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angelic-serenade · 5 years

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request: 🌟 Hellou!! I love ur work!! ❤️❤️❤️ Is it possible tó ha e a Alastor and younger(like 4 years younger) reader who have nightmares of his death sonetimes, cause she saw itt Back then, and go to big bother Alastor for comfort? 🦌

requested by: anon

a/n: okay so this was supposed to be a quick one-shot but my hand slipped and I wrote 9500+ words instead. oops. anyway, I hope this meets your expectations, enjoy!

gif, original work and characters do not belong to me

pairing: Alastor x sister! reader

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

warnings: mentions of death, bit of angst, traumatic events, toxic relationship if you squint, Alastor being Alastor but softer for reader

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It never rained down in Hell, no matter how ardently you had sometimes wished to feel the drops pouring down your robes. Even during your longest nights, the ones haunted by nightmares and long-forgotten memories resurfacing at your weakest, it would never rain like it did in those Gothic Novels your darling brother used to read you back in the day: you were no virtuous protagonist and never would the skies cry for your misery. It was probably one of the worst downsides of being stuck in Hell for all eternity: the equally eternal blood red sky forever looming over your head, serving as a reminder of your infernal punishment.

When you'd wake up in the middle of the night, after a particularly vivid nightmare, there was no pouring rain to muffle the sound of your hopeless wailings, no thunder to distract your spinning mind from its panic. Therefore, you found yourself continously seeking comfort from the only person you held dear to your now dead cold heart: Alastor, The Radio Demon, whom you had the privilege to refer to as your darling brother (at least in the privacy of your own bedchamber) - older brother to be precise, even if only by a few years. You had always been extremely fond of your sibiling, looking up to him as a role model - definitely not your wisest decision since it had landed you among the sinners of Hell. That's not to say you had any regrets, Heaven seemed like an awfully dreadful and boring place if you were to be completely honest.

Alastor, on his part, had affectionately doted on you back on the surface, taking his little sweetling under his protective wing as if his sole purpose in life had been to take care of you. As a consequence, on more occasions than you cared to remember, you had felt utterly asphixiated by your brother's undivided attention all your life, and quarrels had been a daily occurrence whenever his protective behavior clashed with your own desire for freedom. Your lovely mother had always been there to try and defuse your heated altercations, the poor woman; your dear brother and you, however, both shared the same stubbornness and desire to prevail on others, so that whenever your strong personalities came to oppose, trouble was always certain to follow suit.

You wished you'd appreciated his concerns more when you had been given the chance. Now in the afterlife, shows of affection were hard to come by. Mayhap that had been the worst punishment inflicted upon you after death: the privilege of having your dear brother by your side without actually being able to cherish and bask in his caring regards. Mayhap the illustrious Dante had been right in his musings all along: the law of retaliation had taken away from you the one thing you had never really appreciated in life, making you realize just how much you had taken for granted. Now that your brother had become Hell's greatest menace, an overlord to make things worse, weakness in any shape or form could and would not be tolerated under any circumstance, for both his and your sake.

Luckily, no demon in the seven circles suspected that the feared Radio Demon had any siblings to begin with, thanks to Alastor's foresight.

Your identity was to be kept secret at all costs in order to avoid undesired repercussions. If anyone were to even suspect you had any kind of connection to the Radio Demon - Alastor had told you - overlords and lesser demons alike would be at your throat in the span of a heartbeat. If given the chance, no enemy of his would ever hesitate to stoop as low as to attack him were it hurt the most, where he was most vulnerable. And that chance, he was not willing to give any time soon. You both had already died once and you were not keen on repeating the experience.

So you had followed his every order ever since your fall into the pits, leading a life death away from your darling brother and his chaotic ways - the one thing he hadn't been able to prevent in life -, keeping a low profile as a common denizen of Hell. Alastor would unsuspiciously check up on you every now and then, but his visits had been as rare as it was to see an angel in Hell - seeing him once a year was truly an unfair torture. Time went by and you grew more and more lonely as you mostly kept to yourself and wasted your days away in a nice apartment away from prying eyes. You were a nobody in Hell, and that was how things were meant to be.

Things changed when Alastor unexpectedly showed up at your doorstep for the second time in a year, blabbering about the newest project he'd involved himself with. His words betrayed unusual enthusiasm, a mood you had learned to be usually spurred on by the prospect of carnage and bloodshed or his precious radio broadcasts. Whenever he came to see you, he always showered you in gifts and praise, but it had been centuries since you had seen your brother so excited over... anything, really. Therefore, witnessing his cheeriness brought a genuine smile on your face. You were a little jealous you weren't the reason why he felt so giddy, but you couldn't complain as spending time with him was the greatest gift you could ever ask for these days. So when he told you you'd be moving into this phantomatic Hazbin Hotel, where he'd be staying for a while as well, you were impossibly ecstatic. Alastor had gently caressed your cheek and, in one of his rare moments of tenderness, softened his voice as if to lull you away:

“My dear, it has always pained me so to leave you here to your lonesome, but I am certain you understand that I always ever meant to protect you from harm.”

Unexpectedly, as most of his actions were, your dear brother spun you around into his arms as if he were coaxing you into a dance - which would probably be the case, knowing him. His words were impossibly haughty now, as if a switch had gone off in his mind:

“But now sweetling, now the time has come to finally put an end to this painful arrangement. You'll be joining me at this whimsical Hazbin Hotel our dear princess is so enthusiastic about!”

You knew better than to question Alastor and his ways, so you simply nodded your approval, glad to finally be able to leave that god forsaken apartment you had been locked in for far more than you cared to admit. And so you moved to the hotel - still keeping your true identity a secret, mind you. You were introduced as one of Alastor's acquantances, much like both Niffty and Husk were. Nobody questioned your unexpected presence and Charlie (much more than everybody else) welcomed you with opened arms into her precious hotel. When you offered to lend a hand with whatever she needed, she was utterly ecstatic. All in all, you were quick to adapt to the new situation.

The new accommodation, however, brought about quite a lot of new issues as well.

Spending so much time with Astor, for one, even if pretending not to be as close as siblings should be, awakened long forgotten memories about your life on Earth, most of which you would have preferred to keep locked away. During your very busy days, you were able to distract yourself from your scattered thoughts and memories; at night, however, your subconscious relentlessly haunted you in the form of nightmares and there was nothing you could really do to prevent it.

It was inevitable that you'd start losing sleep, as the only way to evade the cage that your mind had become was not to sleep at all. Astor had grown increasingly worried about your sleep-deprived state, even if he tried not to show it, masking his concern with his usual smile and charming talks:

“You will chase away any potential patrons looking so disheveled and shabby, my dear. Charlie will surely be heartbroken.”

You wouldn't have put it past him to manipulate you through guilt, but you knew that Alastor was truly worried about your health. His gaze, cryptic to most, felt all too familiar to you, just like the expressiveness of his smile held no secrets from you anymore. Needless to say, as fond of him as you were, you tried to sleep once again.

Then one night everything changed: it had been the worst night of your undead life, and the best one too.

The deafening sound of gunshots had echoed through your unconscious mind, increasingly loud footsteps and dogs barking so loud that you subconsciously jerked in your sleep. A call to your name, desperate, hopeless and scared. You saw him, his beautiful maroon eyes that had once only pooled in fondness for you, now dark and miserable. But they held promise too, a promise to fulfill maybe someday, in another life.

“I'm sorry (Y/N)”

His smile had dropped.

So had you.

You woke up screaming, trashing about in your bed. Sweat clung to your brow, your mind in a frenzied panic searched for something concrete and real to cling to. Was your brother alright? Satan, you hoped so. He had to be, he couldn't leave you again, you had to go to him, to see him, you didn't want to lose him again, you wouldn't bear the pain - you almost tripped in the bedsheets as you scrambled to the door.

When you arrived to Alastor's door, you had yet to calm down. You rapidly knocked on the hard wood, agitation evident in both your jerky movements and shivering hands.

“Alastor, Alastor, please. Open up. It's me” you desperately whispered.

As the door gently opened, your brother stepped into the darkness of the hallway and you unceremoniously flung yourself to him, clinging to his neck as if it were your lifeline. Your tears wet his robes, but you couldn't bring yourself to care enough to apologize. You felt like you had almost lost him again after all those years of seclusion.

But he was alive and he was with you. That's all you could hope for and far more than you thought you deserved.

Alastor uncharacteristically started to pat your head, as if trying to console you even though he had little to no experience in that area. His movements were uncertain, but as you lifted your head from his chest to gaze into his eyes, you realized no words would ever convey as much affection as Alastor's eyes did in that brief moment. His smile never faltered - even if it had become a bit strained - but you hadn't expected it to. It made you smile through your tears, despite yourself. You realized in that moment you'll forever be the only one allowed to touch Alastor without eliciting his wrath. That fact alone enough for you to truly appreciate the amount of control he'd give up in order to comfort you. He gently brought you to his bed and sat you down next to him.

“Are you quite alright sister dear? You know, those awful tears don't suit you at all! I rather much prefer your blinding smile!”

You smiled wider this time, for him, to let him know that you were indeed grateful.

“Oh, now that wasn't so difficult, was it?”

When he kissed your forehead, you almost broke up crying once again: it had been so long since you and your brother had been so close. The gesture warmed your long dead heart and you tried to return the favor by kissing his cheek. Nobody had ever been that intimate with the Radio Demon and lived to tell the tale, but in that moment he was no demon of hell: he was just Alastor, your dear brother who had doted on you in life and kept protecting you in death too - even though his ways weren't the most orthodox.

“I missed you Al. Please, don't ever leave me again.”

“I most certainly shall not, my sweet little darling. It's a promise.”

You were glad he let you stay with him for the rest of the night. No words were needed as he brought you close and took your hands into his. You both laid on the bed, in a rare moment of peace and quiet. It reminded you of your childhood on Earth and how you'd always sneak out of your room during the night to sleep next to him - you had always been afraid of the dark after all. Only in your adulthood had you learned that there are worse things than darkness one should fear.

After eons of suffering and terrible loneliness, everything finally fell into its rightful place.

Alastor was safe and so were you.

That was all that mattered.

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vake-hunter · 4 years

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Light Fingers Lore Post

Moon-Misers

Normal Moon-Milk is a poison they use to make their prey walk right into their mouth. It’s not meant to last for long.

Babies are rare, only born about once a decade! “A Moon-Miser can only be born when the stars align. It must also be coaxed from the womb with a Song of Birthing.” Once born it must be fed special nectar extracted from stalactites. Who knows what that’s made of! “At birth, Moon-Misers are wrapped in their mother's silk, forming a protective membrane while their carapaces develop.”

Here, have some NEAT Red Science quotes: “You are forging a new link of a great chain. This is the most impossible and unforgiving of occasions: the creation of something new. In this tent, you usher a brand new species from the vaults of possibility. You are spitting in the face of the gods. You are violating laws written in starlight before the world began.”

This is VERY important Lore: the baby has your eyes.

(If Baby is more human) As the zeppelin ascends, the Hybrid raises its voice in solemn song. As you listen, a thrill runs down your spine. For a moment, swept up in the song, you experience a vision: in your mind's eye, a blazing-bright king unites the tribes of the Starved Men under one banner, and harnesses the Moon-Misers as steeds. He leads his subjects on a crusade against the city below - a city that is no longer London, but that still harbours the Moon-King's greatest nemesis, now much embittered at the failure of its schemes. The resulting war will prove its final undoing.

Mr Fires

Is trying to bankrupt the Bazaar in a way.

If it makes a bunch of fake love stories, that can trick Wines and Spices and the Bazaar, eventually the Bazaar won’t know what love is real and what isn’t, thus, hopefully, discouraging the Bazaar and the other Masters.

“A bitter edge creeps into its sibilant voice. "Once a suitable love story is found, it’ll be the end of London. Can you imagine?" The lamp trembles in its hand. Its voice rises an octave. "The end of London! I couldn't bear it! I love this city. It's my sole comfort, the greatest joy I have discovered in all my centuries. I'd do anything to preserve it."

“In the longer term, the Hybrid's milk is the only thing that can save the city. Once seeded across the populace, all love stories will be rendered suspect. Any love, no matter how pure or moving, could simply be the symptoms of an aberration's venom. Love will be robbed of its allure. The Bazaar will not know which stories it can truly believe in."

"If my plan succeeds, the other Masters will abandon London as a failed venture." Mr Fires holds up its lamp; here at the bottom, the shelves are lined with leather-bound volumes. "They shall depart, and I shall make arrangements to preserve the city."

It is very defensive of what it did at the Orphanage, in a way that almost makes it sound like it's guilty. It does insist it would do it again, and it doesn’t care about the people, just London as a city.

Confirmation Fires likes science.

More evidence Masters can shapeshift to change their sizes and when they are upset, they have trouble staying small.

Its very fucking excited to burn things down and upset Wines.

(Giving the baby to Fires) "One day, London will be a city glutted with love," says Mr Fires, returning its gaze to the Hybrid. "Or at least, reliably-replicable facsimiles of it. The effect will be subtle. A modest adjustment, year on year. Wines won't suspect a thing until it is too late." It glances at you. "You and I, [Addressed As], have saved London today."

Boil of Calamities

Possibly the first Fingerking or at least a very very old and strong one.

Seven Heads like the statue at Irem.

The Sun and the Spire that connects it are sacred places to the Fingerkings and the Boil protects them. “They may allow your kind to trespass across the rest of their kingdom, you slumbering oafs, you mortal morsels, but not here, not the hallowed spire. Insolence! Blasphemy!”

Huge coils that appear in the sky. Black scales, a knot of snakes or just one massive one. Like storm clouds with huge fangs. Tongues flicker like lightning.

It once took tributes and accepted people as servants but the the door to its Chamber seems long abandoned.

The Chamber is found in the shadow of the Dome of Scales. “Inside is a cavern that smells faintly of spices: cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamon. Heavy silk banners hang from the walls, depicting battles between cats and serpents. Seven braziers burn merrily with viric fire. Plates of delicious-looking food have been set out: pomegranates, bloody steak, bunches of plump indigo grapes. At the centre sits a majestic basalt altar, carved with dozens of runes and symbols, a silver bowl waiting atop.”

If you make a Pact with the Boil, you must shed your skin. Don’t worry, there’s more skin under there. Better skin, you’re told. You peel yourself with a Ravenglass knife and it uses the same wording as in my Kingdom for A Pig and the Third City Deal :)

“There is indeed new skin underneath. It is tender and dry, with the faintest silver sheen. The effect is subtle. Only a lover or a doctor would notice.”

“You look up to the Boil, your skin flashing silver, and bow deeply. The overbearing tangle of coils slips apart, separating, loosening. You find yourself breathing more easily.”

Court of Cats

The Duchess is capable of calling a meeting with the Court.

They slew the seven daughters of the Boil.

They have a spear made from a Fingerking’s fang that is capable of piercing the Skin of the Sun. However only cats are allowed to wield it. So if you want it you must become an Honorary Cat.

“The Lord High Seneschal pronounces you the 'Lyon Pursuivant of Arms Extraordinary,' officially a cat, and thus entitled to take possession of one of the cats' greatest trophies.”

“As they fall quiet, you ask why they have never wielded this spear against their enemies in the past? "Because cats do not have thumbs," says the Knight Marshall, with a haughty look.”

“Hephaesta draws back her Herculean arm and hurls the spear of the Sleeping King, putting every hard-wrung ounce of her strength behind the throw. It flies, like a shell from a cannon, cracking the Skin of the Sun and sinking a foot deep. At the point of impact, the glass buckles and twists and shrieks. Hephaesta and the tiger roar in triumph.”

“A great, hollow crack rings across Parabola. A shadow mars the cosmogone sunlight passes over the sun.”

Parabolan Sun (Not strictly Lore just from Light Fingers but Important)

Parabola was not always bright. It seemed to be in perpetual twilight before the Second City Sisters rose the Sun.

“This is a place that is not. It was not always light, though once it was brighter. The sisters found it in twilight and in dreams. The night was thus sacred to the Second City. They would not be pursued here. The ushabti were created to help in the construction of the Palace. The Second City could have lived here forever.”

This also seems to imply there was no moon either, as the moon is a cat. It probably came with the Second City as well. "Look, there are patterns there, just like the surface's moon. Only... these don't resemble a man, or anything else so much as a cat, curled up asleep."

The Sisters of the Pharaoh (minus the Duchess) fled to Parabola when the Third City fell to avoid being killed. “We four survivors fled. One remained with the City, while I retreated here.”

"The Palace of the Rising was to be a refuge from the Masters and the Bazaar. A new sun was raised in the sky so the citizens might walk in light again.”

The thing is. The Sun was built with the help of what appears to be the God of the Fingerkings. "the Boil of Calamities, Lord of the Seething Sky, wept a drop of shining glass..."

The Boil protects the Sun and the Cats hate the Fingerkings. It seems the Four Sisters betrayed the Cats and their other sister, the Duchess, in order to make the Sun. "It also is the mother-father of the egg that is the Parabolan sun," adds a dark-faced tabby. Its reflection is that of a snarling puma. "Though others played a part in that, too." The Duchess' lips tighten.”

Physically: A huge glass dome held to the land by a stone pillar. Even the sky around the dome appears to be glass. (Interesting given how the Second City imprisoned the Masters was to cover the Neath in glass. From The Mind Of A Long Dead God: “Glass Walls Everywhere! They surround me. They reflect one realm inwards and keep me from the other. These barriers should be fluid!” Note that the Neath IS Storm’s corpse.)

NORTH

Rubbery Men plan to fly north. “They take off again in an instant, heading North, waving you farewell. Where do they ultimately hope to go? Again, it's impossible to tell. Perhaps they hope to find their way home.”

If baby is more Moon-Miser: As the zeppelin ascends, the Hybrid raises its voice in solemn song. A thrill runs down your spine. For a moment, swept up by the song, you experience a vision: a blazing-bright king of Moon-Misers leading its glimmering subjects on a pilgrimage across the roof and through a door far to the North. Below, in a city that is not London, the citizens point and murmur in fear as their false-stars crawl into the distance and blink out one by one, leaving only darkness behind.

Item Rewards

Lyon Pursuivant of Arms Extraordinary: For the purposes of having legal custody of a famous war trophy, you have been made an honorary cat, with the associated title, privileges, and dignities. [Affiliation; Shadowy +3, Persuasive +6, Dangerous +2, Respectable +1]

Tatterskin Shawl: Once, you offending the Boil of Calamities. To make amends you offered up your own skin as a gift. The Boil was thoughtful enough to return your old skin to you, though it no longer fits as snugly as it once did. [Clothing; Shadowy +6, Persuasive -2, Dreaded +1, Bizarre +1, Mithridacy +1]

A Loyal Nightmare of Poor Edward: You married what remained of Poor Edward. Now he is a nightmare, bound by the miser-milk to the dreams of the Orphanage. Sometimes, you visit him there. [Affiliation; Shadowy +2, Persuasive +1, Dreaded +1]

A Kitten-Sized Diamond, Liberated from the Mountain: It was torn from the Mountain that looms on the Elder Continent. If set near wounds, they heal. If left in one place for too long, flowers bloom around it. If left near lesser diamonds, they will hatch. [Home Comfort; Persuasive +10, Respectable +2, Artisan of the Red Science +1]

A False-Star of your Own: Above London, false-stars shine. One is your bastard child, a Hybrid, a diamond the size of a cow. It is a hundred times brighter than its fellows, a blazing pinpoint; every month or two, for just a few days, it passes directly over the city. For that brief period, London's gloom eases into a velvety twilight. (In addition to the stat advantages, this Companion allows you a unique opportunity while zailing.) [Companion; Watchful +6, Shadowy +12, Shapeling Arts +1, Bizarre +2]

#fallen london #mr fires #parabola #light fingers spoilers #lore

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justira · 4 years

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Acclimating - an asexual Luffy/aromantic Law fic

Featuring Law interacting with all the Strawhats, negotiation of boundaries, and Law being one (1) grumpy fucker.

Complete, 31.4K on AO3

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So Acclimating hit 1,000 kudos and I thought I’d link it again and give a small update on the series it’s part of (though Acclimating works as a complete story on its own). The sequel, Antipyretic, is much longer — over 75K so far and likely to hit 100K — and focuses on Law needing to repair his relationship with his crew after leaving them. It also features sign language, autistic Zoro, lots Law and Robin being morbid together and having long talks, and generally tons of interaction with both the Heart Pirates and the Strawhats aboard the Polar Tang. It also contains (no-cheating) Law/Zoro (if that is or isn’t your thing) as they work out their individual relationships with Luffy — with Luffy in absentia. The third part of the trilogy, Anodyne, will feature all three of Law, Luffy, and Zoro while respecting their individual identities and priorities.

And yes, all the titles are medical terms that start with ‘A’, and the series is titled Achromatic/A-Chromatic because (1) it features asexual and aromantic identities, both of which start with ‘A’ and have desaturated (achromatic) pride flags, as well as (2) autism, which I also have and which also starts with ‘A’, but (3) there is still a wide range of identities and experiences within all three of those — a chromatic rainbow of ‘A’ identities. So it’s both Achromatic and A-Chromatic =p

Anyway, yay for 1K kudos, thank you all SO much, thanks for all the amazing comments, and hoping to see you again soon!

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Excerpt from Chapter 2

Law shouldn't be surprised when Luffy deposits himself beside Law, limbs loose, looking up at the cloudy night sky.

"Hey Torao. If you have someone else's heart in your chest and you die, will they die too?"

Law frowns. "Yes."

"Good. Okay." Luffy turns to stare at him. "Take mine."

Law's head ticks back. "What."

"You were all ready to die on Dressrosa. I don't like that. So take my heart. That way, you'll want to stay alive." Luffy's eyes are burning into his, wide and black in the night.

Law wants to blink, or look away. Luffy is frowning at him, all will and seriousness. Law licks his lips before speaking. "Strawhat-ya, I'm not going to do that."

Luffy frowns harder, and suddenly his hands are on Law, on his shoulders, shoving him against the mast, and Luffy is up in his face, breath breaking hot against Law's skin. Law's hands jerk up to land on Luffy's wrists, about to pry Luffy off, but Luffy digs his fingers into Law's shoulders. "No, listen. We're allies. We're partners. You can't do this. I can worry about my crew, because they need me to protect them. But I can't worry about you." Luffy shakes him for emphasis. "I already did this with Robin—" did what? Law can't help thinking "—and now you're doing it and I don't like it. Robin's gonna be with me forever, because she's my crew. But you and I are going to split up one day and I can't be worrying about you all the time."

Law regards him silently, the pads of his fingers feeling hot where they're pressing into Luffy's wrists. He can feel Luffy's pulse there, pounding warm and hard. His heart, beating.

"You don't know what you're asking," Law says. His voice is steady; good.

Luffy shakes his head, shakes Law. "Yes I do," Luffy says, voice low and dangerous. And then Law loses the thread completely as Luffy climbs into his lap, straddling his thighs. Law's legs jerk, half an effort to dislodge the other captain, but Luffy distracts him by unbuttoning the top buttons of Law's shirt.

"Hey—" Law protests, only for Luffy to say, "Shut up. Listen to me." Law's shirt is half unbuttoned, Luffy is on his lap, and this is maybe the least turned on Law has ever been in his life. Luffy takes one of Law's hands, which had spasmed closed around Luffy's wrists, and determinedly pries the fingers apart. "Listen," Luffy repeats. "Look."

Luffy takes Law's hand and presses it against Luffy's chest, firm and insistent, over where Luffy's heart is beating. Luffy's palm is hot against the back of Law's hand, fingers slotting between Law's; Law can see his tattoos spelling D E A T H between Luffy's lighter knuckles. Then, Luffy raises his other hand, pushes apart Law's unbuttoned shirt and puts his hand over Law's heart, more gently, but still with a determined pressure behind it. Luffy's fingers splay against Law's skin. Law can feel the rough edges of Luffy's scar under his own hand, can feel his own heart beating rapidly against Luffy's palm.

Law pulls his gaze away from Luffy's chest to find that Luffy's eyes are closed, his head down.

"Yes," Luffy says, firm, decision in his voice.

"Strawhat-ya," Law begins, starting to tug his hand out from under Luffy's, but Luffy's head snaps up, eyes open and brows drawn together in a fierce frown. His hand over Law's tightens.

"I don't trust you," Luffy says. It sends something cold spiralling into Law's gut, but Luffy goes on, "I trust you to fight with me. I trust you to die for me. But I don't trust you to live," and Luffy hisses this last, sibilants sliding out and breaking harsh against Law's face. "I don't like that," Luffy says again. "So you're gonna live. For me or not for me, for anything, I don't care, but you're gonna live."

Law stares silently at him for a few moments, choking on his own breath. The air tastes sour in his throat, angry, furious. "Don't I get a say in this?" he snarls in Luffy's face.

"It's my heart. I can give it to you if I want." That heart is beating hard against Law's palm.

Law breathes, carefully, head pushed back against the hard wood of the mast. Anger boils in his chest, making his heart thud against Luffy's palm, because being angry is better than being terrified.

As if reading his mind, Luffy suddenly says, "Don't be scared." Law jerks, caught out. Luffy lets go of Law's hand, moves his other hand off Law's heart, and takes Law's face between his palms. Law is conscious of his stubble and sideburns against Luffy's hands. "Don't be scared. Cause I'm gonna be right there. That's how it's gonna work."

Law's thoughts are spiralling, and he thinks wildly that this is as close to crying as he's been since those desperate hours in Dressrosa. It hurts. He finds his hands clutching Luffy's shirt, to pull him closer or push him away, he can't tell. "Luffy, you can't do this," he scrapes out past gritted teeth.

Luffy stares intently at him. "Yes we can. You can. Do it."

Law had spent a decade planning to die. Luffy has no idea what he's asking.

Or maybe he does. Law blinks. Luffy's eyes are black in the starlight, boring into his own. And Law is abruptly convinced that yes, Luffy knows exactly what he's asking. That thought is far more terrifying than anything else that has happened tonight.

Luffy seems to sense some change in him, because he abruptly lets go of Law's face and gets out of his personal space, sitting back between Law's shins, arms crossed on his own knees. Law heaves in a breath, suddenly aware how long he'd been holding it.

Luffy blinks at him, once, twice, and suddenly grins. "Shishishi," he snickers, the white scimitar-edge of his smile sharp in the moonlight. "Come on," he urges, smiling, like it's that easy.

#one piece #lawlu #monkey d. luffy #trafalgar law #fiction #fanfic #my fic #my stuff #achromatic #acclimating

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lorcnas · 4 years

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･ﾟ. * ◞ TAKE TWO .

alright , so to those who read lorena’s intro post , i’m sorry . i didn’t like who i was then clearly ! there’s been some slight adjustments , but overall she is still similar to who i spoke for originally in terms of statistics & her background . i hope this change will help me be more present on the dash , as my muse is stronger than ever ! let’s roll with the homies & create some plots while we’re at it .

COMPETITIVE CHEERLEADING . cartwheels came as natural as walking , strict form & an elegance to anyone with eyes for the sport , lorena was trained under the world’s finest coaching staff . in high school , she was on two teams at the same time before she had gotten into an altercation with one of her teammates , who blackmailed her when a plausible video of her doing lines in a fraternity party leaked . however , charles roy with the highest annoyance , had set her up with the best lawyers the whole city of los angeles had to offer & that is where her adoration for the courtroom began . somewhere between her bambi eyes traced in dampened mascara & her rich girl gone wrong act allowed the judge to lessen the plea , only attending narcotics anonymous meetings while the girl who brought to light her tendencies was punished for the violation . to say cheerleading is her life would be an understatement , it has given her copious traits that well , lorena just wouldn’t be herself if it hadn’t been ever present . she has a large following because of her career with her teams , however , it has also brought her compromising injuries & sleepless nights leading up to a competition . her excellence aware of the physique she has & the talent she possesses . she still trains at a local gym in dillon more for her benefit than anything & helps with those who wish to take up a spot on a competitive team , however , her place on the panthers cheerleading team is to create a balance to put her academics more on a pedestal .

PRE - LAW . one might argue it’s her father’s reputation as a lawyer that brought her to a decision of a choice in future career . her academics always came first in high school , even with cheerleading taking up most of her schedule . the classes she took in high school were college level & she was a stand out , with her shrill voice & stamina that reached beyond the learning criteria . she has high hopes to become a prosecutor , but because of her appearance ( similar to elle woods ) , many lack the confidence she will even make it into past her bars . she’s just another pretty faced & highly demanding trope , i guess . if you’ve ever seen cold justice : sex crimes , her future looks very similar to that in which case she wants to help in the fight against sex crimes in america & helping the victims cope with the unprecedented event that happened to them . so , as you can tell her need to be on top of her classes , sit front row & leave an impression on her lectures evident . plus , she finds collecting future prosecutor outfits as a reasonable pastime .

FAMILY AFFAIRS . as far as she can comprehend , donnovan is the closest & most real family she has had in her lifetime . even growing up , it was her father burying himself into his work to avoid the emotions severed from the loss of their mother & the nanny who tended to the children’s elaborate lifestyle . there’s a box of homemade tapes when the nannies wanted memories to last , including donnovan’s first touchdown as a high school starter & lorena’s first competition , each of the sibilings proud as they could be . however , they never have looked into their mother’s death while giving birth to them , if anything , that’s lorena’s cross to bare considering she was the second sibling that apparently caused her to go into an urgent surgery . the topic isn’t one that goes touched often , even some of her closest friends unaware of her not having a maternal figure . those that shared the same surname as them have fallen short in familial aspects , her grandparents just as cutthroat & judgmental of the twins , like their son . her physique is often a questionable topic with her grandmother & comments on it the moment she falls a gaze on her . her grandmother also signed her for pageants the moment she could speak on her own , not so much form opinions but reiterate what she trained her to speak to the judges . lorena has been told of her idential , seraphic features of her mother & if it meant something , it’s like staring at a ghost in the mirror . so , with their underhanded gift of a family in their life , donnovan & lorena are there for one another through thick & thin . because of them being born as twins , their knowledge of one another is extensive .

INSPIRATION #1 : CARLA SANTINI . i’ve been told it’s only appropriate to post the video that helped me discover the muse for lorena roy . so HERE , some short clips & a look into what exactly are lorena’s expressions & overall , her persona that she brought to dillon from california . she can be bitchy at times & speak to what’s on her mind , but at her core , she craves the validation she never recieved from her father . similar to carla , she also was invited to all the exclusive parties in los angeles & now resides at cohen’s parties , which she doesn’t mind as much . her wardrobe is inspired by her , too , along with shopping habits as she never stops to wonder if the expenses are putting a dent in mr. roy’s lifestyle . she calls it loss of time !

SERIAL DATER . the concept of lorena falling in love with every person she meets isn’t too far-fetched , considering she feels her heart beat larger when the CVS clerk tells her to stay dry , when it’s raining outside that day . a gesture taken lightly to some , but determination for her to seal the deal . she has had a few relationships , one in high school & college , too , but her retaliation to commitment is observed in her irrational composure to feel something . so she dates around , not to where she has a red A across her chest , but enough for many to be left in full infatuation . she loves dates that lead to french kissing somewhere unexpected , or even being sent flowers . her romance isn’t dead , she just feels the need to have everyone experience with her .

#i don't even know what to tag this as #FJRHBFEHRBF #tw: drugs #tw: hbic

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oldprimusthewizard · 5 years

Text

New race for my Dragonstar the Sarrukh

Sarrukh [18 RP]

Many thousands of years ago, before the rise of dragons and the rule of the Dragon Empire, a vast Empire covered all of what would become the Dragon Empire. It was the Empire of the Sarrukh, a race of sorcerous serpent folk who ruled over the land. Theirs was a civilization of art and science, an enlightened culture that had become complacent, content to gaze at its own reflection. Much of the sarrukh philosophy dealt with cycles, and many seers and philosophers spoke of a time when the sarrukh race would fall into a deep slumber. Such a time was spoken of in the holy texts, but most sarrukh were too busy creating self-glorifying art and poetry to be concerned with warnings from old books. Despite the premonitions of three prophets, the sarrukh civilization went on in its decadent ways, until eventually the time known as the Great Sleep arrived. One by one, the sarrukh fell into a deep slumber, but most were unconcerned. They knew the greatness of their civilization would remain a thousand years, and so they allowed the Great Sleep to take them off into the uncharted realms of dream. When the sarrukh awoke, much of the universe had changed. Their great Empire had fallen, their tall buildings now in ruins like sand castles at high tide. The great wilderness that they had kept at bay had invaded and taken everything away. Their sorrow seemed complete until news arrived: a messenger from a new Empire, the Empire of Dragon, had arrived.

Physical Description: The sarrukh are medium quasi-humanoids with human-like torsos, a serpents head, their fork-like tongues, and a long serpent’s tail. Regardless of the size of the sarrukh, the torso is always approximately human-sized. Their ears and noses are flat, almost to the point of being nonexistent. While their eyes are those of serpents, except they are a gleaming red that strike fear into the hearts of all the scaly races. They are typically scaly and reptilian in appearance with the pattern that may reflect any of a variety of venomous snakes, a few of the sarrukh may have a cobra’s hood or a diamondback’s distinctive scale pattern. These features are usually consistent within a single bloodline of sarrukh, and often mark a bloodline’s status within a tribe. While active, a sarrukh’s height is about one-third of its total length. By coiling, a sarrukh can rear to a greater height, about two-thirds of its length, but cannot move along the ground in this position. Sarrukh move at the same general pace and endurance of a man, but their serpent form gives them an advantage that allows them to move fast in nearly any terrain. Unfortunately, they do tend to leave a distinct trail marking their passage. Like snakes, sarrukh shed their skin annually, and often celebrate this shedding as much as humans celebrate birthdays.

Homeworld: The sarrukh call Nibiru (called Aaris III in the Imperial Empire archives of known explored worlds) as their homeworld, located in the Kathol sector of the Badlands, and is connected to the worlds Brolsam, Charis, and Kolatill via hyperlanes. It is the homeworld of the Sarrukh, a race of snake-like humanoids. The Sarrukh had established an extensive civilization on the planet several thousand years before the Dragon War, but the society had all fallen into a deep sleep. Currently the sarrukh are rebuilding their ruined cites with the help of the Dragon Empire. Covered in heavy jungles and oceans, Nibiru is a lush blue-green planet when viewed from space. Long mountain ranges ran throughout the landscape, punching through the jungle cover and rising to several kilometers in height. Immense ruins, which are remnants of the native Aaris civilization, are located all over the planet, covering hundreds of square kilometers and hidden under the jungle canopies. A vast desert is located in the middle of the planet's equatorial jungle. Fauna is widespread across the planet, and Nibiru plays host to an abundance of animal life in both the jungles and oceans. The standard day on Nibiru lasted for nineteen standard hours, and the length of its year is two hundred and ninety-nine local days.

Society: The sarrukh are organized by bloodline (based upon the patterns of the sarrukhs scales), that live in relative peace with one another each controlling a single large empire. The heads of the bloodlines are very powerful individuals, their authority superseded only by the most powerful priests and military commanders. The acting leadership body of each empire is called the Sh'arrim and consisted of five to eight sarrukh drawn from each of the bloodlines. This group elected an emperor, called a Kudzar (who provides spiritual, strategic, and social leadership for the rest of the sarrukh), from its membership. Beneath the Kudzar are the Qamar, commander of the sarrukh army, and the Dashmar, the leading diplomat. The Sh'sarrim from the great empires occasionally came together on Okoth to form a council called the Kazim, but that body has authority over the entire race only when a unanimous vote could be achieved.

Sarrukh law, which is administered by judges known as Kleigmasters, is strict but flexible. Penalties are stiff, and the burden of proof fell to the accused rather than the prosecutors. The sarrukh disliked jailing citizens, so the preferred methods of punishment are death for more serious crimes and disfigurement for minor ones. Incarceration occurred only when the leaders felt that the offender had something important to contribute to the realm, despite his crime. Penalties are assigned on a case-by case basis for greater flexibility, but the system became corrupt over the years. The same crime might result in death for one defendant and only disfigurement for the next. In any case, even the highest-ranking kleigmaster, could be bribed into setting free the worst-offending defendant if enough money changed hands.

Relations: Only recently did the sarrukh start seeing the various races as more than just different Human bloodlines. While a very proud race, the sarrukh can be perceived as arrogant by the majority of races. The draka consider them to be lesser cousins and will sometimes listen to sarrukhs.

Religion and Alignment: Because of their strict tenets of unity, sarrukh tend to be Lawful. While there have been wicked, bloodthirsty sarrukh tyrants of the past, sarrukh are generally Neutral or Good.

The sarrukhs revere the Akasha as creator, sustainer, and destroyer of all things, wellspring and goal of life. The Akasha is the hive-mind of the sarrukh race. All sarrukh are connected to the Akasha, as it held each of their souls. Because of this, all sarrukh have a mystical connection to each other, always able to sense other sarrukh, wherever they might be.

Adventurers: Sarrukh adventures are extremely rare and are almost exclusively made up of those outcast sarrukh commoners who have struck out on their own. Because most sarrukh practice at least some form of magic, many sarrukh adventurers are spellcasters with sorcerers, oracles, witches, and druids being by far the most common. Sarrukh who are more combat-oriented become fighters or rangers, in many cases concentrating on mastering the scimitar. Some even wield dual scimitars. Many sarrukh adventurers combine the martial and magical arts through multiclassing.

Language: Draconic is the native language of sarrukh, much to the surprise of many a foreigner. Although the sarrukh have no actual experience with dragons, their forked tongues enable them to effortlessly speak many of the complex, hiss-like sounds that take mammalian races many years to hone and master. Although many sarrukh speak Draconic they also learn to speak and write in a common humanoid tongue of their choosing—this ensures that the sarrukh are capable of speaking with foreigners. However, sarrukh are noticeably poor at learning new languages, they often struggle at picking up additional languages, stubbornly (and incorrectly) applying pronunciations and inflections they already know to languages where it is not appropriate to do so. As a result, most sarrukh have strong draconic accents that usually manifest themselves as a loud hissing sound, much to the delight of irony-seekers everywhere.

Names: Sarrukh names granted to the males and females of their race often have subtle inflections of suffix that designate their sex, which many other races easily miss. This, combined with the difficulty of identifying sarrukh sex by mere appearance can often cause confusion, though sarrukh themselves are rarely embarrassed by this.

Sarrukh surnames speak to the strengths of their race. Others prefer more exotic names that may have some meaning in the sarrukh tongue or in some other forgotten language. Still others adopt titles purely for their intimidation value, or to assert claims to leadership. Their names often include many sibilants, Z’s and V’s.

Male Names: Sakrasis, Shezril, Velrash, Zoniss.

Female Names: Anna, Asprah, Charib’dishal, Scilla, Ursula.

Surnames: Darkscale, Rendclaw, Serpens, Stormbow.

Shared Sarrukh Racial Traits

Sarrukh are defined by their class levels. They do not have racial Hit Dice. They have the following racial traits.

+2 to Constitution, + 2 to Wisdom, -2 to Charisma [0 RP]: The sarrukh are a wise and hardy people, but they have difficulty interacting with those not of their race.

Bonus Hit Points [0 RP]: Sarrukh gain 6 hit points when created.

Medium [0 RP]: Sarrukh have no bonuses or penalties due to their size. A Sarrukh has a space of 5 feet by 5 feet and a reach of 5 feet.

Type [0 RP]: Sarrukh are humanoids with the reptilian subtype.

Speed [1 RP]: Sarrukh have a base land speed of 40 feet. The sinuous motion of their coils allows them to move at a much higher speed than a human. Because of their serpentine bodies they can move with a low profile. This allows them to make a crawl action at full speed. They can also use double move, run and sprint options while crawling. The sarrukh do not use their hands to crawl, so they can carry objects while doing so. Sarrukh can rise from being prone up to their normal height either as a move action, or as part of another move action.

Low-Light Vision [1 RP]: Sarrukh have low-light vision allowing them to see twice as far as humans in conditions of dim light.

Armored Scales [3 RP]: Sarrukh have a +2 natural armor bonus from their scaly flesh.

Resistant (Ex) [2 RP]: Sarrukh receives a +2 racial saving throw bonus against mind-affecting effects and poison.

Serpent’s Body [1 RP]: Sarrukh do not possess feet or legs. They receive a +4 racial bonus to their CMD when resisting bull rush and can’t be tripped. They may not use magic items requiring the feet slot.

Serpent’s Bite [1 RP]: Sarrukh gain a natural bite attack, dealing 1d4 points of damage. The bite is a primary attack or a secondary attack if the sarrukh is wielding manufactured weapons.

Serpent’s Venom (Ex) [1 RP]: A number of times per day equal a sarrukhs Constitution modifier (minimum 1/day); a sarrukhs can envenom a weapon that it wields or bite a creature with its toxic venom. Applying venom in this way is a swift action.

Venom

Paralytic

Poison (Injury)

Fort DC 10 + the 1/2 sarrukh's Hit Dice + the sarrukh's Con modifier

1/round for 6 rounds

1d2 Dex

1 save

Serpent’s Nature [1 RP]: Perception and Stealth are always class skills for sarrukh.

Serpent’s Sense (Ex) [4 RP]: Sarrukh receive a +2 racial bonus on Handle Animal checks against reptiles, and a +2 racial bonus on Perception checks.

Serpent’s Tongue [5 RP]: Although sarrukh have nostrils, just like humans, but their snake-like tongue is also very important. When a sarrukh flicks its tongue in the air, it picks up tiny chemical particles. When the sarrukh brings its tongue back into its mouth, the tongue fits into a special organ on the roof of the mouth that reads the chemical particles. This way of smelling the world can help a sarrukh avoid predators or help the sarrukh catch food. A sarrukh serpent’s tongue grants them the scent ability.

Horse Aversion [–2 RP]: Unless they are trained to accept them, horses tend to avoid the sarrukh, presumably due to their scent being similar to snakes. Sarrukh suffer a –4 penalty on all Charisma-based skill checks to affect horses and all Ride skill checks with horses. Horses starting attitude toward a sarrukh is one step worse than normal.

Languages [1 RP]: Draconic and Common (or any humanoid language). Furthermore, sarrukh with high Intelligence scores can learn any languages they want (except Druidic and other secret languages).

Alternate Sarrukh Racial Traits

The following racial traits may be selected instead of existing sarrukh racial traits. Consult your GM before selecting any of these new options.

Aberration’s Eyes: Though all sarrukh possess sharper vision than humans, some have exceptionally keen eyes, even by their standards. A sarrukh with this racial trait gains darkvision, allowing her to see in the dark up to 60 feet. In addition, she gains a +1 racial bonus on Perception checks. This racial trait replaces low-light vision and serpent’s sense.

Alter Body (Sp): A rare few sarrukh possess the ability to temporarily alter their appearance, transforming their serpent’s tail into a pair of legs. A sarrukh with this racial trait gains the ability to change shape for a number of minutes per day equal to her Hit Dice. These minutes need not be consecutive, but they must be spent in 1-minute increments. This ability functions as the spell alter self, except that the sarrukh does not adjust her ability scores. This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Charming Gaze (Sp): Strong in body and mind, some sarrukh possess supernatural powers of persuasion, allowing them to mold weak-minded races to suit their purposes. Once per day, a sarrukh with this racial trait can attempt to charm a single target, as per the spell charm person (caster level equals the sarrukh’s Hit Dice). The DC of this effect is equal to 11 + the sarrukh’s Charisma modifier. This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Constricting Tail (Ex): Some sarrukh have a strong tail and can crush an opponent, dealing bludgeoning damage, when it makes a successful grapple check (in addition to any other effects caused by a successful check, including additional damage). The amount is 1d6 + the constrictors strength modifier. This replaces serpent’s bit and serpent’s poison.

Deft of Body (Ex): Many sarrukhs train constantly to break free from grapples and pins as a measure of defense against their own tactics. A sarrukh with this racial trait gains a +2 racial bonus on Acrobatics and Escape Artist checks. This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Desert Serpent: Some colonies of sarrukh have been born and raised within desert regions. These sarrukh have a burrow speed of 30 feet through dirt, but not through rock. This racial trait replaces resistant.

Exotic Arms: Sarrukh favor a variety of weapons and often choose particularly exotic ones to specialize in. A sarrukh with this racial trait gains Exotic Weapon Proficiency with one eastern weapon as a bonus feat. This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Ferocity (Ex): Some sarrukh possess an otherworldly will upon the battlefield, and will fight until their final breath. A sarrukh with this racial trait gains the following extraordinary ability: If her hit points fall below 0 but she is not yet dead, she can continue to fight. If she does, she is staggered, and loses 1 hit point each round. She still dies when her hit points reach a negative amount equal to her Constitution score. This racial trait replaces resistant and serpent’s sense.

Flexible Scales (Ex): Though all sarrukh possess scales, some lack the rigidness that affords any meaningful amount of defense. A sarrukh with this racial trait gains a +2 racial bonus on Reflex saves and can move through an area as small as one-quarter her space without squeezing or one-eighth her space when squeezing. This ability replaces armored scales.

Gliding Snake: Gliding snakes can launch themselves from branch tips, spreading their ribs and laterally undulating as they glide between trees. These snakes can perform a controlled glide for hundreds of feet depending upon launch altitude and can even turn in midair. These sarrukh take no damage from falling (as if subject to a constant non-magical feather fall spell). While in midair, sarrukh can move up to 5 feet in any horizontal direction for every 1 foot they fall, at a speed of 60 feet per round. A gliding snake cannot gain height; it merely coasts in other directions as it falls. If subjected to a strong wind or any other effect that causes a Gliding snake to rise, it can take advantage of the updraft to increase the distance it can glide. This replaces armored scales.

Heavy Lifter: Sarrukh with especially broad bodies are capable of lifting far more then even their massive frames would suggest. A sarrukh with this racial trait treats her Strength score as if it were 4 higher for the purpose of determining her carrying capacity and her speed is never modified by armor or encumbrance. This racial trait replaces resistant.

Hypnotic: Sarrukh are skilled at entrancing weak-minded folk with simple spells and tricks. A sarrukh with this racial trait adds +1 to the DC for all saving throws against spells or effects she casts that inflict the fascinated condition. Once per day, when a creature rolls a saving throw against such an effect from the sarrukh, she can force that creature to reroll the saving throw and use the second result, even if it is worse. This racial trait replaces resistant.

Hypnotic Gaze (Sp): The sarrukh’s gaze is so intense it stops others in their tracks. Once per day, it can attempt to hypnotize a single target, as per the spell hypnotism (caster level equal to the sarrukh’s Hit Dice). The DC of this effect is equal to 11 + the sarrukh’s Charisma modifier. The effects of the hypnotic gaze only last a single round. This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Industrious: Sarrukh are known for being hardworking individuals, and take pride in their skills and crafts. A sarrukh with this racial trait gains a +2 racial bonus on checks made with any two Craft, Perform, or Profession skills of her choice. This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Mental Potency (Ex): Sarrukh are masters of manipulating the minds of others using the strength of their personalities. A sarrukh with this racial trait can affect more powerful creatures or a greater number of creatures than normal with mental effects. Both the Hit Die limit and the total number of Hit Dice affected by each enchantment or illusion spell the sarrukh casts increase by 1. For enchantment and illusion spells she casts that target a number of creatures greater than one, the number of creatures affected also increases by one (so a spell that targets one creature per level would be affected, but a spell that targets only one creature would not be). This ability stacks with the mesmerist ability of the same name. This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Outcast: Sarrukh that become ousted from sarrukh society learn to quickly adapt to their new surroundings. A sarrukh with this racial trait gain a +1 bonus on Bluff, Disguise, and Knowledge (local) checks and may add one of these skills to her list of class skills. This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Scholar: All sarrukh seek to better themselves; some choose to do so by studying. Sarrukhs with this racial trait gain a +2 bonus on any one Knowledge skill and this Knowledge skill is always considered a class skill. This racial trait replaces the serpent’s bite racial trait.

Sea Serpent: Some sarrukh have particularly hydrodynamic bodies and are able to move as deftly through the water as they do on dry land. A sarrukh with this racial trait gains a swim speed of 30 feet and gains the +8 racial bonus on Swim checks that a swim speed normally grants. This racial trait replaces resistant.

Serpent Affinity: Sarrukh spellcasters with this racial trait and the Scalykind domain use their domain powers and spells at +1 caster level. This also applies to bloodline powers and bloodline bonus spells of the Serpentine bloodline. This increase is a racial bonus. This racial trait replaces resistant.

Serpent Magic: Sarrukh are magically inclined and possess powers that stem from their draconic and naga patrons. A sarrukh bloodrager sorcerer with the draconic or serpentine bloodline with this racial trait treats her Charisma score as 2 points higher for all sorcerer spells and class abilities. A sarrukh cleric with the Animal or Scalykin domain uses her domain powers and spells at +1 caster level. This trait does not grant her early access to level-based powers; it only affects powers that she could already use without it. This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Serpent’s Prowess: Many sarrukh are effective at using their bulk to intimidate foes both on and off the battlefield. A sarrukh with this racial trait gains Intimidating Prowess as a bonus feat. This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Serpent’s Venom - Life-Stealing (Ex): Some sarrukhs are born with a different type of venom then fellow members of their races. Instead of paralytic venom they have a life-stealing one. A number of times per day equal a sarrukhs Constitution modifier (minimum 1/day); a sarrukhs can envenom a weapon that it wields or bite a creature with its toxic venom. Applying venom in this way is a swift action. This modifies the serpent’s poison.

Venom

Life-Stealing

Poison (Injury)

Fort DC 10 + the 1/2 sarrukh's Hit Dice + the sarrukh's Con modifier

1/round for 6 rounds

1 Con

1 save

Serpent’s Venom - Weakening (Ex): Some sarrukhs are born with a different type of venom then fellow members of their races. Instead of paralytic venom they have a weakening one. A number of times per day equal a sarrukhs Constitution modifier (minimum 1/day); a sarrukhs can envenom a weapon that it wields or bite a creature with its toxic venom. Applying venom in this way is a swift action. This modifies the serpent’s poison.

Venom

Weakening

Poison (Injury)

Fort DC 10 + the 1/2 sarrukh's Hit Dice + the sarrukh's Con modifier

1/round for 6 rounds

1d2 Str

1 save

Sibilant Spellcaster: Sarrukh channel their reptilian calm into mystical terror, increasing the save DC of spells they cast with the fear or pain descriptor by 1. This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Silent Hunter: When in pursuit of prey, some sarrukh are able to move as silently as a serpent. A sarrukh with this racial trait reduces the penalty for using Stealth while moving by 5 and can make Stealth checks while running at a –20 penalty (this number includes the penalty reduction from this trait). This racial trait replaces serpent’s sense.

Slapping Tail: Some sarrukh have trained in the use of their tail in combat. They have a tail they can use to make attacks of opportunity with a reach of 5 feet. The tail is a natural attack that deals 1d8 points of damage plus the constrictor's Strength modifier. This replaces serpent’s bit and serpent’s poison.

Tree Snake: Colonies of sarrukh have spent their entire life living in trees as they was born and raised within jungles and forest. Theses sarrukh have a climb speed of 20 feet, and gain the +8 racial bonus on Climb checks that a climb speed normally grants. This racial trait replaces resistant.

Venom Magic (Ex): Sarrukh spellcasters are adapt at casting spells that invoke or conjure poison, as befitting their serpentine heritage. A sarrukh with this racial trait gain a +1 bonus to the DC of any saving throws against spells she casts with the poison descriptor. Sarrukh with a Charisma score of 11 or higher also gain the following spell-like abilities: 1/day–detect poison, nauseating dart. The caster level for these effects is equal to the sarrukh’s level. The DC for the spell-like abilities is equal to 10 + the spell’s level + the sarrukh’s Charisma modifier. This racial trait replaces resistant.

Vitality: Sarrukh are often surging with life and are difficult to best in combat. A sarrukh with this racial trait gains Toughness as a bonus feat. This racial trait replaces resistant.

Sarrukh Bloodlines

To Come

Favored Class Options

The following options are available to all sarrukh who have the listed favored class, and, unless otherwise stated, the bonus applies each time you select the favored class reward.

Alchemist: Add +1 on Craft (alchemy) checks to craft poison and +1/3 on the DCs of poisons the alchemist creates.

Barbarian: Gain 1/6 of a new rage power.

Bard: Choose one bardic masterpiece or bardic performance that the bard knows that allows a save DC to reduce or negate its effects. Add +1/2 to the save DC of the chosen bardic masterpiece or bardic performance (maximum +2).

Bloodrager: Add 1/4 to the bloodrager’s effective class level when determining the power of his bloodrager bloodline powers.

Cleric: Add +1/2 to the cleric’s channeled energy total when healing reptilian aberrations, animals, and magical beasts.

Druid: Add +1/4 to the save DC of druid spells with the poison descriptor.

Fighter: Add +1 to the fighter’s CMD when resisting a grapple or trip attempt.

Gunslinger: Add +1/3 on critical hit confirmation rolls made with firearms (maximum bonus of +5). This bonus does not stack with Critical Focus.

Monk: Add +1/4 to the monk’s ki pool.

Ninja: The ninja gains 1/6 of a new ninja trick.

Paladin: Add 1/2 minute to the duration of the paladin’s divine bond with her weapon.

Rogue: Add +1/4 to the save DC of any poison that the rogue applies to her weapon.

Sorcerer: Add 1/2 to the sorcerer’s caster level when determining the duration of transmutation spells she casts that target the sorcerer or spells she casts with the poison descriptor.

Swashbuckler: Gain a +1/3 bonus on all critical hit confirmation rolls made while using the precise strike deed (maximum bonus of +5). This bonus doesn’t stack with those gained through Critical Focus and similar effects.

Wizard: Add 1 spell from the list of spells detailed by the naga aspirant’s aspirant bond ability to the wizard’s spellbook. This spell must be at least one level below the highest spell level the wizard can cast. This spell is treated as one level higher unless it also appears on the wizard spell list.

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the-sapphic-desk · 6 years

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i do have to say, 20gayteen has treated me well. so, to celebrate the end of pride in 2018, i thought i would compose a list of advice for lgbtq+ students from openly out queer students. the advice i list below may not be for everyone and can differ on your situation, but it is something to keep in mind. being out in school can be difficult in any stage of life, and it is always your choice on whether you want to come out. as an openly lesbian student, i know being out can be terrifying, but it can also be rewarding to just be yourself. if you ever need someone to talk to or want any advice, please go ahead and message me. please don’t go through this alone, everyone deserves help. and no matter what, i am so proud of you for being authentically you, out or not! make sure to do what is safe for you.

“please, know your rights” the most important thing you can do as an lgbtq+ student is know your rights. the laws for student expression differ around the world but title ix protects most american students. the law does not allow for discrimination, yet local regulations can be extremely different, combating federal law. however, in recent years, how title ix is interpreted has changed slightly with discrimination to lgbtq+ becoming more acceptable to the federal government, but many schools still hold use title ix as a basis for no discrimination against lgbtq+. nevertheless, bathroom laws are an example of local laws that may combate title ix so please research them. but just because the laws in your state are intolerant does not mean your community will be, they could be accepting! you need to gage your community and figure out if it is safe first. (and you can always take action to change laws! i once met a trans man who helped make sure nondiscriminatory laws were passed in my state, you could help secure change!)

“be confident in yourself before you come out” when you come out you may have people in your life that tell you that you don’t know what you’re talking about. here’s some reassurance for you, they’re wrong. these people probably want the best for you (especially if they’re friends or family) but they’re still wrong. you’ve probably been thinking about this for a while now and i can assure you, what you’re feeling is valid. but before this happens you need to be confident with who you are. you need to not only be sure of your sexuality or gender, but you also need to have pride in yourself. you will always be terrified when you come out, especially at first, but to come out you have to be proud of who you are. but remember, your sexuality and gender is only a facet of your personality, don’t make it everything. but, in the end, you need to be out to yourself before you come out to anyone else.

“you don’t have to come out, but if you chose to, make sure it’s safe” coming out is not something you have to do, trust me. being in the closet for your safety or just because you aren’t ready is 100% valid. if it’s better for you to stay in the closet, do it and do not let anyone push you out before you’re ready. you’re still an important member of the community and we will always support you. however, if you do want to come out you need to make sure it’s safe. as someone once advised me, “it’s hard but it’s better to be in the closet and be safe than be out and disowned.” try to gage your family and community first, slide lgbtq+ issues into the conversation, talk about openly lgbtq+ people, etc, but make sure you’ll be safe.

“make friends before life goes to shit” this is perhaps the advice i love the most, life is going to suck and coming out is never easy, so make friends before you come out and do not go through this alone. i’m not saying make only lgbtq+ friends, but make sure you have friends who will stand by you and accept you. don’t go through these things alone, find like minded people who can help you because life can ben harsh. if you don’t have many people you think support you, i am always here. please, please reach out, you do not deserve to be alone in this.

“there are always going to be people who love you for who you are” i know that it may not seem like there’s going to be people who support you, especially when your family isn’t tolerant, but there will be. perhaps it’s now within your friends or perhaps it’s in five years when you’ve moved out and made your own family; but no matter what, you will be surrounded by people who love you one day. however there is someone who will love you right next to you, just reach out and you’ll find them! maybe a friend, a cousin, a sibiling, someone is there! please just reach out and find someone you can trust, you can do it!

“people won’t make a big deal of it unless you do” coming out for the first time is the most nerve-racking you may ever experience. for me, i felt like my heart dropped when i got the words out, and it didn’t get much better each time after. but each time every expectation i had, each reaction i expected, it was never there. all in reply i got was: “cool,” “ashley, it was kind of obvious,” and my absolute favorite, “congratulations!” people will not make a big deal of it like you expect. you cannot predict their reactions and your idea of what it will be like will most likely be wrong. i always expect that afterwards my friends will start to grow away from me, uncomfortable at the idea of me being a lesbian, yet in reality we only grew closer. even my friend who i was scared to come out to because she’s religious has become even closer to me and is far from uncomfortable with my sexuality. people will surprise you in the most amazing way sometimes. i promise you it will be okay.

“it’s okay to be scared, just be confident in yourself” this goes hand in hand with the idea that you need to be out to yourself before you come out, you need to be confident with yourself. coming out and being open about your gender identity or sexuality is terrifying and will always be. there will be a time when you’re scared and that’s okay, we all are. and that doesn’t invalidate you. you’ll question if your sexuality or gender is real and you’ll wonder if you’re making it all up, you aren’t, you’re valid. the fear and doubt you feel are always there and the only way to combat them is to be confident in who you are.

“do not be afraid to ask for help” whether you’re coming out or are just being out and proud, you’re going to need help. you’re going to need help understanding your identity, figuring out how to approach it, and figuring out how to be proud. and that’s okay! ask for help from other lgbtq+ students in your school and from friends. also consider talking to a counselor or social worker, they can be a lot more help than you think. these people won’t tell you what to do or what to think, but they’ll help you understand the path you need to take. the way i found help in my school was by going to a gender-sexuality alliance (gsa) meeting. there i met older lgbtq+ kids and a social worker/teacher who was always available to help me out. it was with the help of two of the older students i met there for me to gain the confidence to come out. asking for help is perhaps one of the most beneficial things you can do as a lgbtq+ student. the more allies you have, the better.

“know and make sure people respect your boundaries” as you come to terms with your gender identity and sexuality, you’ll find there are things you are comfortable with and things you aren’t. things like pretending you’re still cisgender around your parents or not showing physical affection in public are things you may have to do to feel safe and secure and others need to respect that. voice to your friends that you may not be comfortable with them using your new pronouns in public just yet or that you don’t want them to mention your sexuality to others. the most common thing i have found that friends and family tend not to respect is that sometimes you aren’t ready to publicly come out. perhaps it’s because your parents might not be accepting or you’re just not ready, but no person has the right to try and push you to come out. so set your boundaries and voice them to everyone around you. remember, you set the rules.

“not all lgbtq+ people are good” as a minority, sometimes you feel more comfortable when you’re around other likeminded people. it may be more appealing for you to be surrounded by other lgbtq+ than people who may not agree with your identity. i personally sometimes find myself looking for any other lgbtq+ in the room in hopes i’m not alone because that can be terrifying in some situations. but as you do this, you may find yourself pulled towards others who aren’t actually good people. in the hopes to find yourself with other lgbtq+, you may end up surrounding yourself with crappy people who aren’t who you anticipated you’d associate yourself with. one thing i’ve learned is that you need to make your lgbtq+ identity a facet of yourself, not your whole personality. if you pretend your identity is the only characteristic about yourself that matters, you’ll find that your friends aren’t the people that are right for you. it’s okay to bond with people over being lgbtq+, but if they don’t respect the other parts of your being, then they aren’t the right people. as someone once said to me, “just because you have something in common with someone doesn’t mean you have to be friends nor are you obligated.”

“if someone invalidates your identity, do not get aggressive” when you’re open about your identity someone will always try to tell you you’re wrong. as i’ve explained before, confidence and being proud in your identity is key to making sure these words don’t hurt you, but it’s still hard. some people just don’t let things go and they will try time and time again to make sure their (wrong) point gets across. after a while you’re going to get tired and you’re going to want to snap back, but for your safety you can’t. try to inform them and try to help them understand, but after a while you just need to walk away. don’t engage with people who have the goal to hurt you, just walk away. getting angry with someone, especially if they’re a parent, could be dangerous and have bad outcomes. please, try to remain levelheaded. remember “don’t react, just try to educate.”

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cyrelia-j · 6 years

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[fic] Undertow 1 (Jack/Parmak)

So what have I been working on? Another stupid WIP :D Couldn't get DOM!Kelas out of my head after drawing the new blog header (and also after talking with @borg-apologist ) so thought I'd mess around with a little AU with Parmak visiting the Institute in Season 7 and meeting our boy Jack. In this Jack is more gray ace and I was excited to explore more kink with him so here goes.

Warnings: None for this part except Jack's usual disjointed thought, Jack/Parmak overall and a bit of praise kink

“In one week, you’ll kneel for me.”

Jack plays the words back in his head, a small counter having already started in his head from the time that he met the Cardassian doctor known as Kelas Parmak. The counter was a conscious counter, but it appeared when he asked his innermost thoughts how much time had passed. It’s been one hour, thirty three minutes, and four seconds. It keeps counting as he pulls the old doctor back to mind, pulls every piece of him perfectly and Precisely as he stands on the table rocking back and forth on his heels, staring out into the distance while he… Considers.

Kelas Parmak age one hundred and five (mind converting the number to approximately fifty two in human years though possibly as old as sixty one as Imprecise as the conversations are) stands as tall as Jack but possibly taller if it weren’t for the congenital spine curvature, the stoop, the odd tilt of the head perpetually, servilely looking upwards. It was… Nice because Jack didn’t need to make himself higher when he met him, he didn’t try and make himself More, didn’t try to tower over Jack and that set his mind at ease.

People were afraid of him so they always tried to make themselves Big and that made him… uneasy.

Kelas Parmak is slight, he’s an albino manifested by a violet tint to his gray skin, a slight pink to his sclera, an indigo hue to his eyes, and a pair of large silver spectacles that control the shaking of his pupils. He is sensitive to light but not cold (a different Breed of Cardassian from the Northern Continent thus spoke Zarathustra) and walks with a deliberate and measured step. He’s slight of build but there’s something Off, something stronger than it looks from the soft spoken voice that everyone strains to hear but Jack, from the mouth that barely moves when it speaks. Kelas Parmak leaves a tang of cinnamon spice on his tongue that Jack tasted when he was near him.

Jack wasn’t supposed to be near him.

Jack was never supposed to meet him.

Doctor Parmak wasn’t supposed to be in the inpatient wing directly. His work, he said involved the research of genetic augments but Nurse Ratched didn’t think it was a Good Idea for Jack or the Others to have any contact with Outsiders after the Incidents. Jack didn’t understand why they still expected him to listen to any of them. He still constantly Questioned from whence their Authority over him originated. They never answered him with anything Satisfactory and they… they had no right to keep him there when Sarina was allowed to leave and Bashir said there wasn’t anything he could do for them so why… why they kept this charade up, why they persisted in him changing or why they thought like the Foolish Virgin that they would awaken and his magic power would have changed all laws and morals and-

“They must be getting desperate,” Lauren says interrupting his Thoughts. Jack’s head snaps up the counter still counting violet eyes peering up over the frames of the spectacles. In one week, you’ll kneel for me…“If they’re letting one of the Cardassian Resistance doctors even think about looking at their records.”

“They’re afraid,” Patrick adds with a sigh, watching the feed that he and Jack had tapped into. Their security will recode soon enough but for now it’s enough for Jack to stare intently at the screen and continue considering the puzzle of Doctor Parmak.

“They should be afraid, they should have listened but it’s too late now too late for Martha to pull her dress back down.”

“It’s never too late to pull your dress back down, Jack,” Lauren retorts as she stares blankly a moment at the picture book. Jack sighs, studying the figure as the meeting continues. It’s a meeting about Jack and it Irritates him that he’s not there but… but Doctor Parmak wants him as an assistant which wasn’t the intent when Jack dropped from the ceiling in front of him but that’s what it’s become and he’s riveted to the back and forth volley of words. He stands nearly perfectly still biting his finger, Lauren murmuring that the Doctor is attractive but clearly not the Right Type and that’s code for a man who hasn’t triggered Lauren’s hallucinations.

But he triggered something for Jack.

The intent at first was a simple one. Jack needed to see the stranger, know the stranger who was in his Space hearing the pokpok of the cane tip echoing like a siren’s song to bring him to drown. He needed to know the creature behind the sound of their dark and warm little corner of the universe so he hung back searching, following the sound but seemingly too slow to catch it, the shadow vanishing around a corner until every light blared and all suns rose with the dawn. Doctor Parmak had slipped in like Mercury beneath the door, wavering, flickering quicksilver and it had stopped Jack a moment when he finally laid eyes on him.

Doctor Parmak said he wanted to talk.

So they talked...

---

“Hmm… they can’t contain you and yet here you are at the mercy of… what did you call them… basics?”

“Basics, simple, down the ladder of the chain, slower, weaker, duller, but you you take enough insects in a swarm and they can bring down a mighty creature! Fell worlds, galaxies, collapse stars mmhm.”

“And you would… rule over them?”

“Rule? Ha! That’s what they say too- rule, who’d want to rule hm hm? Milton would- better to reign in hell than serve in heaven but but Paradise is long lost and Hell is everyone here and I… I just want Quiet! Is that too much to ask?! Freedom?Quiet?! But all men hate the wretched and there’s… there’s nothing more wretched than a seraphim cast with six broken wings… why are you laughing?”

It started with a little smile. Jack introduced himself. Doctor Parmak kept smiling non threatening, assessing good Good but holding firm, eyes following Jack’s movements, leaning on the cane, a tilt of the head as he gave his name back, lips barely moving, a flit of the tongue that was like a small lizard’s, delicate, a push of glasses, no offer of hand, as they discussed and lips still barely moved keeping Jack from reading them, still Smiling as eyes tracked, no draw back, no posturing just Watching, laughing softly, then louder, disarming because Jack didn’t… raise his voice as he would when he Needed to know something but just asked level and Curious...

“Ah, my apologies it’s just that… what you said reminded me of things I’ve heard so many times in so many academic circles. Mmm… how to explain I suppose you would say that for many Cardassians, the mightiest human is still a blind and snivelling vole next to even the weakest of us... Oh but that sounds like slight, doesn’t it? My apologies, I suppose I’m not well versed in your customs.”

“You’re not better than me. Quantifiably even… even accounting for genetic differences in bones density, the averages that make us different it… it doesn’t matter and I don’t know why you’d stand there saying things you know aren’t true I don’t know why you wouldn’t know any of this or why you’d argue it with me because you had to had to have read my file.”

Jack’s hand on his shoulder and Doctor Parmak drew in a breath but not scared, increased respirations, another push of glasses, another speculative tilt, another flick of that tongue which Jack mimicked and Parmak smiled hand over Jack’s thumb circling scales, warm hand, trapping, holding him there, looking in his eyes steadily brilliantly Jack’s thumb in his mouth biting hard before that hand released soft, stepping in challenging sweetly smiling smelling cinnamon and Jack tasting spice in the air a study, more study of him Jack uncertain unsure, a tap of the cane, another step towards him voice soft hands soft, mouth soft, warm, everything about Doctor Parmak radiating warm.

“No, I hadn’t actually. It wasn’t necessary to know about any of you individually. And I suspect were I to read your file I’d find it hardly conveys everything that I need to know about you.”

“What do you need to know about me? They said… that that you weren’t going to study us, that you weren’t going to scan, you weren’t going to cut because I don’t agree to that. You’re not cutting me open! No!”

“Mmm no, there’s no need for that. In fact… the use I have for you is much different. With your… gifts you say, you might be the assistant that I need. They offered me some young man but I fear he isn’t going to be able to keep up academically. But I have a feeling that you’ll work out quite nicely.”

“I’m not taking orders from you? I know you heard me, I don’t take orders hm. I don’t-”

Nystagmatism met paroxysm and both battled to a standstill, Parmak with the saucy cinnamon tilt of head and fingers dancing over the exposed ridges of his neck mirrored on Jack’s, Jack followed absently, both of them stopped having danced circles in the empty common room around the couch, a chase around the sofa ashes ashes, all falling down, step left step right, Parmak holding up a single digit smile dark on his face but not Threatening just… commanding.

“One week. In one week, you’ll kneel for me…”

“Why… why would I kneel for you?”

“Because you want to be a good boy of course...”

Whispered sibilant susserated auditory smoke sending shivers as the Doctor slowly turned his back on Jack the ghost of that voice, that scent lingering in the air before the room started back up, stopped time resuming, People egress ingress, in out and Jack fled back when the lights came back on and he realized until then the room had been nearly pitch black with Doctor Parmak still seeing him clear as day.

“Good boy…”

---

“Well you certainly must have made an impression,” Lauren teases as Jack watches Doctor Parmak neatly parlay Jack’s temporary Extra Privileges to Assist him. He blinks a few times before jumping down. “You’ll have to tell me your secret.”

“See Jack, this is why Sarina said that you catch more flies with honey,” Patrick says and Jack is… pleased that Patrick has something to smile about because Patrick like the rest of them has been a lot quieter since Sarina’s departure, but unlike Jack the silence from the other two is an inward reflection, a rebirthed quiet hope for their own liberation and Jack… wonders what it might be like to have people on the Outside waiting for him. Sarina didn’t have anyone but Lauren and Patrick… they’re different.

Jack doesn’t hope. Jack doesn’t dream. Jack doesn’t particularly care who wins the war because the walls of his room, his cell look the same no matter who owns the galaxy. Bashir speaks loftily about freedom and subjugation but Jack’s lived most of his life in chains and still doesn’t understand if it’s good enough for His existence why they’re not willing to pledge the save to save billions of their fellow man. Jack will never Understand the anger at him for doing what he was told, never understand why they Hate that he refuses to call them equal. Equal men didn’t wear chains and that either made him Prometheus or Sicinnus using his gifts in the service of Themistocles… In one week, you’ll kneel for me… Never, he thinks, even as he watches The Federation barter him away like an Athenian slave.

Jack doesn’t belong to anybody.

But still feels the memory ghost of breath on his face, the counter counting higher, indigo eyes above the glimmering lenses blinking every second…

Good boy...

#star trek ds9 #ds9 fanfic #ds9 jack #kelas parmak #jack/parmak #light ds stuff #like squint and you'll miss it for this part #fanfic #cyrelia-j

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katsitting · 7 years

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Lace

For Jamie <3 @obsidianpen

Prompt: Lace + Harrymort

Rating: M

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, One-sided Unresolved Sexual Tension, Torture

Don’t know what this is. This took me longer to write. I wanted to write smut, but the muse refused. Please excuse my typos. Also, if you haven’t guessed it already. This is probably my fave trope for this ship ^^; I hope you like it, irrespective of this <3

A veil had fallen over his eyes, the familiar weight drawing a soft breath from his lips. The sensation was the same as all the times before. Identical in that his enemy occluded his vision; that the world ceased to exist outside of the four walls he was currently sitting within.

Why this was so?

Harry could not hazard a guess. He had tried one too many times to decipher just what it was that ran through the old man's head, and still, Harry had yet to discern the answer. So here he was, sitting idly in the dining room, waiting for heaven knows what to happen with a bloody blindfold pressed against his eyes and no real explanation as to why.

Just a simple, "stay still," and, "put on the bloody blindfold," by his generous babysitter.

It didn't matter that this was the status quo. That this was a common occurrence ever since he'd been forced into the Dark Lord's marvelous care. It would be stupid for Harry to think that Voldemort was not planning something, that the man had no purpose for blindfolding him. Voldemort never acted without intention; Harry had seen enough memories of the Dark Lord's younger years to know just how Voldemort functioned.

But again, the issue always went back to why. Why did the Dark Lord blindfold him every night before dinner? Why did the Dark Lord force him to eat with him at all? Harry's stomach turned, nerves frayed. It was anxiety-inducing to not know. Completely unsettling that he had to follow along with a madman's whims.

"Harry...how are you this evening?"

The sudden sound of the sibilant voice was enough to stand the hairs on Harry's arms on end. It didn't matter that Harry heard it often. It didn't matter that every single night he would be subjected to that very same question, while blindfolded and forced to sit at the dinner table.

None of it mattered.

There was a script to be followed, one that Harry knew none of the lines for.

Bastard.

"...The same as always. Can't say the shade of the paint changes much when you're imprisoned in the same four bloody walls."

Harry's remark was scathing, full of all the vitriol he could muster within his body.

It was the only control he really had over his situation since the man had kidnapped him. He had believed the Polyjuice trick would work too, that he'd be able to slip past the Dark Lord's non-existent nose and make it out unscathed. But that had certainly not been the case.

The whole affair had gone the exact opposite of swell, in his honest opinion. It was disturbing just how quickly Voldemort had spotted him. His malignant eyes catching his own almost instantaneously. It didn't matter that there were at least ten different copies of himself flying through the darkened sky. None at all when the Dark Lord had managed to sniff him out like an offensive odor.

It was absurd, really. Though when was Harry's life not a case of Murphy's Law? When did brilliant plans not go awry in the most unexpected of ways?

Hedwig.

Harry cringed as if he'd been hit, recalling with vivid clarity how the Dark Lord had struck his most loyal companion down when she'd tried to save him. He wished he could have saved her, that he could have done something to have saved her from the killing curse he had flung at her in rage.

Harry released a soft, shuddering breath at the memory.

But there had been no time to grieve for her. No time at all in the seconds Voldemort had seized him by the throat and apparated them away. He couldn't afford to cry and to think about her when he was in danger, when at any moment's notice the bastard could exploit that weakness.

...So yes, Harry was more than a little bitter. Especially when he had not had even a single moment of respite to grieve for his friend. It was only fair that he take any and all opportunity to defy this man. There was satisfaction in knowing that he'd pissed off the Dark Lord, that even in a position of complete powerlessness he could still get underneath the man's skin.

It was well worth living through the Cruciatus curse.

Harry sensed rather than saw the man's irritation flare, the dinner table the only barrier between them as Voldemort's fury erupted, his magic like writhing snakes lapping at his skin.

"Rude as always. I don't suppose your upbringing allowed for such a privilege."

Harry winced as if struck.

Wow.

Before Harry could think to say something scathing in return, Voldemort continued on as if he hadn’t been the cause of Harry’s shitty upbringing in the first place.

"Now then, I believe that your dinner is served. You should eat it while the charms are still in effect."

Harry frowned. He'd sooner eat glass than listen to a single thing the man said. Not after a comment like that.

"Get stuffed." Harry said instead, lips twisting into a vicious smirk when Voldemort released a sharp exhale in irritation.

Oh, he was annoyed? Good.

"You are trying my patience, Harry." Voldemort warned, but Harry willfully ignored the threat.

"And your point is? I am your prisoner, not your minion. I don't have to be civil to you. You killed Hedwig. You kidnapped me and nearly killed me once already. You're bloody mad if you think‒"

"Crucio."

Harry never finished his rant.

Harry felt his lungs completely deplete of air from the force of the spell. It was fire and ice, the warring sensations running up his skin and tugging at each of his nerve endings. Harry could not say a word, the syllables lost to the agony that suddenly pierced through each of his limbs, like knives cutting flesh, the blade stabbing deep into the bed of his fingernails.

He ached in places he'd never hurt before. Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes, and Harry was never more grateful of the fact that he was blindfolded then. Anything was better than showing this man weakness. Anything was better than showing just how affected he was by the strength of Voldemort's spell.

"You will treat me with the respect. You will mind that tongue or I will mind it for you, you foolish boy."

Harry closed his teeth around his bottom lip to stifle the scream that threatened to come up his throat. It was like a current trying to force its way through a small crack, like a dam ready to burst at any moment's notice if left unchecked. But Harry bit until he bled, silencing the cries because he absolutely refused to give him the satisfaction.

He would not give in. He would not heel.

But then the pain grew worse. So much worse.

Harry felt his spine bend without any true control, felt the precise second he arched and threw his head back from the visceral sensation. His fingers dig into the carpeted ground for purchase, unable to recall when he had fallen onto the unforgiving floor, but uncaring of that small detail when he felt like he were being burned alive. All he could see was black, the blindfold exacerbating rather than dulling the agony, his senses attuned to every mouthful of air he sucked into his lungs. All Harry could feel was acid flowing through his veins, and he wanted nothing more than for the abuse to end.

But still, he did not scream. Even when he wanted nothing more than to ease the pressure crushing his lungs.

And then the pressure compounded on itself, the scream like bile churning in his stomach when his fingers felt though they were now being snapped one by one, like his elbows and knees were being fractured in time with each breath Harry took. It was too much, even for him to resist. He could scarcely breathe, his lungs crying out under the assault.

Please make it stop! Harry thought, before the pressure gave. Before he could no longer cling to his resistance.

Harry screamed like he never had before. No longer able to hold in the cries; the feeling of his spine being twisted and pulled was as if the magic alone would snap his spine right in half.

"Delicious." Harry heard Voldemort speak from somewhere above him, the parseltongue like water flowing through a river. Rapid and unyielding, it broke through the whirlwind of Harry's emotions, the agony giving way momentarily.

But the relief was short lived.

Harry cried out when he felt something latch onto the back of his head and yank painfully on his hair. A hand, perhaps? A claw? Harry did not know what it was, but all he knew was that it hurt. And that it bent his head so far back that he was sure his neck might snap in two.

"Will you obey?" Voldemort said, and Harry felt another rush of agony and hate dance within his veins. He felt acid creep up his throat, the rush enough to let him shape the words that formed along the crevices of his brain.

"N-never," Harry gasped, barely managing to string the words together since Voldemort had yet to lift the spell drowning him in absolute misery. But Harry couldn't just leave Voldemort's mocking words unanswered. No, Harry had to show him just how little he valued the man's opinion. Voldemort could just shove his statement right up his‒

"Do you enjoy being punished, Harry?"

And then the agony ceased, the magic sucking what little strength Harry had left like a black hole.

Harry collapsed onto the ground, a weak cry falling from his lips when the hand‒yes, it was Voldemort's hand‒kept a firm grip on his hair. His neck protested at the strange angle it was bent at, his arms like heavy weights, powerless to push against the ground to relieve the pressure on his neck.

Harry was certain Voldemort had ripped several strands of hair from his head in that endeavor.

Seconds passed before Harry could compose himself. His body still shaking with the force of Voldemort's spell, but it was loads better than being pulled under that dangerous current.

"W-what kind of bloody question is that? I definitely don’t like‒”

“I do not believe you,” Voldemort interrupted, his voice coming from somewhere directly in front of him. The Dark Lord sounded amused, like he was ready to break into laughter at any moment. It was unsettling the way Harry could tell, how the ripples in his voice could alert Harry instantly of a change in his mood.

“They bring you here under my orders. You are asked to sit and have dinner with me precisely at 7:00 o’clock sharp each evening. And yet, each time any attempt at polite conversation is rejected.”

That sounded about right. Harry would never entertain even the thought of politeness with this man. Sure, it was foolish to poke the beast as often as he did, but he couldn’t help it. Even when he tried to ignore him, his mouth could never remain perfectly shut. It was like it had a mind of its own, never listening to reason, or heeding any warnings.

Remaining silent was the smarter choice, the safer strategy in defying the Dark Lord, but just as easily as it was for Harry to get underneath Voldemort's skin, Voldemort was just as skilled at getting underneath Harry's. It was, to his dismay, a two-way street.

“What? Did you expect me to ask you to pass me the salt and pepper over dinner? To make small talk with the man that murdered my parents?” Harry mocked, wincing when Voldemort tightened his grip on his head in retaliation.

“Is it wise to antagonize me so? To make your stay far more unpleasant than it could be? You are fed, you are clothed, and you are allowed a room of your own. I could take all these amenities away and show you just how‒”

“Do it. Hardly matters to me what you do. The Order will find me and they will break me out. We will win.”

Voldemort’s hand stilled in his hair, his grip relaxing before disentangling from his hair entirely. Harry’s head dropped onto the ground, his cheek getting the brunt of the fall. He was certain he’d have a bruise by the end of it, if the throbbing was anything to go by.

A heavy silence fell between them.

Harry swallowed, anticipation curling in his stomach when the man had yet to speak. It was always a bad sign when the Dark Lord was quiet. It could mean one of two things. He was either plotting, or incredibly angry. And Harry was certain it would be the latter of the two.

Voldemort was angry. Harry could feel it in his bones, the way the connection between them flared to life with the rolling storm of his emotions.

It was the calm before the storm, the silence before the rage. And Harry waited for the man to explode, to curse him and drag him back to his room without dinner. As he often did.

But Voldemort did not react as Harry expected.

Voldemort laughed.

He started bloody laughing. It sounded like the Dark Lord was choking on air, like he could not help but release the strangled sounds from the strength of his delight.

Harry was floored, unnerved and unsure at what to do despite his senses screaming for him to rise from where he’d fallen on the ground. But his limbs refused to cooperate, they were like jelly after being held under the Cruciatus curse for as long as he'd been.

Could it have been a minute? Could have been an hour? Harry did not know, but before he could ask Voldemort to explain just what he found so damn amusing, Voldemort spoke.

“Harry, Harry, Harry...how charming. How naive you are.”

Harry gasped when he felt something warm dance along his nerve endings before he was forcefully lifted by an invisible force. He was floating in midair, the pit of his stomach protesting at the weightless feeling that had fallen over him while blindfolded.

Harry wished he could at least see. That he could at least know what Voldemort’s expression looked like in that second. Because Harry had been sure the man was going to curse him, not laugh at him. None of this made any bloody sense.

“The Order will not come, I can assure you of this. Your mudblood pet and your bloodtraitor friend will not be performing any sort of heroics to free you from my grasp.”

Harry’s arms prickled with unease, a full body shudder running up his spine when the man practically purred the words out like a promise. As if he was certain, as if he knew for a fact that they would not come.

What has he done? Harry thought instantly, the implication of Voldemort's words forcing image after unpleasant image in Harry’s head.

He saw Ron’s blue, twinkling eyes shattering like glass. He saw Hermione’s dimpled smile, lips stretching too wide. He heard their laughter, and he felt their hands pressed up against his shoulders, digging their hands into his flesh. He could see them clearly behind the opaque blindfold on his face, their flesh rotting away...

And it was with great horror that Harry realized just what Voldemort had meant.

No.

“W-what did you do to them!? Where are they? What did you do?” Harry panicked, his voice desperate and angry all at once as he struggled to free himself from the force keeping him perfectly still. It didn’t matter that his stomach was protesting heavily or that he sounded like he was pleading rather than demanding the man to tell him.

Harry needed to know. He needed it more than his stomach needed food, more than his lungs needed air.

“I have done nothing to your friends. Not yet, at least.”

Harry slumped into the invisible hold, his relief so palpable that he didn’t bother to mask it.

“But they are here, and I cannot promise that they will remain unharmed. They took quite the risk infiltrating this estate...and I certainly cannot leave such an offense against me without punishment.”

“Don’t!” Harry shouted instantly, his voice echoing within the small room like there were a thousand versions of himself screaming out the word. Harry renewed his struggles, unable to keep himself still when Voldemort could potentially harm his friends. When the man didn’t sound like he gave a cared at all about whether he killed them or tortured them, or both.

Harry wouldn’t let him. He refused to let any harm come to them, not after they risked so much to save him. If Harry was tortured and hurt, he could live with this fact. He could bite his tongue and survive the suffering. But for Voldemort to torture his friends...no, it was unacceptable. Harry couldn’t stomach it, wouldn’t stand for it.

So he said the first thing he could think of. All reason be damned.

“I’ll behave. I’ll...stop being a complete arse. Just don’t hurt them, please.” The words were like battery acid on his tongue, but he meant every single word he said. He seized on the one thing Voldemort had seemed to want from him and threw it at the man in the hopes that it would work. He’d kiss the man’s feet if that meant he’d keep his friends out of trouble. If it would be enough to get them out of harm’s way.

“A compelling offer. But what makes you so sure that that is what I desire from you, Harry Potter?”

Harry swallowed at the hint of curiosity in the man’s voice. He would admit that he hadn’t thought that far in advance. The words had shot out of him without much thought, the only thing running through the back of his head the safety of his friends and the conversation they’d been having earlier that evening.

Voldemort had chastised him about his lack of politeness, had cursed him over a simple thing as mouthing off at him. Sure, Harry had seen the man kill others for less. But still, the man’s fixation with his behavior had been the first thing he’d thought of before running his mouth.

He didn’t necessarily have a reason, but he wouldn’t tell that to Voldemort. Not when this could possibly save his friends from harm.

“You bring me to the dining hall to eat with you. You blindfold me and you ask about my feelings, and my thoughts. You don’t keep me confined in a cell and you don’t starve me when you otherwise could. You haven’t killed me yet when you’ve spent most of my life trying to put me six feet under. There is something you want from me, and whatever it is, I'll give it to you. J-just don't harm my friends.”

Harry’s throat felt tight, the weight of his words as oppressive as Voldemort’s magic keeping a firm grasp of his body. But he had said them. He had voiced the concerns he had had from the moment he’d been captured rather than killed. He didn’t know why Voldemort had not killed him, didn’t know why Voldemort had not kept him hidden away in the dingiest cell the Malfoy’s had. Harry simply didn’t know.

He had asked the man before for an explanation, but had received none each time. Perhaps, this time, he might humor him. Maybe he might even explain what the blindfold was for. What the purpose of this whole charade was.

Harry felt clothes rustle in the dark, like the sound of a bird’s wings flapping in the air. Something cool pressed against his cheeks, and he shivered. The soft touch spread along his face, and Harry swallowed nervously when a warm finger then touched his forehead, tracing the ridges of his scar in a reverent fashion.

Harry jolted when a sharp nail dug into the skin, and he immediately tried to pull away. But there was nowhere for him to go. Voldemort's magic held him rooted in place, unable to do nothing more than clench his fists and wiggles his toes.

Harry didn’t know what was happening.

“Sign a magical contract submitting to my terms, and I will spare your friends.”

Harry froze, disbelief clouding his senses.

No, I couldn’t possibly--

“You will swear that you will never raise your wand against me unless I have permitted you otherwise. You will swear that you will never return to your allies and that you remain in my care indefinitely.”

Harry’s breaths came quickly, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“And you will do so tonight, or I will consider their lives forfeit.”

Harry felt his stomach turn at even the thought of serving this man. He’d rather die, he’d rather suffer through the Killing Curse and be done with it.

But he couldn’t leave his friends to die. He couldn’t.

“Spare all of my friends. Spare everyone that I care about, give them a chance to renounce themselves, even. And I'll sign whatever it is you want me to.” Harry said desperately, and winced when Voldemort laughed silkily at his poor attempt to change some of the terms.

“And what would you give me in exchange for the lives of the other traitors? I had intended to spare the Pureblood children, so much magical blood has already been lost. But what reason do I have to spare the mudbloods fighting in this war? What are their filthy lives worth?”

Harry swallowed, unable to form an answer to his question.

What could Harry possible give him? What did he have that Voldemort could possible want? Harry was thrown.

So Harry, for the second time that day, said the first thing he could think of.

“My loyalty. I'll give you my loyalty in exchange for their lives.” Harry said, throat tight.

Voldemort's fingers on his scar stilled, as if considering Harry's words.

Harry's heart began to race when the hand finally dropped, fingers catching on his blindfold.

And then, Voldemort’s fingers tugged at the fabric, the lace falling away from his eyes to reveal bright, white light. Harry hissed in pain closing his eyes immediately to shield his eyes from the too bright light.

"Your loyalty..." Voldemort whispered, tone curious.

It was several seconds before Harry was finally able to open his eyes. He blinked away the dark spots dancing along his vision, ignoring the silence that had fallen between them once more, before he settled his gaze on Voldemort's pale, gaunt face. His skin looked waxy underneath the white light above their heads. Harry might even say, translucent, with how readily he could discern the faint blue veins twisting underneath the flesh in spite of his poor vision.Harry was revolted by the sight, but he said nothing nor turned away.

There was nowhere for him to go, and the strange emotion glimmering within the man’s crimson eyes made it difficult to even blink.

They glittered like rubies, hints of garnet and pinks pooled within the iris. Harry, if he squinted, could almost see himself reflected in there. They were too bloody close.

“You would give me your loyalty in exchange for their lives?” Voldemort said, head tilting to one side as if he were seeing Harry for the first time.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, fingers shaking nervously. Voldemort was too close, and there was a gleam in his eyes that did not sit well for Harry at all. He was looking at him like he were some specimen to be inspected, like he had found something particularly interesting and now could not be bothered to look away.

It took Harry longer than he’d like to gather himself, but when he did, he clenched his jaw and shot the man the most determined expression he could muster. He wasn’t feeling particularly courageous in that second, but it didn’t matter how he felt. He knew what he needed to say. He knew what he needed to do to ensure that everyone made it out alive.

"Yes. I would."

The words felt like a death sentence, strange and foreign on his tongue. But Harry wouldn't have it any other way, would have said nothing else in that moment. He would do whatever it took to protect his friends. Even if it meant selling his soul to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort’s expression froze for a moment, and then, just as Harry was about to lose his mind, a slow smile spread along the man’s lips.

It was the most terrifying thing Harry had ever seen in his life. Single-handedly more frightening than Bellatrix’s maniacal grin when he had his unfortunate run in with her at the Ministry of Magic.

Harry felt rather than saw Voldemort’s magic flare out, the power of it like the heat of the scorching afternoon sun. He shuddered, feeling the waves of magic lap at his skin before settling over his eyes. Just where the blindfold had shrouded his vision mere moments earlier.

“Have I told you Harry, exactly how lovely lace looks on you?”

Harry swallowed.

What?

“Simply how you look with your eyes hidden away, the cloth’s intricate patterns woven through the material as you flounder over your meal?”

What was happening?

“Do you not want to know why it is that you are not dead? To know why I deny you the privilege of your vision when in my presence? Why I treat you better than you deserve?”

Harry was silent. He did not want to know anymore. He had been curious certainly, but the man’s eyes. They burned with a strange emotion, with something that made Harry’s skin crawl with unease.

Voldemort did not wait for him to answer, his hand instead coming up to trail pale, clawed fingers against his cheekbone.

“You are my Horcrux...your soul irrevocably intertwined with my own,” Voldemort hissed, the parseltongue dancing along his senses. Harry froze, his disbelief and horror exploding so viciously that Harry did not know when one emotion began and the other ended. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.

But how was it that Harry could sense Voldemort’s thoughts? How was it that he could see into his head as if he were living through Voldemort’s flesh? Dumbledore’s explanation had been unsatisfactory back then. Perhaps, this was what Dumbledore had not wanted to tell him. A burden that he did not think Harry was ready to bear.

Merlin, this couldn’t be true. But the weight of his words felt more oppressive than the magic restraining him. It felt more constricting, more suffocating than any shackles Voldemort could put on him.

No.

“My emotions, my thoughts, my dreams are as much a part of you as they are mine. I own you, Harry Potter. Far more completely than anyone could ever dream,” Voldemort said in English then, caressing Harry’s quivering cheek in a reverent fashion. Slow and fluid, like death kissing along warm skin.

Harry felt like he might be sick. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have a piece of‒

Harry’s mouth trembled, but he couldn’t find the words.

“And here you are, contrary and resistant. Fighting the connection that grows stronger with each passing day you reside here…”

Voldemort’s fingers slipped away from his cheek, moving past his ear to thread through his hair. Harry shuddered at the strange, ticklish sensation, mouth parting open to tell Voldemort to stop.

But the words died in his throat when Voldemort then leaned in so close that there was only a hair’s breadth of space separating their lips, the proximity nearly making him cross-eyed.

“Nothing delights me more than conquering you, than watching you fumble and rely on your Lord when I have stripped you of your vision. As poor as it already is without my own influence.”

Voldemort was mad. He was completely, totally, absolutely mad. Harry thought in that second, horror seizing him completely when the man inhaled deeply, eyes closing momentarily as if he were relishing this moment.

Merlin, please.

“And now here you are, begging me to spare the lives of these vermin in exchange for your loyalty. Are they worth the price to be paid? Are they worth your pride and your freedom?” Voldemort asked, and Harry tried not to gasp when Voldemort’s firm grip on his head tightened, their lips nearly brushing.

Harry could taste Voldemort’s breath on his tongue, like freshly spilled blood and frozen air seeping through the cracks of an icebox. And he wanted nothing more than to pull away from this, than to tell Voldemort to fuck off.

But he didn’t. This was a test. Voldemort wanted a specific answer from him, wanted to show him just what it entailed to give up his agency for the lives of his friends and perfect strangers. He knew his answer, even before Voldemort had asked him the question.

“Yes.”

Just one word was enough to change everything in that second.

Harry watched Voldemort’s restraint shatter, noted the second bright red eyes exploded with triumph and his lips curved into a pleased grin. His magic erupted around him, the current overtaking Harry completely.

“A fine choice, my Horcrux.”

#harrymort #one word prompt #I did a thing #this is dark as usual #why do I do this #obsidianpen #jamiemarierose

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lovelyyishe · 7 years

Text

The Self-Refuting Nature of Pantheism

By: Norman Geisler

Pantheism is self-refuting, at least all forms that claim individuality is an illusion caused by my mind. For according to pantheism, individual minds are themselves aspects of the illusion and can therefore provide no basis for explaining it. If the mind is part of the illusion, it cannot be the ground for explaining the illusion. Hence, if pantheism is true in asserting that my individuality is an illusion, then pantheism is false, since there is then no basis for explaining the illusion.

Pantheism also fails to handle the problem of evil in a satisfactory manner. To pronounce evil an illusion or as less than real is not only frustrating and hollow to those experiencing evil, but it seems philosophically inadequate. If evil is not real, then what is the origin of the illusion? Why have people experienced it for so long, and why does it seem so real? Despite the pantheist’s claim to the contrary, he or she also experiences pain, suffering, and eventually will die. Even pantheists double-over in pain when they get appendicitis. They jump out of the way of an on-coming truck so as not to get hurt.

If God is all, and all is God, as pantheists maintain, then evil is an illusion and ultimately there are no rights and wrongs. For there are four possibilities regarding good and evil:

1) If God is all-good, then evil must exist apart from God. But this is impossible since God is all—nothing can exist apart from It.

2) If God is all-evil, then good must exist apart from God. This is not possible either since God is all.

3) God is both all-good and all-evil. This cannot be, for it is self-contradictory to affirm that the same being is both all good and all evil at the same time. Further, most pantheists agree that God is beyond good and evil. Therefore God is neither good nor evil.

4) Good and evil are illusory. They are not real categories.

Option four is what most pantheists believe. But if evil is only an illusion, then ultimately there is no such thing as good and evil thoughts or actions. Hence, what difference would it make whether we praise or curse, counsel or rape, love or murder someone? If there is no final moral difference between those actions, absolute moral responsibilities do not exist. Cruelty and non-cruelty are ultimately the same. One critic made the point with this illustration:

One day I was talking to a group of people in the digs of a young South African in Cambridge. Among others, there was present a young Indian who was of Sikh background but a Hindu by religion. He started to speak strongly against Christianity, but did not really understand the problems of his own beliefs. So I said, “Am I not correct in saying that on the basis of your system, cruelty and non-cruelty are ultimately equal, that there is no intrinsic difference between them?” He agreed…. The student in whose room we met, who had clearly understood the implications of what the Sikh had admitted, picked up his kettle of boiling water with which he was about to make tea, and stood with it steaming over the Indian’s head. The man looked up and asked him what he was doing and he said, with a cold yet gentle finality,

“There is no difference between cruelty and non-cruelty.” Thereupon the Hindu walked out into the night. [Schaeffer, The God Who Is There, 101]

If pantheists are correct that reality is not moral, that good and evil, right and wrong, are inapplicable to what is, then to be right is as meaningless as to be wrong (Schaeffer, He Is There and He Is Not Silent). The foundation for morality is destroyed. Pantheism does not take the problem of evil seriously. As C. S. Lewis put it, “If you do not take the distinctions between good and bad seriously, then it is easy to say that anything you find in this world is a part of God. But, of course, if you think some things really bad, and God really good, then you cannot talk like that” (Mere Christianity, 30).

In this and other ways, the pantheistic concept of God is incoherent. To say God is infinite, yet somehow shares his being (ex deo) with creation, is to raise the problem of how the finite can be infinite, which is what absolute pantheists say. Otherwise, one must consider the finite world less than real, though existing. We have seen the problems with the first, absolute option. But the second option makes God both infinite and finite, for it is said to share part of its being with creatures which entails an Infinite Being becoming less than infinite. But how can the Infinite be finite, the Absolute be relative, and the Unchanging changed?

Pantheism’s God also is unknowable. The very claim, “God is unknowable in an intellectual way,” seems either meaningless or self-defeating. For if the claim itself cannot be understood in an intellectual way, then it is self-defeating. For what is being affirmed is that nothing can be understood about God in an intellectual way. But the pantheist expects us to intellectually know this truth that God cannot be understood in an intellectual way. In other words, the pantheist appears to be making a statement about God to the effect that no such statements can be made about God. But how can one make a positive affirmation about God which claims that only negative affirmations can be made about God? Plotinus admitted that negative knowledge presupposes some positive awareness. Otherwise, one would not know what to negate.

Critics further claim that the denial of many pantheists of the applicability of logic to reality is self-defeating. For to deny that logic applies to reality, it would seem that one must make a logical statement about reality to the effect that no logical statements can be made. For example, when Zen Buddhist D. T. Suzuki says that to comprehend life we must abandon logic (Suzuki, 58), he uses logic in his affirmation and applies it to reality. Indeed, the law of noncontradiction (A cannot both be A and not A) cannot be denied without using it in the very denial. Therefore, to deny that logic applies to reality, one must not make a logical statement about reality. But then how will the position be defended?

Notes:

Bhagavad-Gita, Prabhavananda, trans., with C. Usherwood; see esp. Appen. 2: “The Gita and War”

D. K. Clark, The Pantheism of Alan Watts

D. K. Clark, Apologetics in the New Age

G. H. Clark, Thales to Dewey

W. Corduan, “Transcendentalism: Hegel,” in N. L. Geisler, ed., Biblical Errancy: An Analysis of Its Philosophical Roots

R. Flint, Anti-Theistic Theories

0. Guiness, The Dust of Death

S. Hackett, Oriental Philosophy

G. W. F. Hegel, The Phenomenology of Mind

C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

H. P. Owen, Concepts of Deity

Plotinus, Enneads

Prabhavananda, The Spiritual Heritage of India

Prabhavananda, The Upanishads: Breath of the Eternal, F. Manchester, trans.

S. Radhakrishnan, The Hindu View of Life

J. M. Robinson, An Introduction to Early Greek Philosophy

F. Schaeffer, He Is There and He Is Not Silent

F. Schaeffer, The God Who Is There

H. Smith, The Religions of Man

B. Spinoza, Ethics

D. T. Suzuki, An Introduction to Zen Buddhism

#panthiest #philosophy #panetheism #religion #Christianity #christian blogs #christian apologetics #false religions #hinduism #buddhism #pantheism

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fairyiatlotl · 7 years

Text

An Unusual Case of January 13th, 1950

Grave and Cruel is my board; Calm and Cherished is my board;

Fancy a palace where darkness rules. To dwell in Light, Good must you do.

Jammed my state of being is;

Heaven and Hell indeed is.

Tempts my nature they both do;

Yet my reality blurs both roots.

On soil I feel,

The sky makes me see;

Yet, is this me?

Or am I a clayed being?

Soon answered Descartes;

Dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum!

I painted Gods and wrote them;

I petted Satans and trained them.

And so I realised;

My truth is in my conscience

My nerve in my sub-conscience.

No heaven, no hell

Did decide where I fell.

On Earth I reside,

And here,

Ill dwell.

Thunder was about to crack outside; I saw the lightning streak glow in the sky through the only window.

Thirteen women.

Thirteen women prostitutes.

Thats the count of people this man murdered. My eyes shifted back to my typewriter, as my hands moved fast on the keys recording his shriek as a jolt of electricity shocked him. My eyes moved back to the shrieking man sitting tightly belted to the chair; his eyes were bloodshot and his sweat had wet his hair damp; his anger and hatred towards the doctor was evident. I hate my work; I thought. Early that day while I was cleansing chiefs table the doctor had come, he was called for conducting a medical examination of the murderers sanity. For some reason the doctor asked me to be the typewriter that he wanted in recording the session. In fifteen years of my service in the police department as a secretary, this was the first time I felt valued. Otherwise whos to find a twenty seven year old female capable enough to do any kind of substantial work?

What is your name?

God. God. The man shouted with his voice reverberating around the room so calm it sounded that one could never conjecture that he just had a shock. His face up looking at the ceiling moved.

God; he mumbled and looked at the doctor, he looked innocent, so innocent that one could never doubt it. His face fell down and he closed his eyes. The doctor was exhausted, he asked again; What is your name?

A moment had passed before a mumble came out of his mouth and suddenly his eyes opened and glared the doctor from under his bushes as if the doctor was his mortal enemy. And then his mumble became audible.

Satan. Satan. My fingers stopped dead, my cheeks flushed; what possessed this man? What craziness haunted him? He said he was God and now he said he was Satan; to even think those poles to come to one mass was not only abominable in itself but also apocalyptic.

Satan; he breathed.

What did you say? The doctor mumbled; I could sense his surprise in his voice; the atmosphere of the room instantly felt haunted. The other three doctors under him were all petrified; they had never witnessed such a patient.

I am Satan; the man suddenly had an accent; a hiss went down all his syllables. One thing was sure by the looks of it; none of us had ever seen this before.

Is that your name? the doctor moved forward towards the man and crouched to his eye-level. So tell me Satan; why did you kill thirteen women? the man maintained his constant glare.

Lustful they are; to my realm they belong; a kind of loatheness dropped from his voice; I am their master, to me they must abide; the doctor gasped and suddenly the mans face changed, his expression became less angry; Down you Lucifer! They are creatures mine; mislead they were but my subject arrived; my hair stood up as I saw the man imitated the divine voice; Thankful they were when grace came to them; my subject gave them the punishment right. Now, redeemed they will be; and stay here for eternity.

I had no idea how my fingers were working; my eyes were glued to the dysfunctional man.

Stay for Eternity? I doubt your monarchy; remember my reign is coming; The voice again changed back to that of Satans. It seemed as if the man had forgotten our presence and was talking to himself on a conflict made by him.

My subject? Who is this subject that youre talking of; the doctor intercepted in a retort made by the man for himself. He didnt seem to notice the doctors question; his voice again changed; You forget Lucifer; I see all, I know all; You forget you live in my kingdom alone; I pave your path and I smash it down; I give you glory and I let you doubt; You talk of your reign, a fallacy you have; a childish wish recalled; for some reason this imitation of God felt so distasteful; the voice made me question my very physical existence.

I repeat. Who is this subject that gave these women the right punishment? the doctor said with a louder sound. The mans head jerked suddenly and faced the doctor; Who is this subject? he kept on repeating. The man glared back. I want his name; the desperation in extracting the name was clear in his voice; the man finally opened his mouth; He lies; he that is your LORD God lies; the subject is mine; those lustful shadows are to end in fire; on burning stairs Ill pitch their insatiable desires; my fork will cut through their chest; and Ill undo what God said he hath made; and theyll be bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh; my breath hitched; he quoted Adam.

Ill tool them, train them and help birth corruption instead; but daily and regularly they must burn in hell; the cold feeling of being in the very room that is Satan in is scary enough to make me leave the room and quit this job, but something – something made me decide otherwise. Maybe, it was the curiosity to know what was going to happen next that made my legs stay stuck to the seat.

So you are suggesting that this subject whoever he is; is carrying out your orders? the doctor asked with an insipid taste in his voice; one could see that he was trying his best to not get overwhelmed or exhausted, he was trying the best method that was available in his realm of science. The other three doctors were as baffled as me; in fact the head doctor was the only man who was anywhere near composed.

Yesssss the sibilance was evident enough to send goose bumps down my spine. Then what about God? Wasnt he the first one to claim that the subject was his? the doctor lead the conversation; trying to sound as if he believed every single word coming out of the man. You call him the first one to claim? Hahahahaha! His words are poetic but filled with irony; hell put the knife in your hand and ask you to kill then say that was just a test of will. God is paradox; better remember. Hell call my subject his, on accounts of his omniscience; I couldnt understand if the condition of the man baffled me more or his words as the Satan.

I say; the voice suddenly seemed louder, slimier and creepier; If you see all and be all, then you see me and be me; You are me; you LORD God are Satan and Satan is LORD God; my whole mind went through a mental quake as I hear his voice out loud. Those words send a chill down my spine so deep that it felt irrecoverable. I could feel my face lose colour; I could feel my mouth go dry, I could feel the numbness in my fingers; they had again stopped from typing. I could see the coldness surround us, and an unknown tickle irritated at the nape of my neck; my fingers longing to go behind and scratch it, but for some reason they were scared; they didnt move. The doctors were scribbling down in their pads, noting important behavioural symptoms and action, recording almost everything that I was. I still didnt understand the reason why the doctor had asked for. This was all getting to wired up for me. I started feeling ill. Such absurd notions were in the air that I could never even think of in a thousand years. With all the thoughts jumbled up in my brain, I did not notice that the man had suddenly got silent, his breathing went normal.

So can you please tell me the name of the subject whom you ordered? the doctor seemed obtuse with this question. Suddenly the man started laughing in a low whisper that grew; he laughed more with a loud voice; his laugh reverberating all around the room, the man seemed carried away with his laugh which did not seemed amused at all. The laugh felt just like the one that Satan must have; cruel and ruthless and mean. He kept on laughing and laughing; I saw one of the assistant doctors eye the head doctor in fear; the head doctor ignored it and his focus went back to the patient again; whose laugh seemed never-ending and loud; suddenly the laugh became a shout and then a shriek; a loud, violent, high-pitched shriek. One of the assistant doctors ran to give the man another shock but the head doctor raised his hands quickly. The assistant doctor stopped and so did the shriek; but a violent convulse went through the man which lasted for a moment before he stopped and came up with his godly voice;

Hold your tongue Fallen Angel! You filth of rot; the voice was angry but not slimy like the other one; Your foul mouth holds nothing but scum and so does your words; my subject thee call thine; my work you say your design? Your abominable wickedness and nasty mischief caused your fall; better hold your tongue or see Pandemonium gone; the God side was filled with rage; my brain buzzed with divine stupor; the whole scene felt like a verbal war between the divine and the devil within this one man.

The subject mine to claim; he was taught and he tread on the divine path; he worked for God and Gods law; he is the Cleanser, the Protector and the Punisher; he carried out and searched every gutter; these women are fortunate to be found; their redemption is what will be count. They prayed for mercy when their head was chopped; and that is how I know they believed in God; the jitters went like a knife through my heart; the godly voice seemed so unlike God; it almost fell like the wrath of God. There seemed little difference in the work that both God and Satan wished to accomplish and absolutely no difference in the medium in which it was to be accomplished.

So then you must know who was your subject, right? Care to tell? the doctors voice now seemed collapsing out of exhaustion and irritation.

Bring one by one all the mercy-begging souls; in the lake of fire they must never go; Satan when will come after a thousand years; he will find an army with no arms or spears; for I will take back all; My rule is for eternity and more; I am God and God I am; I chose Light to be Good and Darkness to be Evil; this world is with my eyes and so I chose; the godly voice had come down to its calm tone; a tone of assertion and authority ringed through the words. The authenticity and conviction with which the man spoke was remarkable as if he was everything he claimed to be. The man again went under another convulse and his voice changed;

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