#this ... utterly helpless worthlessness

[ganondoodle]

i kept trying to draw anything, literally anything but i feel like the little package of skill i have build myself just fell and scattered across the floor, anytime i try to grab ahold of a piece of it it slips through my fingers like wet soap

on days like these i wish i had been smart enough to be anything else but a mediocre artist, but im not, im not even smart enough to be decent at the only thing i call myself to be able to do, im never going to be able to draw like i want to and i struggle to make peace with it

[gremlingottoosilly]

Reader who can't take care of themselves x monster!konig

Reader who just...confirms all of Konig's biases about humans. You can't fend for yourself, you can't even cook food without supervision - you're weak, defenseless, you will die without him. Just like all humans in his eyes, you're utterly worthless - but there is something about your weakness that makes you just too endearing to pass on. He finds it amusing, somehow, even more alluring than anything else. God, this is so fucking weird. He adores you - he wants to hold you close, to be the best possible option for someone as pretty as you. Seriously though, even as much as he hates humans, he is still gentle with you. Feeding you, letting you sleep in his bed and trail behind him like a lost puppy whenever he is on missions. It's true that his kindness is rough and comes with a cost of your body used as his pretty little breeder, but it's a nice fate, all thing considered. Konig isn't patient to disobedience, but you learned the way to be just what he likes - not fighting him, not trying to get away. Just laying and taking it like a good girl. God, he fucking adores you. Konig has to feed you, since you would just forget to do it on your own. Poor thing, you're literally so damn helpless - he has to remind himself of the food that humans like, just so you won't starve, and he has to sit down in certain hours or else you're just going to explode from not being able to rest without him. He made a routine for you - waking you up, curled down on his chest, making you dress in something that belongs to him - at least his shirt, so you'd be claimed by his smell and no one would touch you - and then breakfast. Nutritious and prepared exclusively for you, the only human at the base - besides prisoners, of course. Konig knew that taking care of a breeding pet would be difficult, but he is always ready to set you straight - no matter how much you disliked being bred and filled with eggs while he was going on around his day. You had a debt to repay him for, and he won't accept anything less than perfection.

[meanbossart]

Is DU drow like....traumatized at all? Or is he one of those rare people who are so just adaptable that they don't internalize trauma? He's been through a lot in his young life!

Huh! I gotta admit that this is a surprising, but very interesting question to get. So, lets take a moment to look at the worst of what this clown has to offer WRT to his behavior/belief system:

-Obsessed with being the strongest, most impressive thing in the room at all times and feels threatened when someone is larger or seems more confident in themselves than him. -Has two singular friends (one whom he's bound to mate with until death dating) and is utterly convinced that everyone else in the world is worthless and nothing but a brief source of entertainment or trouble. -Thinks of himself as the sole protector of said friend's lives, and would hold himself entirely responsible for any bad fate that befell them, even if it had resulted from a choice they made on their own. -This also sometimes results in him accidentally belittling or minimizing their accomplishments/capabilities. -Defaults to categorizing people as either a) a threat or b) too weak/pathetic to worry about. -Would be incapable of articulating and working through his own negative emotions without the help insistence of his partner. -Willing to put himself in harms way at any time. -Utterly incurious, if not avoidant, about his own past and previous life, while simultaneously insisting that he's unbothered by and not at all responsible for the atrocities committed then. -Terrified of the very concept of being - and expressing - fear. -Believes that if he ever appears anything but capable and confident, or fails to provide protection or resources to his friend and partner, they will (rightfully so) leave him. -Hates help. Don't help him. -Hates being pitied. Don't feel bad for him. -Believes that his sole purpose in life is providing for his partner and puts himself in harm's way for them constantly, even if it goes against their wishes. -Is resigned to the idea that when Astarion dies, so will he, and thinks this makes him a loyal partner.

Do you see what I'm getting at? Some of these characteristics/beliefs are misguided biases. Some are consequence from terrifying, life-altering events of loss, hopelessness and helplessness. Some are quite literally just coping mechanisms and others are just him being arrogant because he realizes that he looks impressive in a mirror. I won't attempt to draw the line between which is which, I don't think you can.

But my point is, is that sometimes trauma response looks like anxiety, fear, tears, and emotional vulnerability, other times it can just make you a rather unlikable, though hopefully not totally irredeemable person.

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch 29

Description: sorry for the wait!

A little bit of pack drama in this one. What are Simon and John fighting about..? Laika grows some balls and gives out some marching orders! Good for her! Alphas are in the dog house!

My eyes flash open to the scent of distressed Alpha. As I stand from my nest, and peek around the door of the room, into the living area, I see the commotion.

John and Simon are clearly in the middle of an argument, and it looks like it’s about to turn physical. Simon’s teeth flash, angrily and John growls, crowding into Simon’s space.

The omega inside of me cowers and immediately starts omitting a sour scent, however, the two Alphas are too lost within their own fight to notice.

I stumble back to my bed, grabbing my phone from under the pillow and call Johnny. He doesn’t answer.. Kyle.. call Kyle!! my brain supplies.

“Sweets, what’s th’matter?” he asks.

“Kyle.. Si and John!! Th-they’re fighting..” I squeak, feeling how my hands are shaking against the phone.

“Shit.. uhm - can you get through to them.. or are they too far gone..? Johnny and I will hurry back, we are on the other side of the base though..”

“No Kyle! They’re about to get physical.. I - I’ll try.. please hurry!”

At that, I hang up the phone and scurry back to the living room. Unknowingly hanging up before Kyle has chance to tell me not to get to hurt in the fray.

As I re-enter the main room, John has gotten Simon against the wall, arm against his throat, and Simon sends a sinister-sounding warning growl to the pack Alpha, which doesn’t help cool things down.

I step slowly from my hidden position, and immediately notice Simon’s eyes flash to my movement before going back to John, who was facing away from me.

That’s when I overhear what they’re arguing about. “I am pack Alpha, Riley, if you want my position, you kill me. That’s how this works, you hear me?”

Hearing that immediately makes panic rise up inside, and I rush forward. I can’t let this go any further.. I need to stop it, quickly!

“No.. no no no…” I whimper, rushing forward and grabbing hold of John’s shirt from behind.

John reacts before he has time to process what has actually happened. He turns abruptly at my unexpected touch, and grabs my arm and swings me across the room.

“Omega!” Simon barks, panic in his voice.

I whimper, and shuffle backwards across the ground after I’d regained my breath, trying to create distance from the two Alpha’s.

I look up at them, feeling utterly helpless, heartbroken that my Alpha had thrown me like that.

John approaches quickly, with sad eyes. “Love, love.. I’m sorry! Shit, I’m sorry.. you startled me.. I didn’t know you were there..” he tries to explain. It doesn’t help. The omega in me feeling worthless, unwanted, thrown away like trash.

“You’ve done enough, Price. Back off, she’s scared of you”, Simon practically spits at the pack Alpha, who glares in his direction, helplessly.

“No, no that’s not true.. is it, Omega? Love, please..?”

I just gulp, thoroughly overwhelmed. Then the door crashes open and in my panic, I leap behind Simon, using him as protection from the intruders.

*John’s POV*

Shit. SHIT.

Stupid fuckin Alphas!

We were fighting about our Omega’s safety, and in result, causing harm to the one we are trying to protect.

Simon can’t be right, can he? She isn’t scared of me? Surely not?

She looks so small, down on the floor, hand resting against her shoulder as she stares up at me. Shit. I hope I’ve not hurt her bad shoulder again..

Then, as if to rub salt in the wound, she runs to Simon when the other two alphas barge in. That’s my job. I’m pack alpha. I’m the protector. She should be running to me..

*Laika’s (Y/N’s) POV*

“BON..?” Johnny shouts.

I peek from behind Simon’s large form and run towards the two safe Alphas.

Kyle wraps me in his arms and grabs the back of my head, burying it into the crook of his neck, forcing me to breathe in his calming scent, directly from his scent glands. My body feels instantly calmer, as I feel myself slumping against Kyle, the shaking and tenseness subsiding.

“Is she okay?” John asks, with a vulnerable voice. I’d never heard him sound so.. broken. I gulp against Kyle’s neck.

“Why wouldn’t she be, Cap?” Johnny asks, suspiciously.

“He threw her across the room..” Simon interjects, angrily, only adding to John’s guilt.

Kyle growls at the pack Alpha, after hearing what had happened, quieting himself down after he hears my small whimper.

“Stop fighting..” I whisper.

“Please..” I sniffle.

They all go silent and I slowly lift my head from Kyle’s embrace, meeting their eyes.

John looks broken, as if he is on the verge of tears.

Johnny looks angry, as if he is about to punch a wall.

And Simon. Simon looks like Ghost. Unattached, stoic and.. terrifying.

Kyle continues to soothe me, stroking my hair and wiping my tears.

“She phoned me.. told me you were at each other’s throats.. what’s that all about? You were fine when Johnny and I left? What happened?” Kyle asks calmly, trying to find out a little more information.

John and Simon both speak up at the same time, causing them to lose their temper again, cutting each other off with an aggressive growl.

I abruptly step away from Kyle and turn to face the two brooding Alpha’s.

“STOP IT!” I shout at both of them.

John immediately looks remorseful, whereas Simon holds his ground and eventually lowers his lip when I step towards him and send a growl of my own at him.

“You..” I step toward John “were so lost in your anger, that you hurt me…” he gulps and his hands open and close, as if he is desperate to reach for me, but I step away.

“And you..” I walk over to Simon, poking him in the chest “were purposefully angering the pack Alpha, because you disagreed with him about something. And look at the result!”

“John, you hurt me..” - “love, please let me apologise. Please, tell me you aren’t scared of me..”

My eyes water slightly, as I step back to the safety of Johnny and Kyle, shaking my head, not allowing him to apologise..

“No, John - and you Simon - I want space, and when I come back, you better have sorted whatever this was all about..”

I turn before I change my mind and just before I leave the room, I hear the unmistakable sound of John releasing a heartbreaking whine.

I almost stop at the door, to comfort my alpha. Almost. But instead, I gulp down the feeling, and leave, with Johnny and Kyle on my tail.

“Lass, are you ok?”

“Yeah, sweet.. you didn’t tell us John hurt you.. did he attack you?!”

“Aye, what happened, lass, we need to know?”

The younger alphas immediately interrogate me as we head towards the garage on base. I had no idea where my feet were taking me, but I kept walking to make it look like I had a plan.

“He didn’t mean it..”

“Awkt, lass - dinnae defend him, tell us the truth..”

“No, seriously.. he didn’t mean it. I crept up behind him while he was holding Simon by the throat. It was stupid of me. I just didn’t expect him to..”

“Babe, you can’t sneak up on a feral Alpha like that..” Kyle groans, wiping his hand down his face exasperated.

“I know! I know.. I just.. panicked..”

“He said something about Simon having to kill him. I panicked, ok?”

“He said what?!” Johnny shouts.

“That’s all I heard. I don’t know why they were even arguing. One second I’m asleep in the nest, the next I hear them two at it.. and then I phoned you..” I explain.

“Wait wait wait, lass” Johnny crowds in front of me, halting my progress.

“Where are we even goin’?” he asks, confused.

“I - I don’t know. I just needed to leave to prove a point.”

Kyle chuckles. “And a point you did make. Our little firecracker omega. Brave little bug, huh?” he says, stepping behind me and cuddling around my waist.

“Aye, takes a lot of balls to stand up to two angry alphas like that, lass. Didn’t realise you had it in ya’. If it wasnae such a serious situation, I’d have been turned on by it!”

“Johnny! Gross..” I giggle, turning in Kyle’s hold and hiding my embarrassment in his chest. I can feel him chuckling along with the other Alpha.

“You think we’ve given them long enough? Or did you want to leave them to stew a little longer?”

“I wanted to be in a huff with them for at least a day..” I admit. “I’m not beyond being petty after how they acted this morning..”

“Awkt lass, you’re goin’ to kill them.. Si and Cap adore you, you ken that, don’t ya?”

I shrug “didn’t feel that way when I was thrown across the room. They did scare me..” I admit.

Kyle squeezes my hand. “Let’s go out for the day, seeing as you’ve led us towards the garage. Hopefully when we get back, they’ll have sorted their shit, and they can apologise.. yeah?”

Damn you Kyle, always the voice of reason!

“I guess so”

[ironunderstands]

Can we talk about how viewing the 2.0 argument scene between Ratio and Aventurine completely assassinates Aventurine’s character?

Like I’ve talked at length about how it doesn’t make sense for Ratio in the slightest, and how the scene logically doesn’t make sense either in other posts, but oh my god does viewing this argument as genuine DESTROY the entire point of Aventurines character.

In doing so, you take one of the smartest members of the cast, one whose greatest assets are his planning, calculating, and his amazing people skills, and you turn him into a helpless dumb idiot who can truly only ever succeed due to his luck… WHEN THE ENTIRE POINT OF HIS CHARACTER IS THAT HE IS MORE THAN HIS LUCK

Aventurine clearly planned (with some improvising) what he was going to do whilst on Penacony, with the end goal of sneaking his Aventurine stone into the dreamscape and getting the Jade stone inside of Penacony. A key part of this plan was faking an argument between him and Dr. Ratio in order to make Sunday think that they were:

a) On really bad terms, with Ratio completely and utterly doubting Aventurine’s success, the two of them not communicating properly, and Ratio playing up the arrogant asshole scholar to the nines, which would make the ever paranoid Sunday confident he could get Ratio to “betray” him.

b) Feed core aspects of Aventurine’s past to Sunday so the man can use it against him in Aventurine’s trial, so again, Sunday buys the betrayal plan.

c) Make Sunday think the IPC are utterly incompetent by “losing” the cornerstones so he lets his guard down and again, buys the betrayal plan. This is also particularly important for the Jade stone as it allows her to do whatever she’s planning on doing in Penacony much easier, because Sunday doesn’t even know he’s involved.

d) The meta, for the audience reason aka this is the first snippets of Aventurine’s backstory we get, and it’s necessary we know something about him before we get 2.1 which is entirely centered on his past + lore. Hoyo needs to give the players something to chew on and build hype before then, so this argument is story-wise a really good way to do that. 

Now, I’m going to list all of the examples I can think of to demonstrate how Aventurine’s incredibly well crafted plan becomes a clown fest and absolute plothole nightmare if you believe the 2.0 scene is genuine and everything Aventurine says and does there is real.

The arrangement of the cornerstones 

In viewing this scene as genuine, Aventurine gets so ridiculously lucky (even for him) about how the cornerstones are arranged in his stuff that the family stole. 

The scene goes from “ah yes, Aven planned to fool Sunday by putting the Jade stone in his bag and the Topaz stone in the box where his cornerstone should be, making Sunday believe he was trying to trick him with the Topaz stone being in the cornerstone box. While the “Aventurine” stone (it’s Jade) is in his bag, which Aven tries to pass off as being worthless, making Sunday think he fooled Aventurine. When in reality, Aven still has his own cornerstone he sneaks into the dreamscape, albeit broken at the bottom of the bag which he takes back after the ‘betrayal’”

And that amazing plan and demonstration of intelligence, ingenuity and sheer bravery will now get completly shoved aside when you misinterpret the 2.0 scene as genuine. This now becomes ->

Aventurine really is a fucking idiot who ruined everything and lost the cornerstones, for some reason the Topaz stone is in the box for the Aventurine one, Jades is in his bag for shits and giggle, definitely didn’t plan on sneaking that in further than her, and he broke and shoved the Aventurine stone in the bottom of the bag even though it should be in the Aventurine box because he felt it needs decorating or something.

SIDE NOTE: Aventurine saying “cornerstones” in the 2.0 scene is what clues Sunday into trying to get Ratio to reveal the location of the second one, because logically the only cornerstone Aventurine would have possession of is his own. Ratio also not being surprised of this means he’s aware Aventurine brought multiple cornerstones to Penacony, therefore he was in on the plan from the start because if he wasn’t, then Aventurine having more than just his cornerstone would surprise him. Moreover, Sunday would realistically be like “hmmm what do you mean CORNERSTONES” and go from there. 

It takes this brilliant plan and turns it into, “oopsies!1! Guess I got lucky this time again!1! That’s all I’m good for1!!! Don’t worry about how fucking random everything is and how it all magically and perfectly worked out in my favor1!!1” And like, just, god why, y’all cannot be serious. Then again people who think this haven’t at all bothered to think through the consequences of thinking this, so I’m not surprised they haven’t realized how stupid it all sounds when you take the time to spell it out.

Oh don’t worry, there’s more.

The Jade stone

Aven planning the Jade stone to be used as a dupe from the start now becomes, “wow! I’m so lucky these stones can easily passed as one another and that the Jade stone is in the right position for Sunday to buy it as Aventurine! I’m also glad that we somehow formed this portion of the plan after the Jade stone was already out of our possession! And that it magically was at the top of the bag right where Sunday would see it and buy its Aventurine!! So we can’t even double check if it’s believable!! I’m so lucky and everything works out for me!!” Like…. IX there’s a new void in town with the amount of gaping holes there are in this logic.

Ratio opening the Cornerstone box

If you understand this scene is acting, then Aventurine planned for Ratio to be able to open the box from the start, for one of two reasons. 

 a) He really did have access that kind of information which Aventurine could use in his plans, and Aven sought him out for this reason.

Or 

(the more likely of the two imo because why would Ratio have access to it?)

b) He taught the doctor beforehand on how and when to do it, either way, it was something Aventurine wanted to happen.

But misunderstanding this situation and thinking Ratio wasn’t let in on Aventurine’s plan leads to this mess:

a) Ratio did indeed have access to opening Cornerstone boxes pre-Penacony, and Aventurine is lucky that this somehow worked out for him perfectly, and that Ratio didn’t ask for you know, the cornerstones back himself prior to them getting confiscated. Also if Aventurine did form the plan pre-Penacony, he for some reason didn’t let ratio know this would be needed?

b) He didn’t know how to open it, so Aventurine managed to find the time between 2.0 and their conversation in 2.1 with Sunday to teach him despite not having the Cornerstone Box in his possession, and he also managed to convince Ratio of this whole betrayal plan DURING Penacony and have the man who supposedly went from hating him 5 seconds go to being completely on his side and willing to execute every part of Aventurine’s plan correctly down to the last minute detail and we see none of this change of art at all ever. Also tack the last part of this onto the rest of a because the complete 180 in attitude Ratio has to do in order to have the 2.0 scene not be acting is nuts.

And the last major reason I’ll bring up for now (sparing you the ratio character analysis be grateful) for why this makes no goddamn sense:

Time 

Ok, so let’s humor the stupidity and pretend like the 2.0 argument scene was genuine on both ends. This means that Aventurine somehow finds the time to do all this shit 

a) convince Ratio that no not everything’s wrong he’s cooking dw guys this will all work out, put your faith in me 

b) despite not having the cornerstones or his gift bag he magically forms an idea of how to fool Sunday with the way he remembers them being placed and he also manages to convince Ratio to go along with this 

c) Ratio finds time to meet with Sunday 7 hours before they meet with Sunday together to enact his part of the “betrayal” meaning Aventurine had to convince Ratio of their plan 7+ hours before their first scene together in 2.0

d) Ratio has to get back from telling the IPC Aven fucked up and lost the Cornerstones, which somehow has no other consequences for Aventurine

e) RATIO FIGURES OUT DORMANCY???

AND SOMEHOW, this all has to happen alongside the events of 2.0 and 2.1 we do actually see, because oh wait none of this fucking happens at all ever. We don’t see it. we don’t hear of it, and none of it doesn’t get implied  to have happened ever because guess what it doesn’t fucking happen, and even in the land of the dreams this level of time fuckery can’t happen. 

And if by some fucking miracle it did, that is horrific writing on hoyos part by not implying it even slightly and in fact implying the opposite because Ratio outright says he did everything according to Aventurines plan in their next meeting 

Now you can see clearly why having both of them being sincere in this conversation requires the most bullshit logic known to mankind, however some objectors might say that Ratio still could have been sincere in this to which I say no, for several reasons.

In what fucking dimension is Dr. Veritas Ratio agreeing to go on a suicide mission without a plan or any semblance of an idea of what Aventurine is going to do there? That man would sooner join the Genius Society than agree to that, we know good he is at planning and acting based on 1.6, do you seriously think he’s gonna go from that to “fuck it we ball in Penacony”

He clearly knew Aventurine prior. They have established nicknames for one another (Doc and Gambler), banter that only really functions if you have known someone for awhile, Aventurine seeing through Ratio (demo where Aven predicts how Ratio will react to what he says about him) and Ratio seeing through Aventurine (vial/note he gave to him, and Ratio knows the one person who can stop Aven is himself) you know, something people who just met don’t really have.  Did they also do team building exercises in that minuscule time frame or something? How did we go from “fucking kill yourself” to “me and the bestie”

The Final Victor lightcone 

This is an extension of the last point about them knowing one another prior, as although the implications of 2 are nice, this outright proves it. Canonically, lightcones are condensed memories (aka stuff that has happened in the past) and we unlock the Final Victor lightcone in the MOC shop at the very start of 2.0. This means that the events of the Final Victory lc have to happen prior to 2.0, because they are well, memories. Moreover, the description of the lightcone depicts Aventurine trying to convince Ratio of a plan/cooperation of some sort. Hmmm, wonder what that is, any guesses?

If that argument scene is genuine on Ratios end holy fucking shit please fire the writer who made it because that is the most OOC behavior from him ever. Veritas Ratio, judging and looking down upon a person for their education background/background in general. You know, the guy who defined by wanting to spread knowledge throughout the universe because he cares about other people and wants to help them become their best selves, as Ratio believes no matter who you are you are capable of intelligence and creativity. 

This guy judges people based on their background? This guy who tweaked the fuck out in 1.6 over the prospects of the fate of misfortunate people is judging people for being misfortune??!?

This guy who believes that no matter how many fuck ups a person makes, their life is worth living, is now completely willing to abandon Aventurine at a moments notices and give up on him, which the one thing he will not do?!?

The guy who urges his students to question everything, has forged his own path in life and is distinctly described as not being like other scholars now is buying hook like and sinker IPC propaganda about Sigonians? He’s suddenly being as much of a dick to him as the rest of the universe?!

Also, he clearly does feel bad about he says, because Ratio breaks character and apologizes. It’s brief, likely because a heartfelt one would undermine their plan, but it does give an idea of how Ratio is really feeling, because he is extremely convicted and genuinely believes the stuff he says, so he’s not gonna give retractions on how he feels unless that’s not how he actually feels. 

Sidenote: When people say “but Ratio called Aventurine a slur,” they aren’t entirely wrong but neither are they right. You see, the slur in question is actually the name of Aventurine’s planet, Sigonia. It’s just in the CN version, the name is slightly different and is clearly derived from a slur used against Romani people in Eastern Europe. There’s no doubt about this either they are basically the same word and honestly knowing this makes me extremely uncomfortable typing out the name of Aventurine’s planet, so I’m just gonna call it S from now on. I don’t think it’s really fair to Ratio to say he was calling Aventurine slurs, when it’s not the characters fault the planet Aventurine is from just IS one, which is what he was trying to refer to in the first place. That’s why people who saw the scene in the EN dub didn’t pick up on it at all, because the slur in question looks way different in English (starts with a g ends with a y if you need a hint). Since you are wondering, no, this doesn’t completely absolve Sparkle since she was still using racist stereotypes against Aventurine, although she didn’t necessarily call him a slur like people were saying. Side note over 

Pair this with the aforementioned 180 in personality Ratio would have to have, that horrendous ass planet name and the time bullshit and you get quite possibly some of the worst writing ever, oh my god kill it with fire 

Genuinely, GENUINELY if you think this through and are like “yup that makes sense!” there’s absolutely no hope for you. I understand that most people don’t think this through, but still, god how stupid this misconception seems when you lay it all out is baffling.

Oh, and for the one objector still remaining who is like, “but there is no evidence for Sunday watching them:

a) There is a Bloodhound statue in trailblazers room, used by the Bloodhound family to monitor rooms as part of security, Sunday as head of the Family has total access to security. Keep in mind that Trailblazers room was actually Aventurine’s, meaning Sunday was planning on monitoring him prior to the room switch, which I doubt he would give up because of it (honestly the room switch would make Sunday more suspicious). 

Conveniently, throughout the 2.0 conversation the left side of the room is cropped off, and we get the barest of sight on it, which reveals where there would be a bloodhound statue had their rooms been the same is a clock/time dial cat thing. 

Whose eyes are conveniently watching both of them talking. 

Here’s the full frame by the way

Considering bloodhound statues can disappear and there’s plenty of things in the dreamscape that can shapeshift (although this convo is outside the sweet dream), it’s not insane for me to suggest that Sunday was likely watching them through this weird clock/phone thing is it?

b) We know the dream pools get monitored as well, at least for people’s vitals and stuff, something which the Trailblazers learn after trying to find Firefly’s whereabouts. Considering the person we talked to was just the desk receptionist, it’s not insane to assume that the dream pools monitor other stuff as well

c) The TVs behind the pools. Sure they display things, but those ARE electronics and they can easily receive as well as they send out things. 

The point is, if Sunday wanted to watch their conversation, he absolutely had the means to do so, and trust me, he did infact watch it for several reasons.

“I heard you and your companion weren’t getting along very well” Sunday says this to Ratio in their meeting seven hours prior to when him and Aventurine go to meet Sunday. So far, their only interaction in Penacony had been that conversation, and as far as we know, Aventurine truly did check in when the astral express did. Therefore, how would Sunday know they hadn’t been getting along if it had only been such a short amount of time. Surely he wasn’t watching their one conversation in 2.0? No, he just summoned that information from the voices in his head silly!

Aventurines past. Awfully convient Sunday just happens to know that Aventurine is an Avgin, that he has a complicated relationship with his family and that he might want to destroy the world for several reasons. Wonder where he got those ideas from, must have read Aventurine’s wiki page I guess.

Sentencing Aventurine to death, which only makes sense Sunday would have the confidence to do this if he, idk, knew Aven already had an ongoing death sentence. Something which is not true, Ratio was lying when he said that without his Cornerstone Aventurine would be doomed to death, as although it’s not technically a lie, Aven’s sentence was absolved years ago, and Ratio implies it’s ongoing when it isn’t. Remember, if Aventurine is killed by Sunday, that’s massive leverage for the IPC, but if Ratio lies about Aventurine being less valuable to them, then Sunday gains the confidence to get Aventurine out of his way. After all, he doesn’t have the cornerstones anymore, so is functionally useless to them, at least in Sundays eyes.

Actually trusting Ratio. Had Sunday not witnessed their argument, it would be very hard for him to believe that Ratio would betray Aventurine, since if he wasn’t watching, he wouldn’t think things weren’t going smoothly on the IPCs end. However, Ratio berating Aventurine for his supposed failure and behaving like a completely arrogant scholar, and being entirely unwilling to give the other man a chance would naturally make Sunday start rubbing his hands together planning to get this piece of shit to backstab his colleague.

Really just an addition to point #4, but Ratio implies that he has absolutely no fucking clue what Aventurine has been doing on Penacony since the gambler won’t cooperate with the him, however, he does not seem surprised by Aventurine’s failure. Therefore, when the betrayal plan comes into action, Sunday buys that Ratio doesn’t know Aventurine’s plan, but he does know how Aventurine thinks, which lets Ratio manipulate him into buying it.

There’s more, but like, you get the idea, Aventurine clearly planned this all out from the start. And that’s why it pisses me off, because Aventurine is smart, Aventurine is SO SMART, but people refuse to think and shove that aside because they refused to put the 2.0 scene in the context of the rest of Penacony. 

It’s meant to seem genuine the first time around (even if past me literally concluded Ratio was being used as a plot device dude to how OOC he was being), however considering Aventurine’s whole plan hinged on a betrayal, you now as the audience have to go back and reevaluate every scene he’s in, including that one. 

I don’t blame people for finding the 2.0 scene uncomfortable or for disliking Ratio for it, however I believe it should be put into the context of the rest of the game, and understood for what it really is, rather than how people feel about it.

Because in doing so, in attempting to shelter Aventurine fans from the evil, racist Dr Ratio and Aventio fans. People who supposedly make Aventurine into some spineless, idiot twink who can’t do anything on his own, and is nothing more than his luck, You End Up Doing The Exact Same Thing To Aventurine.

In being blinded by bias, a brilliant demonstration of Aventurine’s intellect and competence gets erased, which is just really, really disappointing. 

Aventurine is so much more than his luck, and I wish people would actually internalize that, rather than just saying it.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this, as I have talked extensively on how this misconception fucks up Ratios character, so I deemed it finally time to dive into it screws with Aventurine. Any and all thoughts are appreciated, and if you disagree feel free to share why, I just will only respond to actual reasons. A “nuh uh” is not worth my time or yours 

[wannaeatramyeon]

Eugene with Unhinged F!Reader

Unhinged F!Reader: Gun Park | Goo Kim | Samuel Seo | Samuel Seo Part 2 | James Lee/DG | Jinyoung Park | Eli Jang | Tom Lee | Ryuhei Kuroda

Are you fucking kidding?

Yeah you might have completely trashed Gun and Goo, but at least they put up a little resistance.

But this twink and his bodyguards? He had the audacity to call them his Gun and Goo?

It's a good job you came along to keep him in check, you were practically doing the other two losers a favour.

.

.

Dressed in a precise imitation of the Worker's white suit and blue tie combo, you gave the three a little wave and a malicious grin.

You might have had them fooled if not for your poorly drawn Workers black sticker in place of the VVIP badge. There was even a smiley face added. You thought it was a nice artistic touch.

Yuseong held out an arm to stop you getting closer, Mandeok questioned your identity and motives.

"Is that right?Just Eugene? Did I forget the surname?" You muttered to yourself, checking both sides of your scrap of paper.

"Eugene is it?" You called out to the guy in the glasses, "You too special for a last name?"

.

.

Tsk.

There's nothing you hate more than wasting your own time. Chairman of Workers with fodders for bodyguards and little fighting skills himself. So pathetic, they almost sapped the joy out of fighting for you.

Why did you even bother.

Mandeok and Yuseong lie half-dead and battered. Noone in their right mind would have called what just happened a fight: it was a brutal, animalistic beating.

You left Eugene with relatively minor injuries in comparison. Just a pair of broken glasses and some broken ribs. Nothing huge. You weren't done toying with him yet.

Eugene is completely trapped and unable to move. He's not sure it would make a difference anyway with you hovering unbearably close, disappointment painted all over your features.

"Eugene, Eugene, Eugene~" Your face draws ever closer with each repetition. Even hearing his own name makes him flinch. Isn't that precious.

Damn, tears already? This guy is surprisingly easy to crack.

Your tongue darts out and licks the salty droplets. It tastes delicious. Or maybe that was the fear.

Startled by your actions, Eugene's breath catches in his throat. He can't control his trembling.

Funny how worthless and weak he is without any so called protection. How once stripped bare, men like him are utterly powerless.

"How does someone that runs such a big corporation have such submissive, bottom energy?" You taunt, running a nail along other cheek, breaking through skin and letting the blood mingle with his tears.

Eugene shivers. You've never felt such helplessness from someone that should hold such power.

"Hmm? Aren't you going to answer me?"

"Enough... You've won."

"Oh honey, I know. My victory is obvious." You brush back his fringe. All the easier to see the despair in his eyes.

"I can give you anything you want. Just let us go."

"And what if I just want to kill you?"

You run your thumb along his quivering lips.

"Please..."

"Please?" Eugene's blood curdles at your laugh, "Little boy, then get on your fucking knees and beg."

[bitethedustfools]

WARNING: Disturbing content here. Please read at your own risk.

Self-harm, Abortion, Murder, Imprisonment and maybe more.

I have read some yandere twst stories where they baby trapped (biologically or adoption) their SO/Yuu. I'm not sure how many of these troupe going around but I'm pretty sure that SO/Yuu always keep the baby and the yandere still wins even though they escaped.

What if we tweak that story a little bit? Make it that so SO/Yuu snapped? Became the very ugly thing that SO/Yuu hate to be. Frustrated at being helpless and chained, always moving to the strings the others controlled. They don't want to take care of a child for the sake of turning him/her to be a better person than their "beloved" because that's what their "beloved" wanted.

To keep them together. Play the role of a parent and a happy family.

They had enough.

Their "beloved" is strong and smart and cunning but the child who mostly have his features is not. Utterly defenseless in the hand of a maniac.

They killed the child.

SO/Yuu killed the child just as easily as snuffing out a candle, pouring their anger and frustration in taking a life, all for the sake of wanting to take the littlest control they have over their miserable life.

If the child is not yet birth, SO/Yuu will not hesitate to do anything to abort it, whether by falling, stabbing their stomach, poisoning. It doesn't matter if they're about to die because of this. It's about inflicting pain back to the one who did it to them in the first place. It's a about freedom. Control.

Their "beloved" will despaired over this fact, aking why SO/Yuu are doing this, screaming and crying when they finally seen the cruelty SO/Yuu are capable of even toward their own kin.

And SO/Yuu just stood there and laughing at the look of their beloved face, absolutely delighted that the person who always take joy in their misery finally cried and weak.

It's always them who cried but not anymore.

Another will be SO/Yuu being indifferent to the child.

They became the opposite of what their "beloved" wanted. They acted like the child doesn't exist, the child's cries fallen to deaf ears. Even the child's basic needs are not taken care of, leaving their "beloved" to clumsily and singlehandedly take care of him/her.

SO/Yuu aspired to become the most worthless mother and person just so their "beloved" hate them and free them. The child will have mommy/daddy issue and touchstarved and so on.

Another one will have the same setting but Yuu is resentful of the child and will told the him/her that they don't love him/her and that they never wanted him/her.

They broke the child's view of the world and told him/her that their "beloved" is not what he seems to be, slowly feeding doubt in his/her mind and questioning why his/her mommy/daddy is chained up and locked in their room.

This may or may not lead to the child leaving their "beloved" side and leave, probably after an argument or realisation, causing the dad to be distress, upset and angry over this turn of event.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Brother's Keeper: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst, feeling broken and utterly helpless to the point of depression

Summary: The repercussions of every bad thing you did while being soulless hit you like a freight train at full speed. There are no words that can describe how broken you feel. Sam and Dean manage to break the spell and lift the curse but what did you let out in return?

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

After setting the food up, he starts spray painting symbols onto one of the tables. He takes out the ingredients to summon someone. He says something in Latin and the entire place shakes with power. Ten minutes later, you know exactly what Dean is up to.

"Dean, don't do this," you whisper but he ignores you.

"Don't tell me that's queso."

You and Dean turn to see Death standing in the middle of the restaurant.

"Yes. Queso and taquitos and tamales." Dean grabs the tray of food and moves it closer to Death. "Bought by yours truly all with the bad fat." Death sniffs at the food and nods in approval. "Consider it an offering."

"For?"

"I want you to put a wall in Y/N's mind."

"What? No," you say, getting a burst of energy.

"Y/N, have you seen yourself in the mirror? Do you really want to feel this way?"

"I deserve to feel this way!" you yell. "After everything I've done, I deserve to feel broken!" I am broken. I'm worthless. You turn to Death. "I don't want the wall. I want to think about every bad thing I did because I deserve the hell I put myself into!"

Dean only knows you're lashing out because you're hurt. He doesn't have time to argue with you. He'll convince you to put a wall up eventually... hopefully. Death clears his throat and takes a bite of one of the taquitos.

"Can you get rid of our Marks?"

"Yes."

"Why do I feel like there is a 'but' coming?"

"Before there was light, before there was God and the archangels, there wasn't nothing. There was the Darkness, a horribly destructive, amoral force that was beaten back by God and his archangels in a terrible war. God locked the Darkness away where it could do no harm, and he created a Mark that would serve as both lock and key, which he entrusted to his most valued Lieutenant, Lucifer. Then the Mark began to assert its own will, revealed itself as a curse, and began to corrupt. Lucifer became jealous of man. God banished Lucifer to Hell. Lucifer passed the Mark to Cain, who passed the Mark to you two, the proverbial fingers in the dike."

"Darkness?" you ask.

"I know where your Mark resides, Y/N. It's ironic that it chose that place to be instead of your arm like Dean's. You know the Darkness by another name."

"Amara," you whisper.

"Yes."

"Well, that is just fan-fucking-tastic, isn't it?" Dean scoffs and shakes his head.

"I can remove the Mark but only from one of you, not both, to ensure that the lock remains unbroken and the Darkness remains banned."

You and Dean look at each other.

"Take it off her," Dean says before he can stop himself.

"What? No, take it off him."

"Y/N, I am not in the mood."

"Neither am I. I took this Mark to bear it with you so you wouldn't do this alone. If it means you get to be free, I'm okay with having it."

Dean steps closer to you and grabs your hands and you look up at him with tears in your eyes.

"I can't let you go through that again. I can't let you be her again."

"And I can't let you be him."

"Only one needs it, the other will be free unless you are giving someone else up to take the burden."

"We can't do that to anyone else," you whimper.

Dean takes another bite of food and moans at the taste.

"What if I told you I could relocate you two somewhere far away, not even on this Earth, where you would still be alive, but no longer a danger to yourself or to others?"

"What?" You look down at your feet as the tears fall from your eyes. "What about our kids?"

"They'll have Sam."

Can I really leave my kids behind to protect them from me? They'd be safe from you, from her. You wouldn't be around to hurt them. Sam's taken care of Joanna for a year before, he can do bit again for the rest of their lives.

"We'll do it," you say to Death, "only if you let us say goodbye to Sam."

"As you wish."

Dean calls his brother and gets him to come to the restaurant. He doesn't know what's going on or why he sounds like this is goodbye so he rushes over as fast as he can. You're standing off to the side looking down while Dean is standing in the middle of the room when Sam enters.

"Dean?"

"I gave it a shot, Sammy."

"What is this?"

"We need to talk."

"Whatever you are thinking of doing, don't. There is another way. You two don't need to go with him. You two don't need to die!"

"We're not going to die, Sam. He's... sending us away."

"Sending you away? What do you mean? Like outer space?" he asks sarcastically.

"No, well, he didn't say outer space."

"This is madness, Dean!"

"Far from it, I'm afraid," Death says.

"No one's asking you," Sam glares.

"Our conundrum is simple, Sam. Your brother and his wife cannot be killed, and the Mark cannot be destroyed, not without inciting a far greater evil than any of us have ever known."

"What evil?"

"Amara, Sam." He looks at you. "He's talking about Amara."

He knows the hell she put you through. Is he willing to release her in order to save you and his brother? I'm not worthy enough to be saved. Please just let me go.

"Even if I remove Dean and Y/N from the playing field, we're still left with you--loyal and dogged--who I suspect will never rest until he sets his brother and his best friend free, will never rest until his brother and his best friend is free of the Mark, which simply cannot happen, lest the Darkness be set free."

"What?" you ask and look at Death. "You said nothing about killing Sam!"

He's not the one who should be dead.

"You traded my life? This isn't you. This doesn't make any sense."

"No, it makes perfect sense if you stop thinking about yourself for one damn minute!" Dean shouts. "Remember when we were in that church, making Crowley human, about to close the Gates of Hell? Well, you sure as hell were ready to die for the greater good then."

"Yeah, and you two pulled me back."

"I was wrong." His voice hardens. "You were right, Sam. You knew that this world would be better without us in it."

Yes, the world would be better off without me in it. Please let me go.

"No, no, no, wait a second. You're twisting my words here, Dean."

"Why? Because we track evil and kill it? The family business? Is that it? Look at the tape, Sam. Evil tracks us and it nukes everything in our vicinity--our family, our friends. It's time we put a proper name to what we really are and we deal with it."

"What about your kids, huh?" Sam looks at you. "What about your kids, Y/N? Who is going to raise them?"

"I'm doing this for them, Sam." I'm poison. I ruin everything I touch. "What if I had gotten to them? What if I hurt them?"

"No, stop it! We are not evil. We're far from perfect but we're good. That thing on your body is evil but not us."

"No, there is no other way, Sam. I'm sorry." Sam punches his brother in the face and Dean nods. "Good, fight."

Dean punches his bother in the face, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you remember what you did to Castiel. The hurt you put on him... for making him choose... I don't deserve to be forgiven. I'm broken. I'm poison. I hate myself. You look down and let tears fall from your cheeks at the words you're telling yourself.

You're blocking out what Sam and Dean are doing as you're stuck inside your own mind. The pain you caused, the people you killed. Death keeps an eye on the brothers and walks over to you.

"I could put a wall up if you wanted me to."

"No, I deserve this."

"No one deserves what you're putting yourself through."

"I do," you whisper. "I--" You shake your head. "It doesn't matter."

You look at the brothers and see Sam on his knees in front of Dean with blood on his face. Death leaves your side and approaches Dean with his scythe.

"Please, do me the honor."

You turn away from the brothers because you can't bear to watch this.

"Close your eyes." A pause. "Sammy, close your eyes."

"No, I want you to look me in the eyes if you're going to kill me. Just know that when you find your way back, I hope you remember what it was like to be good... what it was like to love."

"It's for family that you must proceed, Dean," Death says. "To be what you are, to become what you've become is a stain on their memory. Do it or I will."

Dean grips the scythe and swings it. Sam closes his eyes thinking he will be dead in seconds but Dean passes by his brother and stabs Death in the abdomen with his own scythe. Death looks shocked at what Dean did only to crumble to dust.

"Did you really think I'd kill you?" Dean says and pulls his brother up. You turn to see a pile of dust where Death is standing. "You're a pain in the ass but not enough to kill you."

Sam laughs in relief and Dean turns to you.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?"

No. I don't think I will be.

Crowley got the ingredients easily and came back with Oskar in tow. Rowena smiles when she sees him and pulls him in for a hug.

"You've grown so big. Not too big to give your old auntie Rowena a hug I hope."

"I hope I haven't hurt you."

"Don't think about that one moment. Everything's fine, Oskar. Everything's fine." Rowena looks over his shoulder and glares at her son. She has a fountain pen in her hand that she will use to kill him. "Nobody's hurting anybody." She pulls away from him. "Goodbye, my sweet wee boy."

She takes the pen and stabs it into his neck. Oskar looks shocked at the betrayal and she bends him over so that his blood pours into a metal bowl on the table. Inside the bowl are the other two ingredients which make the spell complete. Oskar falls to the ground and she puts her hands on the table before chanting in Latin.

"Are you okay?" Dean asks his brother.

"I'll live."

You walk over to Sam and lift your hands as if you're going to heal him with your magic. The same magic that hurt people. The same magic that killed people. No, you can't use magic. You lower your hands and your gaze to the floor. Without Death to distract you, you're forced to think about the bad things you've done. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly. I don't deserve to be saved. Please let me go.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" Dean asks.

No. "I guess."

Suddenly, a loud and shrill shrieking sound can be heard.

"Does that sound right to you?" Dean asks.

Red lightning crashes through the roof of the restaurant and strikes Dean's forearm where his Mark is. Another bolt of lightning strikes you where your Mark is. You gasp in pain and almost fall to your knees from how intense it is. It's gone within seconds, taking both your Marks with it. You pull down your shirt and see the last remnants of the Mark fade away.

"They did it. Our Marks are gone," you gasp. Your head feels lighter and free. It's like the darkness that was inside of you faded away with the Mark. That still doesn't undo what you did. Right. "It worked. The spell worked."

You three leave the restaurant slowly, unsure that this is real life.

"This is good. Dean, this is good. The Mark is off your arm. Nothing crazy happened."

"Yeah. I'm sure everything's perfectly fine," Dean says sarcastically.

Suddenly, a loud thunder cracking sounds from above and you look to the sky. Dark red clouds roll in with red lightning striking through the chaos. Lightning strikes the ground, scaring you to your bones, and the clouds are coming your way.

"What the hell did we let out?" Sam asks.

"Amara," you say.

The ground starts rumbling and columns of black smoke erupt from the spots where the red lightning struck. All the columns converge into a huge rolling cloud of black smoke.

"Get in the car. Go, go, go!" Dean urges.

You three run toward the car and pile inside. Dean barely gets it on when the black clouds smash into the car. The Impala lifts off the ground and is overturned, and you slam your head into the side of the car hard, causing you to black out. When you open your eyes, there is a hand outstretched toward you.

Amara stands in front of you with a smile on her face. You take her hand and a jolt of electricity runs through your body. She pulls you to your feet but she doesn't let go of your hand. She chuckles at your terrified look.

"It's nice to finally meet you in person. Thank you for setting me free."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[lucyvaleheart]

i need to be chained down

i need to struggle against my bonds, need to cry need to scream, need to feel so utterly helpless and vulnerable

i need it to hurt. I need my ass to be smacked so red that it it brings real tears to my eyes before we're even halfway through. i need the wood of the paddle to SNAP and splinter as it breaks against my body.

i need to be told the most disgusting, cruel, awful things about myself; i need to be degraded and made to feel so small and pathetic and worthless and stupid and i need to be crying on the floor, utterly limp in my bonds from it.

i want to be marked. i want to feel teeth, i want to feel claws, i want my skin to break from the force of them i want to feel the blade against me i want to feel the fear in my whole being as it goes further and further and further

i need to be owned, to be claimed, to be branded with a hot iron, to be caged up and collared. need that collar to shock me, need someone to own me, need someone to hold my remote and press the button until i can't breathe until im choking with sobs and crying on the floor for a second time

when i say i need to be broken

i need to be broken.

[quicksilverserpent]

The idea that biden was just a helpless old man who didnt have adequate leverage to pass through student debt relief or increaese the minimum wages or transgender rights protections or universal healthcare or whatever else because those mean republicans just wouldnt let him is pure idiocy. If any of that had actually been a top priority for him their stubbornness wouldn't be this fatal insurmountable obstacle liberals pretend like to pretend it is to make excuses for the dems. If biden gave a fuck hes had the means to put legislature in a deadlock and make it utterly impossible for absolutely anything to get done on any front and hit republican congressional representatives where it hurts and undermine them by every possible means. Just constantly ratfuck them until they roll the fuck over and stop being so arrogant and fanatical for once in their worthless lives but nah instead all the dems do is snivel on about the virtues of unidirectional bipartisanship and condescend to the public about the need to compromise only when it shifts the overton window further right.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 4 - Fucked

The rogue accepts an offer.

On AO3.

“Tell her we need to fix this,” Astarion says.

Their illustrious leader, buried in their tadpole connection, rolls her eyes. He can tell, linked up like this. Is strongly tempted to slip into her mind and peer out through her eyes just to make sure it’s not all some horrifying jest.

But that would make her angry. He remembers all too well the snarl on her blood-slicked face the last time he tried (and succeeded).

Through the link, he feels the cleric throw her hands up.

There’s nothing she can do from…wherever she is. And Astarion didn’t have the good luck to be teleported next to a healer or a wizard or a flea-bitten druid.

Who no one has heard from and they all (mostly all) join in a low thrum of worry.

No, he landed next to the magic-less, unskilled, ignorant alien human.

He has the presence of mind, through the familiar, tight panic, to curl in on himself for that thought; wouldn’t do for said alien human to go hearing that particular slip.

“He’s already had a healing potion,” their illustrious leader says aloud, and he can feel the shape of her thoughts shifting to convey that to the others. “He looks fine. Don’t see no damage, and his pupils respond to the light. He just can’t see none of it.”

Consternation. Puzzlement. And what feels quite a bit like curiosity and smugness from the damned wizard.

“I did warn you about that trap,” the damned wizard says. “This is likely the intended effect. I’d wager it’s a magical ailment. Blindness and random teleportation. What better way to be rid of an uninvited guest?”

It’s the tone and the words and he can’t fucking see, and all Astarion can smell is blood and undeath and stale sex. Uninvited guests. The pleasure rooms. His only talent, his only function.

He rips himself out of the connection to slump back into his worthless body. Battered from the knees down, his gullet turned inside out, and utterly, uselessly blind.

Astarion does not need to breathe. There have been times where it’s better not to—foul odors, stalking prey, being stalked as prey. He knows that a deep inhale and controlled exhale soothes mortal, living people. But when he tries it, it’s nothing but a farce. An undead playing at living.

He finds a stone and hurls it as hard as he can.

Beside him, his leader flinches.

She was right about her theory. Them finding each other and becoming easier to sense. But the others are still too far to get any kind of precise location, and they still need a waypoint stone, and the two of them are dreadfully far from all the others combined. So they’re still stranded from anyone who could possibly heal his godsdamned eyes.

He’s blind and he’s helpless. And a helpless ally is a useless ally and the moment he becomes dead weight (ha), their leader will no longer be obligated to carry on with this alliance.

The thought of being left down here—stumbling and sightless…the Underdark is vast, but without sight, without knowing where he is, he’s effectively trapped. Sealed up in the dark and the silence all alone again and he can’t, he cannot—

A tap on his wrist. His illustrious leader. He pulls his thoughts back to the present with some effort.

“Yes?” he says.

A brief pause. Then, “You, uh. You ain’t had nothing to eat since before the creche, huh? Aside from that fight back on the surface?”

The gith blood. Not the best he’s ever tasted, but still immeasurably better than putrid rat. The gith had still been alive; no fur or maggots or coagulation to be caught in his teeth.

“I’m fine, darling,” he says.

Their illustrious leader has never taken part in a hunt with the Blade and their druid and their own, very cranky gith. She has no qualms about chopping up dead bunnies, under the wizard’s tutelage (while the gith scoffs at the very idea of cooking). He can’t imagine her chasing down cave bats or the blind rats he’s heard lurk down here.

“Shadowheart,” she says. She has a habit of starting a sentence and then pauses. At least, she does when she speaks to him and it’s not some kind of order. He counts one, two, and right on cue, “She told me what you said. About undead folks being, y’know, undead and potions not working real good.”

Real good. As if that in any way conveys the sensation of innards melting from the inside.

And he notes the careful sidestep with her phrasing. “Undead folks.” A tidy avoidance of what he really is: a monster. Another in her array of contradictions for him to fold away. She spends so much time splashing about in profanity it’s easy to forget she can actually wield her language adeptly.

“Another gift from our parasitic friends, yes,” he says and taps his temple.

“So what normally heals you?”

“Time.” He pauses. Water drips somewhere. He almost says, “It’ll be far worse if we don’t.” Fear can be an excellent motivator in at least pretending to be able to walk. But he suspects that will make her go all quiet and staring-into-the-distance again, and there’s no other sound but her pulse and he’d rather not think of that. So, optimistically, he says, “Blood.”

Perhaps she has a spare bottle. She carries around a lot of stuff that she gives to the others. Usually food. And she seems serious about this whole alliance, so she might have thought to stash something away even for him.

“Shit,” she says.

So she doesn’t have a spare bottle of blood clinking around in that bag. Ah well. Hope is a foolish thing, anyway. He’s starved for much longer than this.

Then a curious sound reaches his ears. It’s cloth. A peculiar rustling. Not like she’s moving around or trying to stand. It’s rather like…rolling up a sleeve—

She wouldn’t.

She would.

Oh, what a foolish little idiot. After cutting off his tab to “create distance” she’s offered twice. He’s declined both times, as he had access to other means and relying on charity is the best way to ruin. But down here, alone in the dark, she’s going to give him her blood.

It plucks unpleasantly at his dead heart. He can’t repay her. Not like this. And not while she’s still set on rejecting his only true talent.

The smart thing would be to refuse. The potion earlier put his knee back into place. And the wizard seemed certain that his blindness is arcane pettiness from a long dead, completely mad wizard.

But perhaps this is what he needs? Appealing to his vampiric nature to do what it normally does? And the hunger—so easily pushed away for two centuries, now grown acclimated to being somewhat sated—comes roaring up beneath his skin.

In the end, Astarion is not a smart man.

“I’ve a goblet in my pack,” he says through a mouth suddenly too wet. He has to speak carefully to avoid salivating like some beast. “And my knives are always sharp, if you’d prefer to use those.”

He’s…not even sure she has a knife of her own. They should find her one. Not even as a weapon, necessarily, but for day-to-day use. He assumes it’s difficult for someone without fangs to open up the belly of a bunny so she can go about gutting it.

But she makes a sound, and his thoughts stop short.

“I, uh,” she says. One, two…

No three. No four, even. Not her usually pause, then. He frowns.

Her voice, when she does use it again, is quieter. “I…can’t. The cup thing. I can’t do that to myself.”

“I can show you where to slice,” he says. “It needn’t be a large injury. You’ll barely feel it and we’ll stay far from anything vital.”

But once again, that long pause. Her fingers tap ever so softly at her thigh, and he can picture her tracing that pattern over her thumbnail, back and forth, over and over.

“I think it would be easier if you bit me,” she says.

Interest tugs at him. Blood from a goblet is fine; they’ve started letting him at their kills before they skin them and chop them up and put them in a pot. But they bleed it—mostly the Blade of Frontiers—for him, presenting him his supper nice and tidy in a goblet or a bottle.

It’s fine. It’s better than fine. They just hand it over. He doesn’t have to do anything but lift a hand to accept it, and they’ve already hunted the thing down for themselves, so really, he’s just taking his portion of the spoils.

However. There’s something entirely different about feeling a pulse beneath his lips. Sinking his aching fangs into flesh until they pop and pierce and that blood, fresh and salty and hot, hits the back of his throat. He can be close enough to grab. To wrench. To feel the life of the thing as it pours into his waiting mouth, gulping greedily down to fill his own body.

“I thought you wanted distance, darling?” he says. Much better to make the other person squirm. Put them off before they can notice anything from him. “That’s rather intimate, don’t you think?”

“You can’t even see and you’re still gonna try that shit?” she says because she’s endearing like that.

He feels his lips twitch in a smile. “I’m only checking. I’d like to avoid any future, ah, misunderstandings.”

She swears so quietly he almost doesn’t make out the words. My, my, but her people really do love turning sex acts into vulgarity. What a strange society she must come from.

Her next sigh is sharp. She says, “Fuck.” And then doesn’t elaborate for a moment. Then, “To avoid misunderstandings, I would prefer to give you a container of my blood.”

Is that…is that a flicker of disappointment in himself? He gawks at it in horror before stomping it down.

“But I can’t…I got…issues. With the method.” She shifts, takes a few deep breaths because she is a living person and that helps her. “The, uh, cutting myself. I can’t. It’s not an ability thing, it’s more of a, uh, mental thing.”

Hmm.

“Is that all?” he says. “Odd, but fine. Would you like me to do it?”

“Without vision?”

“I can tell where your blood is.”

And only after he says it does he realize that might have been disquieting.

She stops breathing a moment. Then a faint huff. “Y’know, y’all really are camouflage predators, ain’t you? I get so used to you, then you go and say shit like that and I remember you’re different.”

Again, a very careful dodge of the word most people would use.

“I do aim to please,” he says and gives her the best, shallow bow he can manage while seated. He did that the first time with her out of mockery. But then she started returning the gesture, and it lost its abrasive edges. Became a routine. One that…calms him, for some reason. Probably the reliability of it.

“Course you do. Which is why you call Gale’s cooking terrible, Shadowheart’s hair ugly, and me illiterate.”

Oh shit.

“I—” he starts. He doesn’t even want to know what her face is doing. Old instincts come rushing back. Twist it into a jest. Apologize. Do something, anything to deflect the punishment and hope it won’t be severe (it will be; it always is).

But her finger taps his wrist again.

“I was teasing you,” she says in a disgustingly soft voice. “Sorry. You couldn’t see the face I was making.”

Which does nothing to alleviate the rising dread. He can’t let her know that, though. So on with his easy smile. “Of course, darling. You did mention your illiteracy when you said your name was Jar Edd.”

He can almost feel the confusion twist her face. Can picture it quite clearly. At first, it looks like a blank stare (as so many of her emotions do). But lately, he’s noticed a shift. More fluidity. It’s the eyes, mostly. The way her brows scrunch and her eyes narrow. A perfect painting of judgment without saying a word.

“Jesus christ, I did say that,” she says. Groans. “That was…also a joke. A kind of saying where I come from. I can’t read y’all’s alphabet, was what I was meant.”

“I take it you’re literate in your own language, then?”

This is something he knows. Get his mark to talk. Most people love to talk, especially to a pretty face. Especially if that pretty face makes the correct, interested noises, a light touch to the wrist, leaning in slowly. The trick is to stare just below and between the brows. Makes it looks like he’s gazing into their eyes, enraptured. Or so some of them have admitted. He can pay just enough attention to respond at the right times while going off in his own head.

Only this mark is too succinct when she’s not plotting a murder. And all she says is, “Very. Gale’s been teaching me y’all’s, though.”

And then literally nothing else.

“The wizard,” Astarion sniffs because that’s expected of him now. “He’s teaching you Common, then?”

“I…think so?”

He really doesn’t have to try so hard. Doesn’t need to put so much effort into this. Yet her voice took on a warmth when she said “very” and books were one of the few escapes he could manage between targets, when no one was looking. He finds himself saying, “It’s hardly a proper language, darling. Not for reading. It’s more of a spoken language used by merchants for negotiation. If it’s literature you’re after, you’re much better off learning Chondathan to start with.”

“Um.”

Ah, right. She’s mortal and speaks none of their languages. Common will be useful enough, he supposes. But that can’t be her only tongue if the scuttlebutt around camp is accurate and she’s stuck on Toril when this is all over. Assuming they aren’t all dead or turned into illithid monstrosities, anyway.

“Yeah,” she drawls out as two syllables, the way she sometimes does. It’s a clever dip to the back of her tongue that does it, twists the “eh” into an “ah” with a fun little roll. “Anyway, I think it’d just be easier if you did this the old-fashioned way. See if my blood fixes anything. You need to eat, regardless.”

Such a generous offer. Some kind of trap, most likely. One he can’t currently avoid. “If that’s your decision, darling.”

She touches his wrist through his sleeve and lets him take her own. Her flesh is so warm. The back of her hand is soft. So were her palms and fingers the first time he did this; a hint of calluses now alter that particular landscape. The gith has been working with her again.

It’s difficult to describe the way he feels blood. It’s so wrapped through him, twisting thorns embedded deep along his bones, branching through his muscles and sinews to spike behind his eyes, within his fangs. He’s always aware of it; of hers, especially. She was his first, proper taste. A thinking creature’s blood. His body hones in on that the way seafarers look to Ieryn, their guiding star.

She’s alive in his senses simply sitting beside him. Now, touching her, bringing her arm up to his mouth, all his senses (except his godsdamned sight) go a bit mad. The scent of her: mortal heat, the fading smell of sunshine and forest upon her clothes, fresh sweat (she takes great care to bathe daily whenever possible, which he finds rather charming), and lingering woodsmoke.

Her pulse thrums beneath her skin. Her lungs expand. He’s sure if she sat very still and he focused, he could hear the susurration of her muscles, the soft bat of her lashes blinking, the gentle swish as she tucks her growing hair behind her ear (quite uselessly; it’s still too short to stay there).

And her blood. The ever-present blood. It sings to him. Reaches into him with hooks and drags him to her. Brings his face to her arm. His lips to her skin and he can taste the salt upon it. He knows where to bite—his teeth pull him right to that sweet spot—but he can’t help but linger. Feeling her heat on his lips. The soft beat against the tip of his tongue. So warm. So alive.

She shifts. Trousers rustle, and he can wait no longer. He plunges his fangs into her soft, soft flesh.

Notes:

And it turns out I did bite off more than I can chew, and forgot that the chapters run a little longer than the last fic. So I won't be updating on Saturday, unfortunately. Hopefully, that'll be the buffer I need to get ahead a bit more and I can resume the twice-a-week updates.

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[jedifarmerr]

Wasteland Masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC (established backstory, no y/n or physical descriptions)

Summary: Sentenced to a life underground after a nuclear attack, what was said to be a quick and painless process somehow ended up taking 200 years. Waking up alone with everyone else still frozen, a search for help and answers turns upside down when four mysterious men come into the picture.

Rating: E (warnings: language, food & eating, mentions of death.)

Word Count: 5k

Chapter 10

Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look.

Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look. 

He assumed she understood, but it seemed she thought the alias was more temporary, rather than possibly permanent. 

They knew that if people found out the truth about her it’d tear through the Commonwealth like a grass fire. Uncontrollable. Unpredictable. One big mouth and within a month, Jamaica Plains would be roaring with the news. 

The chances of Vault-Tec catching wind of it was slim, but not impossible. Even a 1% chance posed too much risk. Sanctuary would seriously be fucked. That wall would be as worthless as wet mud against an all-out synth brigade. 

Truthfully, Frankie was more concerned about her safety. He wasn’t an idiot, and definitely not a hypocrite. He could realize she’d be a hard sell to some – people like Tom, who wouldn’t take the word of a Vault-Tec employee’s kid. Everyone knew those people would want concrete proof, some hard evidence that they didn’t quite have just yet. Without it, there would be riots demanding her head on a stake, and there was bound to be one crazy enough to take matters into their own hands. 

Frankie wasn’t gonna let that happen. She was their responsibility. 

“Do you accept?” Preston finally asked her and the room went still and quiet as a tomb. She gnawed on her bottom lip, toying with the hem of her shirt. 

The red rug she stood upon was like her own little island. She looked so lost in the center of the room. So helpless and small and so utterly alone that it made his skin feel tight. He supposed - she was alone in this world. Everyone she loved was either dead and gone or deceived her. Her entire life was one big facade. She must’ve been so fed up with all these secrets and lies and cover ups. 

For a moment he worried she might say no, but she inevitably folded. She nodded and he didn’t know if she thought there was much of a choice. This was so much bigger than her - than all of them. He wondered when Tom would finally realize that. 

Preston appeared to notice her distress and quickly assured her that he’d take the blame if her cover got blown. As long as her true identity didn’t leave this room, they didn’t anticipate that happening anytime soon. 

If ever. 

Unless they could figure out how to crack into the cryogenic pods, she would always be Blue. If her and her dad were as close as she said, then he’d be desperate to find her. The synths in Lexington had been looking for her, after all. Somebody had noticed she was missing from the vault. 

In order to avoid any suspicion, she would need to integrate herself into Sanctuary immediately. There would be no special treatment. Just like everyone else, she would need a job. 

Stable hand? Greenhouse worker? Waitress at the town tavern? No - no - no. Each one was axed for one reason or another. 

Suddenly, Tom cleared his throat, his eyes fell on Frankie. 

“What about your mom?” he asked – challenged. “Last I heard, no one’s taken Susan’s spot since she retired.” 

Frankie’s mouth watered, he nearly spat the sour taste in his mouth onto the cheap lino tile. He could not believe Tom was using his mom as bait. Out of anyone, Tomy knew how protective Frankie was of her, how tender a spot that was, and yet…

Whether to prove his point or get his way, Frankie didn’t know Tom’s motive, but either way it was low, even for Tom.

No - especially for Tom. As if bringing up his dad wasn’t enough, Tom had gone for the jugular. 

Preston straightened, his chair howling through the hall. He hesitated before saying, “It is just your mom and Yovanna. If they did catch onto anything, I’d trust they’d be discreet.” 

“Exactly.” Tom’s chin cut through the air. “Whaddaya say Fish?” 

Frankie looked at Blue, and she gave him a weak smile. She expected him to say no, he realized. She’d even seemed to accept it, and he instantly felt bad. Even though he had his reasons, he’d been the least welcoming, by far. 

Everyone on the Council was staring at him – Tom’s gaze was searing. Usually, Frankie would back down to him. He could tell Tom thought he would concede here, as well. And three weeks ago, Frankie would’ve without question. He would’ve said not a fucking chance – that was too far, too much, too personal. 

But, everything was different now. Tom had asked if he trusted her, and he did. He meant it when he nodded. 

Frankie folded his arms across his chest before saying, “Okay.” 

Tom’s lips thinned with silence. He didn’t say a word, nor did he have to. Frankie could tell he was pissed – the vein on his forehead was thick and throbbing. Still, Frankie didn’t budge. Not this time. 

“Is that a yes?” Preston asked – speak now or forever hold your peace. 

“Yeah,” Frankie confirmed and Tom didn’t look at him again for the rest of the day. 

—

That night, at the welcome home party, Preston announced there’d be a new face in town. The Council had thought it would be best to roll out the story before anyone laid eyes on her. This way, they could get ahead of it. Control the narrative, so to speak. 

They had crafted up a perfect poke-proof cover story; something no one could cross-examine. 

It’d been decided she would come from a survivalist bunker, way north of Diamond City. Over the years, an especially hard last few months of attacks – bloatflies, ghouls, and ants, had dwindled their numbers. By the time their unit found them, the survivors were few and mostly wounded. The entire compound was in absolute shambles. Despite their open offer, she was the only one who took them up on it. She had no reason to say, having buried the last of her family just before they arrived. 

All night, Frankie had to navigate an overly curious crowd. Lost in the crush of questions, he barely had a moment to catch his breath or even catch up with the people he actually wanted to. He’d hoped for more than a few seconds alone with his mom to tell her about the arrangement, but instead, he’d have to tell her over breakfast. 

Probably better that way. No distractions.

The next morning, Frankie arrived at his mom’s shop. Bay’s Soaps. The powder blue sign hung above a hinged glass door. He went around back, up the stairs and knocked twice before letting himself in. 

Cast iron pans sizzled on the stove top. The smell of eggs, beans, and frying sausages brought back memories of his childhood. Every morning, his mom used to get up extra early just to cook him a hearty breakfast before school. 

“Pollito!” His mom kissed him firmly on both cheeks. The food on her apron smeared across his worn t-shirt as she hugged him, a tad tighter than usual. 

Most of the time, his missions only kept him away for a month – maybe two. Their unit in particular had a reputation for being timely, effective and efficient. It was rare for them to be more than a few days late, unless something went terribly wrong. Like that one mission over a decade ago. 

Frankie shuddered, recalling the bad operation. Them, along with two other units had been sent to scope out a lead past Weymouth, but only made it as far as Quincy. Shit went south so quickly. A pack of ghouls had busted free of an apartment building. The scar that ran down Pope’s spine came from that day – a ghoul’s long fingernail, sharper than a knife, sliced him right down the middle. 

He could still remember those screams – the harsh crack and wet slashing of flesh. Brutal. Bloody. A gruesome scene – three young soldiers mangled beyond recognition. Their squadron captain had insisted on bringing them home for a proper burial. They had wrapped their carcasses in dusty, dirty sheets and tied it shut with copper wire. The whole trek back, his ears had buzzed with swarming bugs. 

The oven dinged and his mom pulled away with an affectionate pat on his cheek. As she finished up, he brewed them a fresh pot of coffee, poured out two cups, then took a seat. 

Of course, his mom made way too much food for two people to eat. The bistro table was spread thin with heaping platters that meant days of leftovers. 

“Saw Susan last night. Sounds like she’s enjoying retirement. Have you found anyone to replace her, yet?” Frankie eased into the conversation. 

“No luck.” She sighed – Susan had retired even before he’d left. “You wouldn’t happen to be interested, though would you?” 

Frankie chuckled, shaking his head. He shuffled the scrambled eggs on his plate with his fork. “But the new girl - Blue - she’s looking for a job.” 

His mom hooked up an intrigued brow as she continued to stir a little milk into her coffee. 

“I don’t think she’ll give you any problems. She’s smart, catches on quick.”

“What else’s she like?” She probed, trying to appear casual as she took the mug in both her hands and brought it to her lips. Coy, though, had never been her strong suit. Her eyes gave her away. 

Frankie speared a sausage onto his fork, and ate it whole. He needed a moment to figure out how to answer that. Blue was supposed to be a girl from bumfuck, so he couldn’t say she was a spoiled brat, even though she was sometimes. He couldn’t say that she was charming or even sweet when she wanted to be without his mom getting the wrong idea. The last thing he needed was her meddling. 

Still, he had to give his mom something. At least a crumb, or else she would keep hassling him until he spilled. 

Frankie swallowed – shrugged. 

“She’s…funny, I guess. She’s got a lot of opinions. If you let her, she’ll probably talk your ear off. She can sometimes be a little stubborn, but that might just be with me-” 

“Do you two get along?” She interrupted – confused, her brows slightly knitted. 

“For the most part.” 

“Meaning?”

It’s complicated. “Sometimes, we get on each other’s nerves.” 

She pursed her lips – eyes squinted with suspicion. 

“What?”

“I swear, I better not hear that you were mean to that poor girl.” She jabbed an accusatory finger towards his chest. “Think you were raised better than that-”

Frankie scoffed, “Trust me - she’s not innocent.”

She made a face – not totally convinced. Ultimately, she waved it off. “I guess, I’ll see for myself, now. Won’t I?” 

“Guess so.” He grinned then felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Even though he didn’t have much choice, he still hated lying to his mom. 

He wondered how she would react if she knew who Blue really was. 

—--

For a few days, you were to remain a ghost. Just long enough to give the Council time to get their ducks in a row and the story to sink in and travel. 

The Welcome Home party had served as a perfect diversion, so no one had spotted you. Kasumi had been nice enough to offer up the apartment above her garage. While it wasn’t much bigger than your freshman year dorm room, at least, it didn’t smell like that weird bean soup your roommate always used to heat up in the microwave. 

This place had only been vacant since this summer when Kasumi’s daughter moved out after getting married. The space wasn’t really meant for two. You supposed the tight squeeze wouldn’t be terrible for people in love, but you were holed up in here with Frankie.

Three days. He must’ve been assigned as your guard or maybe he thought you’d take off and run again if he left you alone because he barely let you out of his sight.

It was impossible to ignore him, either. You couldn’t just pretend or forget he was here when his body swallowed the doorways. He was too damn broad for this place. 

The two of you fought like territorial kangaroos over the boxy kitchen. Shoulder jabs, bumping elbows, you’d snap at him whenever he got too close after the first night when he nudged you in the arm while you were stirring spaghetti sauce. It was a huge mess. Globs of red splattered over the secondhand apron, under the storm-gray cabinets and even a little on the pastel yellow walls. He claimed it was an accident, but his schoolboy snicker made you think otherwise. 

In order to keep you entertained, he brought over a deck of cards, but would only play speed, which he annoyingly called Spit! 

And even worse, he won 90% of the time. 

After a few losing rounds, you’d pout and demand a different game. He’d taunt you, call you a sore loser until you gave him a rematch. You wanted to smack that stupid smirk off his face when he’d win again. 

But for all that you cursed and griped and grouched about him, you hated even more when he left. All alone, there was no TV - no radio to fill the silence. You’d betrayed your family, and could not stop reeling with it. 

What did you do? What have you done? 

Second-thoughts slithered in, and you found it impossible to stop your head from spinning. You didn’t know who to trust anymore. You’d blindly believed your dad, and didn’t want to make the same mistake again. 

What if these guys were wrong? What if they were the ones lying?

If you let it, these doubts would consume you. Instead of being swallowed whole by anxiety, you were intent on busying yourself. 

Sadly, the bookshelves were depleted and anything left had seemingly been forgotten for good reason. However, you noticed a thick layer of dust on the encyclopedia. Underneath the sink in the kitchen, there was a basket full of rags and sponges and cleaning supplies. 

You’d scrubbed every square inch and surface in this apartment until your fingertips were pruny and raw as leather. The 24-piece china set was freshly polished, the hand-painted goldfinches and delicate butterflies now shining in the spotless glass hutch. Afterwards, you’d taken to rearranging the furniture and jilted knick-knacks and leftover decor. 

Frankie, much too perceptive, seemed to notice. 

On your last night of temporary house arrest, he’d left to pick up dinner. 45 minutes, and multiple trinkets had shifted around the room like haunted figurines. You’d caught him eyeing the porcelain pigs on top of the mantle, the hourglass in their previous spot on the second row of a built-in shelf. 

For a moment, you thought he was going to say something, but instead - he unpacked the food and laid it out on the coffee table. After dinner, he had grabbed the deck cards from the side table without mentioning the change of vase. 

That night, he hung around longer than usual. 

One more game. Go Fish this time. Ever play Slap Jack? Is the sink still acting funny? I’ll fix it. 

He did leave, eventually. Just not until your eyelids were stuck at half-mast, your words sluggish and slurry from needing sleep. 

The next morning, he was at your door bright and early, ready to take you to the first day of work. 

—

You hadn’t really been able to see much of the town. Kasumi had smuggled you from the Council building at night, so you made a few things out in the dark. The windows in your apartment didn’t offer much of a view. 

After Diamond City, you expected a town of steel houses. Surprisingly, Marblehead looked nearly identical to before.

As you walked in the middle of the street, you could finally scope out the cottages and colonials that still lined the narrow, windy roads. On a sunny day like this, you would’ve anticipated a traffic jam, a bad headache, but there was no honking. No SUV’s hogging up space. Not even a single car in sight. 

It was peaceful. It was nice. Strange, but nice.

During the walk, Frankie explained how people got around the old-fashion way: foot, bikes, and horseback. There was even a carriage taxi service that seemed very on brand with the 18th century architecture. 

Frankie led you onto the main street and you looked around at the familiar storefronts. Suddenly, you noticed everyone was staring at you. The street buzzed with whispers and glances. 

There had been some lingering looks and stares in Diamond City but it was much more crowded, denser. You could slip into the masses and disappear, but not here. Your arrival had been announced, everyone was expecting you. 

You averted your eyes to the cracked sidewalk, feeling very self-conscious. The insecurity reminded you of second grade when you were the new kid in school and had to stand in front of the class to introduce yourself. All the kids had stared at you. Nora had threatened to spit on them if she caught them looking too long again. For that comment, she had to walk laps at recess for the rest of the week.

These people, though, scared you more than a classroom full of eight-year-olds.

Frankie must’ve noticed them staring too since he inched closer, the hair on his arm tickled your skin and you could smell his soap in the air.

“They’re just curious,” Frankie whispered. “It’s not everyday someone new shows up.” 

Still, Frankie straightened. He had on just a plain black t-shirt and jeans and still looked uncommonly intimidating. Even without a gun strapped to his back, it seemed like nobody wanted to fuck with him. He glared at one shopkeeper and it put the fear of God into them, they immediately turned away and went double-time on raising their sun-salt dull awning. 

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of warmth at his protectiveness. But you supposed it was his job, after all, to keep you safe. 

“Have you fought a lot of people or something?” You lightly nudged his shoulder with yours. A tiny smile toyed with his lips. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Frankie guided you into a cape cod building that was wedged between a tailor and a sub shop. It used to be a funky cafe with fancy latte art and slam poetry on Wednesday that Nora dragged you to one night. 

Luckily, the soap shop didn’t smell so potent that your eyes watered like at Bath & Body Works. There was a fresh scent of lemongrass and citrus and something else flowery. 

“Pollito?” A woman’s voice - his mom, you guessed - shouted from the back.

“Little chicken, huh?” You looked him over. “I see it.”

“Funny,” he grumbled when the back door swung open. It was definitely his mom. 

She came and greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks, and he slung his arm around her shoulders. It was sweet, but also shocking to see him be so affectionate. At times, he’d rest his arm on Benny or Santi’s shoulder, he’d hugged Piper goodbye, but other than that, it wasn’t a side you often saw from him. 

His mom fished out a pair of glasses from her apron and slipped them on. She rapidly blinked as if surprised. She looked you up and down as Frankie introduced you. 

“Josefa.” She shook your hand. “But everyone calls me Pepa.” Her eyes were warm and doe-like, that same shade of earthy, dark brown as Frankie’s.

She had a perfectly round face - plump cheeks and a button nose. Truly, she was a beautiful woman, though much softer than Frankie. He must have inherited his striking, sharp angles from his father. His aquiline nose. That divot in his bottom lip. A square jaw that you swore was carved from stone. Even though he could be such a grouch, he really was quite attractive. 

You wondered if you would ever meet his dad. Was he still around? Or was he long gone? You had enough common sense not to ask. 

You made a turn about the shop, in particular admiring the back wall that resembled a beehive of sorts with hexagonal boxes in honey-golden wood that each stored a wicker basket brimming with a colorful assortment of soaps. 

Pepa must’ve noticed you staring because she proudly boasted, “Frankie built that. And all by himself, too.”

He’d never mentioned being into carpentry, but it was clearly more than just some throwaway hobby. This was high quality. 

“I gotta admit, I’m impressed.” 

Frankie’s lips parted as if he couldn’t believe those words just came from you. “Is that a compliment?” 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

Pepa gave you a quick tour of the store. In the back, there was a kitchen with ample counter space to make soap, along with a pantry, now used for curing. The shop wouldn’t open for another hour and a half, so Yovanna had not come in yet. She was the one who did the cold-process, whereas Pepa was exclusively liquid. 

For the last few months, the two of them had been splitting your job, which would be manning the counter and packaging. It seemed easy enough, given that you had worked retail, just two summers ago. 

Frankie offered to stick around and help stock the shelves, just until Yovanna arrived. Pepa happily agreed, on the condition that he didn’t get in the way of your training. 

She started with the register which, at first, you pretended to act clueless on how it worked. You’d pause for a few seconds as if trying to recall her instructions. Every once in a while, you’d hit the wrong button. Pepa was relieved to hear that your compound was big on education, so you knew basic math. Frankie couldn’t help but grin behind her back at your bold-face lie.

She was demonstrating how to package the soaps when Yovanna showed up. The woman was fucking gorgeous - perfectly arched eyebrows and skin as golden as Frankie’s. Her long, dark hair was pulled into low, messily braided pigtails that pretty much no one else except for her could pull off. 

For some reason, you found yourself unable to look away as Frankie wrapped his big arms around her tiny frame. You could see his lips moving, but his voice was far too hushed for you to hear. His chin rested on her shoulder and he glanced up. 

Shit. 

Abruptly, you turned away and returned to studying Pepa’s hands. 

When Yovanna finally came over, she politely introduced herself before heading into the kitchen. She was somehow even more beautiful up close. 

Frankie finished up with the last few baskets before asking if you were going to be okay. Despite your thumbs up, he appeared hesitant to leave. Pepa offered him a reassuring smile, and he tugged his cap over his eyes, gave a single wave goodbye before heading out the door. 

—

All morning, there were faces pressed up against the glass like you were a Saks Fifth Avenue mannequin during the holiday season. 

The customers could rarely hide their surprise when you spoke in complete sentences. It was hard not to notice their furtive looks and pitiful glances, even on occasion you caught Pepa and Yovanna staring. 

It seemed like despite Preston’s best attempts to make your compound sound grand - a whole neighborhood of doomsday preppers instead of a few families - everyone expected a girl with seven fingers and missing toes and teeth. Perhaps, they imagined Mystique. Or someone with a single eye like a cyclops. 

Whatever they imagined, it was certainly not you.

Around lunch, you spotted Frankie outside on the sidewalk. He was storming towards the pack of teenagers peeping in through the window like an angry bull. The kids dispersed like terrified ants. 

Quickly, you went back to wrapping the bar of soap in cream parchment before he could notice that you saw. He’d undoubtedly ask about them if he noticed you looking. You really didn’t want to talk about being the town freak show. 

The out-of-tune bell above the door rang as you tied a perfect, hemp string bow around the soap. 

He glanced around the shop - it was only you on the floor. After the morning rush died down, Pepa and Yovanna retreated into the kitchen. Soon, one of the two would wander out to check-in, as long as they heard the bell.

“Well, look who couldn’t stay away,” you said with a playful grin. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” His steps echoed over the hollow laminate floors as he moved towards you. “Just wanted to see how things were going.” 

“What? Did you not have anything better to do?” 

“Than this?” Frankie shook his head. 

He clipped his aviators onto his shirt collar as he approached the checkout counter. His palm slid easily over the smooth butcher block - the same honey-gold as the boxes on the wall behind you. You wondered if he also made this with his own two hands, sanded it down and stained it. 

Frankie’s eyes dipped over your outfit. “Nice apron.” 

You huffed at his sarcasm. “I look like a Starbucks worker.”

“What the fuck is a Starbucks?”

“Coffee shop.” You pointed across the street. “There used to be one where Willy’s Good Juice is now, whatever the hell that is.” 

Frankie grimaced. He wrinkled his nose like he was about to be sick. “Some advice: don’t ever drink that shit. You’ll regret it.”

“Noted.” You had the same visceral reaction when anyone mentioned Mango Burnetts. 

Yovanna stepped inside the room. When her gaze landed on Frankie, she gave him a mischievous smirk. She leaned back, her body propping open the door. 

“You’re right,” she yelled over her shoulder into the kitchen. “It is him.” 

Frankie let out a huff of annoyance, narrowing his eyes at her as if she was his tattletaling little sister. The pointed look reminded you of Alice, though she never smiled at you afterwards. Instead, she’d call you a rat and a blabber mouth or simply a bitch, even though she was the one tormenting a kid. 

She seemed to enjoy ripping up your coloring books and decapitating your stuffed animals and dolls until dad forced her to buy a new one with her own allowance. 

As Pepa slid into the room, she squeezed past Yovanna, then put her hands on her hips. She looked serious, squinting at Frankie before turning to you. 

“Is he bothering you?” Her tone was light - her lips twitched and there was no real malice in her eyes. She was messing with him. 

“When is he not?” You asked and Frankie scoffed. He was not as much as the rest of you. 

“How’re my employees suppose to do their job?” Pepa tsked her tongue at Frankie. “I swear between you and Santi.” 

Santi? 

You glanced at Yovanna, who was twirling her braid around her finger and giggling like a girl with a crush. Was something going on between her and Santi?

Mary had said the guys didn’t technically date, but perhaps she was wrong. After all, Will clearly had feelings for Curie, judging by the smile on his face when he saw her in the Council hallway. He’d cradled the back of her head, holding her tightly in his arms as if he could not bear to let her go. Label or not, there was something going on there.

You didn’t know about Benny, but during his visits this week, he did talk an awful lot about some guy named Keith. 

You wondered - did Frankie also have someone here?

—-

Since he was already there, his mom suggested that he take Blue out for lunch – at Polly’s. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked her and she shrugged. 

“I could eat.” She hung up her apron, then he guided her next door into the sandwich shop. 

Past the lunch rush, the narrow dining room was practically empty. Just a few people eating at the counter, who all turned and stared at her without any shame. God – what was wrong with these people? As she looked over the menu, he gave them a hard glare. Immediately, their gazes dispersed around the restaurant – to the retro wood paneled walls, mustard lino floors, and the half-eaten plates on the beige formica bar top. 

After ordering at the register in the front, they found a table tucked away in a corner. His jeans scratched against the cracked leather cushion as he slid into the booth. Silently, she examined the ceramic-cow salt & pepper shakers, the out of commission tabletop jukebox and its list of songs. He would’ve asked if she knew any of them if they were alone. 

The cushion squeaked as she leaned back. “So, what have you been up to today? Other than missing me, of course.” 

He rolled his eyes at the last part, before answering. “Nothing really. Ran some errands – helped Pope fix up his fence. How’s work been?” 

“Good. Your mom’s been great, so has Yovanna.” She glanced down at her water cup and twisted it around in circles. “Are she and Pope like a thing?” 

“A thing?” What the fuck did that mean? 

She snorted at his confusion. “Are they like - together?” 

Frankie tilted his head from side to side as he figured out how to answer. Technically – no, they weren’t together in the traditional sense of boyfriend-girlfriend. In their line of work, it was hard to maintain a normal, healthy relationship. 

His first and only girlfriend was his highschool sweetheart. Lacey. Charming Lacey with long, golden hair and dimpled cheeks. Striking summer grass eyes that had never seen the cruelty of the wasteland. She was born in the safety of the walls of Sanctuary unlike him. 

After his first mission, she told him it was over. She wanted a family – a husband who would be around to help raise the kids, not someone who was constantly in-and-out, who she didn’t know whether they were alive or dead. It was almost word for word what Molly had said to Tom after she found out she was pregnant with Tess. Tom wasn’t ready to retire, but he didn’t have much of a choice. 

“Sorta,” Frankie finally answered. “It’s complicated.” 

“Same with Will and Curie?” 

Frankie nodded and she hummed thoughtfully. He waited for her to push for more information, but she didn’t. 

Instead, she sat silently with her hands clasped neatly on the table. Her brows slightly furrowed, appearing to be deeply in her own head. He didn’t think she had a crush on Santi or Will. At least, she never acted like it. If he had to guess anyone, it’d be Benny only because of how well they got along. 

Still, something was bothering her. He’d become exceptionally well-versed in her facial expressions, her subtle and not-so-subtle shifts in mood, and with her – silence never meant anything good. 

“What is it?” He nudged and she didn’t answer. She could be so goddamn obstinate. “What’re you thinking about?” 

She must’ve realized he would not let this go as she let out a sigh. She glanced at him and then at the painted seahorse above his head. 

“I guess I’ve started to realize how little I know about you,” she whispered. “All of you.” 

“We could say the same about you.” He winced when the words left his mouth. It sounded more demining than he intended. 

“It’s different and you know it. You guys have lives, all I have is…memories.” She stared down at her lap as if defeated. “None of it really matters anymore.” 

“That’s not true.”

“Fine.” She harshly scoffed. “It’s irrelevant. Better?”

He shook his head in disagreement, but that was all the denial he could muster. He wouldn’t go as far as to say it didn’t matter, but it did no longer exist. The life she knew had been extinct, after all, for two centuries. 

“Order 43!” 

Frankie signaled for her to stay, then went and grabbed the two baskets from the bar. He plopped back down, sliced his sandwich down the middle, then did the same to hers without thinking. Wordlessly, he pushed the basket across the table to her. 

“Thank you,” she said, then awkwardly lifted her sandwich up to her mouth and took a bite. 

Frankie sucked a little mayo off his thumb. “So, what is it that you wanna know? About me - us?” 

For a moment, she appeared stunned. Her cheeks were full – there was a drop of sauce on her lips. She licked it off, and his eyes followed the pink of her tongue. 

She swallowed. 

“Anything.” She shrugged. “Like, what’s your favorite color?” 

“Seriously?” He snorted – out of everything. 

She picked up a fry and pointed it at the center of his chest. “Judge all you want, but it can tell you a lot about a person.” 

“You would think that,” he said before answering. “Green.” 

“What kind of green?” There was a crisp crunch as she chomped on the fry.  

This was ridiculous, but if it would make her feel better. “Dark green, forest green. What about you?” 

“This might be a little cliche, but pink. Not hot pink, though. Soft pink, like cherry blossoms or peonies.” 

For the rest of lunch, she continued to ask trivial questions. 

Dogs or Cats: dogs. 

Favorite Holiday: Christmas. 

Birthday: August 23rd. 

“Virgo,” she said, like suddenly everything about him made perfect sense. 

She wiped her mouth with a napkin, then slurped the last of her water. 

“Last one - if the world never ended, what would you’ve wanted to be?” 

Easy. “A pilot.” He’d been obsessed with the sky ever since he was little. 

He could remember spending hours on the cold floor in his bedroom, flipping through faded illustrations in children’s books. He wished and hoped and prayed that one day – he could see it for himself. 

Suddenly, he thought about having to tell her about that part of his life. How would she react? He couldn’t stomach another bite and lightly shoved away his basket. 

Frankie knew he would have to tell her, but not right now. Not at Polly’s. Not anywhere in public. 

But soon. 

If he had learned anytime from last time, it was better to tell her before someone else let it slip. 

[chuplayswithfire]

Stede is such a great character for unpacking. The ways that learned helplessness and self-hate can damage your relationships with other people and hurt them, all without you ever thinking that you're even capable of hurting other people. Like, he hates himself and he hates his life, and he thinks he's worthless because he's spent his entire life being made to feel that way by the people around him whether it be on purpose (his father, the kids at school, the Badmintons) or accidental (Mary, the kids), and it's so utterly unfair that the only way for him to get out of it is to help himself but it's true.

Like, Stede and Mary's relationship was doomed by the fact that they don't like each other, their marriage, or their life together, but Stede and his kids could have had a deep, meaningful, fulfilling relationship, and it doesn't seem like that ever manifested, and it's probably in part because Stede held himself back. Shared with his kids what he enjoyed and held back the rest.

I keep thinking about how it undoubtedly hurt him to leave them, but not enough to leave a note. Just. Ouch. A part of him really didn't think what he was doing would matter. Really didn't see that he could hurt anyone. It wasn't until he saw himself literally painted out that he really grasped it.

[sculptorofcrimson]

The Flayer Hates(The Flayer Loves)

Warning: light gore

It doesn’t hurt, when you sink in the knives. It never does. This hate. This desire for an end. This vicious, burning thing that wants to eat all, trample all, tear all that shines down until they are as low as you are, as wretched of a creature as you have been. The sheer hatred that is not  cannot - be articulated, the ache in your bones that can only be stalled, never cured. The rage, the hate, the screams that died in cords unsung, the blind madness that will kill you before you could screech your hatred out to the stars.

The hunger that never ends. 

Skin. Teeth. Bones. Liver. Skull. You want to strip them away, flay them alive, feast upon them until they’re unidentifiable dust, you want to find those that betrayed you so utterly and shattered you Llandu'gor into oblivion, you want to find those who built citadels out of your skull and idols out of your bones and you want to beat them into dust. You want to smear their flesh across your unmoving jaws and separate their bones from their meat, you want to hear them scream as you have screamed, fading now, hear them decay limb by limb as you have rotted, drowning in the all-consuming night as you have drowned. 

You want to find their graves, you want to put them there, you want to grind their bones one by one into ash and sink sickle-claws down into their flesh until they bleed through metallic bones, until they scream with unmoving mouths, until they repent the sins of steel. You want to hear the crunch of bones squealing apart, the screech of metal torn to ash, the slow seeping of green ichor leaking from your clawed fingernails as you grind talons over a skull that was a face. To hear their joints creak, their limbs snap, rotate, twist and turn and pop, to tear apart metallic augments until they are mortal now, nothing but a weak, fleshy shell not even worthy of being called human, writhing on the ground, begging for forgiveness through a toothless mouth. Rip wires from pumping innards, tear tubing from limbs and spines, rip tails, talons, claws, wings, take tendrils and hear them crack, snapping inch by inch into twisted, worthless fragments.

You want to flay them alive. You want to give them flesh and take it away, you want to give them skin and eat it away, you want to rust their bones and breathe cancer over their steel, you want to make them hate as you have been hated. You want to turn them into you, a wretched, lonely thing screaming away in the dark. You want to find these helpless, mocking creatures, so weak, so loathsome in their aloneness, and you want to turn them into you. You want to flay them alive, make them bleed as you have bleed. You will turn them into your children, your flaws, your sins come to life. 

Find them, crush them, make them repent. Crush their steel into rust, cover their green ichor with black bile. Teach them the falsehoods of their love, how even their beloved obsessions hate them back, how they will never be loved again. Teach them the carnality of the endless hunger, the flesh and blood upon steel lips, of hate unending instead of joy, of hunger enduring instead of adoration. 

They will never be loved. You will find these lonely, forgotten, cast away creatures of steel, not flesh.

And you will love them. 

You are Llandu'gor, the Flayer. 

And you will make them love.

[ravenquingvax]

14 year old me deserved better

we shouldn't have been bullied, our parents shouldn't have emotionally neglected us, we shouldn't have been allowed free reign on the internet

i have irreversible trauma all because my parents didn't understand the difference between giving shelter & food to someone and real parenting

i felt abandoned and unloved and pushed away and hated

i felt utterly worthless to, and unwanted by, the very people who had fought to have me

my parents went through IVF to have me, you know, and yet my whole life I've never really felt loved or wanted by them

i ended up so alone and scared i fell into an older person's trap and was hurt in ways that i didn't understand back then

i felt so broken and discarded, like i truly had nothing left to give to anyone else

it really fucked me up

i understand how this all happened and it sickens me

i hate that some parents hate their children and hurt them internationally, i hate that some parents don't know love and therefore can't give it to their own children in the future

i hate that people refuse to accept that girls can be evil and predatory, i hate that we treat victims as criminals even if they "followed every rule"

its no wonder i gave up on my education in the end

its no wonder i stopped living

im stuck and I feel helpless

i was talking to people, I was getting help, I was making progress (and technically i still am but not in ways that truly help in the long run) but it got too overwhelming and i just fucking shut down again

i feel trapped in a body that doesn't belong to me

it never did and never will

i feel trapped in a cycle of anger and sadness and sickness and exhaustion

5 10 15 20 25 30

i feel so fucking stuck

so fucking done

i woke up at 6am today and i couldn't fall back asleep

i trued writing it off, literally by writing fanfiction, and I've refreshed tumblr and twitter so many times since I woke up that in kind of sick of them

its now 8am and I feel dead

but not energy wise

just emotionally unwound

I'll probably feel better after i have some water and talk to my boyfriend, knowing me

but i wanted to talk about how just fucked everything feels

i feel like a vase someone smashed into smithereens and that was put back together with paper mache and string

her name kills me almost every time I see or hear it now

i think i might hate myself less than her these days, honestly

she stole my innocence and my trust and my childish love

she robbed me of a colour, of a book series, of a movie, of a flower and of so much more

she probably doesn't even remember me anymore, if she's still alive after everything

i don't know what I'd prefer

5 10 15 20 25 30

would i rather she got help and found love and happiness?

would i rather the opposite?

i feel too tired to care

she's not the last, nor am i certain she was truly the first

but she ruined me in ways nobody else could dream to

she left a sickness in my veins that i cant get rid of

its almost become lovely

i would miss it if it were gone

the hate is ugly and hisses, but i take comfort in its heat

maybe i am broken, maybe she broke me, maybe

i woke up today with terrible thoughts of things i dont want to do to myself or to others

thats fucked up

i can't remember if i was always like this or if she did this

maybe its both

5 10 15 20 25 30

all i know is that im tired

i want to stop hurting

i want to stop being scared

i want to stop being angry

i want to stop being sad

i want to stop being so tired

i just want to live and love

i love people, i do

i hate feeling such strong hatred that im not so sure is even really my own

i just want to be happy

i feel sick

[gay-caesar-truther]

I have been pondering, and I think it's Vespa's turn in the "Why the fuck do they act like that" machine

Plain and simple- Control and a nasty perfectionist streak.

Vespa wants control. They're tall yes- but they're slender and frail. Deep down they know if they left the vault for an extended period of time they simply wouldn't survive, and it quite frankly drives them mad. They are deeply DEEPLY afraid of being helpless and unable to escape. Ves Cannot stand the idea of a situation in which they are unable to protect themselves, where their cold and calculating mind has been rendered worthless and they're utterly and they're completely at the mercy of someone else.

Mercy is not given often in the wasteland, and they'd hate to have to bet on such a thing to survive. They should be able to control any situation, to get out on their own without needing assistance or kindness and it's maddening to them to know that there are people out there who strip them of their free will, or life, with ease.

They're cruel and apathetic to their test subjects because of this- In any other circumstance it would've been them under the metaphorical surgical knife, and they know they would not have been shown any kindness or grace- so why would they spare that for those who in any other circumstance would have killed them?

It's also just another situation in which they can exert control- Their subject is helpless before them. Totally reliant on Vespa for food and water, at mercy of the test parameters and conditions only they can set. They're needed, they're in charge, the test subject has no choice but to comply. The cruelty is just Vespa reminding both themselves AND the test subject who is in charge here.

Vespa denies themselves connections with others too- Things such as emotion, attachment get you killed. You get over confident, lax, open yourself up to someone taking advantage you. They refuse to give those who have the potential to rob them of their control the tools needed to do so. So Vespa regards every person they meet as a plaything, just another test subject to poke a prod- They'll play along with the act of friendship if it give them more information on how best to maintain control. They're playing 4D mind chess in every social situation.

and Finally with the obsession with invertebrates- what taxa better represents someone like Vespa. They've survived millions of years, in millions of different ways. They're a vital player in the ecosystem; without invertebrates there are no plants nutrients cycling fails, species starve, the world withers. They have control. PLUS they have the things Ves lacks- Strength, resilience.

To find a way to make humanity more like insects would remove any weakness, to combine the best things of each group and eliminate the areas in which they're weak. Well, If Vespa could just figure that out they'd be unstoppable, the wasteland would not be able to stop them, no man or beast would able to control them.

Vespa pretends they're doing all this experimentation for the betterment of the world, to understand the processes of evolution in extreme circumstances, etc- that's bullshit. There goal is self-improvement and self- preservation in a biological sense, to fix the parts of themself they consider "genetic flaws", things that are a painful and natural circumstance of being human. If they weren't human, if they were able to play God with their own design, they could strip themselves of any flaws and well and truly be PERFECT and uncontrollable.