#there's this idea that poison is for women or cowards

[ailelie]

Poison, they say, is a woman's weapon. As if that makes it lesser. As if poison does not betray a deeper anger Any fool can grab a weapon or throw a fist The so-called weapons of men are Weapons of the moment, of passion Poison demands foresight, patience What does it say that the woman's weapon Is one that requires a simmering affront A banked fury growing ever hotter Even while hidden behind the required smile

They say we're too emotional But our weapons tell the truth Poison is a crime of the slowly boiling, Of people who know exactly what they're doing And poison, they say, is a woman's weapon.

[liberalsarecool]

Republican men see their cowardice as loyalty.

The cowardice has left them defenseless.

The sense of loyalty to a massive coward like Trump has forever warped and poisoned their idea of masculinity and femininity.

Elect women. End the cowardice.

[sandyferal]

I genuinely think Tootie’s behavior towards Timmy would improve dramatically like. The second Vicky moves out of the family house. It’s clear that Vicky is severely inhibiting Tootie’s ability to have friends, much less have them come over and spend time with her. And it feels likely that the main reason her crush turned into an obsession is because Timmy had shown himself to be the only person willing to be nice to her. It doesn’t justify the way she acted, but let’s be real it’s not like she has good role models to teach her better.

I feel like once Vicky isn’t around to ruin her social life she’ll be able to have other friends over and like, have someone around to seek comfort in that isn’t her crush. She could actually start growing as a person. Which could happen as soon as like, 1-3 years after the events of the show?

I also really like the idea that even if she isn’t obsessed with Timmy, that Crimson Chin doll he gave her holds a special place in her heart because like. As a sentimental person I gotta be real something like that would never not be sweet to me. I’d thinking about it for years.

And I like to think because of that she eventually got into comics and began to obsess over those instead. Maybe Crimson Chin wasn’t her thing! But she seems to enjoy fantasies and I think it would be so fun to see her find her own interests. If we’re getting into specifics, I get the vibes that she would be into comics following heroes like Superman, or when villainesses get their own comics like Harley or Poison Ivy. Obviously not those exact characters but those are the vibes I get. Not to say I don’t think she wouldn’t still have girly interests and love romance and stuff but man.

Additionally. I fucking hate Tootie from the live action movies. They glorify her as hot and morally perfect while simultaneously treating how she was as a child as weird and ugly. Man people grow up and sometimes get less weird but like some people are just dorks. Tootie is a dork. Keep her as an overenthusiastic, emotional, glasses-wearing, strong-willed dork. You cowards. Women don’t need to be “perfect” to be accepted and loved.

If Tootie and Timmy did eventually get together, personally I think it would be good if Timmy just. Didn’t see her for a while. She gets more into spending time with actual friends, and doesn’t talk to Timmy as much until they meet up again a couple years later at an afterschool comic club/comic con, or something of that sort. I think she deserves to be her own person before she actually ends up with anyone.

And while I normally don’t like “ships” (I say that in quotes bc I don’t particularly feel compelled to ship these children at all) that involves a party who clearly isn’t interested… they’re also. Children. It’s not that serious. They really shouldn’t be together at this age anyway, and they probably will change as they get older.

It doesn’t feel that big of a deal to imagine Tootie and Timmy might be together as adults despite their current dynamic, because the main issues are:

a) Tootie doesn’t respect boundaries and is emotionally unstable, which are both likely caused by isolation, lack of good role models, and being too young to understand things. Very likely she grows out of it.

b) Timmy not liking her. Which, in the context of the early episodes about her, is actually something you could debate?

To clarify, he obviously isn’t interested in a romantic relationship most of the time, but at the same time he clearly has some care for her. The argument could be made that it is because of his fairies influencing him, yes, or it’s just pity. But like. There are episodes where he legit just does something because he wants her to be happy. And he indicates he doesn’t really dislike her or hate spending time with her. He, at least in theory, is actually willing to spend time with her. (“I would’ve gone to her dumb party if she’d invited me.”) That’s not even mentioning how he. Like. Just straight up chose to stick himself with a love arrow because he wanted to enjoy spending a Valentine’s Day with her. Which is a whole thing that could be analyzed but not the point.

If anything his actions point to a young boy who at the moment, only feels attraction through the lense of someone being “pretty” instead of someone they can genuinely get along with. He sees Tootie as weird and embodying the qualities boys find “icky” in girls. It would make sense if he grew out of that.

Although at the end of the day I don’t really care who these kids end up with, I JUST want Tootie to be able to have a happy and healthy social life/relationship with a partner when she grows up, and I hate the idea of completely stripping away her “not pretty” qualities before she’s allowed to have that. She’s a fucking lovely little girl who deserves to be herself, and to be weird, and to be happy. That’s my fucking daughter!!! I love her so much!!!

[savingthrcw]

@honorhearted liked for an Eloise's starter

"Of course women are not suited for leadership, men make sure that they can't learn anything of importance, disapprove of anything that may allow them to show some original ideas, fearing women's intellect, and then they dare accuse us of being too emotional!" Eloise had moved two steps higher to tower over the angry men, ignoring Benjamin's attempts to stop her, and the women around the men had gotten angrier and louder, but not enough so that her voice couldn't be heard: "After they spend their entire lives making sure this society is meant for men and men only, proving that they are the over-emotional cowards who would rather get rid of any competition before there can be one!" "What'd you just call us?" "Cowards! What are you going to do now, strike me and prove me right?" she challenged him angrily when he tried to come closer, "Go ahead, hit men and prove just how emotional and not suited for leadership you are! You certainly can't possibly use your words when you already know you are in the wrong!"

That did the trick of stopping him from hitting her - which was best for him, truly, she was poisoned enough by those men's interference that if he laid a finger on her he'd go home without a hair on his head. The women shrieked louder, starting to demand they'd go home and leave them be, supported by the men who had chosen to come to the rally to fight for women's right to have a voice. It was a great day.

[funtomb]

revolutionary girl utena starter sentences.

part one! a collection of quotes from the anime. feel free to alter as needed.

but was that really such a good idea?

despite my looks, i'm a normal girl, and all i want is a totally normal boy!

if it cannot break out of its shell, the chick will die without ever being born.

let's have tea and laugh together ten years from now, okay? promise?

he who believes friendship exists is a fool.

didn't you know? i'm a fool.

what a coincidence. that tea is poisoned too.

i exploited your innocence. i encroached upon your kindness. i'm sorry, i've been unfair to you. i've betrayed you all along.

i was the one who cheated you! i was the one who used you! i was the one who betrayed you!

open your heart and talk to people, and anybody would accept you, i'm sure!

what i'm doing now is taking back who i used to be!

i came to save you. i came here to meet you.

i guess, in the end, i couldn't be a prince. forgive me, for pretending to be a prince.

at last! we finally meet!

if it’s for someone you love… how you feel about others doesn’t matter. you keep lying to yourself for as long as it takes.

people find it hard to doubt those they've fallen in love with. they can't even imagine they're being deceived and used.

i feel it’s hard for me to deal with a place where there are so many people. somehow, they all start to look the same, and that frightens me.

i thought that no matter what befell my body, my heart wouldn't feel the pain.

by all means, stay in this cozy little coffin. but i have to go now.

now it's my turn to go. no matter where you are, i'll find you for sure. wait for me.

women who cannot become princesses have no choice but to become witches.

sincerity by itself changes nothing. without power, one finds themselves merely depending on others to live.

if you won't defend what's precious to you, people will take it from you.

it's like something was stolen from you and made you a coward!

when everything around you is impure, you have no choice but to become impure yourself.

eternity means lasting forever, right? i... want eternity.

it's just that one could think that a heart that longs for eternity is beautiful.

she's a fool because she doesn't realise that her miracle is standing atop someone else's sacrifice.

[gravelilyaufgehoben]

I wrote ‘I don’t care about radical feminism — this is a blog about using German Idealism to theorize yuri manga.’ — but this is false. If yuri manga is an artistic creation, then it must be an attempt to formulate a new world: something like: a world in which love between women, maybe love as such, is possible, emancipated from false oppositions and conflicts, free from ideology. As such, terf ideology, or radical feminism, is entirely in opposition to this goal. As such, a definite response is required of me (if only for myself).

The reason I wrote out that ‘I don’t care’ is because I have demons inside me, and they absolutely do not stop dialoguing; it means ‘I should not care’: the statement was a note-to-self, an attempt to persuade the demons that the matter was not important and did not require a tortuous exercise in going through the arguments nonstop for the next few days — but this attempt was doomed to fail. It was also the plea of a sickly coward — but now it is a short reprieve and brief strategic retreat. I should have known better: the only way out is through.

So I have to write an essay. The following is blood-letting: terf ideology is a miserable wasting-sickness and I am not immune to poison. It can, however, work its way through my system, and now after much pain from having to think through the animating force of what is effectively a roaming hate mob, I am getting the impure blood out onto the page along with my newly formed antibodies:

My initial suspicion was that terfs rely on the same idea of women's reducibility to a child bearing mechanism that misogynists do. I wanted to know where they would go after having this idea refuted, so I posted something to provoke a reaction. The responses were almost a perfect exposé of repression responses: from flat denial, to substitutions and all too hasty acceptance (you can go read them yourself if you have the stomach for it). There was however one interaction I had which got me what I wanted. 

It is well known, I know, but one of them stated it for me: the only thing true of woman generally (universally) is her oppression. This allows the terf to maintain the claim that transwomen are not woman: because she has not experienced this oppression — the sophistry of this is dealt with later — which the lack of a womb was used for in the reductionist position. But to affirm that the mark of a woman is her position as oppressed, also affirms the the position of the oppressor, that is, it affirms that men are superior to women. The symptoms of this belief have been observed in various places (the complaint about that transwoman pressing the button too fast on Jeopardy comes to my mind): though the empirical proofs are nice for convincing, the point is made merely by recognising that it is the necessary result of identifying directly with one’s own enslavement. I am sure the ‘marxists’ among them believe this to be a marxist point — and maybe I would too if I understood nothing about marxism: what defines the revolutionary subject is its potential for revolution (and self abolition), not its exclusion and immiseration (this is Nietzsche's criticism of Emile Zola: that he is in love with the ‘filth’, the misery of the working class’ conditions; it is something Zizek warns about contra the ecstasy of mass unrest events — that is, it is something also leftists fall into). 

Now, is it true that a transwoman is not a woman if she has not experienced the oppression that every woman has burned into her being?: if a transwoman is a woman, then in exactly the same sense is transmisogyny misogyny. To then claim that what a transwoman experiences is not misogyny (and that therefore she is not a woman) is just the same thing as saying she is not a woman in the first place, and no ‘proof’ has been provided of this claim. Furthermore, one is trying to claim that a cause is the result of its effect: if one recognises the logical error here, one is forced to reverse the relation and we are back to the first claim (that she is oppressed because she is a woman, not a woman because she is oppressed, and our reductionist must once again claim that a woman is reducible to her reproductive organs if they want to exclude transwoman). Here is the logical refutation of the postmodern historicist terf — for those of us who need it — but again, it is probably more convincing to refer to the practical refutation. The identification of woman as the subject of oppression simply means ressentiment: What an absolutely miserable ‘emancipatory’ politics (to avoid a misunderstanding: yes, you have to recognise your enslavement, to create class consciousness, et cetera— this is not the problem, again, it is necessary to create a positive affirmation of freedom — or else you are simply being negatively determined by the old master and you will re-enact exactly that).

Compared to this slave-morality historicism, I even prefer the idea that woman is essentially a child birther — atleast this involves the notion of ‘creation’ and positivity — but, because I am not a biological reductionist, I do not need draw the conclusion that the destiny of (actually existing) women is to bear a man’s child, nor that a woman need be capable of physically bearing children at all. This is what ‘dialectical materialism’ means: I have access to the spiritual without mystifying it, and I can understand the past as merely fuel for the future: that it is to be turned into fuel.

After the revolution, in the new world and when all signification is changed, perhaps it will be possible for a woman to love another woman without (even beyond violence) the haunting malignancy of accusations ‘fake’ or ‘just the foolishness of youth’, and also without carrying the suspicion of being ‘staged for the male gaze and fetishistic’ — all of this is our aim to abolish. 

What does it mean to be a ‘woman’ in this world? We cannot know (if the new world really is new, this means it is not understandable in the terms of the old world, i.e., with ‘old’ terms), but we can pick up traces of this future in our present through the various struggles for emancipation. That is, fundamentally, the struggle for woman’s liberation and the struggle for trans liberation, and all struggles which have whatever particular emancipation as their ultimate goal, must be in the end united by this shared future. There must be cooperation and reciprocal developments and solidarity. (There may be some ambiguity ‘Don’t fascists have their own struggle for liberation?’, but this assumes that any struggle is indistinguishable from any other. The word ‘stuggle’ means something very specific here, and there is such a thing as a false struggle, that is, if it is based on a lie, e.g., anti-semitism: so no, terfs are not involved in this same struggle — and so much should be obvious from the above exposition of the problematic nature of that ideology in any case). 

The major work is done now: probably I go too quickly through some of the arguments, but this is really just to get it out of me and I am growing anemic and tired of it (I hope the reader can use it and put whatever pieces they need together themselves. This much is sufficient for my purposes. I am not interested in discussing this — think whatever you want, my mind is already made up: I wish to be free of this poison. 

Some final notes just because they are still swimming around my mind:

i) The reference to chromosomes as the definition of woman and man does not work: aside from the ambiguities involved, it is too abstract: there is no lived experience of the chromosome and thus it is impotent as a political call to action. It functions purely as an identifier for other biological reductionists because this is its ultimate reference. 

ii) The omnipresent claim that a woman is an ‘adult human female’ is entirely vapid and an obvious dog whistle. No one was confused about this in the first place, it appears stupidly obvious — that means it involves ideology to mean anything at all. The only possible site of new content in this ‘definition’ is the word ‘female’ which includes an implicit reference to biology. Again, it is simply reductionism and a signal to other reductionists — and you should be tired of it too. The stench of analytical philosophy makes me nauseous: I am sure they consider these 'necessary and sufficient conditions'.

iii) One may ask me: ‘You argue what a woman is not: very well, but then what is a woman? (Surely you will reveal your true colours as a misogynist in doing so).’ A woman is defined by a set of logical formulas which are constitutive of a certain composition of the structure which is the psyche (unconscious). A man is the same thing. The next question is: ‘What is the relation between these two structures (how are they different)? The answer is: there is no relation between the sexes, there is no sexual relationship, ‘il ne pas du rapport sexuelle’ — Lacan. It is psychoanalytic theory — outside the scope of my need to refute and state purpose. Finally, ‘Isn’t this just as abstract as a reference to chromosomes?’ — the logical formulas can be used, put into practice, that is, they can be — practiced.

This will be the last thing I write about terfs or radical feminism barring some extraordinary circumstances.

Friends and allies: remember that you are not immune to poison either. For the lost souls, such as myself, we need pretty things to look at and flowers to smell, and fresh air in our lungs. We need healthy bodies if we are to struggle at all. Now — think about something else.

[ratherhavetheblues]

CLAIRE DENIS: Nenette and Boni “I can feel it moving”

by James Clark  2023

Falling apart has had its fortune. In the course of tending to complete the film, Nenette and Boni, I expected (as with the double parts in the proceedings in, Both Sides of the Blade) a happy result. The strictness of the Henri  Mouron dealing put an end to that hope (“all rights reserved”). All I can say is that the graphic artist, A.M.Cassandre, was a giant, his advertising work, touching those who could engage the lithographic magic. That he ended his life by suicide, must not be a way of demeaning the effort.

We start with the city of Marseille. Many years ago, we would visit Marseille as vintage poster dealers, embracing the city’s rich lithographic treasures. Not only that, we became friends with one of the brokers. His home was one of the small islands nearby. We spent several happy days there. (During the War, the Nazis used it, in various ways. Long before that, there was a nefarious prison.) Our story today, Nenette and Boni (1997), focuses upon poisonous instincts. One could place the planet in this way: a very large group; and a very small group which finds something very different.

Along that way, we find a young man, Boni, of Marseille, sketching out a big problem, which could lead him to the few. In much of the saga, the only positives are that he doesn’t kill anyone. His wrath involves lucidity.

However, a crucial matter has to be in place. Planet Earth is rapidly dying. It is a sign of a form of insanity, that this matter is not focused. In a hundred years there will be no birds. Birds with more depth than humans. Birds having engaged and held their fortune, while humans overrate. Does that mean that transaction is over? Not at all. One’s reach of understanding, clearly overtakes the dimness of this rabid disaster called Earth. Other places would be of higher quality.

Our protagonist ignores such burdens, in order to attempt feeling that he’s on the right track. Boni’s idea of progress, and he’s got something there, is to ignore the past. He moves around, of course, but he doesn’t trust anyone. He moves around, however, largely because his father had given him a pizza business; and with that, also, took over his dead mother’s house. On the basis of those windfalls, Boni takes his time to grow up. (He does very little to maintain his “business,” and plays around with “collectible” cards.) It gets worse; it gets better. “I do solemnly swear to fuck her brains out… to love everything minute before draping her. I’ve milked this stupid joke for all its worth. I swear on my mother’s grave that no one or nothing will stop me. If even I don’t keep this oath, may I be branded a coward like my asshole father who left us…and may burn in hell eternally…”

Then he’s finicky about two stray cats in his yard. However, another matter, far from cavelier, materializes, namely, his long lost cousin, Nenette. This is the point we must disclose that very recently Nenette had been close to committing suicide in the sea. What are you waiting for, Nenette? That’s a good question? Something makes her get out of that danger. “Get out, on the double!” (But isn’t it the triple?) Denis being a master of the third, the dialectic.

Boni, the fat cat, does not rise to the matter of Nenette’s danger. She’s pretty much beyond effective interaction. (Her side of the family lacks the money to burn.) Boni’s old neighbor putting up the laundry. Boni smiles, “Is  the wind that’s got you so jittery?” Boni’s all over the place. And soon to be jittery. Inside he tells someone, “I’m gonna stick my dick up your crack.” Powerful, right! For all their differences, they’re in the same business. One could say that the bunny rocks! Boni says, “Good  morning. How are you? Can you feel my hot French stick?” Could he ever understand a thing? Ambiguity wandering around in women’s clothes. “I’ll eat her up.” Maybe. Nenette, looking over a cement wall. Twenty-four hours, and no recognition of Nenette. She sends over a flotilla of sweet buns. Boni’s now in a man’s clothes. All grey. On a drive, she’s left behind. Could they become vital? With a baker. “Don’t you ever sleep at night?”

The ways of Surrealism. “Why are you in my house?” Nenette: “There’s now food. I’m starving. It sucks here. You’re really pathetic. It’s my Mom’s house.”/ ” Lay off my rabbit. Go back to Sugar Daddy.”/ “Why are you screaming! I just wanted to talk, asshole!” (She did want to talk. She, in her scattered way, could [once in a while] recognize their possibilities.)/”Write me a letter. I do what I fucking want.” (With every word, they show their weakness.)

He tells her, “You’ve changed.”/”It’s normal.”/ “You got a little fat.”/ “No, I’ve grown…” (Her sense of being  better than she usually does). “Because I’m pregnant… It’s not a joke. It’s true… I don’t show. I have a small belly.” Or is it a small heart? These two would profess being daring. But where is the delivery? Where is the preparation?  “You screw up my day, and it’s not my business? You came here to hide out, didn’t you?” (Boni never delivers here, until the last few seconds of the film.) Here we see Boni, gobbling his meal out of a cheap take-out. Nothing but cheap?(But when the Beach Boys sang, there was a bit of magic. In the air… Can you touch it? A mirror. One of his hands. A way of truth, if you open, if you open your eyes and shut your ridiculous mouth.)Then there was boxing at the gym. Traction? Inert?

From here to the end, it’s Boni’s choice. The families are insignificant. Make your move. Nenette at the doctor’s: “If he’s sleazy, I’m leaving.” The black doctor was not only professional, but also passionate –a tone never true by the cousins. He tells her, “Breathe deeply.” (A big challenge.) “Knees in tight… There! Very good. I’d  say you’re at least five months pregnant.”/”But I’ve barely gotten fat?” /”That doesn’t mean a thing. It’s your build.” (Nenette counting on a quick abortion.) “An Ultrasound will tell us more.” The questionable patient declares, “Knock, Knock! What’s there!” Cut to Boni, in the waiting room, looking at a piece of the doctor’s walls. Many hands in the waiting room. The doctor discovers, “You lied to me. You’re not 18. It’s my job to be able to tell me how much.” The doctor is a gentleman. Nenette has pretty much become a thug. The next fabrication is one that the doctor should have understood. He asks, “Who’s the boy in the waiting room, your friend?” In a flash, she invents, “My husband, but he doesn’t want to be known. This is nothing of his business…” / The doctor asks Boni, “Would you mind stepping in here.”/ The loud-mouth says “This is none of his business.” (Stupid power while being hopeless.) The doctor tells her, “It is his business. He has to face up to his responsibility… “(Going off the rails. Close to a farce.) Boni asks, “Is this serious?”/ “It is but the doctor fails to understand how poisonous “my husband” is.” So the coverage is wrecked. The doctor gets back to his skills: “No, everything’s fine. Sit down.” (Cut to the doctor, writing. He has written something to the couple.) “Here! You want to have  any hospital bills to pay.” The (too) nice doctor tells Boni, “I need to know how pregnant you are, how changed you are. I’m counting on you for the ultrasound. (Moreover, the sweet doctor had come to understand that Nenette, if ever she were able, was beyond it now. An ugly disposition feeling beaten by something extremely demanding. Beaten from the casual love that needs extreme attention. It isn’t impossible. On other planets, surely, merely elevations could be more than that! Your wife is confused, but it’s only normal. Normal indeed! A satin touch… A well-planned childbirth can be wonderful.)

Boni tells her, “You cost me a lot… So now you’re not getting an abortion…” (That brings out a string of savagery.) She  tells him, “Nothing’s decided yet… Three fingers… a good number… She covers her face with her hair… Boni, in the dark… A  new girlfriend… His nude presence… Her belly… She stretches out… Boni  shoots at a figure with his rifle… Next time I’ll kill you… “Daddy understands” [hoping Nenette would open the locked door].In that melee, even coitus has a go.

The doctor. Fetal test. The white clouds  in the machine, in the dark, showing off the baby to come. “Very good. Everything looks fine. Look! You can see its profile. Do you want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?”/ “No.”/The nurse announces, “Anyway, he’s kicking up a storm.” (The storms of life are hidden in deep hiding places.)/ ” Let’s get something clear. If you are thinking of an abortion, it’s too late.”/ Her response; “I’ll have it somewhere, and kill it.”/Boni slaps her for saying that. “You’re like an animal. Worse than an animal!  I can feel it moving.”(She’s not pleased.)  Nenette. “It won’t come out. He hates me.”/ “We’ll find a foster family. We call this a “Jane Doe” birth. I have to make sure you understand one thing. Your decision is irreversible. Just remember, once you’ve decided, there’s no turning back. But, as I said, it will have a family…but no name.”

Another practitioner.”Is she next? I’ll be in the cafeteria. See you later.” Nenette begins, “It better not hurt.”/ “It’s too late, sweety. And don’t moralize me. You have an attitude problem.”/ “Fuck! Fuck! This fucking hurts!”/ “I know it hurts.Try pushing. You’re not pushing! You don’t want to… Push!… Again!… There you go”/….”I want this to end!”… The baby cries. Nenette cries. Baby in basket.

Now the end. Boni, to the hospital, sort of. He “drops the flowers… ” , sort of. Nenette gone.  Here’s a fantasy with power. On the balcony with his rifle, and then having picked up the baby… An eye. Two sets of hands. Boni caresses the baby. Face to face. He kisses the baby. “How are you doing, baby? Wake up…” A smile on his face. Wake up. (A good line.) The baby cries in Boni’s arms. Baby responds to Boni’s embraces. Baby asleep. Boni smiles. “Yeah, you pissed on me!”

One more time! Nenette’s hard eyes.There is a strange and melancholy connection between our two most recent essays. Marcel Proust, after a long, brilliant discovery in literature, came to see that it was not real, not strong enough. As if there had to be a great finish. Months in the hospital. Then, only, a flow of irony. A.M. Cassandre, face to face with imagery to heighten the skies. Unable to engage for a lifetime. Finding death best.

Cassandre at his best!

[rabidhiss]

To say it is not a "good idea" to consume alcohol for recreational or therapeutic purposes significantly underscores the compressively adverse effects alcohol has on the child, adult and society.

Consuming it recreationally is not that different from sniffing glue (it just takes more time). Why gain weight by adding calories to your alcohol? How can adding a solvent to creatively concocted juices and flavors be fun? What is the allure of becoming stunningly incoherent and irrational? Are there so few risks in life that increasing the odds of getting an STD or a headwound is justifiable? Are friends as indispensable as your liver to experience happiness?

As a chemical, alcohol has no inherent therapeutic properties. Quite the contrary: alcohol destroys tissue. Our bodies thrive on fats and oils while alcohol dilutes and weakens them. There is no medical, psychological or emotional benefit to consuming a toxic and deadly poison regardless of any bizarre rationalization. There is no "acceptable level" of alcohol consumption: only acceptable to the declarations of weaklings, cowards or obstinate enculturated fools.

Alcohol offers no benefits and contrary to popular opinion it destroys society's fabric. 90,000 lives are lost annually due to alcohol consumption in the USA. That's 20,000 more than those that die from fentanyl. And unlike fentanyl, in the case of alcohol, a person that does NOT consume alcohol is more likely to be a victim of alcohol than fentanyl abuse.

Rape, aggression, theft, vandalism, spousal abuse, child neglect, infidelity, moving vehicle fatalities are just a few of the consequences that impact all of us (not to mention debilitating health consequences) But those "brave abortion warriors" turn a blind eye, instead picking on vulnerable defenseless women and families.

It's clear the government has no concern about your health. if the government can take a cut, it has no problem enabling those that profit and exploit your weakness and stupidity. If you drink chances are your parents drank when you were young. If you were looking forward to turning 21 so you could legally consume alcohol you were enculturated with false and erroneous values.

In light of all points referenced: I would like to propose the following: If you voted YES on Amendment 4 in Florida's 2024 November election, I urge you to boycott and abstain from all forms of recreational alcohol consumption until the rights of women of reproductive age have been restored. Do so as quickly as possible to not only restore women rights but to benefit your personal health and budget.

It would be one of the most effective ways to exert economic pressure on the fascists that feel their privileges allow them to use their subjective prejudices and biases to interfere with the medical healthcare issues of complete strangers.

Wake up. Ban alcohol from your life.

Robert Wilson

Deltona

[maggicktouched]

So this is a remaking of my witch lore. I’ve had the idea for a long time and finally wrote it out.

Some things to keep in mind: This is an oral tradition passed down through the priesthood of witches. So there can be inconsistencies depending on the witch you hear the story from.

This story is the basis of the political structure among my witches. A headcanon I will try to write in the next couple of days, but the essence of it is that the witches believe a direct descendant of each of the initial daughters must lead their respective clans.

Finally, the witch who is telling this particular story is Beck. She’s telling it the way that it was told to her. And it is something you’ll frequently see her do in verses where she starts to put down roots and create more ties with the witches in her community. She was born into a section of the priesthood that specifically deals with recounting the myths and songs of her people, and when pressed she will occasionally take that job seriously. Usually it’s only for the delight/entertainment of children---who tend to be able to sucker Beck into just about anything.

. Cw for human sacrifice and self harm .

It was called the Cold Sowing. 

Fourteen small towns on the edge of the world, protected from the rest of the world by fangs of ice and stone, put out their lanterns on one winter’s evening. It is said that first night was one of painful, unimaginable silence. No deer roamed the meadows, no wolves pierced the frigid air with mournful song, and no baby---not those in their mother’s arms nor those in a lonely cradle---uttered a single cry. It was an instinctual quiet that fell over the land. A mute and terrified plea: pass over us.

The next morning the sun was late to rise. The hush was not broken by a choir of wood pigeons, but the cawing of crows and cries of men. From one home in each of the towns, a mother was taken. Each laid out on the fresh snow, rigid and cold, and in their hands a blue flower made of nothing but petals upon petals of ice. 

Dead were buried. Magical flowers melted. And the waters they bled infected the earth with rot. It poisoned wells and killed crops. 

Not only the villages had been touched by the Plague Father. In the coming days the townsfolk would find that all that they suffered, the beasts suffered as well. With each new death flowers bloomed, and with each rising sun their poison spread. It was a poison of festering and of madness. Birds drowned themselves in the rivers, men put their faces into their fires, elk trampled their own calves, and wolves feasted not on the carrion but fought one another to the death, only for the victor to succumb to its wounds moments later.

A council was called among the people, and while the men quarreled at their tables, it was their daughters that came to a decision. One daughter from each of the families first struck by the plague would take up a rope and a dagger and head out to the woods. They would go to the circle of trees with its monolith of stone and bind themselves there. And they did. Not one proved a coward.

Lashed to the stones from the night of full moon to the new moon’s coming, the witches cut their flesh. They laid frozen fingers in the warmth of their own wounds and smeared it across the sides of the stone. They did not seek out food nor water. They did not lay on the frozen ground to rest their blackened feet. With each morning they sang to bolster their spirits of the forests, and with each evening their made their blood sacrifice anew. 

Slake your thirst with our blood. Feast upon our flesh. Great Father of the Forests, let our strength be yours. 

Every evening until their voices were raw.

On the forth night, from the shadows between the trees, from the cracks in the mountains, from the holes of the river, the Daughters of the Forest came. Beautiful women with hair like dawn light on a glassy lake and skin as soft as down. At their front, they looked exactly like the human women tied to the stone, but their backs were naught but shadows---a great dark expanse from which root and ivy grew to curl around the women in a mockery of clothes. And below that, each grew a long, furry tail from their backsides. 

We have names for them now, though few have ever returned to this realm. Skogsrå, Råndan, Huldran. They were born of the greater spirit of the forest, and had come to defend it. They offered the women bits of raw meat and fresh berries. They brought horns of water from far off places where the Plague Father had not yet touched. Every four nights they returned, though each time they were weaker. But the women of the village would not falter. 

Slake your thirst with our blood. Feast upon our flesh. Great Father of the Forests, let our strength be yours.

And on the night of the new moon the women cut their bonds and fell into the snow.

In perfect synchronicity they raised their blades and plunged them into their own flesh. Once, twice, and again and again until they met the number of nights they had been tied to the stone. 

Our final gift to you, oh Beast of the Darkest Wood, oh Father of the Forests. Save our people. Save yourself.

They said the words together, and they died together as well. And with their life’s blood, the Father of Forests rose above the trees. A great bear as white as the ice, with a crown of trees on his head and a heart of fire in his chest. That night the moon was dark, but the woods were alight with fire. They burned until the Plague Father melted away, like his precious flowers, and then they went silent when the sun reared above the horizon.

Much was lost in the fires, but the land was cleansed. The bodies of the village women were charred shells when the Huldran returned for the last time.

From your mother’s womb you have been born, from the womb of the woods we will be born once more.

It is said that they wept over the bodies until their cries were mirrored by the muffled wailing of infants. It is said they brushed aside the blackened flesh like flakes of singed bark and in each of the women’s wombs was a fresh, healthy babe, pink with new life.

With the last of their strength, the Daughters of the Forests marked the new daughters of the village. Each took the mark of a different creature, and from the hills and forests, those beasts came. They followed the spent and dying Huldran away from the shrine and back to the towns where they had come. They laid with them until the doors opened and the babes were claimed, and they returned to them, when it came time for them to do the impossible and make their first shift. They taught them what they were.

Those were the first of our kind. The first witches from those frozen woods that are lost to time. With each generation more were born: all shared in the power of their mothers. In time the villages dispersed, their people moving further and further apart, until the Fourteen Clans of the Witches born---flung all across northern Europe, from Norway to Finland, and even into Russia. Eventually we would spread to all corners of the world and all manner of people would share our gift.

We are the new children of the Father of Forests. We are the harvest of the Cold Sowing. Our flesh is in the bark on every tree. Our blood is in each river that flows to the sea. From the womb of the woods our people were born, and from the wombs of our mothers will our people be born again and again.

[rphelperblog]

Shadow and Bone and Six of Crows Series rp meme

(Grisha verse)

"I love puzzles. Trickery is just my native tongue.” 

“I'm perfectly capable of being stupid on my own.” 

“They had an ordinary life, full of ordinary things—if love can ever be called that.” 

You’re better than waffles.”

“It’s a vow that if I can’t be anything else to you, at least I can be a weapon in your hand.” 

“None of us move on without a backward look. We move on always carrying with us those we have lost.” 

“Love speaks in flowers. Truth requires thorns.”

“Hope was tricky like water. Somehow it always found a way in.

“Anything worth doing always starts as a bad idea.” 

"I came here for you. You're my flag. You're my nation.” 

“But if you couldn’t open a door, you just had to make a new one.”

“You two have a bad habit of acting like fools and calling it heroic.” “Sometimes, the only way to get justice is to take it for yourself.” 

“You live in a single moment. I live in a thousand.” 

“I like to have powerful enemies. Makes me feel important.” 

“women suffer thorns for the sake of the flowers, but we who wield power adorn ourselves with flowers to hide the sting of our thorns” 

“You don’t look like a monster.”

 “Better terrible truths than kind lies.” 

“We pretend the pain isn’t there, that we are made of scars instead of wounds.”

“They would build a new world together. But first they had to burn the old one down.” 

"All men can be made fools.” 

“Like calls to like.”

“No matter the height of the mountain, the climbing is the same.”

“I am done being careful. I am done being quiet. Let them see me angry. Let them hear me wail at the top of my lungs.” 

“We all die. Not everyone dies for a reason.” 

“Everyone mourns the first blossom. 

Who will grieve the rest who fall?” 

“You are strong enough to survive the fall”

“This is the problem with making a thing forbidden. It does nothing but build an ache in the heart.” 

“We can endure all kinds of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.”

“I am shield and blade to you. As I breathe, your enemies will know no sanctuary. While I live, your cause is mine.”

“Scars made good reminders.” 

“What doesn't kill me better run”

“Suffering is cheap as clay and twice as common. What matters is what each man makes of it.” 

“This action will have no echo.” 

“The thought filled me with grief, grief for the dreams we'd shared, for the love I'd felt, for the hopeful girl I would never be again.”

“The life you live, the hate you feel—it’s poison. I can drink it no longer.” 

“I’ll tell you a secret.The really bad monsters never look like monsters.” 

“You aren’t a flower, you’re every blossom in the wood blooming at once. You are a tidal wave. You’re a stampede. You are overwhelming.”

“Meeting you was a disaster.”

“I will strip away all that you know, all that you love, until you have no shelter but mine.” 

“If men were ashamed when they should be, they’d have no time for anything else.” 

“I want to survive this world that keeps trying to destroy me.” 

“Shame holds more value than coin ever can.” 

“He’d wanted me to believe in his ruthlessness.

“There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.” 

“You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.”

“I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.”

“There’s a difference between confidence and arrogance.” “I don’t hold a grudge. I cradle it. I coddle it. I feed it fine cuts of meat and send it to the best schools.”

“I can’t decide if you’re a fearmonger or a coward.”

“And I can’t decide if you’re an idiot or an idiot.” 

“Greed may do your bidding, but death serves no man.” 

“Men mock the gods until they need them.”

“I am not ruined. I am ruination.”

“The less you say, the more weight your words will carry.” 

“Make me your villain.”

“The moment our lips met, I knew with pure and piercing certainty that I would have waited for him forever.” 

“I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.”’

“Facts are for the unimaginative.” 

“Do you have a different name for killing when you wear a uniform to do it?” 

“Though he’d trusted her with his life countless times, it felt much more frightening to trust her with his shame.” 

“The problem with heroes and saints is they are usually dead.”

“Maybe love was superstition, a prayer we said to keep the truth of loneliness at bay.” 

“Weakness is a guise. Wear it when they need to know you're human, but never when you feel it.” 

“Always hit where the mark isn't looking”

"I am grateful that you're beside me. I am grateful that you're eating." 

“Beauty was your armor. Fragile stuff, all show. But what's inside you? That's steel. It's brave and unbreakable. And it doesn't need fixing.

“I missed you every hour. And you know what the worst part was? It caught me completely by surprise. I'd catch myself just walking around to find you, not for any reason, just out of habit, because I'd seen something that I wanted to tell you about or because I wanted to hear your voice. “

“When people say impossible, they usually mean improbable.”

“I would have come for you. And if I couldn't walk, I'd crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we'd fight our way out together-knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that's what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you'll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet.”

“I will have you without armor or I will not have you at all.”

“The heart is an arrow. It demands aim to land true.” 

“It's not natural for women to fight."

"It's not natural for someone to be as stupid as he is tall, and yet there you stand.” 

“When everyone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.” 

“My ghost won’t associate with your ghost.”

“Fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.”

“We are all someone's monster.” 

[residual-fortitude]

I am astonished. By how far the terfs will go. Astonished and terrified and just... tired. I knew they're manipulative asshole supremacists but I didn't realize how *deceptive* they can be. They call us the liars, the fools, the posers. They say *we're* the ones trying to trick *them.*

And yet. They're the ones putting out media that could be trans positive, that could highlight the injustices committed by them. And they're the ones putting them in all the right tags. All the trans safe tags that we thought were safe, because "there's no way they'll try to put themselves into a space they're not safe."

I just found an account on IG. "quotesbytranswomen". Puts out news about trans women facing injustice. Seems safe, right? They even tag it with "trans rights are human rights," "trans lives matter," "trans is beautiful," all the tags we use to promote positivity and LOVE. But then they put an ambiguous caption-- something that could be taken either way-- and then finally, hidden among the tags, tucked so carefully between the positivity "radfem safe." Some even go so far as adding "Trump" or "conservative." And the cherry on top. Their profile pic is the trans flag, and their caption is about "autogynephilia." The bullshit idea from a far right neofascist that was refuted nearly 20 YEARS AGO that they still use as their call to arms.

It's hard enough getting by with anxiety and dysphoria. It's hard enough dealing with the negativity in person. But now I'm supposed to make a thorough search of all accounts I look at to see if there's any HINT of terf bullshit?? Within my only safe space they have placed a poison so enticing, so secretive that they can even get trans kids spitting their murderous ideologies.

THEY ARE EVIL

It doesn't matter what religion/lack of you may believe. No good has come from deception. Only evil. I do not use these terms lightly but they fit all of them. They are EVIL. They are COWARDS. They are a BLIGHT on humanity and the definition of HATRED.

We're tricking them? Who is it that is trying to legally define another SENTIENT BEING as SUBHUMAN. Who is it that tries to use fascist platforms and the idea of a Boogeyman to convince the ignorant masses to allow them to MURDER US? Who has entire essays and handbooks on how to hide within a community and feed enough lies to gain trust before spitting their own indoctrination? In the same manner that led to the Red Scare and the suspicion of sleeper cells within our communities?

And then who is it that offers help to those that have nowhere to go? That offer HOPE to those with none? That give LIFE to those that no longer wish for one?

It is sickening that we have to fear them. That we have to conform to their "normality." That we have to master *learning and teaching how to not be detected/outed* so that no more lives need to be lost?

It is even more sickening that the only way to combat this is with compassion. Because if we spread hate we will just prove their point to the masses.

"He who fights monsters should make sure he does not himself become a monster"

--Friedrich Nietzsche

They do not fear us. So we cannot fear them. No matter how many death threats we receive, no matter how much hate they send, we cannot back down. Or they win. We cannot back down or we lose everything. We cannot back down or the lives we have lost will be for nothing. We cannot back down or they will never know us. Let them see the love we have for our communities. Let them see the love we can give and receive. But most of all, let them see our grief and our pain so that they realize that our blood is on their hands. Show them beyond any doubt that we are HUMAN. Show them that they can no longer hide their crimes. Show them that we will not forget and that we will not back down.

[waiting4inspiration]

The Curtain Falls III: Act 2 (Ivar x Reader)

Summary: Ivar finds you praying to the Goddess Freya and something changes in him. 

Warnings:  mentions of war, mentions of poisons, fluff, strong language, small angst, i don’t know what else XD

Word Count: 2,049

The Curtain Falls Masterlist II Vikings Masterlist

You watch the flames flicker in front of you as you light another candle with the one you hold, your lower lip tucked in between your teeth as you watch the wax drop onto the wick of the candle you try to light. When it’s lit, you smile to yourself and place the candle back in its spot before looking up at the carved idol of the Goddess Freya. 

Upon looking at her face and remembering why you came to her shrine, your smile drops and you breathe out a sigh. “I have always trusted in you, Freya,” you whisper, reaching over the flames and gently laying a hand on the idol. “I often prayed to you when I was a child that I would find a husband I was worthy of, who would be worth for me. I thought that man was Ivar when I met him. But things seem so difficult now,” you add, your fingers tracing the carved lines in the wood. Your eyes fall shut and your head bows slightly. “Please, help me. I want to love Ivar, but he makes it so hard and I don’t know why. Please,” you beg, looking back up at the idol as you drop your hand to your side. 

Shifting your gaze to the things beside you, you reach for the basket of fresh fruit and gently place it on the shrine along with a jug of mead and a container of honey; offerings to the Goddess. 

You stay for a while, staring at the idol as your prayer whispers in your mind. Then, you hear a sound from outside the room and it pulls your head away from the shrine. Slowly, you push yourself off of your knees and stand to your feet. You stare at the door, straining to hear if someone is outside but when you don’t hear anything you glance at the shrine one last time before walking out of the room. 

Thinking that no one is outside the room, you don’t bother to check around you as you walk out or look over your shoulder. So, you don’t see Ivar standing in the darkness of the hall waiting for you to come out. 

He had heard your voice speaking of him and thought you were speaking to someone else, perhaps another man. But when no one follows you out of the room you were in, he frowns to himself and takes a step forward when you turn around the corner and out of sight. He looks in the room and his eyes go straight to the shrine of Freya. His mouth falls slightly open when he realizes what you were doing. 

His head turns back to the direction you walked off in, his heart yearning to follow you at the knowledge that you were praying to Freya. Of course, he knows you believe in the Gods. You’re a Viking woman. But you and him never really spoke of them to each other before so he never knew how devoted you are. Knowing now, it almost changes his view on you and it intrigues him more. 

Ivar decides to go on the feeling inside him and moves away from the room to follow you. Although he didn’t see where you went, he has an idea where you might go. 

As of late, you’ve been preoccupied with the box your mother handed down to you, reading and rereading the pieces of parchment that contain recipes written on them. You recognize some of the handwriting to be your mother’s but the others you don’t know who they belong to. In the pouches, you’ve found some of the ingredients to make the poisons. It all seems complicated and you’re a bit scared to try and make anything. 

But, from the vials that seem to have been refilled before the box was handed down to you, you think it will be a while before you will have to brew anything. And you don’t know when you’ll be trying to poison anyone just yet. You haven’t even filled the small container in your ring yet. 

Ivar hasn’t bothered you with this new item, so you don’t make a fuss when he walks into the room. You don’t even look up at him. You just carry on reading the slightly longer, most complicated recipe in the box. 

He stares at you for a moment, smiles to himself when he sees how invested you are with the piece of parchment in your hand before he starts to walk towards you. “What is that you’re reading?” he asks, and he has to stop himself from laughing when your head snaps to him as if you were a deer that sensed a hunter. 

Surprised that he’s taking an interest in something other than what he normally wants, something that has to do with you, your mouth drops open and the words struggle to leave your throat. Has Freya already begun to do her work, you ask yourself. “I don’t think you will be interested in this,” you whisper, looking back at the piece in your hands as you gently fold the way it had been and place it back in the box. 

Ivar huff steps up beside you and reaches into the box to pick up a strange-looking herd. “Don’t touch that,” you quickly shout, your hand shooting out to grab his wrist. “It could be dangerous.”

“It’s a flower,” he bluntly says, raising his eyebrow at you as his eyes flicker between your hand holding his wrist and your face. 

You give him a stern look which makes him sigh and he drops the herb to the table which in turn makes you let go of his wrist. Gently picking up the piece of flora, you put it back in the box and close the lid, letting Ivar see the serpent carved into the wood. 

He quickly glances behind him to see how close the chair is and he shifts to sit in it, resting his crutch against the table. “So, tell me what this is about.” He leans back in his seat, folds his arms over his chest, and smiles when you look up at him with wide eyes. 

You have no idea why he’s so interested in this, why he’s interested in something you’re doing now. You’re shocked that this is happening so quickly. You thought that your prayer to Freya would only be answered in a year or so. But who are you to question the Gods’ motives and the time they decide to answer prayers? 

Clearing your throat, you rest your hand on top of the box and look down at it. “It contains a variety of poisons, recipes, and ingredients for poisons,” you explain, looking up at Ivar as you speak. He really seems interested in this. “It was given to me by my mother so that I have a place in this war.”

The small smile on his face falls and his jaw tenses at your words. You bite the inside of your cheek at the shift in his expression and demeanor as he unfolds his arms. “Your place in this war?” he questions, narrowing his eyes at you. “What makes you think I’m going to let you take part in this?” 

“It is my family’s tradition that a wife stays by her husband’s side during a war. Like real Viking women,” you fight back, pulling your hand away from the box and resting your hands in your lap. “I’m not going to sit aside and weave blankets like a child,” you snap at him, the moment you had now gone and you’re back at fighting with him. 

“You will be walking into a violent fight with dangerous flowers. What makes you think people will stop trying to kill you so you can pour poison down their throat?” He leans forward, keeping his eyes on your face. 

You narrow your eyes at him and lift your head in confidence. “You’ll just have to trust me.” That makes him laugh and he falls back into his chair. “Why is that so hard for you to do, Ivar?” you ask, scooting to the edge of your seat to get closer to your husband. 

He runs his tongue over his lower lip, his eyes staring deeper into yours as he thinks of his answer. But he can’t come up with a reason he doesn’t trust you. You haven’t given him one. His head drops between his shoulders and he sighs, making your face fall and your heart skips a beat. “I just don’t want to lose you,” he mutters but because you’re so close to him, you hear his words, and again, your heart skips a beat. 

You’re not sure if you heard correctly or if your mind is playing tricks on you. Perhaps it was Loki that heard your prayer instead of Freya. But this… You’ve never seen Ivar like this. He’s never spoken like this to you when you were both alone. It’s different. And yet, it gives you a jolt of joy that things can change and your marriage can be like your parents; happy. 

“You don’t act like you don’t want to lose me. Some days I think you can’t wait to get rid of me,” you softly say, taking your mother’s words into account about just talking to him. 

His eyes lift up to you for a small moment before he shakes his head. You can tell he won’t tell you why. “Please, talk to me, Ivar,” you beg, sinking down off your seat to kneel beside him, your hand resting over his makes his eyes snap to you again. 

“You will think I’m weak-”

“I could never think that of you,” you stop him, his head lifting at your words as your hand wraps around his. “Ivar, you are the strongest person I’ve ever known and I thought that even before I met you. What could you possibly say that makes me think you’re weak?”

“You called me a coward because I fled Kattegat before it was attacked,” he mentions, a smile growing on his face when he sees your eyes growing wide like you had forgotten about that. But he stops you from trying to defend yourself by touching the side of your face. He understands, he knows more than anyone how someone can say something they might not mean in anger. “After everything I’ve done to you, all the reasons I’ve given you to leave, you still stayed. You still pray to Freya for us. Why?” he asks, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear as you stare up at him in shock. 

You had no idea that he knows of your prayers to Freya. How long has he known? Has he heard you mutter prayers in the night when you thought he was asleep? You shake your head, glance down at his hand that you hold, and chuckle as a smile grows on your face. “I don’t know. I guess it’s because I believe in change.”

He smiles when you look up at him again, his fingers moving to trace your jawline. “Even in monsters like me?” he asks, his voice soft as his thumb swipes over your lower lip. 

“Of course. If you’ll let me in and not treat me like shit.” He blinks down at you, gently nods his head as his eyes travel over your face. He’s never looked at you like this, never touched you like this. It’s different but nice. “We can work on it,” you whisper, standing to your feet by using the arms of the chair to push yourself up. 

Ivar watches you as you pick the box off the table and walk with it across the room to put it away. He smiles to himself because he remembers the fierceness he saw in your eyes when he met you. He knew you would be a good woman for his image. A fierce queen beside him. He only realizes now how much that died down because of how he treated you and lied to you. 

But he can see it slowly coming back. It must be Freya’s blessing. Freya might be working in him too because he can’t stop smiling at you. 

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Curtain Falls tags- @thewrittingworldofeva​

[aurora-light-blog]

Dothraki War Against the Hyrkoon

                           By Shella Longclaw

Maesters cite the battle of the “Three Thousand of Qohor” as the reason for stopping the Dothraki advance to the west of Essos. As for the east,the powerful Hyrkoon prevented their conquest. Khal Como and Khal Evo engaged in the greatest battles against the Hyrkoon.

Khal Evo is the legendary khal, who devastated the Qaathi and left only the city of Qarth in his wake. Near the end of Khal Evo campaign against the Qaathi, his forces attacked the city of Qolahn. The people of the city fled to either Qarth or Bayasabhad. Those who ran to Qarth never made it there. However, those who fled to Bayasabhad survived. The Hyrkoon don’t interfere in other kingdoms’ fighting. They do render lodging to travelers. Upon seeing the fortress city,Khal Evo promptly besiege the city. General Satyana of the Hyrkoon didn’t put up much of a fight in beginning. Qartheen scribes stated that she kept taunting the Dothraki to continue fighting for weeks. General Satyana knew the Red Waste was growing and the Dothraki had no food stored. When summer arrived, the Dothraki were starving. Some of Khal Evo’s men retreated like cowards. The barren desert killed them all. As for Khal Evo, General Satyana finally unleashed her entire army upon him and crushed them all. The Hyrkoon feasted on the Dothraki horses and sacrifice all the Dothraki captives to their gods. The Qaathi rewarded the Hyrkoon with rubies and steel. To this day, Qarth keeps a treaty of peace with the sister city of Bayasabhad.

As Khal Evo’s name strikes disdain from the Qartheen, Khal Como stroke fear in the hearts of the Ghisari. He destroyed and plundered many of their cities and towns. His campaign met with little resistance. He attacked a small Ghiscari town and renamed it Vaes Efe. After that, he set his sights on Yinishar. Most people of the city fled to Samyrian for safety. Khal Como didn’t fear the fortress city, since he had toppled giant walls and pyramids. He besieged the city for a month with no success. Hiding near the Poison Sea, bloodthirsty raiders attacked the Dothraki at night. Instead of taking advantage of their enemies distraction, General Kiahna of the Hyrkoon aided the Dothraki in fighting the raiders, who had been a plague upon the surrounding territory. This peace was temporary, and Dothraki went back to fighting them.

Like the harshness in the south, the Dothraki would beset by another problem, the influence of the warrior women. Several female Dothraki began to desire to fight as well. When two daughters of a ko ran away to join the Hyrkoon, Khal Como began to fear infighting and bad influence. It didn’t help that some of his men weren’t against the idea of warrior women. The foremost supporter had been his khalakka or heir Bronko. Khal Como became enraged at learning Bronko had sex with a Hyrkoon warrior Myrna. He fought his son and killed him, though he died as well. Thus, his second son Gabbo became khal. Khal Gabbo known as Khal the Fool attacked Samyrian head on. Dothraki had always done sweeps before. He quickly learned the folly of attacking the “Giant Stone of Samyrian” as the Yi Tish called the city. The Hyrkoon shattered the Dothraki forces. Khal Gabbo retreated in disgrace to Vaes Dothrak.

The Dosh Khaleen presided over the problem of the Hyrkoon. The Dothraki had been attempting to raid Kayakayanaya for many years. They were met with only failure. Now, with the defeat at Samyrian, the Dosh Khaleen wisely advised the Dothraki to pursue peace with the Hyrkoon in order to get trade with the Further East. Four khals spoke with Great Fathers and made terms. This had been a rare occurrence, which the Dothraki don’t like to talk about. Unlike with other kingdoms, the Dothraki receive no tributes from the Hyrkoon. Some Dothraki still desire to fight the Hyrkoon and plunder Yi Ti. The wiser ones don’t dare challenge the warrior women of the Hyrkoon.

[alexhogh7137]

The Battle Between Love and Fire-

Ivar the Boneless × Reader

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty: "...just as soon as Naharis thinks that things can't get any worse..I will make it worse.."

Word Count 3.5k

Warnings: brutal, heavy angst, mentions of blood and body parts, death of character

When you see Daario in the middle of the floor, bleeding from his abdomen, you feel a sense of regret. However, that soon passes when you see your people's faces. A sense of relief washes over them at such a sight that it gives you an immediate sense of purpose. You have to do what is right for your people. 

Daario "Y/n..please-"

"Silence." He does as he was told, "You shall not speak, do you understand?" He looks down as he nods. You walk backwards, towards Ivar because he is your strength and your guidance. "As you all can see, your once leader of this kingdom is wounded. I have my reasons as to why, but my husband has informed me of some of the things Daario has done since I have been away-"

"He killed her!" A woman shouted. 

"He killed who?"

"Helga, he killed Helga!" Your heart broke in your ribcage at the confirmation. 

You slowly nod, "How did he do it-"

Daario "She's lying!" 

"Hvitserk.." he looks at you and then draws his sword, approaching Daario. 

Daario "No-NO!" Hvitserk does not listen to his words and gives him a fresh, deep wound. Close to the first one but still, not deep enough to kill him. Daario screams out in pain and it seems to amuse Ivar. 

Hvitserk kneels down to him, looking him in the eye and tisks his tongue "She told you not to talk yet you still disobey.."

Daario "They're ly-" Hvitserk stops him from continuing with his blade to his throat. 

"Hvitserk..not yet." Hvitserk hesitates to draw back his axe but he does. "Miss, please tell me what happened."

"She came to me one night in a panic. She told me what Daario was planning."

Ivar "What was he planning?"

"To overthrow you all, my king." Ivar bangs his crutch on the floor and clenches his jaw. "Helga told me that he was planning on returning to Kattegat in two moons time. She said that he noticed from his last visit how weak you looked, my queen." You recall that time being a painful one for you. "So he was waiting, hoping that you would weaken enough to kill you-"

Daario "THAT IS A LIE! Y/N, PLEASE! Do not listen to this!" You raise your hand, signaling him to stop talking.

"Continue."

Daario "Y/n!-"

"But Helga realized that she knew too much. She feared for her life and was too going to make her way to you but the morning of her attempt, he found her packing and slit her throat." You close your eyes because you could vividly see that happening to Helga, that it was unbearable. 

"Is that all you wish to tell me?"

"Yes, my queen-"

"We fell ill!" An older gentleman shouted from the back. "We all did. Infants, children, men, women..the elderly. We think that he poisoned our livestock-"

Daario "I DID NO SUCH THING!"

"Ubbe, keep him quiet." Ubbe grabs him by the mouth, holding him still and quiet. 

"That is a big accusation, please tell me why you think that." Multiple villagers explained why and it made you infuriated. Why? Because they too told you how many lives were lost due to the spread of an unknown illness. 

"Thank you for telling me this. As you know, I will not allow such things to go unpunished. You are my people and therefore you all have a say in this man's death." Daario attempts to speak so Ubbe pushes on his wounds, causing him to scream. Ivar walks ahead of you, sweating from being so enraged. And in that moment you saw what was in his mind.You knew what he was planning. 

Ivar "Do you all know who I am, huh?!" 

"You are the son of Ragnar..aren't you?" 

Ivar "I am. We are." He looks at his brother's, "and being a son of Ragnar, you all know of our reputation no?" They all shout in agreement. "So you know that he must die for the pain that he has caused all of you." Once again, they agree. "I cannot express to you my hatred towards cowards like him. A coward who got a taste of power and wanted more." He walks towards Daario, "Even if you tried, you would have never won Naharis." He leans in closer and whispers in his ear, "I've missed this.." Ubbe could hear what his brother spoke and his heart rate skyrocketed. Ivar has not killed anyone in quite some time and he has been a better man because of it. Ubbe just hopes that his brother is not the one who in fact kills Daario, that it will be someone else. 

_____________________________

You spoke to your people and many of them suggested death by hanging. Some suggested death by fire and a few suggested death by sword. You took in consideration everyone's choice but you also have your own way of doing things. Especially when this man was indeed planning on returning to Kattegat to kill you and your family. The thought of trusting a man who you trusted with your kingdom, has betrayed you just makes you so ill. You cannot believe that this has happened, again. You let your people down and this has to stop. 

Ivar "We have your dragon's here."

"Are you suggesting he gets eaten?"

Ivar "Not exactly," he chuckles, "I am suggesting he gets burned."

"Rightfully so.."

Ivar "Just as soon as Naharis thinks that things can't get worse. I will make it worse-"

Hvitserk "I want to kill him."

Ivar "Excuse me?"

Hvitserk "You heard what I said Ivar."

Ivar "And why should you get those honors, huh?"

Hvitserk "He was coming back to Kattegat Ivar..to try to kill all of us-"

Ivar "We know this Hvitserk-"

Hvitserk "And that includes Asta!" Ivar's emotions completely shifted instantly. You do not think that Ivar realized that Daario would have tried to kill her and that made him feel every emotion at once. "You can hurt him Ivar but I want to be the one to kill him."

Ivar "Alright. Only if Y/n agrees." Hvitserk looks at you with a need in his eyes. He needs this. 

"Can I at least help..?"

Hvitserk's mouth forms a small smile, "I wouldn't want it any other way."

You have Ubbe and your viking guards, drag Daario into the courtyard of the kingdom. Your people gather and you stand in front of Daario. Your dragon's shriek at the first sight of what is about to happen. They can sense the change in the environment around them, the energy around them. 

Ivar "So..how would you like to die?" He asks as he crutches his way towards the whimpering man. He, of course, does not answer. "Hmm?" He makes Daario look up at him by lifting his face with the sharp end of his crutch. "I asked you a question. Have you forgotten how to speak, huh?" 

Daario "No" he coughs, "I just refuse to answer your question. Ivar..the Boneless."

Ivar snickers and looks at you for confirmation to hurt him, to which you let him. He takes his dagger and forces his mouth to be opened. Daario keeps his mouth tightly closed so Ubbe forces his mouth open by hitting him hard enough for him to scream. Once he does, Ivar takes the opportunity and cuts out his tongue. It was a shock to hear your people shouting in praise of what your husband just did to the man, but it put your heart at peace with what is happening today. 

Ivar "Now..you can't speak." He wiggles his tongue in front of him with a proud smile on his face while the man screams and chokes on his own blood. "Maybe now, you will not talk when you're not allowed too..hm?" He rises himself and before he walks back to you, he throws Daario's tongue in his lap. 

Ubbe "Who's next aye!?" Hvitserk grabs you before you could start to walk by grabbing your arm. 

Hvitserk "Are you sure?"

"He was going to kill all of us Hvitserk. You said it yourself, that includes Asta. Yes..I am sure." He lets go of your arm and steps back. You kneel down in front of him, just as Ivar did moments prior and take out his own dagger. 

"Just..nod for an answer." He looks at you, "Would you have killed Asta?" He looks around him, spotting Asta in the arms of a maiden, and shakes his head 'no'. You look behind you with hesitation in your eyes, to Hvitserk. In that moment, he knew what you were telling him, with your eyes. You did not know what to do. 

Ubbe "Y/n..he is lying to you." You look up at him, "He has lied to you from the very beginning. He said no because he knows that you would spare him!" You knew what Ubbe was saying to be true, so you buried your emotions deep inside and placed the dagger between his legs. He starts to squirm immediately but that puts him in even more pain. 

"You want me so badly, don't you?" He starts to scream, "Well how about I fix that problem then..hmm?" With one clean strike, the problem was fixed. Ivar was in shock at first, but then extremely impressed. Every viking shouted so loudly to show their approval that you could swear the whole world could hear them. 

Ubbe "Neith, Eldr..Ryuu..DINNER!" He takes his privates from your hands and orders a guard to feed it to your dragon's. Daario has fallen unconscious from the pain of it all. Two stab wounds, now a loss of a tongue along with his privates. Could you blame him? 

You look at Hvitserk, "Finish him off once he wakes." And he nods.

__________________________________

As you waited for Daario to wake, you had a talk with your people. Trying to figure out what to do since your kingdom needs a ruler, but you are to rule by Ivar's side. 

"I feel as if I have failed you all. I trusted this man with you all and he has brought only agony. I wish that I knew what was happening here..I could have stopped it before it got to this point-"

"I sent you letters, my queen." A woman shouted. 

"Letters? I never received your letters."

Ivar "He must have stopped the order."

"He must have, we have not received any letters from any of you."

"That explains why-"

"We thought he had already killed you!" A young boy said. 

Ivar "When? From his last trip?"

"Yes, my king. He said that it was his mission. We figured once he returned, that the queen of Wessex was dead." You look at your husband and then to Hvitserk. Both of them had hate in their eyes, but also fear. They had no idea of Daario's intentions. They had speculations, but never enough to act upon. 

Ivar "Well," he walks closer to the people, "I can assure you all, I would have never let that happen." He offers them a smile, to which they nod and smile back. "Your queen is a fierce queen. Strong and noble, but with a good heart. He wouldn't have been able to kill her." 

Hvitserk "Your queen would have saved you all, if she had received those letters."

"We know. That is why we thought that you were all dead." The maiden who is holding Asta said.

"I am here. I am here for you all."

They all shout in unison. They never stopped believing in you. They never lost their love for their queen. Only feared of your demise. 

Daario wakes, barely. He tries to move, but is too weak from the loss of blood. You are surprised to see him still alive, but you are glad to see that Hvitserk will get his chance of revenge. 

Hvitserk walks in front of your people and draws this axe, "I am aware that you all do not know me very well. You notice me always by your queens side, and being a son of Ragnar Lothbrok. But before I kill the man that almost killed my family, I would like to tell you why I wish to do so." He takes a step forward, "Your queen has endured more than most people do in their entire lifetime on this earth. And so have my brothers and I. My brother Ivar is a king, yes. But he suffers pain every single second that many of us cannot even comprehend." Ivar puts his head down, "And Ubbe has his own demons that he fights everyday and as for me..well. Where to start. Before Y/n came into our lives I have lost every woman I have ever loved, became an alcoholic and many more things. But since meeting her, we all became a better person. And to stand here today and hear from you good people that Daario Naharis was going to kill us all…" he walks backwards and spins his body around to face Daario, and with a loud growl, he decapitates him. 

Hvitserk looks immensely happier seconds after his actions, "I will not allow that to happen." Your people look at Hvitserk, down at the headless body a few feet away from them, and then to each other. Moments after, they bow before Hvitserk Lothbrok. To you, that made you realize who would rule your kingdom while you were in Kattegat.

…

Your dragon's fought over Naharis' body but all three of them got their fair share of him. With your people content, Ivar, Hvitserk and Ubbe more than content and your daughter now safe, you are now at peace once again. Your life is like one big rollercoaster that you so wish to keep a steady, straight line from this day forward. But you know that that was not possible. If it were, that would be the life of everyone. And where is the excitement in calmness? 

You take Asta in your arm's and you can feel the love she has for you in one touch of her hand. She grabs your face and you kiss her little fingers. Hvitserk notices and walks up to you. 

Hvitserk "She is safe now kitten."

"Yes."

Hvitserk "What is it?" 

"Oh nothing." A smirk forms on your face that you can't hide. 

Hvitserk "What are you planning?"

"Something that I think that you will absolutely love." His eyebrows furrow and a smile forms on his face. 

Hvitserk "You are sleeping with me tonight?!"

You burst laughing, "No. Well, if you want me to-but..you will find out soon enough."

Hvitserk scuffs, "Why can't you just tell me huh?"

"And why can't you be patient?" You kiss him on the cheek and then join your people. "LET'S FEAST!" you shouted.

You have already made your decision on who will rule Wessex but you wish to tell Ivar before you tell everyone around you. Ivar kisses your lips and tells you how proud he is of you. 

Ivar "I didn't expect that of you, my sweetheart."

"Oh I surprised you did I?" He laughs, "My my my, I have made Ivar Lothbrok speechless!" 

Ivar shushes you by crashing his lips onto yours and pulls back, "Only you have that power over me."

"Mm?"

Ivar "Mhm." 

"So, I have been thinking, my love."

Ivar "About?"

"My kingdom, of course."

Ivar "What about it?" He asks before taking a sip of his ale.

"Leaving it with a new ruler." And his glass pauses by his lips as he stops his sudden movements. "I think that you will like my decision."

Ivar "Your last decision tried to kill us-"

"This man is family!" 

Ivar pauses, "Family?...Hvitserk."

"Hvitserk." You give him a moment to process this and then he smiles. 

Ivar "Alright then."

"Do you approve?"

Ivar takes a deep breath, "Approval is a strong word-"

"Ivar-"

Ivar "Let me finish. My brother has always wanted to be a king. So to have him be the ruler of Wessex..would be a change for him."

"Do you think that he will accept?"

Ivar "Hvitserk wouldn't say no."

You nod, "You saw my people bow to him.."

Ivar "Yes, they did."

"So that means that they already worship Hvitserk in a way."

Ivar "You can say that.."

"Okay, then it is settled. Hvitserk becomes the ruler of Wessex." Ivar sköls to that, making your heart burst with joy. 

___________________________

The night came over Wessex and everyone gathered inside the castle for warmth. You have your men prepare a huge fire to make sure that everyone is comfortable and warm. Ivar has been holding Asta since the death of Daario. You have not seen him hold her for this long before. It has been hours and he has just held her in his arms so peacefully. 

"Do you want me to hold her?"

Ivar "No, she is about to fall asleep." You look down and see her little blue eyes flutter sleepily. 

"I know but you have been holding her for hours-" 

Ivar "Have I really?"

"Yes my love."

Ivar "Huh? Time has slipped my mind I suppose."

"Is everything alright?"

Ivar "Everything is perfect now, my sweet."

"You have never held her this long before.."

Ivar "That is going to change now, I promise." 

"Ivar-"

Ivar "No I am not going to fail Asta Y/n. I failed Baldur..he was deformed-"

"That was not your fault!"

Ivar "No, but I believe it is because she told me that he was my son even though I know that he wasn't." You just listen to his words, "I know that she is not mine but I will always love her like she is."

"She loves you Ivar. She always will."

Ivar smiles, "I hope that she won't fear me like everyone else does."

"Those people do not know the real you, Ivar. They know the old you."

Ivar "Mm. That is true. But in any case, I want them to fear me."

"There's the king that I married." You kiss his lips as he smiles. "I have to make the announcement.."

Ivar "Go, I got her."

"I love you."

Ivar "So much."

You walk up in front of your people, in front of the fire. Everyone's eyes were on you but all you saw was your family: Hvitserk, Ivar and Ubbe. You locked eyes with Hvitserk instantly and he did the same. He smiles at you, making you smile back. Then, you took a deep breath and proceeded. 

"As you all know, I rule Kattegat with my husband Ivar. With Daario gone, we must have a new ruler to lead you all while I am in Kattegat. This decision should have been my very first but I foolishly did not think of it. But I swear to you, this man will never fail you. He will never harm you or put you in danger. He is a strong man, a noble man. I love this man and I know that he will lead you all with honesty." You look at Hvitserk and he looks confused. "That man's name is Hvitserk Lothbrok."

And in that moment, everyone began to cheer. Their cups of ale crashed together and everyone was so happy. Hvitserk now smiles as it clicks in his head once you offer your hand to him. He rises from his seat and walks up to you and joins hands with yours. 

"I am sure that you have a lot to say."

Hvitserk "Y/n are you sure? What about Asta?"

"We will figure it out, I am not leaving you tonight. I do not know when we will go back to Kattegat but I am certain Hvitserk. There's no one else I want to rule here. You are the only one I trust."

Hvitserk "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything-"

Hvitserk "I love you."

"And I love you. Now talk to them.." he kisses your forehead and walks closer to them all. 

Hvitserk "I must say that this came as a surprise. But I swear on my arm ring to never fail you all. I have always wished to be a king one day. Be a good one, like my father Ragnar was. My brother Ivar knows my dreams and I am sure that he was surprised as well."

Ivar "I knew!"

Hvitserk laughs, "I am overjoyed! Tonight we will feast to many joyous moments that took place on this day! And I will make sure that you all will thrive-"

"HAIL HVITSERK!" A man shouted and soon followed every man and woman in the kingdom. You join Ivar at this time and shouted with them. Hvitserk holds in his tears of joy but one strays and you notice. 

You whisper, "Look Asta, look at daddy-" she coos, "He will make Wessex great again. Great for you to one day rule, little one." Seconds after those words left your lips, a vision crept into your eyes. You see Asta as a young woman and Hvitserk by her side. They look at each other and share a quick smile before he himself, places the crown upon her head. 

THE END

@hvitserkmarcosource @youbloodymadgenius @ivarsgoddess @a-mess-of-fandoms @krissydclayton93 @readsalot73 @heavenly1927 @saldelys

[queenofthefullmoon]

An exhaustive list of Bloodborne bosses I would or would not date

Father Gascoigne

We’re starting this list off with a strong yes. You may be like, but Blue, this is a married man with two daughters! To this I reply: I pretend not to hear it. Also, not to be horrible, but his wife is dead while I’m right there baby, with my blunderbuss and my axe, and I’m ready to risk it all. YES, I know he’s a very stinky man, but you gotta make compromises sometimes. What’s that smell? Ah, the sweet dilf, it sings to me.

Cleric Beast

Let me be clear, I’m not a furry, but the Cleric Beast has stated some facts and made some points! The only reason why I’m not to keen on dating it is that it can’t best me in battle, which is something I’m always looking for in a partner.

Blood Starved Beast

Our first no of the list, I’m not very into skin flaps and poison, which the Blood Starved Beast has plenty of. Moreover, I’d have to get Djura’s approval, and that scares me beyond anything else in Yharnam.

Vicar Amelia

Another Cleric Beast, this time with a bit more flair to it. First of all we just have to admire the way she transforms, very sexy and bloody, which is something you’re gonna want in your relationship if you’re someone who likes fun. (Thiccar) Amelia, cradle me like your golden pendant.

Hemwick witches

Another hard no here. No offense, but I like having eyes, and dating a pair of witches covered in eyes that they’ve been harvesting for years doesn’t seem like a good idea to me!

Shadows of Yharnam

Honestly yeah? You get 3 cool partners in black robes for the price of one. They all wield different weapons, which makes for two excellent things. First of all, you get a very efficient bodyguard team (useful at parties, when a hunter gets drunk on blood, or when you open your front door and a beast is there). Secondly, if you want to have a fun sparring match with your partners, which we all know is a fundamental activity in a couple, you have very varied options!

And a bonus for animal lovers: they can spawn snakes at will for you!! Never a boring day with your 3 hooded partners.

Rom, the vacuous spider

NO. Don’t date Rom. She’s baby! She doesn’t understand what’s going on. Instead, here’s a list of nice activities you can do with Rom:

- Read her stories

- Trims her back growths

- Clean her teeth

- Make her some cute little glasses

- Knit matching socks for her and her children

- Teach her new spells

- Not date her

Darkbeast Paarl

Paarl is a similar situation as Rom. He’s just a little puppy… He doesn’t know what dating is. He knows what going on a walk means, though! So go on, go on a happy little walk with Paarl. He’ll love it, you’ll have fun, everyone will be happy.

Amygdala

Yes. Evidence that it’s a good idea is: lots of arms (good hugs), can grab the shit out of me, CAN and WILL crush me, can sometimes shatter my consciousness with its eldritch powers (very sexy), can send me in other dimensions, will annihilate my enemies with a funky laser beam, and the most amazing feature: can pop it’s eyes out of its skull like a stress ball (fun trick to show your friends at parties). The ideal girlfriend.

The One Reborn

NO!!!!! There’s a lot of freaky stuff I’d date in Bloodborne but the One Reborn is NOT one of them. Firstly, it has 6 nannies. Do I look like the type of person who wants their dates consistently moderated by 6 Pthumerian elders? No!!! I’m a free bitch baby!! And in addition to that, Juan Reborn just has too many limbs. It’s not okay. If we ever got engaged I wouldn’t know where to slip the ring.

Micolash, Host of the Nightmare

Would I..? No, I wouldn’t… Unless? Haha, just kidding. Wait… Actually… Um.

I mean… If you’re into bastardous hysterical little men who howl while running around, sure. BUT beware… You might lose him in a mirror and never find him again, which I find very inconvenient. Imagine going shopping with a guy who compulsively disappears in mirrors. Imagine explaining to the store employees why your dumbass boyfriend broke all their mirrors.

Also, how will we kiss?  With the cage on the way?

Oh god, do I have to wear a cage too?

Celestial Emissaries

I’m not against having a multitude of partners but I’m afraid that might be too much for me. Also, they look like little tiny bebes. I know I’ve said before that I wasn’t ready to be a parent, but I might make an exception for the Celestial Emissaries — let them chill in my home, make them pb&j sandwiches, stuff like that.

Ebrietas, Daughter of the Cosmos

Dear Ebrietas… I have a lot of fondness for her but she looks way too much like mac’n’cheese for comfort. She’s invited for sleepovers and all, no doubt about that, but I see our future together as platonic.

Martyr Logarius

Now Listen… Logarius is an Enemy of women. The proof of his crimes still remains in Cainhurst castle. Do I want to date the genocidal Yharnam Santa? Are you really asking me that? Do you take me for Executioner Alfred? I am not crazy. I will not date Martyr Logarius and his red skulls spamming ass (however miss Annalise queen of the Vilebloods, call me).

Mergo’s Wet Nurse

Um yes of course? Tall dark eldritch wife? I feel like Mergo’s Wet Nurse is the Dancer of Bloodborne, where I’m in a situation where I’m presented with the ideal girlfriend and people expect me to say no because she’s an enormous eldritch entity who could kill me in one hit or whatever. Do you think me a coward? Do you believe that I am not willing to risk it all for invisible girls? Think again.

Gehrman, the First Hunter

Ew no! Gross! He’s gonna make a doll designed after me and I will have to call the police!

Moon Presence

On one hand yes (see Mergo’s Wet Nurse) but on the other hand… I feel like the Moon Presence would be too possessive and easily jealous. I just need some freedom, yknow? The liberty to go out and make friends with other Great Ones. And I know she would NOT like that. She’d ask me if I’m the only Great One I’m talking to and I’d have to nervously hide my phone and say Yes Babe Always Babe, lest she would shackle me to an unending dream. I’m not about that life.

Ludwig the Accursed/the Holy Blade

I genuinely don’t know what to say. The screaming horse man? Am I— the horse boy? Him? No. I… I’m not gonna. I love his sword. Lots of class. Very good theme song, could be cool to have him as a friend (maybe I could ride him around to different locations?) but to date? Kiss his horse mouth? KISS HIS EYE MOUTH? You could say that… Neigh.

Laurence, the First Vicar

NOW WE’RE TALKING BABEY… All the class of the Cleric Beast with FIRE included! Picture this: it’s the winter, it’s snowing, and you’re cold… NOT! You are dating a FLAMING BEAST, you are never cold. Laurence has one proper arm to hold you and one arm that’s a constant flaming inferno, which means he’s great for the summer and the winter, depending on which temperature you want to be at. Your enormous flaming boyfriend will always be at your side.

Living Failures

First of all mood, second of all, this is kind of a Celestial Emissaries situation where I’m not against having many partners but I don’t want a whole congregation of them. There’s just too many Living Failures. I also like dating people with faces? And that aren’t, like, blue. So it’s a no from me, but I’ll befriend them. I’ll go garden with them and all. We can have a girls’ night, it’s all good.                      

Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower

I’m gonna have to be predictable and say yes here, but fair warning, Lady Maria isn’t for everyone! I know she looks like the perfect wife, but get this; this lady is a hunter. She’s only a lady because she’s related to royals. She has nothing ladylike in her. You think she takes baths? You think she knows what self-care IS????? I laugh at your ignorance, at how you misunderstand her. Maria is a stinky girl; but she is MY stinky girl.

Orphan of Kos

I don’t want to date the Orphan of Kos because he was literally just born and still has his placenta attached to him.  I don’t care for infants, and I don’t care for violent infants. I wouldn’t even want to invite him over to play with the Celestial Emissaries or something. He’s like that asshole child in kindergarten who hurts the other kids for fun. Am I being harsh to a literal baby and an orphan at that? Maybe. But Kos herself couldn’t tell me I’m wrong.

Bonus chalice boss: Yharnam, Pthumerian Queen

Now listen here… Yharnam is a queen, tall and kinda eldritch, absolutely rabid, which we’ve established is my type. Shall I step on the toes of Oedon and declare her mine? Perhaps. She has a very powerful scream, which worries me in case of a domestic fight, but overall I get to marry a kind of eldritch queen, which is alright in my book. I know she has an equally eldritch baby, but it’s formless, so it doesn’t bother me that much.   Dark Souls 1 ll Dark Souls 2 SOTFS ll Dark Souls 3

[yellowocaballero]

Hunt!Tim: Five Times He Murdered Someone And One Time He Loved them <3

Just kidding. This is a fic set in my Roleswap AU, acting as a character study over the course of the series into...whatever the fuck was going on with that guy. I spent so much time and energy actually figuring out his arc and character that when I finished Solitaire I hadn’t said everything I wanted to say, so that’s why this exists. It’s...not funny at all. Tim takes himself far too seriously. I’m very sorry, there are almost no jokes in this. It just doesn’t work. 

Content warning for story typical issues; but more explicit depiction of suicidal ideation, kidnapping and physical assault, just in general a very fucked up little dude, and gendered violence that is more explicitly discussed as a possible precursor to further violence. Rest under the cut.  

“I’m going to fucking kill them!”

“Well,” Sasha said, tapping away relentlessly on her phone as she sat primly on his couch. During work hours she was always doing something mysterious on her laptop, and after work it was on her phone. She had once alluded to being the moderator of an improbable number of forums. She liked the power. “We could probably make that happen. It’s the Magnus Institute, it’s suspicious if nobody's dying. But four people at once may not be prudent.”

“I don’t care!” Tim yelled. He paced his living room in tight lines, turning sharply on his heel at the end of the room. It felt like he was bursting with pent-up energy and rage, sending his heartbeat thumping in his ears like a war drum. “They’re obstructing justice, withholding evidence from an investigation, probably acting as an accomplice -”

i

“I’m going to fucking kill them!”

“Well,” Sasha said, tapping away relentlessly on her phone as she sat primly on his couch. During work hours she was always doing something mysterious on her laptop, and after work it was on her phone. She had once alluded to being the moderator of an improbable number of forums. She liked the power. “We could probably make that happen. It’s the Magnus Institute, it’s suspicious if nobody's dying. But four people at once may not be prudent.”

“I don’t care!” Tim yelled. He paced his living room in tight lines, turning sharply on his heel at the end of the room. It felt like he was bursting with pent-up energy and rage, sending his heartbeat thumping in his ears like a war drum. “They’re obstructing justice, withholding evidence from an investigation, probably acting as an accomplice -”

Sasha’s head snapped up, eyes glinting at him behind the big glasses that she always hid behind. “So you do think they were involved in Gertrude’s death?”

“Who cares. They did something, they’re obviously guilty of whatever. Every one of them have rap sheets.” Everyone but that blonde woman, which seemed a little counter-intuitive. “We just have to find something.”

Sasha hesitated, just momentarily, and she carefully put her phone down. “You’re angry, Tim. It’s affecting your judgement. Remember when we talked about that? Deep breaths. Come on, in one and out two. ”

Tim grimaced, but Sasha was right. He stopped pacing, and at Sasha’s encouraging look he resentfully took a few deep breaths. It did make him feel better. His heart wasn’t thumping in his ears anymore. She was so good at calming him down. She was just so wonderful in every way.

Thinking about how great Sasha was effective in clearing his head, but it just highlighted how terrible those women were in comparison. No respect. It was disgusting. 

“Thanks,” Tim said gruffly, eliciting a beautiful smile. He collapsed on the couch next to her, disgusted and frustrated. “We’re never going to solve this Robinson case so long as those women are in the way. I won’t tolerate any obstacles in getting justice.”

“I know, and that’s what’s brave about you,” Sasha soothed, clasping his shoulder gently. Her thumb worked into his shoulder, gentle and soothing. “But we have to do it quietly. We don’t just need them out of the way, we need information. I’ll work on the technological side. You can dig up an entire life online, trust me. But if they know any of the secrets about the Institute and the Archives, we have to press them. That’s your strength, Tim. You can get anything out of anyone, because you never give up.”

Tim turned his head and smiled weakly at her. “And your strength is that you’re always there for me.” Her eyebrow ticked, but Tim hardly noticed. “I’ll keep pressing. They can’t stonewall me forever. I have their boss’ address, I’ll just show up there.”

“He’s going to ask for a warrant -”

“Oh, who gives a shit, nobody cares.” Tim snorted.  “He’s a pussy if he’s hiding behind those women, anyway.” At Sasha’s carefully arched eyebrow, Tim quickly added, “Coward, I meant coward.” 

“So you do remember our conversation about being PC,” Sasha said, making Tim snort. Please. Those sensitivity training the department was always forcing on them was a joke. Tim laughed with the other guys about it afterwards. He didn’t know why Sasha was complaining; she laughed just as mockingly as the rest of them. But she just readjusted her glasses now, a sign she was a little nervous. “Tim, about what you said just before we left -”

“What about it?” Tim said sharply.

Sasha was silent for a minute, before adjusting her glasses again. “Nothing. Just - be careful, okay? People who get too close to the Magnus Institute end up dead.”

If only they would. But Tim grinned at her, bright and sharp, and Sasha hesitantly smiled back too. Tim’s conviction, his bravery, always seemed to make her feel better. Sasha thought too much. She rarely second guessed herself - that was why Tim liked her - but sometimes she just thought herself into twists. She needed someone like him to cut that Gordian Knot. “Don’t worry, Sash. The good guys always prevail.”

Tim would kill them. All he needed was a reason. 

ii. 

Tim had nightmares, now. 

Not full ones. Strange, fragmented dreams that were quickly forgotten after he woke up. Most of the time. But not always. And they were so strangely vivid - as if he was really living that moment over and over again.

It was of that construction site. And of Danny, watching those murders and the corpses with a sick, fascinated smile. And of Tim, defenseless and powerless and trembling and weak, watching it all happen. 

Sometimes there would be a man. Just once or twice. The man, who would always be wearing really stupid pyjamas that contrasted wildly with how attractive he was, would frown at Tim. 

‘Hey’, Sims said, ‘aren’t you that prick?’. 

And Tim would wake up, heart beating fast, thumping in his ears, afraid in exactly that same poisonous metallic way that he hadn’t felt since he was a child. 

Tim was going to kill that monster. 

****

On a Monday afternoon, Tim sat in the driver’s seat of his car, checking his gun. 

Gun, check. Rope, check. Shovel, check. Lighter and gasoline, check. Axe with belt, check, just in case things went really south. Gag, check. Tim had no idea how many secret powers that thing had, he wasn’t taking any chances. 

Monday was the only night that they all went home alone. It took two frustrating weeks of stake-outs to realize that. Since he had cornered that bitch Melanie she even walked home with Daisy, who apparently lived close by. It was worth it, though. She was finally feeding him useful information, even though Tim knew that she thought she was giving irrelevant information about what they really wanted. He gave most of it straight to Sasha, who was salivating over all of the puzzle pieces Melanie was casually dumping on them as if they were meaningless. Whatever. That was Sasha’s job. 

She had been worried about him lately. Probably. Tim hadn’t really noticed. He was focused on the case. Tim was a perfectionist like that. 

Finally, at 5:20, Tim saw the monster - Jon, whatever, he wasn’t scared of him - round the corner. He was a little hard to distinguish in the darkness, but that was why Tim had left the headlights on.

His heart was thumping, roaring in his ears. Tim was giddy with excitement and anticipation and thirst. Catching them wasn’t the best part, but this would feel so good. He had been vividly imagining the look of fear on the thing’s face for the past month, ever since he assaulted Tim. He just couldn’t decide how he wanted to kill him - he brought his nightstick just in case he wanted to bash his face in, but fire was practical and incredibly painful. 

Showtime, Tim thought, as he opened his car door and stepped out. After Tim took care of this, he and Sasha would be safe. That was the important thing. He was protecting Sasha from that thing. That was why he did it, all of it. 

Jon startled a little when he saw him, but his face was backlit from the headlights and his features were probably obscured. It wasn’t until Tim stepped forward, easily and casually, that Jon began the slight speedwalk of a pedestrian encountering a persistent panhandler on the street. 

“Stop right there.”

Jon froze. Not as stupid as he looks, then. Still pretty stupid. 

Tim walked forward until he was standing at Jon’s back, already silently drawing out his handcuffs with one hand. 

“Detective Stoker,” Jon said, and Tim almost respected the way his voice didn’t shake. “I wish this was more of a surprise.”

Normally Tim appreciated a good intimidating monologue, but he could be more efficient right now. Besides, there was time for that later. Jon turned his head backwards slightly, trying to see his face - perfect - and Tim waited until he could see his expression before he jammed the barrel of his gun on Jon’s throat.

There it was. The expression that few people besides Tim had ever seen, that secret face of man that each person felt so few times in their lives if they felt it at all. The face of a man who knew he was about to die. 

It was Tim’s little secret. 

“Why -”

Tim bashed it over the head with the barrel of the gun, and it dropped on the gun like a lanky puppet with its strings cut. No use letting it finish a question. 

Handcuffs, rope, trunk. Carefully just under the speed limit, barrelling out of London into the cold and emotionless woods. Turning on the stereo - some mindless Amy Winehouse song. Tim found himself whistling along with it, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. 

It wasn’t that Tim liked killing people, or even things that looked and begged and cried like people. But it was just something you had to do. Tim shouldered that burden, so innocent people wouldn’t have to. As a police officer, he had sworn to be the wolf that protects the sheep. That was Tim - that loyal and heroic wolf. 

The thrill was overwhelming. That was why people had sex in public - that excited thrill over possibly getting caught. Not that he would, and even if he did Tim basically had carte blanche to handle his cases how he wanted, but he could. His skin was prickling, his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Saliva was pooling in his mouth, which he wiped off with one hand. Adrenaline did weird things. When he looked at the rear mirror inside the car to check on Jo - the monster, he saw the light of the headlights glinting strangely against his eyes, but in another second it was gone. 

Tim didn’t have a ‘spot’ because that was fucking idiotic, but all of his dumping places had basically the same characteristics. You had to drive a while to get something really private. It took an hour, but they got to Chiltern hills eventually, and Tim was forced to squint at Google Maps to find the GPS coordinates he had planned out. It felt a little ridiculous to use Google Maps to find a burial spot for somebody but - well, life was weird. 

When he stopped, he carefully took out the gag, the axe, the shovel, his own hunting knife, and dumped them in the spot he had picked out. He held the gag and holstered the hunting knife before carefully popping open the trunk.

Jo - the monster was awake. Which was fortunate; there was no fight when they were unconscious. He stared up at Tim with big brown eyes, all innocent and pleading, and Tim rolled his eyes before bending down to securely jam the gag in his mouth before grabbing him by his tied hands and dragging him out. The thing made a bunch of sad noises, and from the sounds of it he had wrenched a shoulder, but that wouldn’t be an issue in a few minutes. 

The thing’s legs had clearly fallen asleep, and he stumbled onto the ground the minute Tim let go of him. He kept his eyes on Tim almost frantically, as if he could brainwash him by his eyes alone - could he? Could he? His eyes were fucking freaky.

Jesus. What if he could. Fuck, Tim barely knew anything about his freaky powers. But if he could brainwash via eye contact, couldn’t he - 

No. Tim shook himself. That was the fear talking. Which shouldn’t exist. The fear should be gone. He had the thing bound and gagged at his feet, terrified out of its life, he couldn’t possibly still be scared of it. Fucking stupid. He was just cautious. That was caution. Tim was a cautious person. 

Time for his favorite part, then.

Tim grinned lazily down at the thing, letting his white teeth flash in the lit headlights of the car. He hadn’t been able to sleep last night, writing all of this out in his mind. “Not so great on the other side, huh?”

The monster’s eyes widened. 

Tim dragged him away from the car, not bothering to be gentle. He kicked and pushed on the ground, and although he was bony as hell the guy was tall and desperate, and Tim was forced to kick him down on the ground and draw his gun. He hadn’t wanted to draw the gun - they never fought and kicked and snarled and bit with the gun - but he wasn’t taking any chances here. 

“I want you to know,” Tim said, friendly and warm, “that I’m doing this because I made a promise. On my badge and on my life, I protect the innocent from predators. I defend society from threats. There’s a corruption in the world, a sick and rotting infection, and it’s my job to tear it out. But I get no joy from this, okay?” He didn’t know why it was important that the monster knew that. It wasn’t like he was going to hold a grudge. The monster tried to sit up, but Tim kicked him again until he hit the ground again. Tim hated how he was shorter than him when they both were standing. He wanted to look down on him for once. 

The monster was always looking down on him. With his little girl gang and his bestest buddies. With that - that moral superiority. He thought he was so smart and popular. Just because he could rip someone’s deepest secrets out of someone, he thought he was better. Just because he knew Tim’s worst fear, he thought that he had power over Tim.

Nobody did. Nobody had power over Tim. Not anymore. 

“But you,” Tim hissed, “you, out of everyone I’ve ever killed - I’m going to enjoy you. You’ve crept into the lives of all those humans. You even got fucking Sasha telling me you’re not all bad. Is that what you do? Convince everybody around you that you’re a good person, when you’re a piece of shit inside?” His hand was trembling on his gun - that wasn’t in the script. Why was that happening? “Well, guess what. No matter how great you think you are, you will always be a monster.”

The handle of Tim’s gun was coated in sweat, making his trembling hand slide. Why? The gasoline and lighter were standing by his feet, ready to burn the body. His heart was thumping in his chest, not from anticipation and thrill - why? Why? Why?

“Tim, no!”

Tim, so focused on what he was doing, jerked so hard he almost fired the gun. He whipped around to the source of the voice, and found to his shock a familiar car and a familiar woman standing by it, face set in a fierce determination. 

It was Sasha. Somehow, the sight of her was deeply wrong to Tim. She shouldn’t be here. Sasha should never see this. She knew, she had helped - always the finger pointing in the direction to unleash Tim - but she shouldn’t see it. He knew it wasn’t real to her, what he did. 

“Sash,” Tim said weakly, hand drooping. 

Jon screamed from behind his gag. He might have been calling for help.

“Put the gun down,” Sasha said coldly. She was just dressed in jeans and a messy t-shirt, as if she had come here in a great hurry. How had she kno - okay, Sasha knew everything, it was no surprise. 

“Why? Sasha, what are you doing here?” Tim cried, in genuine confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that Jon is innocent of everything!” Sasha yelled, and Tim almost flinched back. “He didn’t kill Gertrude, he doesn’t know anything about what’s going on! Trust me, Jon and his team have nothing to do with any of this!”

“He’s a fucking demon, Sash,” Tim said incredulously. How could she take his side? How? “Don’t you remember what he did to me? How can you forgive that?”

“You’re not a saint either!” Sasha screamed - the first time Tim had ever heard her scream at him. He couldn’t believe this was happening. How had he lost control of the situation so badly? “If you kill him you will break his team.”

As if a single coworker nobody dying will upset anybody. “And how long until he attacks or kills his team?” Tim asked furiously. “They’re the biggest bitches I’ve ever met, but they’re human. Monsters hurt humans, Sasha. It’s in their nature. How long until he hurts someone else? How long until he hurts you?”

“If you kill him,” Sasha said, quiet and strangled and hurt, “I will never forgive you.”

Nobody had power over him - nobody, perhaps, save Sasha. She held his heart in his hands, ready at a moment’s cue to crush it or rip it out of him. He couldn’t bear her disapproving face, her quiet disappointment. If she didn’t love him, if she took that away - he wouldn’t have anything. Nothing would be left. He had to protect that love, protect her. 

“Sasha,” Tim said weakly, “out of everybody, I thought you would understand.”

“I do. I’m the only one who will ever understand. That’s why you have to trust me.”

Maye that was the problem. Tim did. She was the only person he had ever trusted.

Tim flicked the safety, and dropped the gun. 

 Just to make himself feel better, he bent his leg back to kick Jon, but - but, for some reason, he didn’t. It just seemed so tiresome. What was the point? What was the point of any of this?

The point had always been to protect humans from the monsters. To protect Sasha. But Sasha didn’t want his help. What did he have now?

“Take him back to his house,” Tim said dully. He glared fiercely at Jon, whose face was falling in relief. “If you tell the police about this, nobody will believe you and nobody will care. If you tell anybody else about this, I’ll find you again and beat you half to death. Got it?”

Jon nodded fervently. 

After that, it was all a blur. Sasha helped him up, took him to her car, and he saw her cut through his restraints once he was safely inside. Tim just gathered up his materials and dumped them in the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat and gunning the engine. 

He drove home in a depressed haze, feeling worthless, feeling powerless, feeling exactly like Jon always made him feel. 

His hands clenched on the steering wheel. If Jon didn’t know shit about what was going on - and Tim believed that, guy was fucking stupid - then who did? If Jon hadn’t turned into a monster on purpose, then who had turned him into a monster?

Elias Bouchard always gave Tim a bad feeling.

He’d collect some evidence. Give it a few weeks, then confront him. Bouchard would bend and crack. Then Tim would be free. Free of the Magnus Institute, free of how it made him feel. 

He roared towards home, unsatisfied and angry, still afraid. 

iii.

“Can you pass the rice?”

Tim silently passed Mom the bowl, staring intently at his own plate and silently shovelling potatoes in his mouth. Dad was doing his usual thing and just kind of squinting at his plate and chewing like a cow with cud. Danny was, from the outside, eating food like a normal person. Tim knew that he was vibrating with anticipation. 

“So,” Mom continued, faux-brightly, “it’s been a while since you boys came home. Too good for your old folks, huh?”

The passive aggressive route - deal with the criticism, but if you bit back then it was ‘just a joke’. Favored tactic of Ha-eun Stoker. 

“Sorry, Mom,” Danny said, one arm thrown over the back of his chair, utterly unrepentant, “work’s been hell lately. Big case came in, and if I want to be promoted to junior partner…”

Sure enough, Mom brightened right up. “Really! Tell us all about your case, Danny!”

Then they were off. Tim zoned out, blankly spooning gamja jorim into his mouth as Danny endlessly rattled off about his accomplishments and Mom cooed and aah’d relentlessly. Dad just chewed, occasionally grunting in satisfaction and approval. 

Wow, the coveted paternal approval. Way to make them all jump through hoops for it. Tim rolled his eyes.

Unfortunately, he was caught. Mom turned her piercing gaze on him, smiling pleasantly with perfect teeth. Of course they were perfect; she had work done. All of the other women in the neighborhood do it, Tim, we should fit in. Oh, this necklace is just so in style, I saw Ms. Wallace down the street wearing it. Fucking lemming. 

“What about you, Tim?” Mom asked. “How’s work going? Normally you’d be telling us all about your big arrests.”

Ah. The reason why Tim had done everything possible to avoid family dinner. They had this once a month, the only time they could all be assed to talk to each other, and Tim had jumped through hoops to try and escape. 

Danny didn’t let him. This was way too entertaining to him. 

He knew. Tim didn’t know how, but that was irrelevant. Danny always knew. He couldn’t lie and make up some case. Tim took a careful sip of his dak gomtang, stalling. 

Finally, he said, “I took a new job, actually.”

Dad looked up from his plate. Mom’s jaw dropped. 

“But you loved your job,” Mom said, for all appearances broken-hearted. “What happened?”

Danny leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, grinning. “Yeah, brother. You loved that job, you’d never quit. What happened?”

“My work partner was caught and forced to sign an employment contract by a middle management stoner, blackmailing me into working with her so I wouldn’t get arrested by the police for my dozen murders.”

Everybody stared at him. Tim sipped some water. 

“That isn’t very funny, Timothy,” Mom said. 

God, these people were so serious. In the stupidest second of his entire stupid life, he missed the Archive team just a little bit. At least they had a sense of humor. He’d never known those bitches to take anything seriously. But even when they were literally engaging in cult-level shunning of him and Sasha, they were always together. What was with homos and that gay found family shit? 

“Kidding. I don’t know, Mom, I was just going stir-crazy. Being a copper just felt like such a dead-end job.”

“But you said you were on track for Lieutenant,” Mom gasped. “How could you throw that away?” 

“I don’t know, Mom,” Danny said, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I don’t think Tim would quit his job voluntarily.”

Mom’s jaw dropped. “You were fired?”

Tim was too dead inside for this. “Sure. I’m a librarian now. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Mom positively screeched. “What am I supposed to tell Mrs. Walker now? That my son’s not on track to Lieutenant, that he was fired? I’ve never been so ashamed of you. You’re going to make me a laughingstock, Tim. In all my life, you’ve never once cared about how your actions affected me. Let me tell you right now that this is disgraceful. You’re a grown man, and you’re still acting like a child who blah blah blah. Tim’s a disappointment and we hate him blah blah. How could I have raised such a lazy yammer yammer yammer. I only pay attention to you when I’m yelling at you and I’m totally in the right because Rachel Granger said that yada yada -”

“Well, this was fun,” Tim said pleasantly, wiping his mouth with a napkin before balling it and tossing on the table. He put his chopsticks down and stood up, dusting off his hands. “Great to see all of you again, so much fun, but I have a cat to go iron.”

But Dad was staring at him, even when Mom was fuming in rage. In Korean, he said, “You’re disrespecting your mother, Ji-hoon.”

“For god’s sake, Richard, we speak English in this house. His name’s Timothy,” Mom snapped. Danny rolled his eyes. 

“Why not?” Tim asked in Korean, just to piss off Mom. Basira would have sneered at her respectability politics. Melanie would have lost her temper an hour - no, thirty years ago. Why were they stronger than Tim? “You don’t respect her.”

Almost silently, Danny whistled. 

“Timothy,” Mother started, scandalized, “listen to your -”

“Why? What can she say to me, besides the same shit I’ve been hearing my entire life? She’s not saying anything interesting.” Tim smiled brightly at his family, flashing all of his teeth. “You know what? In comparison with my life lately, you three are pretty fucking boring. Bye.”

That was when his mother burst into tears, and his father started yelling at him at the top of his voice and thumping the table until the dishes rattled, and when Danny started laughing. If they did anything else, if Dad was about to get out of his chair and smack him, if Mom was going to disown him, Tim didn’t wait around to see it. He grabbed his bomber jacket and stalked out the door, letting it fall behind him.

He breathed heavily on the pretty little sidewalk in front of their pretty little house. The pretty little roses in the pretty little garden bloomed perfectly, and their thorns were all cut off. Down the street pretty little houses made of ticky tacky loomed, and they were all within HOA compliance in their gated little community. Nobody in. Nobody out. 

When he was fifteen, Tim hated it because his parents were always trying to impose normalacy on him and he had never fucking measured up. When he was a young adult, he had hated it because he had fancied himself a gritty, street-wise cop who grappled with the dregs of society and always came out victorious. The perfect little families here thought that their gates could protect them from the cold and hard outside world - but the monsters in the world lived and breeded in their backyards, and they were too busy trimming their lawns to notice. 

He should go home. It was late, and he had his ridiculous, evil, gloriously imperfect job tomorrow. God, Melanie would hate this place. She would sneer at him for ever having lived here, chalking it up with his infinite list of sins. All you pigs are the same, she would nag, privileged and sheltered. Bitch. Why was she always right?

But Tim just couldn’t work up the energy to drive all the way home. His heart felt scooped out with a grapefruit spoon. Instead he stumbled into the little alley next to the house, where the garbage trucks and the alley cats roamed, and he collapsed into a little patch of scrubby grass. This had been his favorite place to sulk as a child. Or hide from Danny. Danny always found him, of course, but it was the principle of the matter -

“Man, I can’t believe I got that show for free. You should have charged, Ji-hoon.”

“Fuck off, Danny,” Tim said, tone dull with how rote the phrase was. 

When he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Danny was dappled in night. The only light was from the streetlights, and the lights of their porch. In the dim lighting, Danny was lit by a bright aura but his features were hidden in the dark. Like an angel, Danny shone, and like a devil, Tim hid in the shadows. Hidden in the corner, like a powerless child. 

“It’s a compliment! Normally you’re the most boring, predictable bitch alive. Wind your key and watch you go. But not even I could have predicted the shit you pulled today. Fantastic.” Danny grinned, a slash of the mouth. “You’re dead disowned, buddy. You crossed a line. They’ll never forgive you.”

“Fuck off, Danny.”

“I’m looking forward to being an only child,” Danny mused. “Mom and Dad were always so obsessed with you, it’ll be nice to have them all to myself. When I make junior partner, do you think Dad will clap me on the back? Give me a hug?” He affected a sad look, pulling his face into a mockery of tragedy. “I’m really going to miss you. You always lowered the bar for me.”

“Fuck off, Danny.”

Apparently that was one ‘fuck off’ too many, because Danny kicked Tim in the ribs. He always knew exactly where to hit - right in an old scar in the ribs, a bullet wound that he had never told him about. Tim wheezed, but he didn’t move. No point. 

In a brief, strange flash of memory, Tim remembered bending his knee back to kick Jon in the stomach. Jon hadn’t flinched. Had there been no point?

“I know you spent your entire sad little childhood thinking I ruined your life. That’s bullshit and you know it. You didn’t need anyone else to ruin your life, Timbo. You’ve always been good enough at that yourself.” He pulled a faux-surprised face. Every expression Danny ever had was fake. Everything was a mask, plastic and fake. “Even your relationships, right? How’s that Mexican bird you got following you around? She still refusing to fuck you? I should pick her up, I bet she’s real easy -”

Tim saw red.

It was easy, in the end. Maybe too easy. He leapt up, in one easy and smooth motion, and tackled Danny to the ground. Tim had always been bigger but Danny had always been stronger, no matter how long Tim spent at the gym, but that didn’t matter now. Tim was faintly aware he was snarling as Danny hit the ground hard, head bouncing on the grass. 

There was no time for him to recover. Tim punched him in the face, keeping him down, before punching him again. He felt bone break under his fist. A nose. 

He didn’t remember anything after that. Everything fuzzed out a little, trapped in the swirling of his rage and the thump of his heartbeat. It wasn’t Martin’s anger, it wasn’t Sasha’s cold chase. It was just hatred. 

It wasn’t that - that thing inside Tim, the thing he had spent years denying. It was just Tim. Or maybe Tim was that thing, and that thing was Tim. 

He was faintly aware that somebody was grabbing him by the elbows, pulling him off. There was screaming. Wailing. He couldn’t really tell. Tim was dizzy, hands wet and sticky. Someone was crying - the nauseatingly familiar sound of his mother sobbing. 

Just boys roughhousing, Tim wanted to say. That was a good line, snappy and sarcastic. Just boys being boys, the same line he had heard time after time after time when Danny coated his entire torso in bruises. Monsters, acting like monsters. Men, doing what men always do. 

Tim left the scene. He wouldn’t be back. Never return to the scene of the crime, ha ha ha. He wouldn’t be welcome back. It should have felt crushing, isolating, terrifying.

But instead, Tim just felt free. As if a crushing weight had fallen off his shoulders, and he no longer felt suffocated by endless picking and prodding and pushing. It...he didn’t feel scared. 

Tim walked down the street, taking the long way home, whistling happily. He hated himself a little bit less than usual tonight. Things were looking up. 

iv.

Tim stared at Melanie as she slept. 

It wasn’t hard. They kept the lights on, although after a few days Melanie had started to use a sleeping mask. She had recovered from what happened fairly quickly. She still let him keep his arm on her. 

It tingled, just a little, where it touched her. She was warm and soft, breathing softly in a gentle rise and fall of her chest. Her face was slack with sleep. No nightmares. Melanie only looked gentle when she was asleep: any other time, her face was screwed up in intent thought or a mean comment or an exaggerated face made behind someone’s back. 

It was the first time Tim had slept in the same bed as a woman without sleeping with her. At Sasha’s, he always slept on the couch. It was a little weird. It was really weird. He kept on telling himself to pull away, to rebuild that bridge that had been so effortless with Sasha, to act normal and stop being desperate and needy. 

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Every time he let go of her, he was alone. No matter how many people surrounded them, no matter how big the room or busy the sprawling London streets, when she was out of the room it felt as if she would never come back. 

He hated the way he felt. It was disgusting, crawling in his gut and heart like rot. He hated himself for feeling it, he hated the world for doing it to him, and he hated Melanie for making him feel this way. 

He didn’t know love could be this painful. 

***

Did he love her?

Tim was fairly sure he couldn’t love anybody. Whatever he felt for Sasha, it couldn’t be love. It could only be a selfish, disgusting poison. Or maybe he really did love her, and love really was poison - if it was the kind of love Tim felt for other people, if it was all he could give. 

But Tim knew Sasha, down to her soul. He knew her dark secrets, every skeleton in her closet. He knew what she was running from, why she had landed in England and never left, why she felt just as passionately for Tim’s crusade for justice as he did. 

Justice. What a joke. 

But Melanie wasn’t like that. She was rough and bitchy and meddling and willfully idiotic, but if you scratched that surface she was perfect. Kind, understanding, forgiving, patient, supportive - the kind of girl Tim had always wanted. Not that Sasha hadn’t been - but Sasha was somebody he should probably stay away from, for her own good. 

Melanie had saved him. Melanie was trying to fix him, and she wouldn’t stop until she did. She wouldn’t give up - she never gave up on anything or anyone. Even Tim. Maybe, if it was her, Tim could be fixed.

He squinted at her in the soft lights keeping away the dark lingering in the small windows. Did he want to kiss her? He should, right? Any emotion this strong, anything that made him feel so vulnerable and desperate and insane had to come with wanting to be with her. Not that she could ever like him that way back…

The idea was oddly nice. Men and women couldn’t be friends. But maybe Tim and Melanie could - Melanie, who would never love him in that way, freeing Tim of the obligation to reciprocate. 

He settled a little bit more, tucking her a little bit closer under him until he could no longer see her face. The idea was heady - that she was letting him do that, that she could be open and vulnerable in front of him too. That Tim had never really protected anybody, that Melanie was the first person to ever protect him, and that maybe he could pay that back. 

Maybe she could fix him. Give him love that was pure instead of corrupted; selfless instead of selfish. Tim needed her.

He tried not to hate it. 

***

That night, Tim had a dream that he was fucking Melanie in his old bed in his old flat. Danny was there, somehow, constantly mocking Tim on how badly he was doing, and every time Tim would yell at him to get out he would just laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh -

***

Melanie dragged him to work with her the next morning, as Tim chugged a shitton of coffee and considered braining himself with a hammer so he could forget the dream he had last night. He would literally prefer the construction site nightmares. He could barely meet her eyes, and lived in relentless paranoia that somehow she knew and was going to call him disgusting which would be fair and true and -

“Do you think the old man in Home Alone is a Jesus allegory?”

Tim blinked blearily at her, still chugging his coffee. They had gotten his car keys and car back from Sasha - she still had everything he ever owned, but he didn’t want to deal with that - but Melanie was driving, since Tim’s reaction time wasn’t that good anymore and he tended to zone out. They would take the tube and avoid London traffic except, well…

“I have no opinions on Home Alone,” Tim said blankly. He had been reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra on his phone. So far he had several points of disagreement,  his largest was the man’s weird obsession with atheism. Granted, it was hard to be a nihilist and be religious, but Tim had insider information on the nature of the universe and he was working on a thesis - anyway. Anyway. “Why?”

“It’s a good movie, right? We should watch it for movie night tonight.”

“I thought you wanted to watch T2 today.”

“Aw, fuck, right.” Melanie slightly slapped the steering wheel. They didn’t move - traffic was really hell. “I am a slut for fictionalized violence. Isn’t Sarah Connor the most badass action hero ever?”

“She’s awesome,” Tim agreed warmly. “But Schwarzenneger in that movie is just peak. Have you ever seen Predator? It was his best role.”

Melanie snorted. “Predator was so boring. Just a lot of oiled up men flexing at each other.”

Typical. Tim rolled his eyes, propping an elbow below the window, but he found himself smiling anyway. “What do you want me to watch instead, Blue is the Warmest Color?”

“Laugh all you want, idiot. You’re getting the whole rota of required watching for gay people. First on the list is the Birdcage, then right after that Paris is Burning -”

Tim groaned theatrically, drowning her out, but all that did was hit him with the musk of his small, battered car. The smell of Melanie hit him like a truck - her Melon shampoo, her 24 hour deodorant, the dust of the Archives, something unique to her that he just couldn’t place. 

To Tim’s horror, the scent pulled at that deep pit in his stomach. Don’t think about it. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t let them know - except for Sasha, who always knew. It made him want to do - stuff that he didn’t want to do. Not really. Tim didn’t want that. Whoever Tim was.

Counterintuitively, the hunger made it easier to keep that fake smile and forced manic energy when they got to the office. He wasn’t really up to it today - some days were easier than others - but that didn’t really matter when he had to aggressively convince everybody that he was fine. The alternative was everybody giving him sad and pitying looks, which was a thousand times worse than any infernal hell torture. 

It wasn’t. But he still didn’t want to deal with it. 

So he kicked the door open, yelled something meaningless about how the bitch was back, and let Basira ignore him and Martin roll his eyes and Sasha very pointedly ignore him. He noted that Daisy wasn’t in this morning - ever since their planning session, she had been dropping by more frequently to flirt obnoxiously with Basira, but she obviously couldn’t spend all of her time here if she wanted to keep up the pretense with Peter Lukas. 

Which was...somewhat of a relief. 

Tim collapsed in what used to be Daisy’s chair at her desk, which was for far more important reasons than just because he didn’t want to sit next to Sasha. The upside is that Melanie sat diagonal from him, across from Basira, who didn’t give a shit what he did if she wasn’t using him as a meaningless sounding board for her constant venting. It wasn’t all bad, if he didn’t look too hard at whatever the fuck Martin was doing at any given time. 

So he swiveled in his chair as Melanie, Basira, and Sasha disappeared into the library. He stood up to go with her, but Melanie made a gesture that sent him sitting down again. Martin, who was writing something ornate in his journal, snickered. 

Six months ago Tim would have snapped at him, but instead he just leaned back in his chair and squeezed his grip trainer. The grind never stopped. “Writing love poetry, buddy? In the Romantic tradition or the...fuck, I don’t know any other poets.”

Martin silently held up his journal. The only thing written was ‘murder kill murder’, repeatedly, up and down two pages. 

Well. That was enough teasing Martin for one day. He really had no idea how Melanie was brave enough to get Martin to listen to listen to her - or, worse, why he did. 

After an hour or so, spent reading Plato and disagreeing with a great deal, Jon slunk out of his office and blinked owlishly at both Tim and Martin, who had been politely minding their own business. 

Tim realized - in the same way that, whenever he saw Jon, he was inescapably reminded that he knew what he looked like when he was about to die - that the room was filled with two guys who had tried repeatedly to kill him. Fuck, he was probably uncomfortable. Good job, Tim. Way to keep terrorizing people. But he really wasn’t capable of doing anything else, so it was hardly a surprise - 

“Hullo, Martin. I’m picking up some food from the vending machine, do you want anything?”

Oh. They were going for ‘disturbingly banal’ today. Martin smiled shyly at Jon, who blushed in response. “Surprise me. Thanks, Jon.”

“Want any razor blades in the apples?” 

“You know that’s a myth, Jon,” Martin said disapprovingly. Or maybe not.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“You are the sexiest guy I’ve ever met,” Martin whispered. 

Then Jon flushed, and leaned casually in what he probably thought was a hot pose and unfortunately totally was against Martin’s desk, and Tim was subjected to their absolutely fucking atrocious flirting for the next ten minutes. At that point, Tim found his breaking point and left the Archives, the terror of being in semi-public outweighed by the terror of Jonmartin. That was what Basira and Melanie kept calling it. He really didn’t know what that meant, but whatever.

But after fifteen minutes of standing in front of the vending machine himself, quietly overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of choices and colors and flavors and sugar, he heard someone else approaching. He snapped his head to the left to see a gawky, hunched scarecrow slouch down the hall, raising a hand apologetically. That man put no effort into his appearance, how as he still that hot -

Maybe Jon and Martin were normal, Tim secretly wondered, and Tim just didn’t understand gay courting rituals. He had to find out, right? How do you flirt with guys? It wasn’t as if he could practice with the two guys in the office. Especially Martin. Tim had never really paid a lot of attention to him before he came back to life, writing him off as a beta male - which ended up being so hilariously incorrect it forced Tim to sit down and reconsider his entire framework of alpha and beta males. Melanie had given him a sticker. 

“Uh. Hey.”

Tim stared at him blankly. 

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “How...are you?”

Tim blinked at him. 

“Well. I would, er, enjoy using the vending machine.”

Oh. Obviously. Tim stepped aside, cheeks burning, and silently let Jon punch in the code for a Mars Bar (for Martin, probably) and a granola bar (because an alarm went off on his desk if he didn’t eat a snack at 3pm). 

It wasn’t their first time being alone together since he came back, but as Tim had been more or less catatonic at that period in time he was inclined not to count that. Jon hadn’t seemed scared, anyway. Probably. Tim hadn’t paid much attention. 

He should do this. He had to do it. It was all about making up for the shit he did, right? He had to face this. Then Jon would forgive him, not that he had to, and - and something vaguely good would happen. He would find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and the hunger would go away, and the intrusive thoughts would be all gone. Melanie would give him another sticker. Or something.

“You can go for it, you know.”

Jon whipped his head around, shocked at Tim addressing him directly for the first time in a very long time. “What?”

Idiot. If this guy had been in a single fight in his life, he’d eat his hat. From what Jon had seen of his childhood friend, Georgie’s girlfriend who he hated for absolutely no reason, she had probably defended him from every bully. It was almost cute. 

“You can get a good one in,” Tim repeated slowly. He turned his cheek. “Promise I won’t punch back or anything.”

“I - do you mean punch you?” The Mars Bar rattled down the machine, dropping heavily into the tray. “Why would I do that?”

Jesus, the guy was thick. “Do you remember when I kidnapped and tried to kill you, or is that just me?”

Jon blinked owlishly at him. “Lots of people try to kill me.”

“Don’t you want to?” Tim cried, a little bit higher and a little bit louder than he intended. “Come on, as if you’ve never wanted to do it? Wouldn’t it help? You got in a week of being a passive aggressive asshole, that isn’t enough. It doesn’t make up for anything. This would.”

 “How would that fix anything?”

Tim’s breath hitched. But Jon was just staring, as if he could see right through him. Maybe he could. “What?”

“How would hurting you make me feel better?” Jon repeated slowly. “It won’t change what happened. Punching you wouldn’t change what you did to me. All it would do is make you feel better, as if that fixes it. It doesn’t. Is that how you solve all of your problems? That explains a lot.”

His breath was coming faster, hitching again. He couldn’t control it. “I’m trying to do you a favor, asshole.”

“No, you’re trying to make yourself feel better.” Jon smiled politely and, before Tim could jerk away, clapped him on the shoulder. “I forgave you a long time ago. Not because of you. But I just didn’t want it hanging over me. I gave myself closure and moved on. Sometimes bad things happen to us, and we have to get up the next day and go to work anyway. My friends helped. My family did too. I’m sorry you don’t have that, Tim. You’ll get closure one day.” Jon looked thoughtful for a second. “I mean, getting closure about being almost killed one time must be a lot easier than dealing with the fact that you killed fifteen people in your life? Twice that supernatural people, I think. You know you’re technically a serial killer? I won’t judge, this is a safe space, but I thought you ought to know.”

Somehow, inanely, all Tim could think of to say was, “It’s not serial killing if it’s part of your job.”

“Which is why I’m sure you took that job,” Jon said brightly. “Let’s get back to the office before Martin decides to amuse himself.”

For a second, just for a second - or two, or ten, or a minute - Tim vividly imagined himself ripping Jon’s throat out. Killing him properly this time, putting that look on his face again. It had felt so good, and - and it had made him feel so bad, but that felt good too, and he still didn’t know why, and he wanted to eat Jon so bad. Jon, who was innocent in everything, gentle and kind. Nothing like Tim. That was why everybody liked Jon and hated Tim. 

From what he had heard, while Tim was going insane hyperfixating on the chase a few years ago, the girls had spent ages talking Jon down from a breakdown and steering him away from the same path that Tim had barrelled down. Who had done that for him? Sasha made a big show of keeping his head level, but she had used him just as ruthlessly as he had used her. She never had an investment in keeping him sane; just functional. 

If somebody had done that for him, would he still be cruel?

 They went back to the office, and Tim pretending that the hunger swirling in his gut was just self-hatred. But, then again, they really were the same thing. 

When Melanie came out of the library with Basira and Sasha on her heels, talking quietly about some new scheme they were cooking up, Tim found himself reaching out to her. Melanie smiled and squeezed his hand, before gently heckling his choice in literature. 

Some stupid part of him - maybe even a large part - thought that once he was clasping Melanie’s hand again, the hunger would quiet down. It had protected him underground, it felt as if it should protect him in the world above.

But it didn’t, and it didn’t solve anything, and Tim tried not to think about the fact that he was slowly unwinding, and that he didn’t want to see what was inside him when everything that was Tim Stoker fell away. 

***

A short yet tumultuous time later, Tim was called into Jon’s office. 

He hadn’t wanted to come to work. But the alternative of stewing at home - Melanie’s flat - was much worse, and Basira had reported that too many skip days made them all way too sick. Might as well come in. Melanie had spent the night at Georgie’s - like she had the past two days, what a fucking coincidence - so he didn’t have to worry about that awkwardness.

After too long memorizing the face after too many sleepless nights, Tim could imagine it vividly. Soft, uncreased, innocent of how hard the world could be. Tim couldn’t bear it. He had to ruin it. He just couldn’t bear it. 

He was the first one in the office, so it was easy to see the poisonous death glare Basira shot him when she walked in. So Melanie had told them - of course she fucking told them, she hadn’t done anything wrong, she wasn’t obliged to lie. Daisy was hot on her heels, and she actually properly snarled at him before Basira pulled her back while somehow giving the full impression that she wanted to do the same thing. 

He should probably go hide in the library before Martin came in. He couldn’t decide whether or not this was worse than the shunning. The shunning had driven him absolutely crazy, but at least he hadn’t been legitimately afraid that Martin would stab him and that nobody would stop him. 

There was the faint sound of raised voices in the cowpen. Tim knew that they were arguing about him. He already knew what they would decide - wait for Melanie’s verdict. But are you sure she isn’t too close to this? No, she knows the fucker better than anybody else, she would judge if they needed to do anything. What are we going to tell Sasha? The truth, fucking obviously. 

Sasha. Tim wanted her to be surprised. He knew she wouldn’t be. That hurt more. 

After what felt like an infinite amount of time but he knew was only a few hours, pouring over Sasha’s collection of Vast and Spiral Statements, he heard the library door open. It was Jon, standing at the threshold, and all Tim could think was - oh, man, here we go. 

It was a regular walk of shame into Jon’s office, and he couldn’t miss the way everybody’s heads snapped to look at him. Sasha, just as he thought, looked resigned. Melanie was frowning. 

Jon’s office was the same as ever, not that Jon went in too frequently. The only strange thing about it was that Jon locked the door behind him. Tim didn’t know what that boded, but it wasn’t good.

Well, might as well take control of the situation. He collapsed on the chair in front of his desk and propped his boots on Jon’s desk, wishing he had a drink to obnoxiously sip. “Is this the part where you threaten me?” He affected a fake baritone, somehow still not even hitting Jon’s register. “ ‘Touch her again and you’ll answer to me’. ‘Stay away from her or you’ll face the consequences’. Come on, I’ve read a thousand creeps the same riot act. Get it over with.”

Jon sat down heavily in his office chair. The office had chipped in to buy him a new one as a birthday gift, much more comfortable than the old one. But he was leaning forward now, arms folded on the desk. 

“Would that make you feel better?”

Great, this again. “Yeah, it evokes the emotionally absent father I was raised with,” Tim snarked. “If you aren’t going to say it, what am I in here for?”

He was afraid to know what he was in here for. Melanie had told him that if he did it again, she’d sic Jon on him. And Tim knew what it looked like when Jon was sicced on someone. This wasn’t it. 

“Tim,” Jon said seriously, and he was somehow kind about it. “You know what this looks like, right?”

Something ugly and ashamed twisted in Tim’s gut. He fought the urge to sink in his seat. “Yeah.”

“You know why we’re worried now.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tim looked fixedly at the wall, unwilling to meet Jon’s eyes. “I - I’m not going to do it again. I swear. And - and it wasn’t like that. I promise. I’m not - I’m not a creep, okay? Ask Sasha. I’ve never - I’ve killed people, but that’s not nearly as bad as - I’m not going to do it again. It was a mistake.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Tim’s head snapped back to Jon, and before he could think about it he found himself half-rising from the chair. Jon’s cold stare had him sitting back down again, but his heart was thumping a drum in his chest. “Then what do you want?” Tim just barely restrained himself from yelling, knowing that the girls were probably listening at the door anyway. “What can I do to convince you that’d rather chop off my own hand than hurt her?”

“You can give your permission to let me ask you some questions.”

Tim faltered. “What? Just questions?”

“Uh.” Jon waved his hand in a circle in the air, as if that meant anything. “You know. Questions. I haven’t really done it since - since I think I did it to you? But I think I can do it on command now. I don’t like to.” His eyes sharpened, and for a second Tim could have sworn that they glimmered. “But I can’t take a chance. Not on this.”

It was like he was falling again, through that infinite void that was the last taste of freedom he had thought he would ever have. It was like he was suffocating again, a mile of dirt piled on his chest, banging incessantly at the lid of the coffin. Nobody saved him, until she did. He was distantly aware that he was barely holding back hyperventilating, but all Tim could feel was dissociated horror. 

“You - you can’t. Jon, I - I won’t do it again, you can’t.”

Jon’s mouth twisted into a frown. “I won’t if you give me a flat no. I don’t like doing it.” That was a lie and they both fucking knew it. “But if you don’t, we can’t trust you again. We’d convince Melanie to let you stay with Martin. We wouldn’t leave you in the same room together. You’re not stable, Tim. It’s obvious. We thought it was harmless - or, at least, the only person you were hurting was yourself - but it’s not anymore. We’re all scared. I don’t want to hurt you just because we’re scared, but Melanie is the only one here who couldn’t really defend herself if you decided to do anything else to her.” He grimaced slightly. “Not that she admits it. She always puts herself between us and any enemy. But we have to pay that back. I know you understand.”

He did. 

Hate burned in his stomach. What a hypocrite. Giving all of that big talk about choice and options. He knew that there was no option, not if they were going to rip him apart from the one person who he felt safe with. 

The one person who wasn’t safe with him. 

Tim deserved this. Even if it had been his worst fear a year ago - well, Tim had experienced much worse than that since then. 

When you did shit to other people, you make up for it. You make sure that you can’t hurt anybody else again. Jon was right - gestures didn’t mean anything. He had to commit. He had to improve, be better. Otherwise he’d be sent straight back down to that place when he died, and there would be no saving him. 

“Yeah,” Tim said, mouth dry, “you can do it. But - but no personal questions this time, okay? Just stick to the subject.”

“They seem to always end up a bit personal,” Jon said apologetically, “but I’ll try.”

Deep within Jon, inside of the unassuming and kind and gentle man, the subject of Tim’s nightmares rose. His eyes flashed green, then shined with a bright and sickly radioactive green. His hair strained against its bun and fuzzed at the end, but it didn’t break free. 

“What’s your name, Tim?”

The worst part about the compelling, Tim had decided long ago, was that you didn’t feel brainwashed. 

You felt exactly as if you were talking normally, that there was nothing strange about Jon or you. His words didn’t ring with a mysterious power. If you had entered it thinking you were talking of your own volition, you probably wouldn’t notice. But if you knew what was happening, the curtain was lifted, and you were deathly aware of the way the words were ripped out of you with fishhooks. It left Tim gasping, straining for air. 

“Timothy Ji-hoon Stoker,” Tim said, and it was almost as if he wanted to. “My dad just calls me Ji-hoon though. So do my grandparents. My last name’s made up as fuck - I think Mom just saw a book at the airport and picked it out from the cover. Kind of ironic, considering everything.”

“Oh, really? Daisy says that she got Tonner because her English wasn’t great and she misheard someone at the airport asking her for a tenner - right, right.” Jon coughed. Wait, was the reason why Daisy barely talked when he first met her was because her English was bad? “On topic. Tim, do you want to attack Melanie again?”

“Of course not,” Tim burst out, and these words, at least, came easy. “I love her. I hate hurting her, I hate how I’m constantly fucking up and doing it anyway. I’m just violent and I don’t know how not to be violent. It’s the only way I deal with things, being violent, and I know it’s eating me up inside but I just can’t stop it. But if there’s one person who can help me stop, it’s Melanie. She’s going to fix me, I know it.”

The words were unbelievably humiliating, the kind of thing that Tim had never wanted to admit, but Jon’s expression didn’t change. Tim wanted to look away, to pretend that this was just an internal narration and that he wasn’t telling this his fucking coworker, but he found himself incapable. Their gazes locked, and Tim couldn’t pull away. 

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I was scared, and I hate being scared so much. It’s what I always do, ever since I was a kid - I would get scared, and I would try to hurt something or someone about it. I did it to you, I was so scared of you that I obsessed about killing you and covered it up with some bullshit about justice or Sasha. It was just about me, it’s always been selfish. But - but- but -” The words were sticking in his throat, coagulating on the wound ripped open by Jon and his fishhooks. “But I hate her. I hate that I care, and I hate that I need her, and - and I don’t think I did it just because I was scared. I think I did it because I was scared, and I love her, and I hate her, and I’m beginning to think I have some kind of weird complex about women because of my mother’s overly dependent narcissistic personality and my father’s emotional detachment -”

“You just now figured that out?” Jon asked incredulously. “Sorry, you just now started realizing that your toxic masculinity controls your entire justification for your actions?”

“I’ve known for a while but I’ve been repressing it,” Tim said hurriedly, forced to answer that one despite Jon probably intending it as a rhetorical question. 

Jon stared at him for a second silently, giving Tim time to catch his breath and try to control his breathing. He was one bad step away from a panic attack, and his hold was still clenched on this throat like a fist. Danny had done that to him one time, the son of a bitch, and he had never forgotten. Should he tell Jon that? Does he have to?

“Tim,” Jon said finally. He looked very uncomfortable, but also resolute. As if he didn’t want to ask, or maybe he just didn’t want to know, but he felt as if he had to. “Are you in love with Melanie?”

Tim opened his mouth to answer him, and found that he couldn’t.

The strange and evil magic didn’t like that. Whatever Tim wanted to say, if there was anything to say, it caught in his throat and made him gag. It choked him. He was well acquainted with the feeling, but it sent him into a panic anyway. His breath started shuddering and heaving, his vision swimming, and he kept on answering his mouth to answer because you have to answer but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, he didn’t know how -

“Forget it! Forget it, Tim, don’t worry about it! Tim, what’s your favorite color? Tim, your favorite color! Answer me!”

“Grey!” Tim cried out. “Grey, it’s grey!”

He didn’t so much stand up from his chair as fall out of it. He didn’t so much let himself sit on the ground as found himself incapable of moving. He just breathed, waiting and waiting to spit up dirt and grime and rocks, but nothing happened. It was just a panic attack, because his hell was within him, and there was no escape. 

No escape. There was no escape. Not from what he’d done in his past, not from how badly he’d hurt Melanie and Sasha, not from how he would inevitably hurt them in the future. 

You had to cut out the evil things in this world. One bad apple spoils the bunch. When criminals are left to run wild, they corrupt and destroy society. Evil had to be eliminated. Evil people shouldn’t exist. 

Evil people shouldn’t exist. It wasn’t a new thought for him. Neither was the thought after that. It was a thought he’d had for a very long time - before he even met Melanie, before he even admitted it. 

“Tim, are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

After a few heart-wrenching seconds, Tim found himself calming down enough to answer. “You meant to. You just didn’t want to. I made you do this.” One bad apple spoils the bunch. “Is - is that enough? I can answer more -”

“No, that’s enough,” Jon said quickly. “It’s - it’s not my place to pass judgement on you, Tim. And your, uh, disturbed thinking. Melanie - anyway, we’ll work on it.” He smiled weakly, placatingly. “I’ve been there. The others helped. If it wasn’t for them, I’d be - I don’t know where I’d be, but I’d be a lot worse off. We can help you too. If you let us. I know it’s scary, but it’s worth it. I promise.”

“Right,” Tim said. “Can I go now?”

When he left Jon’s office, everybody was at their desks. He knew what the guilty expressions when they all pretended they hadn’t been eavesdropping, but they weren’t wearing them now. Maybe everybody had grown up a bit recently. 

Tim slunk into the library, and for good measure locked it behind him. He pulled out a thick stack of books, a teetering pile of Statements. He needed to research. There was a decision he had to make, and he needed as much proof as possible and a well-laid plan. It wasn’t quite a hunt, but it was close. It wasn’t quite the apocalypse, but it was his own.

But, of course, it was a lie. Tim had made his decision a few minutes ago. He had made it a long time ago. He kept making it, every time. Everything else was just justification. 

It wouldn’t fix anything - but it’d make him feel better.