerful Malleus Draconia would be so low as to stoop to kidnapping," Rollo glowers. "You continue to drop the bar of my expectations for you. I would be impressed if I didn't utterly loathe you and your entire existence. Know this, Draconia: I won’t fall for such an obvious scheme. I would sooner set myself ablaze than play into your hands."

Malleus doesn’t seem to be bothered by the declaration so full of passion and hatred. He grins mysteriously and waves a hand. “Silver, Sebek. You may do as you will with our dear guest.”

A collective “YESSIR!!” sounds from behind Rollo—he turns too late, for the two guards have emerged and reached out from the magical doorway to Diasomnia. Rollo (helplessly struggling like a fly caught in a spider’s web) is seized by the two burly men and hauled through the gate, Malleus casually strolling in and closing the door after himself.

Rollo is (aggressively) seated on (well, more like chucked onto) one of Diasomnia’s couches. His body aches from the impact, his vision swimming from the shock. Sebek and Silver loom over him, preventing his escape.

“Sorry about this,” Silver says apologetically. “Malleus-sama’s orders.” Sebek, on the other hand, is far less forgiving. “Hmph!! Consider yourself fortunate that the young master is as merciful as he is! AND THANK HIM FOR THE INVITATION IN SPITE OF YOUR PREVIOUS TRANSGRESSIONS!!”

“Now, now! Let’s not scare the poor lad, boys,” a deep voice advises them. FWUMP!! A short boy with dark hair and magenta streaks descends from the ceilings, spooking away what is left of Rollo’s soul. “Lilia Vanrouge, vice dorm leader of Diasomnia."

Lilia vigorously grabs and shakes Rollo’s hand. His grip is immense—a contrast to his youthful appearance—practically crushing Rollo’s fingers. Rollo yanks his head back in alarm. "Teehee, did I do that?" Lilia asks innocently. "Silly me, I don't know my own strength!" (... Rollo doesn't believe him.)

"So excited to finally meet you! I’ve heard so many stories—like how you’re the first person to have struck fear into the heart of our Malleus.” Beaming like the sun on a cloudless day, Lilia leans into their guest’s ear and whispers, “There had better not be any of the same stunts you tried to pull the night of the masquerade~ You try any of that funny business again and Lilia-chan will make sure you regret it <3”

Rollo is unnerved by the message—it’s friendly and teasing, but a vaguely threatening tone lies beneath it. When he looks again at the young-looking boy, he sees the darkness radiating off of him, the ancient wisdom in his eyes. A shiver rolls through his spine.

"Kufufu. Juuuust kidding! Let's all be the best of friends, okay?" Lilia says with a cheeky wink. Rollo's not sure if his cheer or his seriousness is more disturbing.

Malleus is so glad that everyone has gotten acquainted! It’s been so long since they’ve had the opportunity to host someone. He looks as jubilant as a kid in a candy store (whereas Rollo looks like a cat on the side of the road that someone splattered with a puddle’s worth of muddy water).

Before the meal, Malleus is eager to show Rollo the dormitory (“You enjoy history, Flamme. Diasomnia has plenty of it to offer. Allow me to show you—”). Rollo is sandwiched between Malleus (who leads the way) and Sebek, Silver, and Lilia in the back and at his sides. (He glares at the back of Malleus’s head and quietly wills for him to meet a fiery and painful end.)

... Likewise, Sebek is glaring and thinking the same of Rollo. He's only keeping his trap shut in the presence of Lilia-sama and Malleus-sama!! (Silver sighs to himself, wondering if this evening will really play out alright.)

Malleus rattles off details the past and the antiques which decorate Diasomnia. (There is of course a segment about gargoyles too.) In any other scenario, Rollo would have found the information fascinating--but darn that Draconia for tainting this experience for him!! (With each fact Malleus provides, Rollo's face increasingly twisted with disgust.)

Every so often, Sebek interjects with loud praise for Malleus's wealth of knowledge. His fanboying is so incessant that it echoes in Rollo's head long after the compliments have already been uttered out loud. Where's the brain bleach when Rollo needs it the most?

He thinks he’s hallucinating things when he sees a stampede of animals heading for him from the other end of the hallway—but as they get bigger and louder, Rollo realizes that no, it’s very much real. The animals surround Silver, who greets them with a soft smile and introduced his friends to Rollo.

“Do you want to pet them, Rollo-senpai?” Silver offers. Rollo calmly replies, “No thank you. I do not make it a habit of handling animals outside of the occasional horse—” Too bad for him though, squirrels and birds are already nesting in his hat and a deer is chewing on the ends of his robes…! Rollo’s eyes twitch in annoyance as he goes about untangling himself from the deer and shooing away the birds and squirrels.

When they arrive at the dorm rooms, Lilia pipes up with an idea: "I know! I'd like to show our guest some things from my room. It'll be just like a sleepover." (Rollo frowns. "... In what way is this like a sleepover? If possible, I would like to avoid it." Sebek agrees, vehemently advising against showing "the enemy" their private quarters.)

Lilia shakes his head and wags at finger at him. "You should be more accepting, Sebek! Yesterday's foes can be today's friends." (Silver and Malleus agree with Lilia, so it's 3 votes to 2.)

"Welcome to Lilia-chan's ultra-cute heart-thumping bedroom <3" ... It's the most cluttered place Rollo has ever laid his eyes on, even worse than Idia's. He strains to hide the disgust on his face. Lilia for his part, is ecstatic. He rushes about the room, collecting armfuls of trinkets and artifacts to show off. Each comes with its own story from a different part of Twisted Wonderland.

Lilia even shows off a massive cleaver he claims he used “back in the day to cut my enemies down~” It launches Sebek into another round of extolling his superior. Meanwhile, Rollo stares blankly at the weapon and wonders how much of what Lilia just said was fact and how much of it was fiction.

"You know, Rollo-kun, there's so much we can learn from other people and cultures," Lilia tells him, holding up a handkerchief of his own. Rollo recognizes it as one from the City of Flowers--the joke items children blow into to release smoke and confetti, startling others. (Hmm? Did Silver purchased an extra one for his vice dorm leader? Hadn’t he just gotten one for his father?) "I hope that you can keep an open mind tonight."

“… Yes, I will try.” (It’s a lie.)

Using his own handkerchief as a makeshift mask, Rollo does his best to not inhale too much of the air of this magic-infested place. Lilia asks him if he's feeling ill (Rollo is tempted to respond, "Yes, I am sick... sick of you lot of fools!"), to which Rollo replies that he's feeling peckish.

“Shall we head into the dining room?” Malelus suggests, but Lilia tells him, Sebek, and Silver to go ahead of him and Rollo. (“You boys run along and make the necessary preparations! We’ll catch up later.”)

When it’s just the two of them, Rollo finds Lilia staring wistfully into a tin. Some withered old acorn bracelet is inside. It’s nothing special, but Lilia looks at it as though it’s the greatest treasure in the entire world. He replaces the lid and regards Rollo and a serious expression.

“… I empathize with you, you know. Losing a loved one is never easy. I don’t wish for anyone—not even my worst enemy—to experience the pain that I did. It hurts, I know—but there is an opportunity to heal, to learn, to grow. That’s why I will do everything in my power to protect that dream, to bring about a world of peace and love, not war and hate. It is my hope that you, too, recognize this. The last thing I would want to do is to obliterate Malleus, Sebek, and Silver’s first friend from Noble Bell College.”

Rollo frowns, disconcerted by the promise of peace and love. No, it’s just not possible in a world where magic exists. “We will have to agree to disagree. I have my convictions as well. I do not intend to waver. And a correction: we are NOT friends.”

Lilia giggles. “What are friends, if not people who spend time together and get on each others’ nerves? You are plenty friends with them, if only you would allow yourself to be.” He prances over to Rollo and taps him in the heart. “Riiight here.“

“Wha…?! G-Get away from me!!” Rollo bats at the ancient fae, who only laughs and runs off with Rollo in hot pursuit. He chases Lilia all the way down the hall, where they’re both stopped by the sight of the dining room.

It’s lovely—an obsidian black tablecloth thrown on a long table, their best china and silverware out, crystal vases of fresh cut roses and candelabras alit with pulsating green flames welcoming them. Platters of succulent food and drink float in the air, suspended by magic.

“Dinner is served,” Malleus announces. With the way of his hand, the dishes slowly settle onto the table. The dorm leader beckons everyone to sit. Silver and Sebek nod and obey. Lilia claps his hands in delight. Rollo wants to vomit in his mouth.

The seating arrangement is deliberate. Malleus at the end of the table, Lilia on one side of him and Rollo on the other. Silver sits next to Lilia, and Sebek next to… Rollo… “Why does HE get the honor of the seat across from Lilia-sama and next to the young master?! THAT SHOULD BE ME!!!” Sebek thunders. (The entire meal, Rollo feels the first year angrily staring at him.)

Rollo forces himself to eat the food that has likely been prepared by magical means. He figures that if his mouth is preoccupied with eating, then he won’t have to engage in whatever stupid conversations Diasomnia brings up.

Sebek talks about a book he has been reading. He visibly puffs up as he recites the details of it, like he’s an eager puppy expecting praise for his memory. Silver mentions that some of his bird friends will migrate south soon, and that he will miss them until their inevitable return in the spring. Lilia tells a story about a raid he went on with his gaming buddy (Gloomy Samurai) and how he dove off the stage during one of his club meetings. (One of these things is not like the other, Rollo thinks.)

At one point in the meal, Silver almost falls asleep in his soup and a flock of birds have to work together to lift his head up and avoid disaster. Rollo cringes at the wild animals being so close to their food—who knows what manner of diseases they carry or where they’ve been?! Thankfully, he manages to keep his mouth shut, as he’s sitting far enough away for his own food to be safe.

Though Rollo keeps avoiding speaking to Malleus, Malleus certainly doesn’t do the same. In fact, he seems to delight in provoking Rollo. Malleus will talk excitedly about gargoyles and then make an aside to ask Rollo, “how do the gargoyles of Noble Bell College fare?” The same trend occurs for other topics as well. It makes Rollo nearly choke on his food or spit up a drink more than once.

He tries to keep his replies short and to the point, but Malleus often presses for elaboration or continues the conversation from Rollo’s response. (Sebek looks on enviously, chewing on his napkin to stave off the anger.)

Lilia declares that he has a surprise for everyone!! He runs off and returns with a dish covered by a silver dome. Silver pales, Malleus is taken aback, and Sebek is suddenly grinning deviously. “Ta-daaaah! I made dessert in advance!! I thought to myself, ‘I can’t let our dear guest walk out without trying some of my world-famous cooking!’”

Lilia whisks the lid off, revealing… a bubbling blob in shades of brown, violet, and murky green. Chicken bones, bits of chopped fruit, and shredded greens peek out from its mushy surface, which appears to have the consistency of a liquid and a solid at the same time. It smells like skunk juice and death. Rollo uses his handkerchief to hold his nose and to keep from being ill.

“Rollo-senpai, I don’t think you should…” (“Come now, human!” Sebek says smugly, interrupting his fellow knight. “Lilia-sama went to the trouble to prepare this treat for you! Do not waste his valiant efforts!!”)

“You think I would sample a dish so obviously dubious?!” Rollo cries, offended at the idea. “How foolish do you think I am?!” (“Oh my, no need to fight over my cooking, boys!” Lilia chirps. “There’s plenty to go around!” But no, Sebek loudly insists that their esteemed guest eat it all up—after all, when will Rollo have the chance to be graced with Lilia’s cooking again?)

As they’re arguing, no one noticed Malleus scooping a spoonful for himself until he has the bite hovering close to his lips. Sebek, horrified, begs his liege to think better of it. Silver, too, warns him. (Lilia cheers him on. “You have such a healthy appetite!”)

“Please, young master!! You know what the consequences are…!!” Sebek pleads with him. Malleus insists he must do this. “It is a show of good faith—and furthermore, a leader is expected to make sacrifices for the good of his people.” (Rollo feels like he’s watching a historical soap opera.)

Malleus brings the spoon to his mouth (Sebek leaps across the table, fully intent on eating that bite just to protect his prince from it) and… collapses onto the floor in a heap. His knights immediately rush over, calling out his name and trying to rouse him. Lilia claps both hands over his mouth.

Rollo rises from his seat too, but not for the reason anyone expects. His expression slowly shifts from neutral to a frenzied excitement. “Hm… hm hm hmm… ha ha hah… HAAAH HAH HAH HAH HAAAAAH!! At last… At long last, Malleus Draconia’s revolting presence has been wiped clean from this world! Slain by the hands of your own retainer…! Betrayed by your trusted ally, done in by your own hubris!! Oh, how ironically delicious!! There could be no better way to conclude what has been an otherwise odious evening!!”

Silver gaped at him in horror. Sebek is consumed by anger and upset. “WHY, YOU NO GOOD—!!” The first year charges, tackling Rollo to the ground. Silver follows, trying to pry the two apart. There’s shouting and laughing, fists flying and fumbling for a magical pen to exact righteous judgment—

Lilia calmly walks over to the body and crouches down. He pokes his fallen dorm leader’s cheek. “… Malleus, don’t you think you’ve scared them for long enough? I’m all for theatrics, but it’s a rather cruel prank to pull on our guest~” He pouts. “Besides, it’s not like my cooking is bad! You’re being overdramatic.”

“HUH?!” The three boy look on (Sebek and Silver in relief, Rollo in horror) as Malleus smoothly rises like a corpse from the grave. He chuckles darkly at their shocked expressions all the same, drinking in their surprise like a monster might relish in fear. Malleus dusts himself off and gives a luminous smile. “Forgive me, I could not help myself.”

A teary Sebek flings himself at Malleus to happily sob at his revival. Silver shakes his head, but he’s smiling too.

Rollo comes down from his high, and embarrassment sets in to replace it. He sits back in his seat to keep from collapsing himself, taking steady and deep breaths through his handkerchief.

They clear up Lilia’s dessert (no one’s in the mood to try any more of it since the prank) and move into the lounge to unwind after dinner. (Rollo tries to leave early, but Malleus isn’t having it.)

Sebek happily volunteers to prepare coffee for everyone! He parades in with a tray of it, passing them to Malleus, Lilia, and Silver—in that order. “… I’ll take mine with a little milk,” Rollo requests, as he’s usually used to a cafe au lait to go with his lunch every day.

Sebek needles him a bit for the request, going on and on about how he can’t believe an adult would still take their coffee with additives and how truly immature Rollo must be if he can’t stomach coffee black. He’s (unintentionally) undercut when Solver bluntly points out that Sebek usually takes his with tons of milk, creamer, and sugar to balance out the bitter edge. This causes Sebek to flush red and stammer out a weak defense, and Rollo smirks. It’s the little victories like this that curb his temper.

Malleus puts on a violin performance for them all. He plays a stringed rendition of the Kindly Bellringer’s song, a wish for a hope-filled future. (Rollo hates to admit it, but Malleus has impressive technical skill as a violinist.)

Sebek is nearly moved to tears just listening. Silver has to stop Lilia from rushing to join in with his electric guitar, offering to dance with his vice dorm leader instead. Their height difference makes for a silly sight as they swing together, but they have a lot of fun doing it.

… Rollo doesn’t understand it. How can this group of misfits be so happy like this? Looking at them, they almost come off like some happy-go-lucky family. Even though they don’t share blood. Even though they’re so different…

It is late. Again, Rollo tries to excuse himself. His mind is fried and worn out from all the excitement and the stress of forced friendship with Diasomnia. Unfortunately for him, Malleus has one more trick up his sleeve. The prince promises, however, that it is the last one. “… Why should I trust you?” Rollo asks, to which he gets no answer. Malleus and Lilia only exchange a knowing look.

The group is led out into the garden. Unlike that of Heartslabyul or even Pomefiore, Diasomnia’s is not lush. Thick plants grow over everything, bearing bramble sharp enough to draw blood and driving onlookers away.

One powerful wave of ice magic is all it takes to convert it into a winter wonderland. Light snowfall drifts down upon an icy road, the thorns turned into abstract works of art encased in glass. Rollo begins to berate Malleus for his lax use of magic for his own pleasure, but Malleus just laughs and tugs Rollo along insisting that they build a snowman together.

Sebek calls after them, asking Malleus to please wait for him too! It’s Lilia who tells Sebek to stay behind and to give those two some space to settle their differences. “B-But Lilia-sama! What if that dastardly man attempts to take the young master’s life again?!” Sebek protests. (“I’m sure our Malleus can handle it!”)

Lilia whips out his cleaver (where was he hiding that on his body this entire time?!) and carves down blocks of ice into shaved ice for everyone! This, he claims, is his dessert redemption arc now that everyone is in good spirits once again.

Sebek helps with fetching bowls, spoons, and an array of flavored syrups for everyone to customize their shaved ice. Silver and his animal friends contribute toppings for them: fresh fruits and nuts!

… Rollo begrudgingly joins Malleus in the snow but males his own snowman instead of collaborating just to spite him. Malleus’s Olaf snowman comes out short and lumpy with a tall head and a carrot nose. Rollo’s is tall and thin, lying on the ground with Xs for eyes and two sticks shoved into its head. “It’s you,” he tells Malleus, pointing to the stick “horns”. (“Oh? I’m flattered.”) “You’ve perished,” Rollo clarifies. To his dismay, his rival barely bats an eye.

Malleus starts to blast alternating water and ice, creating dynamic sculptures—platforms to hop on, odd shapes to climb and to slide down. He easily navigates them (with an angry Rollo struggling to keep up, shouting at him about how he needs to keep “a leash” on his frivolous use of spells).

Malleus lands on the ground again, practically skating on just his feet alone. With a glance at the big moon above, he laughs. It reminds him of the night of the masquerade—and so he turns to Rollo, extending his hand a second time and asking to share a dance.

“Have you lost your MIND, Draconia?!” Rollo huffs. Malleus assures him that he hasn’t, then pulls him onto the ice anyway. They’re set effortlessly gliding, their robes swaying in the wintery wind. Rollo’s not even bothered by the cold now—he’s operating on the hot fury that’s burning within him.

“Are you happy with this evening of tormenting me and having me dance in the palm of your hand? Well? Are you?!” Rollo hisses. Malleus grins, and he looks particularly wicked under a veil of moonlight. “Very. It’s good to know that you are still as amusing as you ever were, Flamme. How goes your repentance, hmm?”

“I don’t have to answer to the likes of you. You and your minions have already out me through quite a bit of distress tonight.” (Malleus doesn’t seem to be bothered by the response. “Fufufu. Looking away so stubbornly has its own charm as well.”)

“I won’t press you further. There will be plenty of time in the future for us to catch up.” Rollo begins to object, but Malleus isn’t listening. He raises one hand to the sky, his volume booming. “Allow me to offer you a parting gift to end this evening… a token of our everlasting friendship between man and monster.”

Who is man and who was monster? a small, doubtful voice in the back of Rollo’s head wonders. He rushes to squash it before those embers turn into an all-consuming wildfire.

A brilliant aurora shoots out and overtakes the night. So many colors crackling and melding into one another, its ribbon-like motions seemingly never ending. From all around Diasomnia, mob students look out of their windows and stare at the sky in pure wonderment. It’s like a dream has come to life before their very eyes, and everyone is dancing under it. Even Rollo is stunned into silence by the beauty of the aurora.

No, he tells himself. This is wrong. It’s a product of magic. It’s not meant to be like this. Magic is ugly and harmful and selfish and…!!

A shooting star streaks the dark, diamond/studded sky. “Make a wish, Flamme,” Malleus encourages.

Rollo looks at him, then takes the deepest breath he possibly can. His shout resonates throughout Diasomnia, rattling antiques and rousing sleepy Silver awake.

“I SWEAR IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO, I WILL BE THE ONE TO TEAR YOU DOWN ONCE AND FOR ALL, MALLEUS DRACONIAAAAAAAA!!”

[padfootastic]

“the way they acted around him in third year is the biggest eg of this for me. so yeah, i think that plays in here a bit too” <- do you have any meta regarding this? like, im curious about what specific examples stood out to you the most, but i also just really like reading your meta lol

ooh hello anon!! (also,,,this is the literal first time anyone has called my ramblings a meta i am squealing rn)

but okay, bear with me, because i’ve not….really thought this through haha (+ it’s been an Age since i’ve read the books so source material knowledge is spotty)

it’s just, the entire PoA arc made me so uncomfortable on behalf of harry because no one ever told him anything? like, yes, that is the theme of his life and ootp is another example of how shitty it was for him and how devastating the consequences were but on like. a personal level. picture this, right?

you’re trying to escape ur abusive hellhole by going to the only escape available to u (which is, not so coincidentally, also a murderous cesspit but alas) but surprise! there is a magical mass murderer on the loose. cool, okay, that’s everyone else’s problem, ur literally just trying to have a normal year, maybe learn some magic, fly some brooms, play quidditch, and try to make it to hogsmeade (another big fail bc boo orphans amirite?). but nope, everyone and their grandma keeps trying to lock you up and warning u to stay away from this serial killer because….? clearly the reasons aren’t important but harry has to stay inside, shit his gob, and not do anything. the definition of ‘shut up, sit there, and look pretty’

literally the only person to make an effort is mr weasley and even he has to do it in secret lest he get reprimanded for…telling a kid to take care of themselves? i don’t think i’ll ever understand why so many adults in the WW think basic info is so dangerous but ok. right, so, on top of all this not telling harry, he’s also being treated like some reckless, adrenaline junkie ass fool?? like people are out here ominously going ‘promise you won’t go after sirius black’ while our boy is just confused like?? WHY??? he literally does not know anything and honestly, if everyone hadn’t stoked the fans so much, he probably wouldn’t have either.

this is partly why i think they just looked at him like a symbol or something, not an actual person, because if they genuinely cared about his safety, they would try harder right? but it seems to me like they just didn’t want the boy who lived to be hurt, or for voldy’s right hand man to come back and finish the job. terrible for public safety & spirit, that.

and then, the cherry on top of this shitcake is just. remus mf lupin. that man in poa was in fine form (beat only by his incredible cameo in dh during the trio’s hunt). with audacity lining his entire form, he not only manages to keep everything a secret from harry (including his parents, sirius’ animagus form, and their relationship), he also somehow scrounges up the gall to shame harry?? and for what, trying to do something everyone else is, that he’s been denied for no discernible reason (he doesn’t know why sirius is a threat, all he would see at that point was his head of house reinforcing the dursleys)? and not only does he do this in an extremely personal way (and not as a professor calling him to task for breaking rules) but he also tells him he’s disgracing his parents SACRIFICE???? the first time he brings up harry’s parents with him and it’s to tell him, famously an orphan, that they’d be ASHAMED OF HIM??? lord on earth. i would throw hands.

so *clears throat* ignoring how i went off the rails for a second there, that’s largely it. all the professors acting like he should take informed decisions with the maturity of an adult when they haven’t told him anything, while at the same time treating him with this weird dichotomy of too familiar and like a stranger? which i think harry gets a lot from everyone around him. they act like they’re close to him but they don’t actually treat him like that. it’s extremely on the surface. i feel like this also reinforces snape’s idea that harry gets special treatment, is seen as a celebrity etc etc. because on the face of it, yeah, they’re all centering him, but they’re not doing it in any meaningful capacity ykno?

sure, harry should be safe but why? what makes him any different from the others? and really, if they actually cared about his safety, why is he in danger every couple minutes? where are the adults then? i don’t think harry is ever seen in the entire series, not by anyone but sirius, which really just makes him that much more important in the grand scheme of things (and harry’s life)

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

The Hellrider's Redemption - Into The Gate

A/N: Zevlor arrived in Baldur's Gate, trying to seek refuge and seek Tav. There is a flash back segment that is shown by using italics.

Previous chapter

The temple stood bustling, full of refugees and those with nowhere else to go. Zevlor was not entirely sure how long he had rested here, the current timeline of his days had all merged into one, a blur of time traumatically smashed together. He sat in the food hall by himself, silent, looking down at the hot bowl of soup the priest had brought him. The priests here were gentle and kind, it was startling for Zevlor at first, to receive such kindness from a human, but he welcomed it with a polite bow nonetheless.

The temple was not the first place Zevlor had approached once he finally reached Baldur’s Gate, it was however the first place that had welcomed him and fed him. The city was not what it once was, before it had been a city where one could arrive with naught but the clothes on their back and still make name for themselves, now it was a cesspit, shunning all those who were different and in need. The tyrant Gortash had sought to that, blaming any issue on the refugees that were coming to it’s gates to safety, no longer were people willing to open their homes or their hearts to those suffering and in need.

The large bowl of soup that was nestled between Zevlor’s hands had remained untouched since he received it, Zevlor knew he would not be able to eat it cleanly, ever since his escape from moonrise and arriving in Baldur’s Gate his hands trembled. It took all his strength to keep them from trembling now, cursing himself knowing that these hands once protected the weak and innocent, bringing justice to those who could not reap it themselves, now they shook with shame and fear, a mighty fall from grace from once a great Paladin. His head slumped as he recalled his journey here to the temple in Baldur’s Gate, a waking dream he would often re-live.

Atop the tower of Moonrise, Zevlor could plot his course, he could see Baldur’s Gate in the distance and made a mental note of it. Descending the tower was a hellscape for him, bodies upon bodies littered the hallways, both Harpers and Cultists alike. The scenes of it all disturbed him, he was a man of battle, a Hellrider, this should not have bothered him. He was not sure if it was his age that changed him or if it was war that had changed, he had never seen such carelessness for the sanctity of life before. Zevlor finally made his way out of moonrise, trying to ignore the massacre along the way, ignore it he would however it would find it’s way into his dreams which would become nightmares.

One he reached the gates of the tower he hesitated, taking a deep breath to steel himself, awaiting the affects of the shadow curse he stepped forward, yet felt nothing. It was like a weight had lifted in the air somehow, giving the aura of hope. Zevlor had no proof but he was sure that this was your doing somehow, you were capable of anything and this had the feel of your saving hands all over it. The walk through the rest of the lands was simple now that it was not cursed, it was the walk into Baldur’s Gate that would prove difficult.

The outer villages of Baldur’s gate were packed with refugee’s seeking asylum from The Absolute, their homes and villages having been destroyed by the cultists. Amongst the refugees Zevlor spotted some of the Teiflings that would have been under his charge in The Grove, quickly he removed himself so they would not gaze upon him, he did not want to feel their scorn and he knew he did not deserve their forgiveness, no matter how much he wanted to be with his kin.

Instead Zevlor took the lower route into the city, making himself feel even lower acting as a criminal to smuggle himself into Baldur’s Gate, it was the criminals route, Zevlor judged himself for this but he promised he would meet you in Baldur’s Gate. That was the excuse he gave himself.

The ground shook violently, shaking Zevlor from his ruminations, it was another quake, these had become commonplace recently, but they didn’t stop people from feeling dread whenever they happened. The politicians could say what they wanted about them, but the local folk knew something was wrong, these were not normal tremors. Each one filed Zevlor with dread, they were a sign of something to come, he could feel it in his infernal bones. Once the tremors died he tried to compose himself, he needed to eat the food before him, a feat he had not managed since he arrived here, his hands too jittery to grasp cutlery or bowl enough to eat. The few days Zevlor had spent as a refugee in the temple were the nicest days he had had in a long while, on one day it felt as if it was all a dream, until the tadpole writhed painfully in his brain, bringing him harshly back to reality.

The Tadpole. His current issue, it was not the cerramorphisis that bothered him, he accepted that as punishment for his failings in the shadow lands and the grove, what he was scared of was time. With each wiggle of the tadpole he felt his days coming to an end, and each day he had not seen You. Time was running out in his mind he wanted to see you again before he changed, he wanted to see you whilst he was still Zevlor, Paladin and protector of the people, not some mind hungry Ilithid with his personality stripped. He looked down at his soup once again, wishing to see you so that he could at least tell you how he feels about you before he changes or relieves himself of the change.

“I see you kept your promise” A soft voice was heard behind Zevlor. He stood up and looked where the voice came from, his eyes wet with tears ready to spill from seeing you. “Tav?” His face was incredulous and his tears were ready to flow, he looked you up and down as if to not believe you were actually here, stood before him.

You rushed forward and hugged Zevlor, wrapping your arms around his body tightly, desperate to feel that he won't disappear. “I knew you would keep your promise” You whispered against his chest, smiling as you held him tightly..

“Of course Tav, Anything for you” Zevlor smiled and kissed the top of your head, gently stroking his fingers through the soft waves of your hair. Zevlor finally felt at peace with you in his arms, the tremors in his hands finally stopped once he held you, not wanting this moment to end.

[morgana-ren]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeLsrgX9/

Vamp Lord's issues with consent are so obvious here. It's about being a spawn obviously but it would definitely apply to other things too. And the threat at the end. He's turning Tav regardless, the breakup means nothing. He may pretend he's letting them go, but he's absolutely not.

Denying ascended Astarion something is dangerous territory. He insists that he has everything he could ever want-- but he's lying. Poorly. He loved Tav. That love did not just disappear when they left him. It did not disappear when he turned.

He claims to have everything, except the one thing he truly wanted. And if for absolutely no other reason, he is obsessed with power and control. He will not be able to abide that for long. He won't. His new nature will not abide it.

Right now, he is angry. Just pure seething venom angry and lashing out. Things are just settling down. He is going to have free time soon-- an eternity of it. Soon, he will have time to think. And he will realize that Tav escaping is the largest insult to his power possible. It is an insult to who he is-- who he claims to be.

He cannot abide it.

He will say it is because it is an insult. Because he is teaching an object lesson. Because he must make a point to all who might dare to defy him. That is not why. It is because nothing in this cesspit of a world he plans to conquer will fill the hole that was left in their absence. The obsession will consume him. Thinking of what could have been. How life could have been had they stayed at his side. Wondering why the left, utterly flaying his brain to try and understand why, why why--

Tav walked away from him. Tav delivered the world in his palm, made him the most powerful creature to walk the realms, and then Tav walked away from him. Tav walked away when he was perfected. He doesn't understand. He can't. He was planning on eternity, and Tav violently ripped that dream from him. He will spend eternity alone, with no one by his side. No equal. No love.

The one thing he wants denied, and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it.

Right?

That's what he will have them believe. That he will respect that decision. But he won't. I can promise you that.

He plays it cool when you leave him. Huffs a haughty "fine" and drops it. Maintaining the balance was very important then. There were more pressing matters. No world to conquer if they didn't stick together to defeat that wretched little brain. Then he pretends to respect that decision, even telling you so. He is going through the stages of grief-- except acceptance is no longer a natural part of that cycle.

One day, he is going to decide that no, actually, you don't get to make that decision. He wants, and so he will take. No one can stop him. What use is power if he cannot even have the one thing he craves most? That would shatter his entire view.

So he will use that power, and with the same cruelty that ripped him from his life, he will wield swiftly against Tav. They do not get a choice. They get a master and a will to obey.

He says Tav will regret it, and he means it. But not in the way one might think. He will make them regret not choosing his side willingly. Not nurturing his love and trust. They will be at his side regardless. That is the only option. They will not even be able to die to escape him.

They should have stayed. They will regret not staying. Everything that happens from here on out is their fault.

[kismetconstellations]

@sockdooe, You are not being stupid. I want to establish that right away. You're not stupid. You are understandably cautious because this fandom has a deserved reputation for being one of the worst in recorded history due to its rampant toxicity and K/L shippers, especially, having a penchant for harassing any and everyone with differing opinions.

I am so sorry that this environment has been so hostile toward you. You didn't and still don't deserve that. Fandoms are supposed to be fun, occasionally self-indulgent, places of escapism. Not overwhelm participants with intense anxiety because they're expecting to be attacked for expressing love for a certain character or ship, or even a dissenting opinion.

One of my dearest friends shared a post with me, the other day, that I find very apt for our ongoing predicament as Shiro fans.

"Sometimes you see discourse ™ so mindbogglingly dumb you just have to be like, 'That’s the kids talking. That’s the same as when two toddlers are having an intense conversation and it’s totally detached from reality, but they’re very serious about it. That’s not for me that’s for the kids'."

It can be fun, or sometimes even feel imperative, given how often they rile me up, to challenge these hate-fueled, mindbogglingly dumb, detached from reality takes. But, we don't have to engage with them. We always have the option to remind ourselves, "That's the kids talking. That's not for me, that's for the kids."

You are not "stupid" for taking precautions to protect yourself from vitriolic subsets of this fandom. And, yes, anyone cheerfully looking to spread hatred for Shiro while tacking on, "I still love him/I don't hate him, but", as a preemptive shield from criticism, is provably vitriolic. You have to have nothing worthwhile going on in your life and an unquenchable need to start petty drama in order to sit around and invent reasons to hate a gay, disabled, neurodivergent trauma survivor who epitomizes selfless heroism and who has chosen to remain gentle in spite of everything that he's been through.

"Lance was more warm to the mice than Shiro to Keith."

What's that? Sorry, child, I can't hear you over Shiro canonically drawing Keith into an embrace in full view of everyone after learning that Keith shares the blood of the species that made Shiro's life a living Hell for a year.

There is a saying, "You don't choose the favorite character. The favorite character chooses you." While I do find it invariably tends to ring true, it is interesting how people with certain personality types gravitate toward specific characters, and then latch onto them with a fierceness that can only come from intense personal projection.

I'm not knocking anyone for this. I project at least a bit onto my favorite characters, as well, as I'm certain most people do. It comes with the "self-indulgent escapism" territory.

It just sucks that L/K-shipping fans of either character have chosen to make their intense projection onto these characters into everyone else's problem. Particularly Shiro and Allura, and I imagine even Pidge (given that I've seen more than a few fics bashing her for supposedly being mean to Lance) fans.

No, making K/L canon would not have "fixed" the inept writing, inherent ableism and ageism, and deplorable treatment of trauma survivors that tacitly endorses them martyring themselves. All that would have accomplished is setting a precedent that targeted harassment and attempted extortion works. The showrunners absolutely did the right thing in not caving to the demands of a horde of entitled brats who actively attacked them for two years, lobbing accusations of pedophilia at a father. Which could have completely ruined his life and resulted in his children being taken from him had anyone taken these preposterous claims over a harmless ship between two legal adults in a cartoon seriously.

I'd like to consider it a form of serendipity that we crossed paths with each other in this cesspit of a fanbase. ❤ As I informed another blogger, a few days ago, finding another Shiro fan who doesn't simply view him as "hot bara Daddy Dom I want to imagine banging my self-insert of choice", will always be a breath of fresh air.

(Sidenote: I thought baras were supposed to be hairy, as well as tall and ripped. Shiro is a bit too hairless to qualify, no? And, Coran is a Daddy Dom.

Shiro is a Bottom/Submissive through and through.

(o˘◡˘o) )

The "Space Dad" thing, by itself, is kind of cute, and I do love that Josh Keaton derived such joy from it, bless his heart. But, when fans take it seriously and start holding Shiro to the standards of an actual father when canon never presents him as one, that's when it drives me nuts and I start to hate it. In much the same way Lance and Keith fans simultaneously lionizing and woobifying their favorites at the expense of everyone else has done a great job of putting me off of them.

Keith, Pidge, Lance, and Hunk have their own fathers. Coran is Allura's surrogate father. No one on Team Voltron sees Shiro as their dad.

Headcanons that Shiro and Adam adopted and raised Keith are just that. Headcanons. If you find something enjoyable in them, or want to adopt Shiro as the ideal father to your character of choice, that is perfectly fine, so long as you remember that you're working within an alternate universe that has nothing in the show's canon to support it.

Shiro was always a mentor, leader, and/or older brother to the Paladins. He's twenty-five years-old. Not fifty. And, I guarantee if he had tried to pull rank on any of these kids, they would one-thousand percent have fired back with, "You're not my dad!"

The only character who arguably views Shiro as a father is the Atlas; based on Shiro being the sole person she has a connection with, and her modeling her mecha form after his physique.

[apoptoses]

Trying to escape all the Devil’s Minion hate I’ve seen around here and Twitter (apparently Armand never really loved Daniel, he’s only a footnote in his life, didn’t really have an impact on him or his character development, etc.) by coming to your blog and reading your asks. I truly have no idea how/when/how this influx of hate started (was it the sh*w? It was probably the sh*w) but I just want to tell you I’m so glad you’re around posting fantastic Devil’s Minion content constantly, keeping us fed. Dark times lie ahead and we need to remain strong 🤧

So there's a couple things at play, but first off-

We have like 50 pages of them together in total through all the books. Everyone has different reads on characters/events, people are free to interpret stuff how they want.

However there is a strange and very vocal handful of people who seem to have an agenda to push about Armand and Daniel in specific. I don't know why, I don't know what kind of projection is going on, but they like to insist that Daniel secretly hates Armand and Armand was actually an abusive demon 24/7 and there was never any love between them.

Which if that was just their personal read, whatever. But they run around insisting that this is canon, this is fact, this is what Anne intended and anyone who thinks to the contrary is wrong and needs their ass jumped.

But that's just like, their opinion, man. Nobody has to listen to these people. They are not experts on the secret intentions of Anne Rice. They do not have any info which you, anon, would not also have access to.

The facts are that Armand said he loved Daniel, Daniel said he loved Armand, Daniel begged for eternity with Armand. In the end of the series he went hunting with Armand and moved back in at Trinity Gate. They had fights over the blood when Daniel was mortal and Daniel resented Armand at times for not making him a vampire (but wanted to become a vampire in the end to be with him). Daniel was highly concerned as to whether Armand liked him as a vampire, and Armand said he loved the way he turned out and looked upon him with lust. Anne herself said that Armand was a good person with Daniel, and that she loved his affair with Daniel and it was all about exploration. Everything else is just someone's personal read.

Also, twitter is a cesspit and brings out the worst people lol Don't go there for good takes, you will find nothing but anger and brain rot.

Could it possibly be the show? I don't watch it so I don't really know. I know that the producer seems to be setting up an old school love triangle which is probably going to pit Armand against Lestat, and Daniel against Louis. But idk I have no further relevant knowledge there.

But again, the show is so different from the books. If you don't like the show you're not obligated to listen to or interact with its fans, and if you like the show but don't like the books, vice versa. Nobody needs to be sending hate and insisting that people agree with their personal meta or else they're a bad person. These are fictional characters lmao

But thanks, anon. I am always here to bang the gong of "these two love each other" and create romantic content for them. You're safe here ♥

[pacifymebby]

t r o u b l e / chapter twenty eight

Sylvie

We stood outside Alfie's office in a cold silence. Isaiah refusing to look at me, his eyes burning holes in the wall opposite him. Stubborn, livid but more than anything else disappointed. He was trying to hide it but I could see the hurt he was feeling plain as day on his wounded face. His lips were sullen, his eyes were shadowed. They weren't teary but they were thinking about it.

I wondered what it was that had hurt the most. The way I'd commanded him not to defend me or the way I'd let him stand on the recieving end of Alfie's wrath, not batting an eye when his life was threatened. The way I'd stood calm and still and smirking in the face of my friends imminent death.

I considered reaching for his hand, whispering to him that it was all an act. That I'd been scared too. But I didn't because I didn't want to lie to him.

Ollie stood quietly next to us, his hands resting over one another in front of him. I considered the weapons which would be hidden away under his clothes. I wondered why they hadn't stripped us of ours. Why they'd let us walk into Alfie's office without an amnesty. I could only presume it was because they didn't perceive us as a threat or, that Alfie didn't intend to give us reason to use them.

"You gonna tell me what kind of game you're playing now Sylvie or..." started Isaiah, speaking to me quietly, his voice tight and controlled in such a way that I could tell he was holding on for life.

"Not here Sai..." I sighed looking down at my nails, ears pricked trying to listen through the door to the conversation we'd been shut out of. The one which would decide my sister's fate and mine too.

If Alfie handed us back over to my brother a second chance at escape would be impossible for both me and Sunny.

But when the door finally opened Alfie Solomons was all but doing his best to conceal a smile, a warmer smile than perhaps he should have been letting me see.

"Oh dear little Shelby," he said shaking his head, his eyes dark, a patronising tsk tsk reserved only for me as he passed Isaiah and stood looking down at only me, "he's not happy with you poppet, no he ain't..."

"You needed to call him to reach that conclusion?" I asked plainly, leaning back against the wall like the insolent teenager my brother would expect me to be. An act which didn't seem to wash with Alfie.

His brows tugged together, his eyes flickering over me.

"Come on little dancer stand up straight..." He chided me, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger adjusting my gaze so that I was stood a little straighter, looking up at him with that stubborn glaze he almost seemed to admire. "No," he said a little softer then, "no I did not need to phone him to know that little gypsy girl..." he mused, a small smirk tugging at him lips momentarily, "what I needed to phone him for yeah... What I needed to phone him for was to let him know that his darlin little sister yeah, that's you by the way poppet, is safe and sound... Safe an sound here in my bakery in good old Camden Town, only place left in this god forsaken, cesspit of a city where there's any good men left yeah?"

"Thats you yeah?" I asked drly, dragging my voice though it was quieter now. It was harder to be fearless now.

He stroked his thumb over my cheek and held my gaze, his fingertips a little rough against my skin as he held my chin in place. I did my best to focus on my teeth in my mouth, ran my tongue along the backs of them and counted so that my mind didn't quiver, so that I could hold the tremble back.

Alfie shook his head.

"Yeah poppet," he said, his words surprising me, "when it comes to you it does mean me right... You should remember that too right, very important... You wanna write it down or somet yeah so you don't go forgettin it..."

He let his hand fall away from my cheek then but I remained looking up at him, remained watching him as he stepped away, walked a small contemplative circle as he dictated to me. Not a thought for Isaiah, all his attention focussed solely on me.

"An I'll say it again for you yeah, make sure it sinks in properly alright.." he said tapping his temple with his finger, turning to me to hold my gaze again. "When it comes to you little Shelby, I am a good man."

I didn't know what to say to him then, bottom lip stuck out as it was in a simmering pout, my eyes sullen and ungrateful for the mercy he was showing me. I should have been on my knees thanking him for having spared Isaiah's life, for having shown me forgiveness, but I wasn't stupid.

I wasn't going to crumble at the first display of kindness, wasn't going to show weakness in the face of a man I knew was still trying to get my measure.

"Now your big brother, belligerent old miser that he is, reckons he's gonna drive all the way down to London tonight to come collect his lost and found - that's you poppet..."

"For fuck sake..." I heard Isaiah breath next to me, the words quiet enough that I hoped he'd get away with them but of course he didn't.

"Oi you uncooth little prick, ain't you supposed be the son of preacher, swearing like that in front of a girl... Fuckin disgusting that is..."

When he caught me smirking I thought there'd be another scathing line saved up for me but instead Alfie let a little wink slip my way and it took everything in me to make sure my smirk didn't grow to a smile.

"I won't go home Mr Solomons," I said finally, so certain in my heart of that fact that I could say it calm enough to leave them both captured quiet. Though Alfie's silence didn't last very long.

"Well yes little Shelby it would appear that you and I already know that wouldn't it..." he said pacing ahead of us, his hands held behind his back, head bowed thoughtfully as he appeared to ruminate on a decision I knew he'd already made, "but I ain't goin to war with your brother just because you'd make a very lovely Odette..."

"That's..." I started stunned when he silenced me, one finger raised, his eyes locked on mine with his wordless command.

"Alright poppet I'm talkin now ain't I.." he said, his voice low, a resonant warning tone which left a shiver run down my spine. I felt Isaiah bristle beside me, saw him suck in on his cheek and bite down anxiously. When his eyes flickered to meet mine I met him with a steely glare wanting to remind him that we weren't supposed to look nervous.

"Now, I ain't an expert on teenage girls alright, in fact I have very little to do with them Sylvia but it seems to me yeah, I reckon I've got your measure... Reckon I actually know you quite well little gypsy... Cause right, I reckon you think you're very clever yeah? Got this shvantz wrapped round your finger haven't you but I'll tell you this for nowt as your big brother Tommy would say right, manipulating a lout like that ain't hard sweetheart, and that don't mean to say you ain't very clever yeah, cause see I think perhaps the apple don't fall far from the tree with you yeah Sylvia, but brains yeah, brains ain't enough to manoeuvre successfully through the society you seem so determined to acquaint yourself with... All that been said however it occurs to me right, and this may be of some interest to you too yeah because it seems to me that for all those wits you've got about you, you ain't deduced this interesting little detail just yet alright... You've come down here right, to ask me to help your sister, but the starlet Sonya Gray is nowhere to be seen... You're the one who came to dance the Dying Swan on my antique rug yeah... You."

"Odette is Sonya's part Alfie I didn't come here for..."

"Now what did I just say?" He snapped suddenly, his eyes burning, teeth gritted as he slammed his fist against the wall to shut me up. I managed to hold back my flinch, managed to remain muted as if I were merely observing the scene and not a part of it. When he simmered I could see the anger behind his irises. "I'm talkin now... You, little gypsy, are listening."

So I swallowed down and kept my mouth shut watching him steadily as he started up again.

"You are very clever yeah Sylvia, but you are very naive, and that's alright yeah? You are very young so that my dear is al-right, it's forgivable, yeah, completely understandable, truly it is forgivable that you ain't realise this already... But you need to realise it now yeah, you are the Gray who stole and deceived her way into my Bakery, to dance the Dying Swan and ask for my protection, so you are the Gray I'm going to offer my protection to... So long as she promises to dance the Dying Swan on that Opera House stage for as long as I'm protecting her..."

I looked back at him blankly, confusion swirling inside me, a sharp kind of sting in my throat as I fought the urge to cry or lash out at him because that wasn't the deal. That wasn't what I'd wanted at all. Hadn't been my intention to betray my sister and yet here he was dangling the only thread of hope in front of me, arrogant enough to know I would take it.

"It's not my part..."

"Ain't hers either whilst she's locked away up north is it Sylvia..." he said stepping closer to me, close enough that he came between Isaiah and myself. Close enough that he cut me off from the rest of the room so that I was forced to look up and see only him.

"With that little display Sylvia my poppet, you really got my hopes up... Now I sincerely hope you ain't about to let me down..."

I tried my best to remain still, trapped between him and the wall, the little space between us knife edge prickling as I held my breath and tried to hide the anger from my eyes.

I opened my mouth to deny him a third time but as though he read my mind, as though he was moving to stop me from doing as he suspected - letting him down - he turned away from me briskly, dropping the expectancy and the subtle threat from his demeanour. Turning the conversation towards killing time instead.

"Now where are my manners eh? You two'll be all but knackered I should imagine... Dead on your feet some might say," he cracked a laugh as he clipped Isaiah round the head lightly. It wasn't hard enough to hurt him but that didn't stop it adding to the emotional wound which had been festering since the day before when I'd first forced the older lads hand.

"Gonna set you up nice and cosy yeah, very generous me yeah, if there's one thing people always say about the terrible Alfie Solomons yeah, it's that he's nothing but generous and hospitable, a real gentleman me right? Now I assume Khamer here ain't gonna let you out of his sight yeah, not even to get your beauty sleep yeah?" He said vaguely gesturing to Isaiah as he clicked his fingers for us to follow him down the hallway towards the back doors and into a garage.

"Yeah reckon we'll keep you safe an snug in the East Wing," he said chuckling to himself as he opened the passenger side of a blacked out four wheel drive. When he gestured for me to step up inside I resisted the urge to look back at Isaiah over my shoulder.

I sat down, leaning back into the plush chair, flickering my gaze over the dashboard as Alfie tried to rile Isaiah even more. I heard him bark something about how the children sit in the back before he came round to the drivers side and shut the door behind him.

"Now then poppet," he said as he started the engine, "time for you to see how real royalty lives..."

And when we pulled up outside his "house" I understood what he meant because although his house might not have been as big as Arrow House, it was certainly worth ten times as much. One of those grand old townhouses on a private road, a mini mansion really.

Behind me Isaiah opened the car door, got out and let it slam. To my right Alfie remained still, drummed his fingers slow and rhythmically on the wheel.

Suddenly I wasn't sure how much of his "east wing" comment had been a joke.

We'd spent the whole drive in silence, the heavy kind but now it seemed Alfie had grown tired of listening to everyone else think. I'd say solemnly, trying not to show my apprehension, trying not to show my distress. The deep cut inside which ached like still open wound, the blade the betrayal Alfie expected of me. I'd thought in ever small circles about Sonya, about her hopeless forlorn features the last time I'd seen her. When she'd fled our brothers study in a heartbroken flurry of tears. I'd been determined to save her, I'd come all this way, looked a deadly man in the eyes and danced for him, with the intention of saving her. Now as Alfie cut the engine I was realising all too late that perhaps all I'd really served to do to poor Sunny was dig the knife in deeper.

"Well," he said turning to look at me, "ain't you going to get out little Shelby? Or have you even trained him to unclip your seatbelt?" He asked letting out a low self amused chuckle as he reached for the door on his own side. "Really though poppet, now that it's just me an you yeah... You're gonna answer me one more question right, one more yeah, nice an truthful for me yeah?"

I remained quiet, still looking straight ahead, studying the front of the building, trying to date it, estimate a value if not just so that I had something else to focus on beyond the imposing man sitting beside me.

"You trust him yeah?"

The question seemed redundant to me. Stupid even. I couldn't help but smirk, struggling to bite back the laugh which escaped me.

"More than I trust you Mr Solomons," I said, "naturally..."

And when I sealed my smirk, lips a thin and unamused line etched into my expression, I left us bristling in silence for a moment. Left him looking between me and Isaiah who was waiting just outside the passenger side door.

"Well," Alfie dragged the word out, relaxing suddenly as he opened his door, "ain't that sweet eh, ain't that just lovely..." And when he got out of the car and closed the door behind him Isaiah moved to open my door, leaning in to undo my seat belt, holding my hand to help me down. Leaving my cheeks burning because he'd proved Alfie right.

AN// sorry this update has taken so long it feels like it's taken me absolutely years!!! And then when I finally post it it isn't even that long 😭💔 but j hope you enjoy it all the same and I hope I stop struggling to write very soon haha <3

Taglist

@inalovesrabbits-blog

@cocoaflowers

@zablife

@jomarch-wannabe

@itsghostgirlyo

@marwwfairy

@toddlerbodybag

@everysage

@tommyshelbywhore

@kas3ylovesyou

@starrykitn

@liliac-dreamer

@impossibleheartflower

@mollybegger-blog

@call-sign-shark

[idesofrevolution]

Your "Let's Talk Honestly" post really struck a chord with me.

I've noticed that over the last 2 years especially, there's been a large increase in questionable blogs and content in the gay transformation space. It's hilarious that Tumblr cracked down so much on anything even remotely resembling porn but this hate-filled content is allowed to run rampant. This place has become a cesspit.

I would fully understand & support your decision to leave; I've been thinking about deleting my own account and turning away from all this. The turn this community (or whatever one wants to call it) has taken has left a very sour and bitter taste in my mouth.

IMO if someone is making content about gay2straight, religious, right-wing, fascistic homophobes then they themselves are also those things since they're promoting and glorifying those values. Even worse, they're turncoats and bootlickers - since the authors are supposedly part of the LGBTQ+ community Saying it's a "fetish" isn't good enough, it's an excuse. I'm sure pedophiles say the same thing with their "minor attracted person" crap. Saying it's a "fetish" is just a way for these people to abdicate personal responsibility and make them feel better about themselves so they can spread their hatred.

The worst part is that these people act like victims and throw a fit when they're called out. Imagine devoting most of your blog to original posts or reblogs of some of the most vile and hate-filled content directed towards gay people and then playing victim when you're called out? It's disgusting. This defensiveness also makes me suspect that these people know that what they're doing is discomforting and wrong. The (not so) internalized homophobia is shocking, it's worse than most of what I've heard from heterosexual bigots.

I also come from a country where stuff like homosexuality and contraception were decriminalized/legalized relatively recently so seeing stuff like this on Tumblr is a real slap to the face.

I'd say that Tumblr needs another good purge but the last time that happened, most of the good accounts (your account being one of the exceptions x) were abandoned/deleted and now we're left with a load of arrogant, self-hating homophobes. At least the pedos don't seem to be so brazen anymore... This place used to be a nice escape from the world but now it's just depressing.

Anyways, I'm looking forward to your next story - jocks & musk is hot.

I agree entirely with that assessment. People have gotten entirely too comfortable openly writing internalized support for a certain type of movement and calling it a fetish. It didn’t work with pedos and it won’t work for bigots.

And jock musk is on the menu up next.

[theotherflipside]

A strange device has been left behind

"6 PM! Time to get the beers and kick up our feet, sports! Let's ditch this shithole." Dave drops Spring Bonnie's head on the ground, not caring to put it back properly. Their job here was done. No point in doing MORE work that he wasn't being paid for. Jack follows suit, dropping Spring Freddy's head on the ground next to the other.

"Don't break those. I'll be the one having to fix them if you do."

"Naaaaah. I can just duct tape it if it breaks. It's fine."

"You know that won't wo-" Steven visibly jumps as his phone head suddenly goes off, and he groans as he deactivates his illusion disk to answer it properly. He thought he told people to not call him unless something was going horribly, horribly wrong-

"Steven!" Peter's voice could be barely heard under all of the static, "the manager - *static* burning- *more fucking static*"

"What? Peter? What's going on?"

"You need to- *static*"

"I need to what?" He looks towards the safe room door as he swears he hears the sound of something metal hitting the ground from outside it. What was that?

"Henry's burning this whole fucking building down with us- *static*"

"Wait, what? Henry's burning the building down?! Peter, where the hell are you?" Steven moves for the door of the safe room, only to find it stuck. It wasn't opening. Jack and Dave notice this and try to help open it with no success.

"The vents system in the basement- *static* all fire traps. Michael and I are- *static* Just get Jack and Dee and GET OU-*static*"

"What do you m-" The call is suddenly hung up at the same time the manager's voice came on over the announcement system. The same system that they had been making fun of the man for adding. Now they know why it was there.

"Connection terminated. I am sorry to disappoint, but none of us are leaving this building today. I led you all back here, to the same place it all began. This diner that has become a cesspit of hatred and agony."

"Shit, move you two-" Steven and Dave stepped back so Jack could try to tackle the door, but it simply didn't budge when he threw himself against it.

"Trust me when I say that I spent a long time planning a way to save us all. Or at least, as many of us as I could. And this is the only answer I could think of, and the only one I know will work. It's worked before. it will work again."

The three of them grab onto each other as the roof of the safe room collapses behind them from the flames, trapping them between the door that won't open and fire that was rapidly spreading.

"To the employees that worked here, who unknowingly helped me set this all up, thank you. Though you may be angry and confused, I know all of you are just like the rest of us. Phone or walking corpse, there is no difference. There was going to be a way out, but then I found out that if even just one of us leaves alive, the loops will not end. We all have to go, at the same time."

"To the people I dragged through this again: I'm sorry. But I needed to ensure that he wouldn't be able to escape again. I promise to all of you that this is the end. For all of us."

Steven looks up in time to see what remained of the roof collapse on top of him, Dave, and Jack.

"End communication."

And then. Nothing.

The flames die down only after everyone is already gone. The invitation arrives too late to save anyone. Not even Glitchtrap, who had been on Dave's phone the entire time, survives this.

But perhaps, it can be used for something else. Nightmarionne, who just barely survived the fire thanks to their unreal amount of remnant, grabs the invitation.

This was the last chance they had. They needed somewhere to keep the souls and recover their strength so they could reboot the loops. This invitation could be the key to a place like that.

So they accept the invitation on the behalf of every soul lost to the flames Henry set, including Henry himself, and leave for the rift.

And after a bit of work from them, the souls begin to wake up again.

Welcome to Location 14, or rather, the recreated memories of Location 14.

[lwjsbedtime]

The prologue to the sleeping beauty LWJ x General WWX fic that I posted last year.

Posts in chronological order:

[1] [2]

--

Upon a mountain - far away,

There is a prince, the tales say,

And there he rests, ‘pon sculpted bed,

Waiting for a kiss, it’s said.

His eyes are lovely; his brow so fair

Bless'd fairy skin, and raven hair.

Alas! Alack! Oh, this day rue!

He’ll sleep until the kiss is true!

Gusu nursery rhyme, unknown

Snow rained down upon Wei Wuxian's figure as he dashed brokenly out into the night. The palace was far behind him now, a shimmering dream of stars and candlelight that would no more be his home. With each step taken, he held back from turning to view it one last time - from taking in the sight of the stone walls that had given him a shelter; the sweet little pavilion, curled ‘round with gentians, where his charge lay still as death.

Alone in the night, Wei Wuxian shivered under the thin layer of his spring cloak, feeling the first agonising prick of hypothermia pierce his body. He held the dark fabric close to his chest, fruitlessly attempting to ward off a chill so unrelenting; so incapable of being burnt away with his remaining magicks - not if he wished to fulfill his duty. He was going to die this night, he knew, though that knowledge did not cause him to stop nor stumble. With the second prince's life hanging by a thread, he had little reason to fear his own demise. A life without the sun wasn’t one he felt worth living.

Tears threatened to escape his eyes as he trudged on, the budding sting in them turning to ice along his trembling lashes. Lan Xichen believed there was still time to ward Gusu from the Wens' attack - to save Lan Wangji without leaving his side. Wei Wuxian knew better. Of all the sorcerers in the land, Wen Ruohan and his sons were amongst the most formidable. Any barrier constructed to keep their forces at bay would register as a small annoyance, at most - as any man they wished to kill, reliably would be found dead. 

But he could not let that happen to the second prince; not as a Gusu Lan mage, and not as Lan Wangji’s personal guard - certainly not as the loyal servant who adored his master. Wei Wuxian was not willing to see his Lan Zhan's home burn, nor Lan Zhan himself, and so he'd escaped into the night to confront Wen Xu of his own accord. A foolish move - one made in desperation - but with the injuries he'd sustained retrieving his prince's body from the festering cesspit of Jinlin Tai, he had little time left anyway. It had finally - cruelly - come down to his life, or Lan Zhan’s. As imperial mage, he hardly had to choose.

He stumbled through the glaring shadows of Gusu’s lower hills for nearly a shi, fighting against the winds and rising snow. By the time he caught sight of the bonfire, glowing like orange witchlight against a moon-bright plain, Wei Wuxian was shivering down to his soul, ready to collapse if not for the crimson flash of Wen tents beckoning him forward into their encampment. Wen Xu hadn't even tried to be subtle when settling his army - he wanted all of Gusu to know he was there, and that they should fear him. To know that he would win. The pretension soured something in Wei Wuxian's stomach - all this bloodshed and pain, for a foolish man's pride.

As if to spite the Wens’ arrogance, he entered the encampment without fear and without subtlety, taking long strides towards the fire where his enemy's soldiers sat laughing and merry, wrapped in warm furs and drinking stolen Gusu wine.

"Hey!" one man called, noticing him approach through drink-misted eyes. "You aren't supposed to be her-"

Before any could move to stop him, Wei Wuxian cast a spell directly upon the fire, fanning the flames so high they caught on branches and ran along the rooves of nearby war tents. A few of the more unlucky soldiers were caught by the blaze, screaming as they were set alight.

Hearing their ghoulish cries, Wei Wuxian did not falter. He strode to the general's tent, and with a flick of his wrist, that, too, was aflame - silk burning to cinder before his eyes. The fire licked the bare circumference of the ruined structure, highlighting the shock on Wen Xu’s face as he met his killer.

“Seize him!” he yelled, and Wei Wuxian raised his hand to deal the final blow. A burst of bright flame lit his palm, scorching callused skin that once ghosted over pale fingers, and now mourned in solitude.

As he loosed his killing strike, pain exploded in Wei Wuxian's middle. He stumbled back, looking down to find a silver Wen blade piercing him straight through the gut. Blood spilled from his mouth as he spat crimson laughter into the air.

"You're too late," he said, voice rasping like the brush of sandpaper over skin. “You’ll never take-”

A booted foot kicked him back off the sword's edge, and Wei Wuxian fell to the cold ground, gasping his last breaths. He'd done it. He'd given the barrier he'd drawn around Cloud Recesses time to settle, and now, with his dying blood, had activated it.

"Lan Zhan…" he murmured, vision growing dim until only a small ring of starry sky remained visible to him. It was so pretty, just like Lan Wangji's eyes - just like their first meeting, of moonlight, and orphaned boys, and the finest wine in Caiyi.

He thought, perhaps, if he could only look upon the prince one more time, he might be able to fly up and pluck one of those stars down to hang in Lan Wangji's midnight hair. But the ground where he lay was hard and unforgiving, and Wei Wuxian felt stuck to it, a hollow chill creeping from his chest out to the rest of him as his blood tainted the virgin snow. It hurt; so much the pain brought tears to his eyes, hot enough to melt the ones he'd refused to shed earlier. He hadn't known death would ache, but he was willing to bear it.

Lan Wangji would live, and with any luck, he would find true happiness. Wei Wuxian only hoped they would meet again in his next lifetime - as classmates, or brothers, or friends. He wouldn't wish for more.

In this life, he'd been granted the honour of being the prince's guard, separated by the bounds of blood and station. It was impossible for someone like him to touch the unattainable, even with the passing of a thousand years. So, he thought, as long as he could see him again, it would be enough.

His head grew foggy with confusion, and Wei Wuxian gave himself to the blackness, far too tired to resist its pull any longer. When the last lonely stars burned out into pitch around him, his dying eyes hardened, and he saw no more.

Come morning, Wei Wuxian's body was a corpse frozen under the snow, forgotten. In the distance, there was nothing for li upon li but empty plains.

----

I had to think some things through with the current chapter of Envouté par un désir étrange (because Su She turns everything into a soap opera) so I went back to find this because it's always on my mind.

[horizon-verizon]

The smallfolk of King's Landing didn't storms the Dragonpit and overthrow Rhaenyra because of Helaena's death, Helaena's son was literally torn apart by a mob, and the smallfolk didn’t even riot against Robert and Tywin when they murdered Rhaegar's children and they loved Rhaegar SO MUCH MORE more than the Greens considering they “welcomed Rhaenyra”. The fandom always conveniently forget the Shepherd, a one-armed missionary with a furious hatred for dragons and an alarming ability to get people's attention, appearing out of the blue after Rhaenyra takes King's Landing and proceeding to make things worse for everyone. People should reread his speeches, and pay attention to how he calls Helaena “sweet sister” despite her being a Targaryen, dragon rider and married to her own brother. It is highly probable that the Shepherd was a Poor Fellow or a Septon sent by the Citadel (controlled by the Hightowers), using him as an asset to sway public opinion to their agenda.

Dragons were unnatural creatures, the Shepherd declared, demons summoned from the pits of the seven hells by the fell sorceries of Valyria, “that vile cesspit where brother lay with sister and mother with son, where men rode demons into battle whilst their women spread their legs for dogs.” The Targaryens had escaped the Doom, fleeing across the seas to Dragonstone, but "the gods are not mocked," and now a second doom was at hand. “The false king and the whore queen shall be cast down with all their works, and their demon beasts shall perish from the earth,” the Shepherd thundered. All those who stood with them would die as well. Only by cleansing King's Landing of dragons and their masters could Westeros hope to avoid the fate of Valyria.

At Cobbler's Square the sounds of the riot could be heard from every quarter. The Sheperd drank deep of the anger, proclaiming that the day of doom was nigh at hand, just as he had foretold, and calling down the wroth of the gods upon “this unnatural queen who sits bleeding on the Iron Throne, her whore's lips glistening and red with the blood of her sweet sister.”

I'm always baffled by Greens stans who think the blind and directionless anger of the smallfolk weaponized by misogynistic and religious fanatics like the Shepherd and the High Sparrow are somehow great and real examples of leftist radicalism or proletarian revolutions. Cersei’s walk of shame chapter perfectly illustrates how untrue that is.

A) Misogyny and Rebellion

While reading, I also felt that this guy was too conveniently there. I especially like this:

People should reread his speeches, and pay attention to how he calls Helaena “sweet sister” despite her being a Targaryen, dragon rider and married to her own brother. It is highly probable that the Shepherd was a Poor Fellow or a Septon sent by the Citadel (controlled by the Hightowers), using him as an asset to sway public opinion to their agenda.

However, the Shepherd also spoke out against Aegon II and died for it:

Lastly King Aegon II turned his attention to the Shepherd. When brought before the Iron Throne for judgment, the prophet refused to repent his crimes or admit to treason, but thrust the stump of his missing hand at the king and told His Grace, “We shall meet in hell before this year is done,” the same words he had spoken to Borros Baratheon upon his capture. For that insolence, Aegon had the Shepherd’s tongue torn out with hot pincers, then condemned him and his “treasonous followers” to death by fire.

On the last day of the year, two hundred forty-one “barefoot lambs,” the Shepherd’s most fervid and devoted followers, were covered with pitch and chained to poles along the broad cobbled thoroughfare that ran eastward from Cobbler’s Square up to the Dragonpit. As the city’s septs rang their bells to signal the end of the old year and the coming of the new, King Aegon II proceeded along the street (thereafter known as Shepherd’s Way, rather than Hill Street as before) in his litter, whilst his knights rode to either side, setting their torches to the captive lambs to light his way. Thus did His Grace continue up the hill to the very top, where the Shepherd himself was bound amongst the heads of the five dragons. Supported by two of his Kingsguard, King Aegon rose from his cushions, tottered to the pole where the prophet had been chained, and set him aflame with his own hand.

(“The Short, Sad Reign of Aegon II”)

And he preached specifically against the dragons as well, inciting the mob to attack the Dragonpit:

Like the queen they so despised, the Shepherd’s “lambs” were looking to the sky with dread, fearing that King Aegon’s dragons would arrive before the night was out, with an army close behind them. No longer believing that the queen could protect them, they looked to their Shepherd for salvation.

But that prophet answered, “When the dragons come, your flesh will burn and blister and turn to ash. Your wives will dance in gowns of fire, shrieking as they burn, lewd and naked underneath the flames. And you shall see your little children weeping, weeping till their eyes do melt and slide like jelly down their faces, till their pink flesh falls black and crackling from their bones. The Stranger comes, he comes, he comes, to scourge us for our sins. Prayers cannot stay his wroth, no more than tears can quench the flame of dragons. Only blood can do that. Your blood, my blood, their blood.” Then he raised his right arm and jabbed the stump of his missing hand at Rhaenys’s Hill behind him, at the Dragonpit black against the stars. “There the demons dwell, up there. Fire and blood, blood and fire. This is their city. If you would make it yours, first must you destroy them. If you would cleanse yourself of sin, first must you bathe in dragon’s blood. For only blood can quench the fires of hell.”

(”Rhaenyra Overthrown”)

Helaena never actively used her dragon in the war and was always kept within the Red Keep, so she gets this grace of being “sweet”. It’s possible -- on the condition that the Shepherd was sent and/or obedient to his sender and their plans -- that he was instructed to say so about Helaena to stoke the crowds’ ire more. 

If he was an independent agent, then he also could have characterized Helaena as the only positive Targ -- despite her being a dragonrider and of Valyrian descent, a Targ , and married to her brother -- was because she was the least active Targ and a woman passively acting as a “true woman”. 

Note how his words of Rhaenyra “sit[ting] bleeding on the Iron Throne, her whore's lips glistening and red with the blood of her sweet sister. ” 

Aside from saying that Rhaenyra won the throne by killing her own kin -- whom she shares blood with -- (thus making her seem that much more of an abomination or an evil agent for going against the laws and customs of the Westerosi), he evokes imagery of a woman menstruating and the event where Rhaenyra came away from the throne literally bleeding (as is the rumor) at the same time. He contrasts the unnaturalness of the throne, a nonliving object, cutting Rhaenyra -- as if it were itself an agent. Thus imbuing the object with spiritual agency and meaning instead of its historically secular value -- against the “sweetness” of Helaena and her "good” blood spilling. Helaena’s blood going to “waste” in the sense that her death should not have happened and was forced. She died on the spikes of Meagor’s Holdfast -- which themselves are metal spikes cutting a girl while the thrones’ swords cut the “whore” Rhaenyra.

................................................

EDIT# 1: Meanwhile, Septon Eustace said that Rhaenyra was cut...while wearing armor:

So the torches were lit in the throne room, and the queen climbed the iron steps and seated herself where King Viserys had sat before her, and the Old King before him, and Maegor and Aenys and Aegon the Dragon in days of old. Stern-faced, still in her armor, she sat on high as every man and woman in the Red Keep was brought forth and made to kneel before her, to plead for her forgiveness and swear their lives and swords and honor to her as their queen.

Septon Eustace tells us that the ceremony went on all through that night. It was well past dawn when Rhaenyra Targaryen rose and made her descent. “And as her lord husband Prince Daemon escorted her from the hall, cuts were seen upon Her Grace’s legs and the palm of her left hand,” wrote Eustace. “Drops of blood fell to the floor as she went past, and wise men looked at one another, though none dared speak the truth aloud: the Iron Throne had spurned her, and her days upon it would be few.”

(Fire and Blood; "The Red Dragon and the Gold")

Make it make sense. But I will: Eustace lied or heavily embellished to make Rhaenyra's win ominous. And any biased reader (maesters who were taught at Oldtown's Citadel, which received funds from the Hightowers; anti Targs, esp Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters; septons and septas who already fearful of magics, as dragons were sometimes hinted to come from) of Eustace's work chronicling the Dance and those borrowing from it/repeating and not analyzing against it would influence already biases readers. Useful for more propaganda.

................................................

The Shepherd's words continue Septon Eustace's rhetoric to disparage Rhaenyra, but in live mode. It's all meant to create an inherent and spiritual purity in Helaena, a helplessness intrinsic to her purity here, against the Rhaenyra’s unnaturalness and non-womanliness.

Rhaenyra/a woman's period blood is seen as a substance that makes her "unclean", especially in the 3 monotheistic religions we have today, at least in their history and some current sects' tenets. The idea also has precedence in other cultures. 

So we are invited to see Rhaenyra's womanliness and nonwomanliness as also sullying the throne, as Helaena's innocent blood pouring out from her and turning "bad". Rhaenyra turned good things into evil, dirty things, especially by acting violently (the used claim) against her “better” female kin.

His use of blood and its different symbolism or references still amount to him preaching that there was violence and unnatural powers working against the KL residents, that they must match that violence and use their own sacrifices to “cleanse” and purify the evil “blood” -- the whole Targ and dragon brood.

The idea that he was sent by someone else, a green supporter is possible and occurred to me when I thought of how Larys also is still at large, noted to have possibly spread the rumors of Rhaenyra’s involvement in Helaena’s death, and came quickly back to court after Aegon II comes back as if he came out of nowhere. 

But with how he ends up, it feels like he was 

always an independent agent

went his own way after the fact (least likely)

or he was just using whatever authority put him there as a avenue to his preaching and moves against those he sincerely wished to preach against (what I think)

rather than him working totally and obediently under another green supporter at Oldtown. I think that him being a septon or a Poor Fellow is good, likely. Since he speaks well enough. 

All this is interesting, because the Shepherd is both using misogyny/is misogynist while preaching the need for the KL resident, the peasants, to rise up against both nobles and the Targs (not just Rhaenyra, but still using her gender as ameans to characterize her evil), encouraging them to govern the city/Westeros under a true understanding of the Seven but mostly being against dragons in of themselves.

B) Comparison

He reminds me of Girolamo Savonarola, a Dominican friar, who:

[preached] prophecies of civic glory, the destruction of secular art and culture, and [called] for Christian renewal. He denounced clerical corruption, despotic rule, and the exploitation of the poor. 

In September 1494, when Charles VIII of France invaded Italy and threatened Florence, such prophecies seemed on the verge of fulfilment. While Savonarola intervened with the French king, the Florentines expelled the ruling Medicis and, at the friar's urging, established a "popular" republic. Declaring that Florence would be the New Jerusalem, the world centre of Christianity and "richer, more powerful, more glorious than ever", he instituted an extreme puritanical campaign, enlisting the active help of Florentine youth.

Savonarola was also known for his eloquent, impassioned, full-of-visceral-imagery, and apocalyptic speeches against the present authorities, but he also wanted a “democratic theocracy”, or a state lead by “proven” religious figures and their interpretations of God’s words and desires. The Shepherd would go on to become as sort of “king” of King’s Landing:

the Shepherd never claimed kingship, styling himself a simple son of the Seven. Yet it cannot be denied that he held sway over tens of thousands from the ruins of the Dragonpit.

(”Rhaenyra Overthrown”)

but losing followers more and more as the peasants looked for real protection:

In the early days after the queen’s flight, the Shepherd was by far the most powerful of the city’s three “kings,” but as the nights passed, the number of his followers continued to dwindle. “The smallfolk of the city woke as if from a bad dream,” Septon Eustace wrote, “and like sinners waking cold and sober after a night of drunken debauchery and revel, they turned away in shame, hiding their faces from one another and hoping to forget.” Though the dragons were dead and the queen fled, such was the power of the Iron Throne that the commons still looked to the Red Keep when hungry or afraid. So as the power of the Shepherd waned on the Hill of Rhaenys [...]

(“Rhaenyra Overthrown”)

And Savonrola lost followers, even had them turn against him, when:

A trial by fire proposed by a rival Florentine preacher in April 1498 to test Savonarola's divine mandate turned into a fiasco, and popular opinion turned against him.

Savonrola was more of an independent agent than the Shepherd who definitely did not have aristocrats/wealthy people backing him and his speeches, but both held an intense, fear-based sway over the masses. He also died by fire after the both Church and secular authorities condemned him.

Charles VIII of France thus is invoked through the KL’s residents fear of Aegon II coming to take the throne again and harming them in the process.

[cat-esper]

PALADIN | Adrianos, Quincy, Marr, and Reaver

He had dark hair, neatly groomed, and broad shoulders. He wore a shirt and tie, slacks, and a brown jacket, polished shoes. He reminded Chelsea of the math teacher she'd had in Junior High, the one everyone secretly feared. No one ever cheated in his class. Only her teacher never carried a knife at his belt. "Adrianos Nephus, you are under arrest," Ferric called across the hangar. Adrianos Nephus. The man who ran the Syndicate. Even without Ferric's confirmation, she thought she knew. "You haven't the authority for that, I'm afraid," Adrianos said. His voice was smooth and bitter. "Run now and I may just forget this little interference."

Name: Adrianos Nephus

Birthday: September 12, 1973

Age: 51

Home: Chicago, Illinois; Earth

Personality Type: ESTJ-A

Cunning and ruthless, Adrianos founded the Syndicate in his home city of Chicago where he made his money through the sale of illegal drugs and weapons. But even becoming a wealthy crime boss wasn't enough to satisfy his ambition so when he discovered a portal to another world, what he saw was an opportunity to expand his empire.

This has led to him influencing the outcomes of various conflicts in the Big Civ as well as making powerful enemies. But he's a man who believes in maintaining power and control and he's willing to do anything to get it, even if it means sacrificing his own family for it.

"You'll want to watch yourselves," Quincy said. "Arla Swin may have been running the show on Autolk, but Adrianos Nephus is the one calling the shots. And you do not want him as an enemy. I recommend you back off." Shay's expression hardened just a little as if he recognized the name. "You'll never get the full picture from a guy like me," Quincy said. "He knows better than that." Shay grunted and backed away from the table. "In that case, we'll just keep you here a while. They won't miss you." He opened the door, nodding for Chelsea to go through first. "Oh, and you're wrong about what you said. Adrianos Nephus doesn't want me as an enemy."

Name: Quincy Reid

Birthday: May 22, 1990

Age: 34

Home: Sable, Utah; Earth

Personality Type: ESTP-T

Quincy is very much a product of his environment. He ran with the wrong crowd, made the wrong decisions, and simply ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Growing up, he idolized his brother, who himself wasn't a great influence, and he has a tendency to give in to peer pressure. When his brother started a family and attempted to get his life together, Quincy felt left behind and betrayed, which was how Adrianos found him and how he ended up working for the Syndicate.

More concerned with just keeping his head down and doing what he's told, Quincy is content to stay within this comfort zone. But as circumstances change, he'll have to decide whether to stick with it or try and repair his damaged but not permanently broken moral compass.

"You are too late. You have lost. The dragons are being returned home," Voh said, much too brave considering the circumstances. Chelsea wished she were half that brave. "This isn't about the dragons," Marr said. "It's about you now. You're a loose end and Nephus doesn't like loose ends." He adjusted the black gloves on his hands, casually. "So you're just going to kill us?" Chelsea asked. Marr pressed a button on something strapped to his wrist. "That's the plan."

Name: Marr

Birthday: January 18, 1981

Age: 43

Home: Hnavah

Personality Type: ISTJ-A

Having grown up in the blood dens of Hnavah, Marr learned from an early age that the only way to the top is by destroying the competition. To gain his patron's favor--and the food and protection that comes with it--Marr built himself into someone to be feared, someone brutal and merciless and not worth crossing. It served him well on Hnavah and when he finally escaped the cesspit that is the Hvroivian homeworld, that brutality was the only skill he had.

Adrianos hired him to work for the Syndicate specifically for this skill, which he puts to use against Adrianos' enemies. It's earned him a fearsome reputation which is just fine by him. As long as he is something to fear, he will always be safe.

"It's in our heads," Reaver said simply. "Whatever it showed Quincy was to the south and made him want to run away from it. What I'm seeing now is to the north and I'm compelled to approach it." "What do you see?" "It's..." Reaver hesitated. "Just someone I failed to protect. It doesn't matter. It's not real. I suggest we veer south." Chelsea looked where Reaver's gun was pointing but saw nothing. Marr looked too and fired a shot in that direction. "You won't hit it," Reaver said. "Just keep going."

Name: Reaver 20-309

Birthday: June 30, 1987

Age: 37

Home: N/A

Personality Type: ISTJ-T

Reaver model synths were designed and mass-produced for war. Reaver 20-309 served in several conflicts as a sniper. Like all Reavers, he was designed with minimal empathy and excellent situational awareness as well as strength, quick reflexes, and a number of combat styles. Considered dangerous to the general public, it is necessary to destroy Reavers once they are no longer needed. However, Reaver 20-309 was instead stolen and sold on the black market which is how he ended up in the Syndicate.

He knows he's not a person, but a tool and does Adrianos' dirty work because that was how he was programmed to be. He absolutely cannot allow himself to feel for any of the Syndicate's victims and he especially cannot consider any of them friends.

[frischkasekuchen]

Greenhouse (Yandere!Vanya x Reader)

Credits:

Vanya - @/thriftlita

Iosif - @/lordofsteel

Content Warnings:

Teacher/Student Relationship

Kidnapping/Hostage

Swearing

Suggestive References

Mean Bisexual

(Author's note: This was originally going to be a full-length sequel to the first piece. Unfortunately, I pushed myself too hard and now the creativity well has run dry. I decided I'd rather give you guys something of quality rather than a rushed cesspit. I encourage readers who want to see this story continue to write/draw their own ideas for Y/N's fate and Vanya's loss or triumph. I'm sorry I can't give you guys anything longer or more thrilling, but senior year is going to be a bitch, and I need to be well rested if I'm going to graduate. Thank you for being so patient with me. Happy Pride Month and happy birthday @shu-dzhoker )

Satan Trismegistus subtly rocks our ravished spirits on his wicked bed until the precious metal of our will is leached out by this cunning alchemist. -To The Reader (Au Lectre) by Charles Baudelaire (transl. Richard Howard)

February XX, 20XX - Post Break

Three months and there's feeling in your leg again.

You peel off your cast and risk moving it up and down in a kicking motion. It hasn't snapped off. You pump your fists in the air with a silent "wooo!". 

You jump out of bed and pace around your room. Thank the gods, or, whomever's watching. It was humiliating for Vanya to scrub you down like a child. The man mistook your expressions of discomfort as insecurity, and made an effort to compliment your..."assets''. Sometimes, you wished you could drown yourself in the bath.

You don't notice Vanya barge in as you're aimlessly pacing with your newly recovered leg. 

"What are you doing out of bed-?"

You freeze and Vanya processes that you're standing on your own two feet. And the discarded cast at your bedside. 

"It's healed? You should have at least let me look it over." The man crowds you, bending over to lift up the skirt of your nightgown to see your leg.

You hurriedly smack his hand away. "It's fine- it works- nothing to see here!"

He huffs at your bashfulness. "Hmph! You behave as though I haven't seen more than your leg-"

You tip-toe to clap your hands on his lips, "SHUSH!" This man is going to make your blood vessels pop!

"Fine, fine. Will stop my teasing." he takes your hand, "Come along now. We can actually have breakfast at the table together."

***

Breakfast is mildly normal. 

The strawberry crepes taste great and the table gives you and Vanya a little distance between each other. On another note, you feel the tiniest bit of concern for the safety of your legs. Medy is helping herself to a bowl of  broth and a mix of animal fats. But she's also glaring daggers at you. You're thinking she holds a grudge now, which doesn't bode well for another escape attempt.

Vanya finishes his food before you, and excuses himself from the table to prepare for work. You can't believe how envious you feel that he can actually go to uni while you're stuck here. 

As he's leaving, he discards the house keys on the dining table along with a scrap of paper. What? Should you call attention to that or-?

"You're allowed free reign of my property. Even outside."

You look up at him in shock. You can just leave? The man smiles at your confusion, adjusting a tie on his dress shirt. "Except what's beyond the fence. And I expect you to respect my privacy, no?"

You nod.

"Good." Vanya picks up his briefcase and kisses your cheek. He's getting more comfortable with you, you realize. "I'll be back no later than eight, okay? Lock the door behind me."

Behind you, locks unlatch and there's some clicking noises. The door swings open and it shuts. You get up from your seat and take your dishes to the sink. Through the kitchen window, you see Vanya leave. Once his car is out of sight, you turn to Medy. 

You chuckle, "And then there were two."

***

You do as you're told and lock the door behind him. From the inside, there's four. A knob, a latch, another sliding lock and a padlock. They click and squeal as you basically lock your own birdcage. Hmph, being in captivity is making you disgustingly poetic. Medy's still giving you a hateful look, but she seems uninterested in stalking you around the house. She trots over to the living room, to take a nap you guess. At least this gives you time to snoop. 

With a Grinch-like sneer on your face, you slither down the hallway to Vanya's room. You gleefully push the unlocked bedroom door open, and poke your head inside. Does he really have nothing to hide? There's a bed, dresser, mirror and nightstand with a lamp on top of it. You look back down the hallway to see if you have incurred the beast's wrath. She isn't charging down the hallway- that's a development. You stick a foot through the doorway...nothing. Maybe, there isn't anything to hide. You put your whole body in the room; investigation time!

(C'mon (Y/N), take this kidnapping predicament a little more seriously!)

You look in the first cliche place: under the bed! You stick a hand in the darkness, and your knuckles brush metal. Finding the corner of the item, you bring it out into the light.

A silver and black trunk that's kind of flat like a briefcase. You inspect the latch and it appears to not have a proper lock. In your brainless curiosity, you open it without a shred of hesitation, and gaze upon its contents. There's a riding crop, handcuffs, gloves, silk black rope, a series of much shorter pieces of fabric-

...

...

Regret.

So many regrets.

As your eyes cross over the silicone apparel, you slam the trunk shut and shove it under the bed.

***

In the kitchen, you find something interesting in the cabinets. 

Prescription bottles galore, along with some regular pharmacy drugs. You pick out a prescription labeled with DO NOT DRIVE OR MANAGE MACHINERY AFTER DOSE, MAY CAUSE DIZZINESS OR NAUSEA. It’s not a pill bottle, but a bottle of liquid. You twist off the cap to see a tinfoil seal with a small puncture hole. The back of the bottle reads Recommended dose: 2.5 milliliters.  Beside it is a container labeled Diazepam, a name you only recognize from older novels.  

So, Vanya always had a plan B prepared; this whole thing was premeditated. You need to start a journal or something for the coppers.

***

Your last venture is outside. You slip into the boots you came here in, and take a step off the porch. Snow crunches underneath your feet, open air caresses your face. You spin around, allowing the wind to whip your face with winter. You’re surprised that you didn’t get congested with how long you were bedridden for (to be fair, Vanya did clean your room on a weekly basis).

You check behind yourself to see Medy sitting near the door, observing you. Well, let’s see how far you can exercise your freedom before your warden goes beserk. You stick your nose up in the air faux-arrogantly, gazing at the sky as you strut forward blindly.

At some point, the she-bear does come running, and you quickly take five steps back. You look down to see the beast growling, then look to the line in the sand(or, snow). A picket fence seems to dictate your stomping grounds, at least when Vanya’s at the university (lucky bastard). 

An insistent bark from Medy snaps you back to reality.

“I get it, I get it! I’m going back inside.”

At least the professor didn’t assign you any chores, that at least gave you the excuse to laze off with a book. 

***

When Vanya comes back home, only the sound of the door opening announces his arrival. Shuffling, thuds; it appears the man is in a hurry. You try to ignore him and immerse yourself in your book, but you can’t help but jump when he starts slamming the fucking doors without pause.

Things get worse when the old man barges into your room, slick with sweat despite the winter air. You leap in your bed and shut the paperback around your thumb. “C-could you at least knock?!”

He scans the room like a goddamn security camera. Then, he charges up to you, forcing you to shrink into the corner behind you. “Whoa-whoa- WHAT DID I EVEN DO?!”

Vanya clamps his hands on your face and shoves you to the wall. He's clearly trying to feign stoicism, but with the pressure- you can tell he’s trying to make you crack. But for what? The worst you’ve done is snoop through his shit- you put the keys back when you were done. Was he upset that you went outside?

When he sees that he’s not getting the reaction he wanted out of you, he backs off. Warmth returns to his pupils and he makes himself comfortable at the edge of your bed.

You let yourself breathe. “Could you just- I dunno- not fucking do that again?”

“My apologies, but no promises.”, yeah that’s definitely reassuring. “May I ask that you be less invasive while I’m gone? If you wanted to see my bedroom, you could have asked.”

You turn away from him.“Bold claim; I haven’t touched your room.”

The man chuckles, “Bold of you to have left my trunk unlatched.”

You freeze up. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

“I wanted that to be surprise for when we- what’s the saying? ‘Hit third base’?” a grin grows on his face when your cheeks tint pink. “I had to do proper research and shopping after I discovered where your more…sensual desires lied based on your literary tastes.” The devil has the gall lean to your ear and whisper, “No need to be so shy, no need to rush either.” A warm hand strokes the thigh of your recovered leg. “Just ask, and I’ll indulge you, my dear.”

He finally backs off and leaves the bed with a satisfied smirk on his face. “Dinner will be ready in thirty; okay?” Vanya exits the scene with a skip in his step and a melody under his breath.

You look down at your discarded novel.

…

You throw it at the door.

***

On Saturday morning, Vanya doesn’t visit your room. It’s become routine that he’d wake you for breakfast at eight. But when you look over to the small clock on your nightstand (a gift), it was half past eight. That’s suspicious; that’s weird. And as the blatant horror-thriller protagonist- you must investigate. 

On the corner before the kitchen doorway, you hear Vanya…speaking with someone! He let someone else in the house? While he has a hostage…? Wait a second-

You crane your neck uncomfortably to eavesdrop. Unfortunately, you can’t understand them. Fast and fluent Russian is all you can hear, but you can’t translate by ear. But by leaning forward, you can see a folder and papers spread amok on the dining table. There’s your passport mugshot, and a “MISSING!” poster as well. People are looking for you, good to know!

In your attempt to see more, you lean much too far and stumble through the doorway. “Shit-!”

Both men stop talking to look at you. You freeze, as though they’re T-Rexes who won’t see you if you’re still. Vanya immediately shoves all the papers into the loose folder, and the stranger removes them from your sight. 

“Good…morning..” you squeak in fear.

Despite Vanya’s panic, the stranger calmly returns your pleasantries. “Good morning.” Their voice is rough and- familiar.

Vanya relaxes at the other’s casual behavior. “Good morning, (Y/N), this is one of my sons, Iosif.”

SON(oh yeah, Vanya has kids)?! Are you a parent now? Does Vanya consider you his spouse now? Should you treat him like he’s your kid too? Wait, what’s his name again-?!

“Iosif, this is (Y/N), my beloved; you remember them from December right?”

December? Why would he-? NO-

You point an accusing finger at Iosif. “YOU- you-” you pause when you see Vanya giving you this look. You pin your lips into a line before you throw out another expletive. But you’re nosy enough to keep talking, “Those papers are kinda, really, interesting.” You boldly approach the table and hold out a demanding hand, “Can I see?”

The old man huffs, and gets up from his chair. The air suddenly thickens with an intimidating aura when Vanya places two heavy hands on your shoulders. He leans down and whispers, “What happens outside is no longer your concern, so behave yourself, alright?”

You look to Iosif, as to not make eye contact with Vanya. He glances at you, with an emotion you’ve only ever seen in bystanders at middle school. He seems to regard you with a mix of resignation and pity. 

***

That afternoon, Vanya is content to forget that this morning ever happened. He lugs a phonograph into the living room and pushes the small table and couch aside. 

“What’s that for?” you ask as you twiddle your fingers in your lap.

“Music.” he states in a matter-of-factly tone. “Want to test how good your leg is after you broke it.”

“This will help me, how? Like, what about a physical therapist?”

His movements stiffen for a moment, before he changes the subject. “(Y/N), do you dance?”

“No. And if this is what the music’s for, no thank you.” you tuck your legs in, then stuff you face into one of the throw pillows.

Vanya sighs and sits down beside you, placing a hand on your back. “Why not?”

“I’ll make a fool of myself.” you murmur. You weren’t going to give this asshole another reason to look down on you! 

“Oh, my dear,” he nuzzles into the back of your neck, “You have been a fool long before I met you; nothing to be ashamed of now.”

Ouch. 

You stuff your face further into the cushion. “If that was supposed to make me feel better: it didn’t.”

He chuckles and wraps his arms around you to drag you off of the couch. Your feet clumsily meet the carpet, and you stumble as he pulls you back. “Since you’re a fool I will guide you, keep you safe from harm.” 

“What does that make you?” you query.

“Good question. Back in my younger days, many fancied me a prince.”

You make an audible “pfft” noise. “Aren’t witches more prone to kidnapping?”

Vanya turns you around to face him, and guides one of your hands to his shoulder. The smile on his face appears strained as he kicks the phonograph to life. Static soon bleeds into an introduction by a group of violas. The man clutches you close, a gentle but firm grip on your waist. His large fingers slotting into yours perfectly. With how close the both of you are, you have to lift your head so as to not get squished in his chest (even though you’re tempted to just let it happen-). 

He’s looking down at you in a manner you can only describe as lovesick. You feel a little nauseous yourself- a little tinge of satisfaction. It felt nice to be desirable in the eyes of the old prince, that someone wanted- no needed you around.

…You really need someone to talk to, internal soliloquy is not good for your twenty-first century health-

You’re torn out of your thoughts as Vanya begins swaying to the music. You nearly trip over yourself as your body registers Vanya’s speedy footwork. Somehow, you manage to catch up with him despite being inexperienced. 

“Too fast?” he asks, leaning down to your height.

“Oh no- you just caught me off guard. I’m not much of a waltz-er person…or a dancer, in general…” you spare a glance down at your feet.

“You dance well for a beginner- that posture could use some work though…” he teases.

You shake your head in confusion. “What posture-whoa-”

Vanya twirls you, one, two, three times, before pulling you into a dip. One of your hands shoots up to claw at his collar and you gasp.

Vanya quickly pulls you up, pressing an apologetic kiss into your hair. “No fear, no fear little bird. I’ve got you.” Your face flushes in humiliation at his coddling (this just proves your point!). “Have more faith in me.” You give a shameful nod, and allow him to guide you back into the melody.

The next time he’s ready to dip you, he squeezes your waist as a warning. This time, you loosen your grip on his shoulder. Pinching his sleeve at most. Twirl, twirl, twirl- dip.

As the man leans you down, you slacken and throw your head back in a theatrical manner. The pressure on your waist reminds you that there’s someone to catch you. Your eyes flutter close, blissfully submitting yourself to the rhythm and your partner. 

The music swells- then stops. Vanya pulls you back up once more, and you sag into his (soft and warm) chest. 

“Mmh? Something wrong?”

“Nah. You make a nice pillow.”

He pets your head as white noise fills the room.

The prince is gentle, doting, and hopelessly devoted to you.

You’re getting too comfortable.