#to a man who hesitates only for a moment about ordering the murder of two seven-year-olds

[good--merits-accumulated]

god. this anderperry renaissance au is knocking me around some kind of way

[lutorao]

trust and hope

it's really odd what I'm going to tell you now but let's start

It's very clear how luffy trusts Zoro right?! because we have like thousand of moment of it but if I tell you that law is one of them who trust luffy most will you believe me ?!

let's start from whisky peak , do you remember the moment when some guy told luffy that Zoro was the reason why they were in this condition ? and what luffy did ? he fought with him

but in punk hazard when chopper told him that Law was murderer , he just ignored "Traffy " ?! nuh , but it wasn't some guy it was Chopper, his crewmate and what Luffy did ? nothing

don't get me wrong , maybe It can be assumed that the reason for Luffy's hesitation at Whiskey Peak was that, first of all, he had not known Zoro for a long time, in addition, you can say that the reason was also that these people shared food and Zoro thanked them in this way. It was the first and last time he suspected Zoro, you can't say that Luffy didn't know what Zoro was up to because of him. Let's go back a bit.

The case of Buggy, a seriously wounded man who is close to losing his mind doesn't hesitate for a second to hang onto Luffy's back with a cage, that should have been enough for Luffy, right? In addition, Luffy has animal instincts when it comes to people, but for some reason he blamed Zoro for his actions.

Let's continue with Law

Let's look at the situation from Law's side

A traumatized childhood, dead and murdered parents, a burned city, and the only person who trusted after this trauma was killed by Doflamingo, who was Corazon's brother.

so words "trust " and " hope " is not for law

And the only thing that motivated him during this time was revenge

revenge for the person he lost, Revenge for everything that happened

he spent 13 years preparing for his revenge and yes he was willing to do anything for this revenge, he ripped out the hearts of 100 pirates, became warlord, spent months on Punk Hazard, developed a plan, left the only people he trusted on Zou for their own safety, and yes he was really ready even to die

I hope you realize how important all this was to him right ?!

but what happened when it comes to luffy ?

Yes hope and Trust

And Doflamingo knew it clearly, maybe Luffy didn't realize how much it meant to law , but Doflamingo knew, it's not common for someone like Law to put that kind of trust in someone.

what about luffy ?

"Torao is a good guy " he was so happy wasn't he ?! just look at his face

Nami : noo luffy , we cant trust him

meanwhile luffy just ignored his crewmates words and "I'm in "

then Robin

luffy : " stop talking shits, he is a good guy " he just ignored everyone from his crew and when law switched their body luffy just laughed , he wasn't even mad , he just laughed. wtf luffy

let's make things clear straw hat

even it means go to hell together (please just look at him )

and yes now he was law's "bodyguard "

" just tell me which one Torao"

I won't talk about how he took care of Law all the way to Dressrosa, only Law? No, he didn't forget his sword either, just like law didn't forget Luffy's straw hat before

The funny thing is that even during the fight with Bellamy, Luffy's attention was on top, he didn't pay attention to his opponent, his whole concentration was on "how was Traffy?! "

Don't even dare, it all obvious in his face

And yes, he hasn't forgotten law's sword here either, his first order was "look after Law", he didn't ask anyone anything, just look after Law, protect him at any cost

if you ask me how their love language looks like I will say

"luffy : I'm glad you are okay , wanna eat? "

sharing his food

yes he shared his food with law

"law : let me die along with him I m begging you , please "

and at the end , I would like to mention the moment that makes these two people special to me along with everything else, first of all, the fact that Law was by Luffy's side when he needed it the most, when Luffy lost his brother the only member of his family( lets dont talk about Garp ) who had left, and lost his crew , his friends, was alone without his crew , and his life was in Law's hands. and yes, Law has seen Luffy at his worst, PTSD, despair, depression, and all together.

As for Law, this person who had no hope for anything in life and had no one but a crew, was left alone and everything he had been building and organizing for 13 years, all work, all hope, he left to Luffy. At this moment he was without his crew , and yes Luffy had seen him at his worst.

If that's not a sign of trust, hope and love, then I don't know what is

[inazuman]

tools of destiny

☁  blade x f!reader s.mut, honkai: star rail ☁  reader is afab. yandere, dubcon, kidnapping, blade calls reader some derogatory language but there's praise too, bondage (belt), whipping, breeding, oral sex (f receiving), cumplay, stockholm syndrome ☁  A/N: basically it's yandere dubcon kidnapper blade with reader who tries to fight back only to give in to the pleasure. also cherubimbunny gave me this fic idea hehe ily mwah ☁ 6k words ☁ @trailblazernet

Blade’s loyalty to the Stellaron Hunters, to Destiny’s Slave, knows no bounds.

Let me out! Please!

He follows every order with little question, giving Elio his complete faith.

I-I haven’t done anything bad, I swear!

He abandoned his body to become a weapon. He has murdered, deceived, and taken from others in the name of destiny.

Where am I? Where are you taking me?

His actions with you are no exception.

“Please. Please let me go. What do you want from me?!”

You speak as soon as you hear the door open, your blindfold seeped with tears that streak down your cheeks. The person says nothing, and the door clicks close. Heavy footsteps track towards you, warm hands untying the cloth from around your head even as you try to shuffle back on the floor, their expensive-smelling cologne filling the air.

You blink once, twice, looking around you. You’re in a… a bedroom? Your breath is taken by the luxury surrounding you, a full king size bed on high stilts sits right behind you.

You stare at the man that captured you, and he can’t help but stare back at your eyes, the way they’re full of anger and hurt.

“What did you bring me here for? I haven’t done anything wrong, haven’t hurt anyone. Why am I here?”

He simply observes you, the way you move from demure to strong to pitiful, as if one of those will finally grant you an answer from him.

After a beat of silence, two, he finally speaks.

“I won’t lie to you. You are a prisoner here.” He keeps his head tilted down, but you swear you think he almost looks pleased witha slight smile on his face. “But we mean you no discomfort, for the most part. If you choose, you can live comfortably. We will take care of you, feed you well, give you anything you’d like to keep you entertained. You may even want to join our side. Or,” he shifts his weight off the wall, taking one step forward, and you immediately feel fear enrapture you, like the walls are closing in around you. You shuffle back, retreating until your shoulders hit the footboard of the bed.

Like a hunted rabbit, he can’t help but think. Something about a scared, pretty girl has him running his thumb against his jaw, though there’d be time for that later.

“Or,” he continues, “you can make this difficult. You can try to escape, but you won’t be able to. And I will tie you up, break your legs, whatever is necessary to ensure the arrival of the destiny that Elio chooses.”

“Destiny?! What destiny could I be involved in?”

With a flick of his wrist, his sword materializes in his hand. You immediately regret your tone. The bed shifts behind you as you press your back against it, but faster than you can blink, the edge of the sword slices against your ties from the side. You roll your wrists free, the chafing evident on your skin.

He doesn’t care to answer, pressing a button on the wall, door sliding open, but he hesitates. He turns his jaw back to you, as if lost in thought and eyeing you up all at once.

“A destiny greater than both you and I,” the words are voiced carefully, like a prophecy, but the moment is gone in an instant. “Rest up, girl. Know that even if you make it off this floor, there is nowhere to run. We are in the Stellaron Hunters’ headquarters, in the middle of space.”

He leaves swiftly, and you make a note of the way two different locks sound as the door shuts – one mechanical, one electronic.

You look around to find that the man is correct. There is a table with a screen that acts as both a vanity and a computer, expertly hacked so that you can play games and watch shows, but can’t communicate with the outside world. The bathroom is just as hauntingly beautiful, with both a bathtub and a shower, even the sink counter is littered with various, unopened products.

All the added ways that they’ve evidently made the bedroom as comfortable as possible have ironically made the situation all the more fearful. How long do they plan to keep you here? What do they need from you? What does your comfort matter to them? 

But you’re exhausted. You only manage to shower and brush your teeth before crashing on the bed.

-

It’s unfortunate that it’s Blade’s job to care about your comfortability, but in Elio’s words, ‘the less resistance she has to you, the better’.

He takes the painstaking, daily task of bringing you your three meals at set times, leaving them on your desk like some kind of butler or room service (that’s his limit. Someone else can take them out when you’re done). All so you can get used to him, his presence, grow some sort of sick attachment to him.

Stockholm syndrome is what Kafka called it.

“Human emotions are fickle, you see,” Kafka trails her hand over his shoulder, playing the little game she plays to keep someone entranced on her. But Blade has seen it far too many times to have any reaction. “They aren’t… something that can be mapped with 100% guarantee in destiny’s path. Though, her acceptance and willingness in this situation isn’t necessary, it would make things easier.”

He waves the explanation off, retiring to his room to handle the second part of his job with you. The dreams.

He plants them in your mind with his abilities as mere suggestions. His hand grazing over your thighs, between them, up your body, to your breasts… His breath hot against your skin, his hard member pressed up against you…

You jolt awake from them, covered in cold sweat.  

It’s all in preparation for the day Kafka tells you the truth of your arrival.

-

“You are to create a powerful warrior, the heir of Destiny.”

Kafka says it so gently during your weekly meeting that you step back, shocked and enraged all at once.

“Excuse me?” you almost spit the words at her. “How dare you-”

“Ah, ah.” She taps the gun strapped to her side once. “We’ve been real nice to you, sweetheart. I’d hate to see things get messy between us, wouldn’t you?”

You shut up immediately, realizing the situation. You’ve been brought here and treated well, not because they care, or because they even like you, but for this purpose alone.

“You get it now, don’t you?” she whispers in your ear, playing with your hair, both intimate and threatening all at once. “There are things we can do to make you more… placid in the situation. But something consensual would make it more pleasant for the both of you. We’ve even added some items in your bathroom, so that you can feel nice and fresh before and after. What do you say, hm? You wanna play with some new things?”

-

You take the week Kafka gives you to prepare. But what you prepare is not just your body or your looks. The nail files you were given have been sharpened steadily, forks and knives from your meals tucked under different parts of your mattress and pillows. Any attempt to search up how to prevent a pregnancy or anything even related to it gives a blank page. Whoever is their tech person is damn good.

On the day of, Kafka raps her knuckles three times over your door. You know it’s her, because Blade never knocks. Her eyes rack up and down your body, an eyebrow arched.

“Blade will be here any minute. Are you not going to get dressed?”

She doesn’t wait for your answer, moving straight towards your closet with some girl best friend mentality instead of your captor. You play with the hem of your pajama shirt, your fingers jittering against the fabric as she hums quietly, hangars clicking against each other with every nervous second, only stopping with a satisfied mhmm!

“Here you go, sweetheart.” She pulls out a raunchy, wine red lingerie set with a matching sheer gown, almost like the colors on Blade’s usual outfit.

“It doesn’t really matter what I wear, does it?”

You shouldn’t question her, shouldn’t comment, but the overthinking runs through your mind so heavily that words full or resentment spew out before you can stop yourself. What happens after you’ve had the baby? Is that it? Is your purpose finished? 

Kafka smiles sweetly at you. “Of course it matters. You and Blade are Destiny’s match. In some cultures, a pre-organized match is how all marriages are made. As long as you cooperate, this could be a pleasurable experience! I’ve heard Blade’s quite talented in bed.” She acts like the conversation is nothing, holding the lingerie up to your body to see if the color matches your skin tone.

As long as you cooperate.

“A-After…”

Kafka laughs, so sweetly you might even feel like you were friends. “Oh, darling! As long as everything goes smoothly, there are no plans to get rid of you just yet. Does that help that pretty little head of yours?” She taps your forehead before pressing the hangars against your hands, gently pushing you towards the bathroom.

“Good luck, darling! I just know you look beautiful.”

-

Despite your preparations, nothing prepares you for Blade’s presence.

His heavy boots strike the floor with every step into your room before he sits at the foot of your bed to remove them with a thump, like he belongs here. He’s closer than he’s ever been to you since the day he grabbed you, so much so that you can smell his aftershave.

When he glances at you past his fringe, you tuck the blanket closer over you. It’s cute, he thinks. Even after seeing him day after day, you’re still the scared bunny he captured. He chuckles low in his throat. He approaches you like a predator seeking its prey, his arms stretched out. As if the open gesture makes him any less dangerous, as if you feel any less hunted. He wants to tell you that there’s nothing to be scared of, but you’d both know he’s lying.

“I can make this good for you,” he opts for instead, kneeling over you on the bed. You can’t help but notice how he towers over you, how tight his clothing fits over his body. He watches carefully at the way your fingers twitch in response.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Why don’t you show me what’s under that blanket?” He carefully brings himself over, tugging the blanket between your hands, right in front of your chest. You let him, the duvet falling away, his eyes instantly marveling over your figure.

He wolf-whistles low, the sheer gown doing nothing to hide the pretty lingerie that hugs your body underneath.

“You got all prettied up for me, doll?” He wants to touch you, wants to tear it off of you like he was promised he’d be able to, but a glint of something holds him back. Because when he looks right into your eyes –

They burn with aggression. Even behind the fear and the innocence, he can feel the way you’re just about to fight or flight.

“Why don’t you let me in, doll? Let me touch you, okay?” He removes his shirt as he talks, unbuttoning it and sliding it off to reveal strong muscle and scarred tissue, your eyes wide at his figure.

You’re hesitant, not even sure why he’s asking, but you nod anyways. He starts with placing his hand on your calf, moving it up to your knee, reminding you of the dreams you’ve had night after night of him exactly like this, the touch both light and electric. He runs his other hand over your jaw, thumb over your cheek, even as you flinch slightly away.

“’m gonna kiss you,” the warning is a courtesy. He needs to speed things up, pressing a kiss to your forehead to test the waters, before pressing another one to your lips.

It’s soft, at first, his lips pillowy against your own. He deepens it, resting the back of your head onto the pillow, pressing your body into the mattress. His tongue swipes behind your teeth.

You wait, like a bird about to swoop down. Let your legs wrap around his torso, bringing him close, a soft groan escapes him from your initiative, eagerly seeking you back as his hands work their way up your thighs.

And then you strike, your heartbeat sharp in your chest, reaching behind you to grab a sharp nail file and hauling it towards his neck-

You hear it clatter to the ground before you can even process, wrist pinned to the mattress, squeezed borderline painfully between his thumb and forefinger. He acts like it’s nothing, continues wrapping his tongue around yours like you hadn’t just attempted to murder him. The only gesture he even recognizes what you did is the slight smile you feel against your lips as he pulls you in for another kiss.

So you fight, you aim between his legs as you kick and thrash, only for his other hand to wrap a hand around both your ankles clasped together. With both his hands occupied, you grab at the inside of one of your pillows to stab a fork into his side, but he’s faster, always faster, using his calf to pin your legs down as he slams your other wrist down on either side of you. His hands cover over yours like a lover, he comes right up against your ear to whisper –

“Tsk, tsk. Bad girl.”

The nail files you sharpened, the forks and knives you kept from your meals. All of it becomes futile, useless, against Blade. Every attempt you make to even scrape him between kisses are effectively knocked away, as if they never happened. He presses your hips down heavier into the bed.

“My, my. Someone’s been naughty when preparing for my arrival, haven’t you?”

“H-How can you go through with this?!” You spew out in frustration at his unfazed manner. “You kidnap, murder, manipulate others just for the sake of destiny? Some abstract cause that you don’t even see the full picture of?”

He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it, grabbing at your neck and squeezing, your hands flying down to his wrists immediately to resist.

“Maybe I enjoy it. Hm? You ever thought about that? Sure, if you’ve lived as long as I have, the killing starts to feel more like a chore. But taking a scared little girl and forcing her into bed with me? Well,” he growls in your ear, “maybe I get off on it.”

He releases you, letting you cough and taking in big gulps of air. He licks a stripe up your neck and over your lips, lets his teeth nibble against your jawline as he grips the back of your neck and manoeuvres your robe off to reveal your stomach, large hands splaying over the expanse of exposed skin.

“Besides, that’s not a nice way to treat someone doing you a favor, is it?” He grips you by the jaw, forcing you to look straight into his glowing eyes.

“I could just cum inside of you and be done with this,” he speaks through gritted teeth, his gaze following down the line of your body and back up. “So, you get one more chance to be good. No more tryna kill me, you’re just gonna lie back and let me take care of you. Answer me back, doll.”

You nod as much as you can with your cheeks mushed by his fingers.

“No more misbehavior. I’m being nice, darlin’. You get that? I’m preparing you.” He presses the length of his body against yours, your eyes widening as you feel his large member pressing against the seam of his pants, right against your core.

He smirks at your reaction. “Yeah. You get it now, don’t you, baby?” His teeth scrape against your earlobe as his breath ghosts over your ear. “If I made you take me without preparing you, you wouldn’t walk for days.”

You want to roll your eyes, to quip back, to tell him to fuck off, but then he’s stripping you of your bra, his mouth closing over your nipple, long fingers trailing over your thighs and towards your clothed core.

And all you can think, is that it’s better than the dreams you’ve had of him.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. How he licks at the underside of your breast, leaving bite marks at your cleavage, sucking at your nipples. How he teases his fingertips over your clothed core until the fabric sticks to you, nail trailing around your clit, thumb flitting just over and under the edge of your panties.

The way you can’t help but arch your back into him is telling at best and pathetic at worst.

“Already weak for me?” he chuckles darkly, pulling down your panties with a low whistle at the mess you’ve made.

“Has it been a while, princess?” he kisses your hip, lets his tongue trail over just so you can imagine what it’d be like to have his mouth on you. He knows how long they’ve kept you here under close watch, and yet he has the nerve to comment on it.

But he’s right, and you realize just how right he is when he drags his fingertips through your folds.

And it’s in this hazy, lust-filled moment that you figure if you’re going to be bred like an animal in this room to create the heir of destiny, you might as well get something out of it, willingly receive the pleasure you’re given, especially as his breath catches over your core, his nose digging into your inner thigh.

He watches as your shoulders go lax and your thighs tense. “Mm, that’s right, baby. You just relax and let me take care of you, hmm?” He laps at your inner thigh, coating it with saliva like he’s claiming you, you might think you find it almost disgusting if he didn’t match it with a long lick right at your core, from your entrance all the way up your clit.

Your response is immediate, your nails digging into the bedsheets below you as he chuckles, his hair and fringe tickling your thighs as he wraps his arms around each of your legs, holding you steady as he trails his tongue in a zig-zag motion over your core. He teases you every time, getting slower before he laps over your clit and then starting again from the bottom, until your bottom lip wobbles and your hips buck into his face, unable to contain how badly you want his tongue.

When you look down and make eye contact with him, you see his crazed eyes darkened. You almost feel scared to ask, scared to make requests when his tongue purposefully caves into your core.

He chuckles as he watches you weigh the options in your fogged mind, whether your desperation is worth risking the sight of him materializing his cracked sword. He teases you again, teeth grazing against the edge of your folds, circling wide around your bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, spiralling towards the centre only to purposefully avoid it again. Your chest rises, heartbeat loud in your chest, unable to contain the whine that escapes you.

“I-,” you try despite your fear, only for the words to be choked in your throat as he laps another circle around your clit.

“Got something to say, little one?” You can feel his lips moving over your core as he speaks, tonguing your entrance.

“W-Wanna- please-”

“Mm, can’t decide if I like you better when you’re begging or when you’re trying to kill me.”

 Oh, so he’s got jokes. You almost want to smack him as he laughs, but he interrupts you.

“Beg for it more.”

He slides a finger into you, so much longer and thicker than your own, as you babble something that sounds like “please, Blade, please, please”. He finally grazes his tongue over your clit once, twice, your back arching as he takes the opportunity to slide another finger into you.

“You gonna beg the same way for my cock, darling?” He crooks his fingers towards himself to press against your spongy walls, your wetness leaking down and coating his hand. “Answer me when I ask a question, doll. Don’t make me tell you again.”

“Yes, fuck, Blade- gonna- gonna beg for your cock, ah, please, I wanna-” he decides that’s as good as it gets, bringing your clit between his lips and suckling over. Your hands grip the sheets so hard your knuckles turn white, your hips bucking into his face uncontrollably as the pleasure builds.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby. Go ahead and cum for me,” his words are muffled against your heat, his shoulders keeping your thighs open even as they twitch and squeeze around him. He laps at your clit between suckles, fingers hitting your g-spot with every slide in, and you cum hard over his face and around his fingers. Your slick coats his tongue, your walls shaking with each wave, mouth open in a silent scream, mind fogged and empty except for the feel of him and the warm muscle of his tongue as he works you through it. It feels endless as your clit trembles in his mouth, your heartbeat loud and your breath harsh.

You come down with your chest still heaving, his tongue slowing down over you until you instinctively try to move away from him because of the sensitivity. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied grin over his face.

“Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? Now,” he kneels back onto the bed, expanse of his chest visible, spreading your legs wide to fit his body between them. “We came to an agreement earlier, didn’t we? What did we say you’d do?”

“B-Beg for your cock…” you whisper it softly, demure even though he just had you thrashing over his face.

“Mhmm. So tell me, darling, what do you want?”

“W-Want you… want your cock-”

“More.”

“I- Blade,” you whine, “I want your cock inside of me. Is- is that what you-”

“Yeah, baby. I want you wet and sticky between your legs, begging for my cock despite the circumstances. That’s exactly what I want.”

He watches you, you let him watch you, as he unbuckles his belt with a click, letting it fall to the floor somewhere. You watch as his eyes skate down your form, his chest puffed and breathing deep, his pants pulling down to reveal more of his muscled torso and Adonis belt.

He’s stunning, you’re sure anyone would think so, there’s a small, self-sacrificial part of you that thinks you might even be lucky that in these unfortunate circumstances, such a beautiful man is the one taking you. But in his mind, nothing beats the way your eyes widen as his underwear falls to the floor to reveal his cock, both thick and long, the mushroom tip enlarged. You’re not sure if it’s fear or arousal that seeps into your veins as you back yourself up on the bed with your elbows, only for him to grab you by your thighs and drag you back towards him.

“Ah, ah. Where do you think you’re running, hm?” He pulls your legs up so his large hands can wrap around the back of each of your thighs, pushing your knees wide open and towards your chest.

Only when his hair tickles your ear, his breath ghosting over your neck, do you begin to reach under the mattress and towards the headboard. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that tells you it’s futile, that it’s a bad idea. He had been so nice to you, hadn’t he? Is this self-survival, or self-destruction?

You can almost pretend it’s in ecstasy, in anticipation of having his cock inside of you, as you draw a knife out and whisk it towards him.

The slap of his palm against your wrist happens so fast you don’t even process it until you hear him tsk, his fingers squeezing you so tightly until your hand opens up, metal clanging onto the floor as you let out a sob.

“And I had been so nice to you.” His voice drops an octave, a condescending, disappointed look is on his face as he stands back up, the kind that makes you want to bite back at him. The words never make it out, your mouth dry as he moves faster than you can blink to pick up his belt, the loud whip of it slapping against his palm making you flinch.

It’s in this moment that you remember what they called him, what Kafka called him. The greatest weapon destiny has ever forged.

“Blade, wait-” You try to use what little empathy he might’ve had for you before you had gone and done what you did, but it’s no use.

He laughs sadistically. “Wait?” He slaps the belt against the back of your thigh, your hands not moving in time to protect yourself, instead you wince as your fingertips tap against the now-welted skin.

“I did everything right, didn’t I? Talked to you, brought you your meals, ate you out until you came over my mouth.” Another whip rings out in the room against the back of your other thigh, making you yelp in agony.

“And yet, how do you repay me, hm?” He climbs over you, lightning fast, one hand gripping your chin and cheeks, mushing them, forcing you to look at him.

“Stupid girl,” he spits the words in your face. “You should’ve been grateful that I had been so kind.”

He whips you a third time over your core as you cry out, his face uncaring as tears start to drip down your cheeks. He grabs both of your wrists with one hand, looping his belt around them and between the intricate woodwork of the headboard, pulling until the leather is tight and clasping it together.

“I’ll tell you what, girl,” his hand wraps around your neck, not clasping down but the threat is there all the same, his thumb caressing over. “It was a good effort you made, I’ll give you that. But I could detect your micromovements of aggression from a mile away.” He squeezes your neck a little harder, listening to you gasp and choke under him. “You could never have won against me.”

After weeks of being patient, he finally, finally, gets to sink his cock into you. He jerks in his own hand at the thought, the blunt tip pressing against your entrance, surprised to find you even more slick than before. His hands resume where they were before, grabbing where your skin has turned raw from his abuse.

“Now, you’re gonna lie there all pretty and pliant like you’re meant to, and I’m gonna do my job. And you’re gonna thank me for fucking you slow, even though you don’t deserve it, because I wanna take in every inch of this pussy like I was promised.”

He bullies the first inch his cock into you with a satisfied smile, watches with greedy, perverted eyes as your slick already starts to coat and drip down his cock. He feels the way the ring of muscle restricts as he slides the second inch in.

“So fucking tight,” he groans. Your walls clamp down around him, almost like they’re stopping him from pushing in anymore, but he forces himself in anyways. You try to push him off with your legs, try to tell him that you’re “so full, so much,” but all he does is huff with a smile.

He feels his tip hit against your cervix, his balls slapping against your ass, and lets out a satisfied sigh. You think he’s done until his arms tense again, pressing in deeper again, an extra few centimetres shifting into you, even as you cry and sob that it’s too much and too big, until you swear your cervix opens up a little just for him to fill that space.

He’s so thick and hard inside you that you feel like you can’t breathe, the pressure so high inside of you that can’t even properly squeeze your walls around him. The feeling is suffocating, your wrists straining against his belt.

“Got you all prepped and ready for me, pretty thing,” he pulls out of you almost entirely, your cunt already feeling empty, before slamming back in hard. Your whole body jolts against the bed, he fills every part inside of you, the tip of his member pushing against your cervix again, making you see stars behind your eyelids.

“Now you’re gonna take me like you’re meant to, like you’re made to.” He pounds into you over and over again, your hands flat against the headboard as it shakes with each thrust. “And I’m gonna cum inside you, doll, just like I promised. And we’re gonna do this night after night, until your pussy moulds into the shape of my cock.”

He groans, pressing your knees down with his heavy body weight, until you’re almost chest-to-chest, his head draped beside yours. “Gonna cum deep inside of you, load after load, until you’re filled to the brim. Never gonna use my own hands again when this sweet cunt is just down the hall. My personal fucking cocksleeve.” Your mind goes blank with every thrust that hits deep inside of you, whines and moans leaving you, your breath catching with every kiss the tip makes with your cervix.

“You’re gonna go to sleep every night with my cum inside of you, wake up every morning to it still sticky between your thighs.” You swear he’s gone insane. When you turn to look at him, his eyes are wild, almost feral and destructive. But he’s watching his cock slide in and out of you, the frothy ring that forms at the base of his cock, the sight of it making some animalistic urge inside of him come out to scream to him that you’re his.

“You take me so well, doll. Shh, yes, baby, I know it feels good.” He doesn’t care anymore. The whole heir of destiny shit is at the back of his mind compared to the way your pussy feels squeezing around him.

“But y’know, baby,” he hisses through his teeth, “You cumming isn’t particularly necessary.” The whine that you elicit at hearing that makes him smile, you’re so adorable that he kisses your cheek. “Maybe that’ll be your punishment, hm? If ya really wanna cum, you’re gonna have to beg me for it.”

You pull on your restraints uselessly. “Please, Blade, please make me cum. I wanna cum, fuck, you’re so big.”

It’s clear to Blade that you’re not in your right mind by the way your eyes are glazed over, body limp aside from the way your thighs tighten around him, whimpering pleads and apologies and his name.

“Got nothing but cock in your brain, don’t ‘cha? Just a hole, made to be bred. That what you are? A pretty girl made for me to cum inside?”

You pant yes into his ear, you don’t know anything except how much you need him. Need for him to touch you, to let you cum, to fuck you.

“Say it then, my pretty girl. Say you want my cum.”

Your words feel foreign in your own ears the minute they come out of your mouth, you can’t believe for a minute what you’re saying but you decide you don’t care either.

“W-Want your cum, Blade.”

Your voice is meek, soft in comparison to the slap of skin as he fucks you harder, deeper. Nothing makes Blade happier than breaking a pretty girl to beg for his cum.

“Mm, good girl. You can be good after all, can’t you?” He brings his hand down between your legs, brushing over where you’re both connected to right at the base, picking up the slick that still continues to drip down your crack. He brings it up to your clit, grazes it with his thumb, and your reaction is instant, whining so loudly it borders on a scream. You swear you see stars at the feeling of your clit and cervix being stimulated all at once, again and again until you start to clench down hard and uncontrollably around him.

“Shit, fuck, baby, you gotta let me in-” Blade forces his cock into you despite it, hips snapping against yours. You’re so far gone, uncaring of the way your body thrashes against his, mind empty except for the way his cock fills you up over and over again.

“Yeah, fuck yeah. You gonna cum, baby? Ah, fuck. You’re gonna take my cum, take it all when I cum deep inside of you. Go ahead, pretty, go on and come for me.”

You don’t know if he’s somehow brainwashed you but his words are like a command that your body instinctively knows to follow, your thighs tightening, head falling back, your walls squeezing his cock impossibly tighter until your body jerks and you’re cumming. Your hands grip on your restraints tight, back arching and heartbeat loud in your chest and ears as he works you through it, his fingers never ceasing over your clit. You feel the way Blade’s tempo starts to falter, the beautiful groan he makes as he thrusts as deep as he can go once, twice, and then his warm seed spills inside of you, coating your walls and womb white, filling you up.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, baby.” He overstimulates you both, fucking his cock in one more time with a hiss and another thrum of his thumb over your clit that has you trying to reel back just a little from him, even in your tired state, your walls still shaking with aftershocks.

He pulls out of you incredibly slowly, as if he’s careful to leave all of his fluids inside of you. He plugs your whole with his thumb as soon as he pulls out, but it only stops the inevitable from happening for a few seconds before his cum starts to spill out past it.

“You- you came so much,” you’re not sure if you exclaim it in wonder or horror, realizing what you had both just done.

He smirks. “Yeah, baby. And you’re gonna keep it inside of you for me, mmkay?” He plays with the cum that drips out of your hole, coating his fingers with it before pushing it back inside of you.

“This pussy’s mine now.” 

-

The aftercare is a blur in your almost passed-out state. Blade picks up your lace panties and rides them back up your legs for you, to “keep his cum inside of you” and then says something about getting a plug. He makes you drink water, bringing a glass with a straw to you. The last thing you remember is him undoing your wrists of his belt before falling asleep.

As he lies next to you, Blade’s own voice echoes through his mind. Just a hole, made to be bred.

He knows you’ll likely take it as something he said in the moment. Well, it doesn’t really matter how you take it. But he realizes, it’s the first time he’s ever lied to you.

As cruel as Blade is, he believes in honesty. Maybe that’s the cruellest part about him.

But even as he lies next to your passed-out figure in bed, applying tincture to your wrists with such gentleness he’d never reveal to you in your waking state… He can feel the power that surges through you.

He presses his palm just under where your diaphragm would be, where the power is the strongest. Even in its unawakened state, even to Blade himself who is only half-awakened, remembering just parts of his past lives, even he can feel it. The way the power courses in waves, pulsing inside of you like a second heartbeat.

--

A/N: it’s a miracle this fic didn’t have a daddy kink in it but the next blade fic i write definitely will LMAOO

[calaisreno]

Nobody

663 Words / Prompt: Hero

No one ever calls John Watson amazing. As far as he can recall, no one has ever said he was extraordinary. 

His father laughed when he said he wanted to be a doctor. His mother said nothing. 

His sister came out when she was thirteen. John was ten that year, and learned from her experience that it’s better not to stand out. While Harry was being dramatic, having angry confrontations with their parents, making everyone love and hate her, John flew under the radar. 

At school, he stayed in the upper third. He worked hard, took part-time jobs to help with the bills, got regular haircuts, and never even considered a tattoo. 

Harry was a full-blown alcoholic by the time John started uni. He also drank, but kept his family history in mind and focused on what he was there for. 

His father was a gambler who always had a new plan; his mother poured her energy into charity and church. Harry seemed determined to fuck up in every way imaginable, as if she had a sacred destiny to be the black sheep. Blood was not destiny. John was the responsible one.

His army buddies gave him the nickname Three Continents. As a child, he’d spent a few years in Australia (one of his father’s schemes to get rich), but that didn’t really count. He’d grown up in Britain, travelled to the continent one summer. His luck with European women was nothing to write home about. When he left for Afghanistan, he didn’t have much hope for that continent, either, since most of the women there were Muslim. The nickname was ironic, not iconic.

In the army, he was commissioned as a captain. He took his office seriously, gave orders with confidence, not out of a sense of ego or pride, but because he was responsible. When you’re responsible for lives, you don’t let people down.

In essence, he was a humble man. 

When he returned home, he was a surgeon who could no longer do surgery, thanks to a shoulder wound that left him with nerve damage. He was a doctor with PTSD who couldn’t make it through the night without waking up in a sweat, hyperventilating. He had a limp. Women looked at him with pity, not interest.

And he began to suspect that dates with women weren’t what he wanted. His buddies might still call him Three Continents Watson, but there wasn’t any reputation to uphold. He often protested, I’m not gay, but his eyes tended to follow men rather than women.

That’s why, when he met Sherlock Holmes and agreed to share a flat with him, he felt fortunate to escape his tiny bedsit and move in with this odd man, who had somehow decided that John must accompany him at any hour of the day or night, usually to look at dead bodies. A man of eccentric habits, John seemed to have become one of them.  

It didn’t hurt that his flatmate was good-looking. Sherlock Holmes had high cheekbones, dark curly hair, and a lanky grace that was enhanced by the tailored trousers and jackets he wore. He spoke in a silky baritone. To John, at least, it didn’t matter that he was arrogant or even insulting. He was extraordinary. 

So when Sally Donovan frowned at John Watson and said, “Who are you?” he didn’t hesitate to say, “I’m nobody.”

But that same night, he carried his gun out into the night, chasing after a man, a murderer. He saw Sherlock about to accept the challenge, and his hand did not shake when he sent a bullet through two panes of glass, into the man’s chest.

John will never call himself a hero. They might exist, but he’s not one. 

He’s just an ordinary man who lost his limp when he began following Sherlock Holmes. 

And in that moment his only thought was that Sherlock Holmes had saved his life, and John wasn’t going to let him die. 

[bananadrinkxxx]

THE BLOOD CROWN (29 PART TWO)

[Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character ! I fem!reader]

[Dark Romance / Enemies to Lovers / Revenge]

Content for adults. 18+

[warnings: smut, sex content, dark romance, angst, fights, domination, murder]

[description: Aemond Targaryen meets his niece under a different name and falls in love with her without knowing that she is supposed to be his enemy.]

Masterlist - click here for all available parts

Aemond didn't hesitate when Ser Criston Cole came to meet him the next morning. 

He grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him close. Cole looked at him confused for a moment until a knowing look crossed his face. He knew immediately.

"You dare disobey my orders?" hissed Aemond.

"You didn't order me to keep quiet about it. The plan was different, my prince."

"The correct address is, your Grace, Ser Criston. I am Prince Regent and you have given information that you were not entitled to without my permission. It could be considered treason. Are you a traitor, Cole?"

"I would never betray you. I ask for forgiveness, your Grace," Ser Criston began quietly and tried to pull away, but Aemond's grip tightened, so he quickly gave up. "But I only had good things in mind. The girl was with Rhaenyra Targaryen. Our enemy. Either she is loyal to her or she has heard things that could be useful to us."

"She didn't hear anything, Criston," Aemond defended. "She told me everything."

"And you believe her?"

"There is nothing to prove otherwise."

"Then let her be taken to the dungeon. They will question her there and-"

Before Ser Criston could continue, Aemond had pushed him against the wall behind him and the man groaned painfully. Aemond's hand went to the man's neck, who looked at him with wide eyes.

He suggested putting a pregnant woman in the dungeon? To interrogate them, whatever torture meant. His pregnant wife?

"If you ever speak of this again, even hint at something like that, I will rip out your tongue and offer it to Vhagar as a snack, understand?"

Ser Criston nodded. He tried to keep his composure, but Aemond saw the fear in his teacher's eyes. He felt no pity. He had himself to blame for that.

"Rose is under my protection. She belongs to me and anyone who acts against her is also acting against me."

Aemond took another searching look into Criston's eyes before letting go of the older man and pushing him away. He turned around without another word and left the man behind.

Nobody would dare touch Rose.

No matter how deep his arguments with her were, in the end she was still his.

And he wouldn't allow anyone to harm her.

He realized that he would kill for Rose. That after all this she still possessed his mind. The only thing he could keep from her was his body. Her return had affected him more than he had expected. Seeing her look at him, her eyes judging him, was almost unbearable. He wished he could forget his feelings for her, erase them from his mind forever, but it wasn't possible. Rose was like his own shadow. She would never leave his mind and his heart.

D R A G O N S T O N E

Rhaenyra took her necklace out from under her dress. She always kept them hidden between fabric and skin, afraid of losing them. It was the only thing she had left of Aemma. She played with the chain between her fingers and looked at it. She read the inside writing.

In dreams we are united.

She had given the necklace to her little daughter for her fourth name day. Aemma's eyes were shining. Her daughter was overjoyed as she held the necklace in her small, soft hands. The necklace was made of Valyrian material and just as Daemon had once given her a necklace, she had given the same gift to her daughter.

"I'm sorry, my queen," Baela said suddenly and Rhaenyra looked up. Baela and Jacaerys sat across from her. Her son looked up, his eyes focused on Rhaenyra's necklace and an inexplicable emotion flashed across his face. His eyes widened before fixing on the table in front of them. He's been different lately. Closer. She would have to talk to him. She looked at Lucerys. He looked sad, but it wasn't like Jacaerys. Something was different.

"What are you apologizing for, Baela?" Rhaenyra asked, looking at her stepdaughter. She was the spitting image of Baela. Beautiful, graceful, proud. "And call me Rhaenyra. We are a family."

Baela smiled briefly, but her smile disappeared as quickly as it came.

"It's my fault Rose was kid-, I mean Aemma, kidnapped."

"You think she was kidnapped?" Rhaena asked. "Maybe she went voluntarily? Maybe she was the one who hurt you? Even if she is Aemma, she has no memory of us, right?"

"She didn't hurt me. The attack came from behind. She was standing right next to me."

"Then she saw the attacker?"

"No I do not think so."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just know, Rhaena," Baela raised her voice and looked annoyed at her sister. Rhaena jumped and looked away. She bit her lip.

"Whatever happened to my daughter, Baela," Rhaenyra interjected, drawing attention back to herself. "It's not your fault."

"But I wanted to go to the market with her, Rhaenyra. It was my idea."

"Then there would have been a different situation," Daemon agreed with Rhaenyra. "Someone kidnapped Aemma and we will find out who and bring them to justice. Whoever is responsible for her disappearance will wish they were never born."

He looked at Rhaenyra and she reached for his hand under the table and squeezed it. She was grateful for his support. A pushing back a chair drew her attention to Jacaerys, who was suddenly pale.

"Jace?" Rhaenyra asked, jumping up to go to her eldest child, but he just shook his head.

"I think I'm getting sick, mother. I'm going to retire so I can recover."

Jacaerys turned away from Rhaenyra and she watched her son go. He seemed so changed. She hardly recognized him. Maybe he had grown more attached to Aemma than he was letting on. Maybe she meant more to him than he was letting on. She would talk to him when the opportunity arose. Even though he was an adult, he was still her child. He would always be her child.

. . . . .

Jacaerys threw up when he was in his room. He shivered all over and slid down the wall to sit on the cold floor. Panic had taken over his entire body and he desperately clutched his brown, sweat-drenched hair. He stared aimlessly at a spot in his room. He couldn't take it any longer. His mother's pained look. She was suffering and because of him. What he had done was wrong and now he had to live with the consequences of his actions. He would never forgive himself for this. He had only wanted to protect his family, but he had ended up causing more evil than he wanted to avoid. He still doubted that Rose was his little sister, but that wasn't the point anymore. He had patronized his mother. He had decided for her whether Rose was worth a chance and he had decided against it. He knew his mother would never forgive him. Just like Lucerys. He had felt Daemon's gaze on his neck as he left the room. He didn't know if his stepfather suspected something, but his words were clear.

If Jacaery's secret were discovered, everyone would consider him a traitor.

And maybe he was.

K I N G S L A N D I N G

Aemond hadn't visited his sister for days. Her sight hurt too much.

She was sitting there without participation, sunk in her own world, tortured by the guilt that she was wearing.

It has always been withdrawn, but this condition was not normal for her either. And yet he looked for her closeness. Their affection. They have always had a special band and he longed for their touches, their loving words. He longed for his sister. He needed her. He felt so alone. Even if Helaena had changed. Sitting here, with her, even when they didn't talk, gave him strength.

"How is Rose?" "Suddenly an voice illuminated the room and Aemond looked up. Helaena looked at him and her gaze was clear. He saw no confusion, no dreaming. Aemond leaned forward. Helaena looked him directly in the eye. "How is the child?"

"You know of the child?" Asked Aemond irritated. Had his mother went to Helaena and told her about it. Helaena put his head at an angle and gave him a meaningful look. No, his mother hadn't told her. She knew it. Just as she knew a lot that she couldn't know. He looked at his sister.

"Are you still answering me?"

She pulled up an eyebrow.

"I think she's fine."

"You think?," She asked and put her head wrong. "Why do you think? You should know."

Aemond snorted. "It hard at the moment. We don't talk that much."

"Hmmm," summed up Helaena, "that's stupid of you."

Aemond looked at his sister surprised. "Excuse me, what?"

"You have to open your eye, Aemond. Look over the horizon, into the distance. Don't be fooled by whispering," and there was. His sister who spoke confusing words. What did she mean? Shouldn't he be fooled by the whispering? 

"What do you mean?"

Helaena leaned her head to the side. "You don't see properly, Aemond," she said as if it were the most understandable in the world. "You must not keep your happiness away. The paper dragon burns to flesh and blood. Dragonseed in Dragonseed. Old guilt must be paid, but you have to be happy."

Dragonseed in Dragonseed?

Aemond knew what that meant, but not in this context. She had said it before. Dragonseed in Dragonseed. But he still could not place it.

Dragonseed was said to speak of bastards of the Targaryen clan, but Rose was not a Targaryen. Was Helaena pregnant? Had Aegon planted new life in her before everything went down the stream? It would not be unlikely. He would ask the Maester to check it in the next examination.

He didn't understand the rest. It was nothing new.

"You have to be happy, Aemond," said Helaena and suddenly she looked so unhappy. 

So incredibly unhappy. "Don't let me go, promise me," her words sounded as clear, more clearly than ever and Aemond searched for a answer in the face of Helaena that she would not give him.

"Do it for me. At least one of us should be happy."

. . . . .

When Aemond was in his bed at night, he could think of nothing other than Helaena's words. They followed him every second, and no matter how much he puzzled, he understood only half. If he understood anything at all. He straightened up in bed and stared at the window. The light of the moon illuminated his room.

"You have to be happy, Aemond." she said.

But he wondered how he should be happy when he was kept taking it again and again?

He had thought that he would be happy as a prince regent, with power as a king, but the desired effect failed to do.

"Do it for me. At least one of us should be happy."

He wanted to be happy. He longed for it. He wanted it more than anything and he also knew that his luck was only a few steps away. He looked at the wall behind him as if he could see it. Whether she was awake at the moment and was just as tormented as he was? Or was she sleeping calmly and dreamed of being far away? He couldn't even blame her. He had treated himself badly. He had blamed her, but he was the blacksmith of his own misfortune. He had spoken words that he shouldn't speak. Even if he had only spoken to her so that he could protect her.

He got up and slowly went to his desk.

His bare feet tingled through the cold of the floor.

He reached for the drawer and opened it. There was a dagger and another eye patch (he owned plently), but his focus was on another object. Aemond reached into the drawer and took out a necklace. He looked at it. It was beautiful. Just like her. This necklace didn't belong to him and it would never belong to him, but he knew every single inch of it. He had found Rose's necklace when she left him and although the anger had tempted him to throw it away, he hadn't. He couldn't. This necklace meant something to her. She had received her from her dead mother. He couldn't take that away from her. 

She had lost it in the attack and Aemond had found it.  It was stupid. Through this necklace he had the feeling that he also had something from her. That he owned something from her if it wasn't her heart.

He turned the necklace in his fingers and read the engraving on the back.

In Dreams we are united.

It was true. 

He was united with her in his dreams.

. . .

"The Blacks are gaining more and more power."

"Various men of the Kingsguard have joined as well as men of the Night's Watch. Traitors, oathbreakers, it doesn't surprise me that they are joining the Black Queen. A bullshit name!," Wylde spit. "They must all be beheaded, hanged. They are not worthy of an honorable death."

"Is there any news from Dorne?" Lannister asked and all eyes turned to Otto, who shook his head bitterly.

"Dorne will not take sides."

"Hmm, I guess they're hoping we'll tear each other apart."

"Well, as long as they don't support the princess."

"House Stark has spoken out in favor of Rhaenyra. But our men have not yet seen any mobilization of the Northman army."

"Winter is coming," Lannister said. "Lord Stark is aware of this. What do the Northmen always say? 'The tunic is closer to me than the trousers'?"

"And Harrenhall?" asked Aemond and all eyes turned to Lord Larys. 

"Harrenhall is strong. Our walls are sturdy. We are prepared for the attacks of the blacks."

"Well, but you can't do anything against their dragons, right, Lord Larys? Harrenhall doesn't have a good history of dragonfire." Lord Lannister loved to test those around him. But he had chosen the wrong opponent.

Larys just smiled at Lannister's provocation. "I guess no big house has that, right? And the ones that have been spared so far could burn quicker than we'd like."

Aemond watched the spectacle, but his mind was elsewhere. They were with Helaena and her words and with the woman who haunted him day and night.

A tentative knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Otto allowed entry and an old man, past his prime, stumbled in.

"Your Grace, please excuse the interruption," the maester began, bowing to Aemond, who was sitting at the table with his mother and grandfather, as well as Larys Strong and Tyland Lannister, discussing possible strategies in the fight against the self-proclaimed queen.

"Can't you see we're having a conversation, Maester?" Lannister interjected and he saw his mother roll her eyes out of the corner of his eye. This man really liked to hear himself talk.

"Forgive me, but the Prince Regent has instructed me to contact him immediately if there are... complications."

"Complications?" Alicent repeated. "Which type?"

"Well, I would like to discuss this with the honorable Highness myself, if you allow me."

"You can speak freely in front of us, we-"

"We will continue this conversation tomorrow. Everything is settled so far," Aemond interrupted Otto, who looked at him in surprise.

"Aemond, you-"

"The correct address is still, your Grace, Lord Hightower," he exchanged a look with his grandfather and he saw the rebellion in his eyes. He looked at him challengingly, a raised eyebrow inviting him to contradict him. But Otto was wiser and he bowed his head and nodded.

Aemond gave his grandfather an unimpressed look. He treated him like a little boy. He had forgotten that he was the one who made Aegon, and therefore Aemond, the most powerful man in the empire. Now he had to live with the fact that his grandsons were above him. Just like she always had.

He left the room without further comment.

"The girl refuses to be examined by me," the maester began as they walked together down the hallway to her room. "My words don't bring them to their senses."

"You call me because you can't control a woman?"

The maester bit his lip in shame. "I don't know how far my authority extends with her." He swallowed. "She had light bleeding this morning. That shouldn't happen, but it can under certain circumstances like stress or too fast growing of the child in her womb. That's why an examination is important so that I can rule out any danger."

Aemond nodded. The words made him nervous. He tried not to show anything and to keep calm.

He would not allow Rose to risk her life and the child's life by refusing to be examined out of spite. He would persuade her to allow this search, otherwise he would force her for her own good.

Suddenly a guard came towards them and looked frantically at Aemond. He was one of the guards he had assigned to Rose. "Your Grace, the prisoner is attacking the other servants."

Ah, wonderful.

. . . . .

The imagination and reality of how Rose attacked guards and servants were completely different and yet completely the same. Pillows and various other objects lay on the floor and when Aemond entered the chamber, another pillow flew towards him, which he threw to the side with a careless movement.

"Get away from me," Rose shouted and the silver food tray flew towards the guards, who were able to dodge at the last moment. At least the one in front, because the one in the back was hit in the face. She could aim, you had to give her that.

"Rose, we mean no harm, please, you need the examination!" pleaded a servant and came towards her, but Rose continued to back away. They seemed to know each other, which wasn't particularly surprising considering Rose had worked for her.

"What I need is fresh air and freedom. That's the only problem here! I'm fine. The child is fine!"

Rose was still in her nightgown and Aemond was overcome with jealousy. Had these men seen her in this effort? He ordered the guards out of the room, and Rose's raging gaze fell on him. Her eyes were full of anger and reproach.

Rose stared at him like he was her worst enemy. He probably was at that moment too.

"Me too, your highness?" the maester asked and without taking his eyes off Rose, Aemond nodded. "Everyone should get out but stay within earshot."

The maester nodded and left the room, as did the other two women.

Aemond came towards Rose, but she grabbed a vaser and signaled him to stop.

"Stop immediately, don't come any closer, Aemond," she snapped and he obeyed.

"You need the exam, Rose."

"What I need is for you to let me out of here. I'm going insane and this is all your fault!"

"My fault?" Aemond repeated. "I wouldn't have to keep you here if-"

"If I hadn't left you, yeah yeah, blah blah, we all know it, Aemond. The whole fucking world knows it, but you were the one who drove me away," Rose screamed. "I would never have left you. Damn it. I was ready to die for you, don't you understand that?"

The first tears rolled down her cheeks and he gave Aemond a stab in his heart. Seeing her like that, so desperate, so hurt, hurt him more than he expected.

"Rose, calm down," he began soothingly, "no matter what differences we both have, don't be unreasonable and get yourself checked."

"Not until you let me out of here."

"That's not possible."

"Well, then it's not possible to be examined," Rose said defiantly and Aemond had had enough. He came towards her with quick steps and Rose threw the vase at him, which he caught in the air and threw away. The vase broke on his hand, leaving a deep cut, but he didn't care. He grabbed Rose and pulled her close, but Rose wasn't willing to give up without a fight. She hit him, pinched, scratched and bit. It was difficult to keep them contained without resorting to violence. Fascinating how such a petite body could suddenly gain strength.

"Calm down, Rose," he yelled to bring her to her senses.

"You're not telling me what to do anymore," Rose screamed. "You treat me like trash, make me look like a villain, but I haven't done anything to anyone." She struck at him again and Aemond intercepted the blow. She was shaking with anger and her breathing was rapid. Rose needed to calm down before she hurt her child, his child, their child.

Her punches caught him in the face and he felt his eye patch fly away. Rose jumped in shock and stared at the spot where his second eye should be. Hadn't she seen it yet? He did not know. He wasn't ashamed of the way his face looked thanks to his nephew. Now he saw it as a weapon against his enemies, who hopped away like frightened rabbits at the sight of him.

Now she saw the real him.

He pushed her back and she fell backwards onto the bed, him on top of her.

"Let me go. Get off me, Aemond," she ordered, but he didn't think about it. He pushed her wrists down and pushed her onto the bed.

"Do you want your child to die?" Aemond asked, looking down at her. She still resisted, but his words reached her. "The Maester just wants to check that he or she is okay. That you are okay. Don't be unreasonable, Rose."

Her resistance weakened, to the point where she lay on the bed beneath him like a lifeless doll, looking up at him in desperation.

"I hate it here so much," she began. "Please release me, let me go, give me some freedom, I beg you, Aemond," she begged and Aemond was pained by the sight of her. But he was too selfish, too afraid of losing her again, that he wanted to let her go. could let go. He needed her. He missed her. Even as she lay here beneath him, so close, she was so far away. And it was largely his fault. "Do you hate me so much? Do you want to see me suffer?"

"I don't hate you. I could never," He confessed and he knew that he was revealing his weakness for her, but he didn't care at that moment. He gave her a knife, a dagger, and he would run in gratefully if she wanted him to, she had dominated him so much by now.

He thought he was in control. But in the end it was Rose who had control over him. 

"But I can't let you go," he spoke, looking into her eyes. He saw her disappointment. "I'm doing this to protect you too."

"Protect me?" Rose breathed. "From what? From who?"

Aemond examined her beautiful face. "From these who want to harm you. You said it yourself."

Rose looked at him in surprise. Her eyes looked tired. "So you believe me after all?"

He didn't give her an answer, but he didn't need to. The four bodies were proof enough and consistent with Rose's story. Yes, she had tried to leave him, but that didn't change the fact that someone had tried to kill her.

"I will protect you, Rose."

She looked at him incredulously and snorted. "And who will protect me from you?"

Her question hit him harder than he expected. Was he really the monster she painted him as? Had he really become so cruel and cold that he only did wrong? Anger and bitterness had guided him in the beginning, but he wondered if his pride had ultimately harmed him more than protected him. He didn't want to appear weak, not in front of her or anyone else, but no matter how hard he tried to put a wall up between the two of them, it always ended up breaking down.

"You scare me, Aemond. I don't recognize you," Rose breathed as her eyes watched him. She tried to touch his face, but he pushed her hand down.

"I guess you're not the only one," he said, seeing her sad look. She should stop looking at him like that. He couldn't stand her looks anymore.

What had become of them? What had become of him? Sometimes he didn't recognize himself. Sometimes he was afraid of the person he had become.

He pulled away from her and got off the bed. Her eyes followed his movements.

"If I allow you to leave these rooms with two servants, provided under constant supervision, will you cooperate with the maester and allow yourself to be examined?"

Rose saw him surprised and for a moment she seemed to think. She probably wondered if he was trying to trick her, to deceive her, but he meant the words as he said them. He would give her more freedom if it made her feel better.

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded and Aemond exhaled contentedly. He ran his gaze over her once more before leaving the chambers and ordering the maester to enter and continue the examination.

Taglist

@watercolorskyy @marvelescvpe @ammo23 @helaenaluvr @toodlesxcuddles @malfoytargaryen

[lyledebeast]

Male Homosociality and War Crimes in The Patriot

Of all the problems The Patriot as a story creates for itself, the most interesting for me has always been this: how do you craft a villain when the hero is also a war criminal? It appears to me the filmmakers had a simple answer to this question staring them right in their faces, so why does a story that leans so heavily on the rumor that Banastre Tarleton habitually ordered the execution of surrendering Continental soldiers do absolutely nothing with the rumor that he habitually raped and allowed his men to rape colonial women? Surely, that would have helped to make Colonel Tavington as despicable as we are clearly meant to find him, particularly since the Patriot soldiers do not engage in rape, at least not literally. Instead, both Benjamin Martin and Tavington are tried by juries of their peers with Martin being nearly universally adored and Tavington being as nearly universally despised. This approach creates two problems. First, it means the Patriots, who something tells me are the people the audience is meant to sympathize with, are okay with some very fucked up actions both past and present. It also makes it hard to justify the Patriots' hatred for the British as whole when the audience sees how little support Tavington has.

Somewhat ironically given the myths about Tarleton, the only characters to directly mention rape in the film are Patriots, a father and son. As the Martin family anticipates survivors of the battle being in near proximity to them, Nathan attempts to titillates his siblings with this dire prediction: "They'll probably kill us men and do lord knows what to you women." In addition to shock among some in the audience, this elicits the question that always arises when a child says something incredibly fucked up: where did you hear that? Judging from her disgusted reaction, I do not think it was his caregiver Abigale. We get an answer some months later when Benjamin describes the events leading up to the Fort Wilderness massacre. "[The French and Cherokess] had killed all the settlers. The men . . . with the women and some of the children they had . . . we buried them." In the moment, Martin's hesitancy to name the particular violence these settlers suffered seems to speak to respect for them, but if so, he failed to convey that to either the son who makes the prediction earlier on or the even younger boy who giggles at it. This is the first time violence is referenced as a means of male bonding; it is certainly not the last.

The conversation between Martin and his oldest son referenced above is bizarre for a couple of reasons. Not only does the narrative twist Martin's confession to war crimes against the French and Cherokees in reprisal into evidence of his morality (he feels so bad about it!), but Gabriel is thoroughly nonplussed by this confession. He shifts the topic to his murdered brother and his desire to avenge him, but not at the expense of "the cause." Why is Gabriel so eager to take his father's supposed contrition at face value when he has personally seen him both hack a man's back to shreds with a tomahawk and participate in the murder of surrendering British soldiers a hell of a lot more recently than the French and Indian War? By the end of his life, Gabriel does more than tolerate his father's violent past. He approaches Tavington's prone form, believing him to be mortally wounded, to repeat it.

Bonding with his son through discussion of war crimes is not an anomaly among Martin's relationships. When he and Major Villeneuve recruit in the tavern, two of the men who sign up are acquaintances of Martin's from the previous war. One of them inquires about bounties and Martin give the intriguing response of "No scalp bounty this time, Rollins, but I'll pay for the gear of any redcoat you kill." How Rollins is going to prove the gear belonged to redcoats he killed who were not wounded or surrendering after Martin issues his orders against such conduct is a mystery the movie never clears up . When the other acquaintance, Billings, asks Martin if he is one of "that sort--" the sort Gabriel believes should not serve in the militia because, well, they're war criminals--Martin jokingly tells him, "You're the sort that gives that sort a bad name." Just boys being boys!

My favorite use of war crimes to further male bonding is the bizarre relationship between Martin and his second in command, Major Villeneuve. Initially the two grate on each other: Martin tortured French soldiers to death, while Villeneuve is French. The two offenses are presented as carrying basically equal weight. Ultimately, though, Villeneuve's objection to Martin is less that he committed war crimes but that he forbids Villeneuve from doing the same. But over time, they come to see each other in a different light. When Martin greets Villeneuve after the militia's ill-fated furlough, Villeneuve responds with a tongue in cheek, "Where else can I kill a few redcoats? Perhaps a few wounded ones when you're not looking." That Martin laughs nervously at this joke should be surprising, but it really isn't. While we haven't seen any wounded or surrendering men killed since Martin's order, nor have we seen any in militia custody. Has Villeneuve had a change of heart, or is Martin simply skilled in looking the other way? Later, Martin asks Villeneuve what color his slain daughters' eyes were as they march into the final battle, psyching him up to go and do their favorite activity together: vengeance! This shared priority, the only thing they have in common, outweighs their shortcomings in each other's eyes. Liberté, fraternité, and all that jazz.

Most of Martin's screentime, and he is in almost every scene, is spent developing his homosocial bonds, but even British men seem to regard Tavington with varying degrees of contempt, disgust, and fear. This lack of fellowship even characterizes his scenes with his own Green Dragoons. There are only two opportunities for dragoon comradery depicted in the movie: one where Tavington interrupts his men at dinner and one where he is grooming himself in the creek while they eat around their campfires. Tavington being left out of eating and drinking in particular becomes a recurring theme. His first meeting with Cornwallis, in the extended cut, happens after the Battle of Camden when the British officers are celebrating their victory. Tavington arrives late, apparently hungry from the way he immediately reaches for the food on the table, withdrawing his hand when Cornwallis draws closer to scold him. As he's dressing down Tavington, Cornwallis takes food from the same table and feeds it to his Great Danes. The exchange ends with Cornwallis proposing a toast, turning his back on Tavington and his second, who do not have glasses. The scene establishes that his role in winning a battle in no way makes Tavington's treatment of the enemy or civilians less odious, and his fellow officers are so united in this that no one so much as blinks when their general is incredibly rude to him. Over the course of the movie, they all maintain this conviction, except for one.

Producer Dean Devlin's describes Tavington as "seduc[ing]" Cornwallis into allowing him his brutal tactics, and this seems especially apt given the way their relationship develops on screen. As they grow closer tactically, they also grow closer physically. In their scene after Cornwallis ices Tavington out of his tent, Cornwallis remains seated at his desk while demanding that Tavington, who is standing on the opposite side, cease his brutal methods. In the scene following Cornwallis's humiliation at Martin's hands during the prisoner exchange, he is again seated at a table, eating dinner, while Tavington stands on the other side. From this point forward, though, there is a marked shift in the two men's positions. Cornwallis motions Tavington forward, and Tavingon approaches, putting as much space between himself and Cornwallis as we see between the general and the servant waiting on him as Cornwallis says, "I want you to capture [Martin]." If he intends to remind Tavington of his own servile position, the message does not register. Tavington takes a little stroll, peeks at Cornwallis's map, and helps himself to a glass of his claret, a stand-in for the glass he was denied at their first meeting. He assures Cornwallis, "I alone will assume the full mantle of responsibility, rendering you blameless" for his future crimes in pursuit of Martin. In light of Devlin's description of this scene, it does sound a bit like, Don't worry, babe, no one is going to know about this but you and me.

It is a ridiculous claim. When the Green Dragoons go on a veritable murder and arson spree after months of abstinence, it does not take a genius to realize that maybe the general of the whole fucking British army might have something to do with that. Nonetheless, by the end of this scene Cornwallis and Tavington are standing side by side for the first time in the movie. Their last scene is even more elicit. Cornwallis walks in on Tavington having his wound dressed to warn him against an early charge, the very same thing he scolds him for in their first scene, but this time Tavington is only in his shirt and his hair is loose and . . . it's a little on the nose, to be honest. And they're all alone. As powerful as Cornwallis is, he is also the only person Tavington ever convinces to condone his actions, and he can only do so by offering assurances he could not possibly grant. What does not change is the conviction of everyone in the British Army, Tavington included, that they will live and be remembered in infamy until the end of time if they do Bad Things to the Patriots. Meanwhile, the Patriots are bonding with each other almost exclusively through planning and doing Bad Things to them.

There are double-standards, and then there's this bullshit. Martin commits a dizzying amount of fuckery ranging from sending the Cherokees pieces of their fighters in bags to terrorize them into compliance to ordering his young sons to kill soldiers to apparently talking about rape in front of those sons in a way that left them thinking it is something to laugh about, and he is seen as a hero and a loving father by everyone around him. Tavington walks into a tent full of his fellow officers after a battle he helped win, and they all look at him like "Who invited Murder Molly?" Martin's men are devoted to him not in spite of his past war crimes but because of them, and the movie's insistence that he has changed his ways is, in the most generous terms, feeble. The thinly veiled homoeroticism of Tavingtion and Cornwallis's relationship only serves to underscore how marginal their position that war crimes can be justified under the right circumstances is among the British. Among the Patriots, that position appears to be standard.

Representing Tarleton's dragoons as the rapists some people of the time believed they were would obviously not have been great from a historical perspective, but it would be a drop in the ocean of inaccuracies the movie is adrift in. And it would have at least made the redcoats as bad as the characters the audience is meant to support! Both sides ultimately do terrible things, but they are framed by the narrative very differently in ways that inadvertently present the British in a favorable light. While the Patriots treat the vilest of war's excesses with understanding and sometimes even levity, the British have a horror of the idea that war exceeds the limits of the battlefield that is hard to fathom in professional soldiers. In the homosocial world of The Patriot, the ultimate measure of virtue lies not in actions but in the approval of other men.

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

complicated exes. ( mike logan x reader )

gif belongs to me

Mike was an open book to you. His childhood, his work and his past relationships. The night you met you bonded over complicated exes although Mike argued his frequent caller was nothing compared to your ex-boyfriend who you had recently taken a restraining order out on.

After you arrived home from work and found items moved around he helped you through the procedures although he would have rather hurt him instead when you found photographs of you and Mike on dates and kissing goodbye.

Mike understood why you were hesitant to embark on a new relationship so you took things slow, meeting up for coffee as friends until you couldn't deny it anymore. You cared about him and you decided that your ex wasn't holding you back any longer.

For two weeks, a period in which you moved into Mike's apartment, there was no sign that your ex was around. But before you could become too hopeful, late night phonecalls began and Mike tried to track your ex only to find he had moved out of his apartment months ago and no one seemed to know where he was, the calls made from payphones.

Despite his attempts your ex-boyfriend was unsuccessful in ending your relationship, in fact his antics only made it stronger and after three months, having a simple drink in a bar, Mike knew that one day he would propose to you. He was tired of relationships that never went anywhere, and you were the perfect balm for his wounds, and he took away your insecurities one by one, by being a caring, doting, protective boyfriend.

Your ex-boyfriend wasn't the only difficult man in your life, your boss was a sexist philanderer and while he had never met him, Mike had listened to your day which you tried to keep upbeat despite your boss commenting on your sex and how 'men do it better' or attempting to flirt his way into bed with you. One day it had gone too far and you had fled, quitting as you left the building and called Mike as you took a cab home to the apartment.

The next day Mike came home hours after he had left to visit the crime scene and gave you the news that your boss was murdered, stabbed repeatedly in the parking lot by his car. You were floored by the news and while you wouldn't shed any tears, you were filled with unease and fear as you quickly figured out who the killer was.

Mike's job working homicide was difficult enough, court appearances, smart-ass suspects, and lawyers dragging their feet. So now and then it was common for you to keep any worries you had to yourself and focused on helping him unwind after a long day. But when you received a voicemail from your ex, his confession to the killing recorded before he declared that you could never outrun him, that Mike was next, you knew it was time to confess that the calls had never stopped.

Due to staff shortages, you were offered your job back and you accepted until you could find somewhere better, and when Mike and Lennie interviewed your colleagues, they each reported a man loitering in the lobby of the building the day of the murder. One woman claimed you had motive and Mike was quick to shut her down, until Lennie sent him away to take a non-biased statement.

You exited your office when you saw Mike walk by and he sighed when he saw your expression. "Oh, no, I know that look. The 'we need to talk' look."

You wanted to smile at how well he knew you, but this time you couldn't muster the energy, anxious about his reaction when you told him. He followed you into your office and looked around. "So this is your office, huh?" He took a seat in front of your desk while you closed the door. "it's uh..."

"Depressing?" You suggested, taking a seat on your desk. "I need to tell you something."

Mike stared at you for a moment, a sigh leaving his lips. "I get the feeling I'm not gonna like this."

"The phone calls never stopped." You confessed. "My ex he's been leaving voicemails and sending me texts every day. Sometimes four times, sometimes ten."

"What -" Mike huffed, gesturing with his hand, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You would try to find him and you've got enough to deal with already. I didn't want you to go out there worrying about me." You said softly. "He left me a voicemail the morning after the murder."

Mike slouched in the chair, exhaling his anger away as you took out your cellphone to play the voicemail. His eyebrows furrowed as he listened, his eyes looking at you while your ex made threats about finding you home alone when Mike was out working late.

You knew from his expression he wanted to lecture you, tell you that you should have told him regardless of the job he had. He had once said, "what kind of cop would I be if I can't look after my own girlfriend?" and it was something he lived by.

"You should have told me about the calls." He said, sending you a stern glance before standing up.

"I'm sorry." You gazed at him with teary eyes, worried he was angry with you for withholding information but Mike was angry at himself for not realizing you were quietly carrying this burden.

He brought you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you as he kissed your head. "Briscoe needs to hear this." He told you as he pulled away. "Don't worry this time the bastard isn't getting away."

You closed your eyes when he kissed your forehead, opening your eyes when he stepped away to leave your office to find Lennie. He turned, hand resting on the doorknob. "Oh, and next time, I want to hear everything. I mean it, you step on an ant, I want to know."

You exhaled light laughter, a smile forming on your lips when he sent you a wink before walking away. You took a deep breath, thanking your lucky stars that you found a man like Mike Logan.

True to his word, Mike and Lennie arrested your ex-boyfriend who brandished a knife but Mike fired a round into his shoulder, making him drop it, and quickly handcuffed him. As the two retold the story over a drink in a bar where the events were told with hilarity as the two bickered about who arrested your ex.

"Well, whoever it was," You turned to kiss Lennie's cheek then turned to your right and kissed Mike's cheek. "Thank you. Drinks are on me."

"I won't argue with that." Lennie grinned.

You stood up from the barstool and walked away to approach the bartender, and Mike's eyes followed you as he finished the remnants of his drink. Lennie cast his partner a glance and knew that this time it was different. Mike Logan was ready to settle down, officially a one-woman man. And Lennie couldn't think of anyone better suited than you.

[burr-ell]

Man, if I had a nickel for everytime a godly/divine group was called colonizers that deserves to die primarily by a niche of people trying to justify the morally questionable/lacking decisions of a fan fave character, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't much, but it's weird it's happened twice right?

That's been playing on a loop in my head ever since all this kicked up. (Especially relevant given the lunatic who's been running around claiming the Nabatean genocide was good and that all white people should die and then pulling Schrödinger's Joke when called out.) Fortunately, Imogen is a genuinely compelling character played by a real human woman rather than a cobbled-together mess written by a group of conservative corporate men who desperately want her to appeal to adolescent boys—but the "I support women's wrongs <3 unless I actually have to deal with their implications in the narrative" fan crowd functions the same for both.

And I know you didn't really ask about my thoughts on Imogen (TLDR: I enjoy her in canon a million times more than in fanon), but I had some:

To be clear, I like Imogen a lot! She's kind-hearted and irritable; caring and withdrawn; moral and cynical; clever and impatient; protective and ruthless. She does everything in her power to keep her friends safe, but she still looks at their murderers and wonders (in front of her friends!) if they have a point. She wants to keep innocents out of harm's way, but she doesn't seem to clock that the people of Gelvaan might be wary of her because she almost killed some of them. She never asked for her powers and is sometimes afraid of herself because of them, but she's also intrigued by what they can do and won't hesitate to use them for what are sometimes, in the scheme of things, rather petty reasons.

All of that is good—not because her unpleasant actions are excusable, but because they say something interesting about her as a person. And in order for unpleasant actions to actually say anything, they have to have actually been unpleasant, rather than handwaved away under mountains of blorbofied excuses.

It's the same with Percy, where in order to engage with him fully as a character I have to actually acknowledge that he's both a deeply flawed and deeply virtuous person who helped resurrect a child he'd never met and knowingly gave a cursed sword to his friend. Or, to bring it back to FE3H for a second, I wrote this meta a few months ago about why I find Claude to be more compelling than Dimitri, and the summary of it is that I actually enjoy the moments where Claude acts like kind of a dick because they're very grounded and it fleshes out his character—but I have to actually acknowledge that Claude was acting like kind of a dick before I can really appreciate that facet of him.

Plenty of criticism aimed at Imogen is just thinly-veiled misogyny, but some of it is also criticism that's been leveled at Percy, Vax, Caleb, and Fjord, so that's clearly not the only reason behind it. A fair bit of the complaints we're hearing (Main Character Syndrome, why is it all about them, [player] is hogging the spotlight, etc) are, at the end of the day, usually more rooted in "well why isn't it about my blorbo/escapism experience!". Ultimately though, the difference between the good- and bad-faith criticism is that every single person I've seen actually engaging with realistic implications of Imogen's flaws absolutely loves her and isn't at all shy about saying so.

I mean, y'know, people can engage with fandom however they want—but if you're only willing to grapple with negative emotions as far as "oh i made myself sad :(", you're going to have a very difficult time when someone else's choices make you a lot more than sad.

[currenthyperfixationcherik]

Did you forget to take your meds?

Based on "Meds" by Placebo.

After Hank offered him a cure for his spine, Charles didn't hesitate, he started injecting the serum and that actually cheered him up a bit. There was still that uncertainty as to whether the remaining students would return home or stay another semester with him, Charles hoped he could keep at least a small group, he had grown fond of those mutants and in a way, they helped him a little to fill the gap that Raven and Erik left.

Charles had gone two months without missing a single dose of the serum, he felt good, fantastic, even. That day, he felt in such good shape both physically and mentally that he decided to be the one to go out for the groceries.

Charles parked smartly near the square, got out of the car, and started walking. Charles knew that it was just under half an hour before he had to inject the new dose of serum, but he didn't think it would cause him that much trouble to be a little late. With a smile on his face, he started shopping for what he would need. Already ready to pay for everything he bought, Charles noticed how the whispers of the people around him sounded distant in his head, it didn't take him long to realize that they weren't whispers, they were the thoughts of everyone around him.

Shaking his wrist to reveal his watch, Charles realized that the half-hour had already passed, so after paying he hurried to his car. Once inside, Charles pulled out the case where he usually carried a dose of the serum, but upon opening it, he realized it was empty.

"Oh no, not now..." Charles locked himself in the car as the voices returned and the feeling in his legs faded. That day he had to telepathically call Hank in order to get home. From then on, Charles was too strict about injecting the serum.

After that first experience, Charles always made sure to carry a dose if he left the mansion. The second time, it was something that not only worried him, because Hank was also there with him.

"Hank, what time is it?" Charles asked with concern evident on his face. "Half past two, why?" "The voices... They're coming back already." Charles' hands were shaking. "It's too soon, the effect was supposed to wear off in at least another four hours..." Charles was holding his head, the voices and pain were unbearable. "Hank!" after the scream, Hank had to administer the dose before Charles got worse. Charles' body was building resistance to the serum. It was that feeling and the fear that made Charles no longer just inject the serum when he started to hear the voices or when his legs started to give up, he did it to stop it from happening.

The last student left the Institute and Charles locked himself in his office. The next morning, Hank found Charles unable to walk because the serum had worn off and an empty whiskey bottle. Apparently, alcohol also reduced the serum's effect.

The intervals went from one injection a day to one every 8 hours, then one every 6, and from 6 it went to 4... and when Hank didn't see him, it was a glass of whiskey and an injection every time he was miserable.

Hank wasn't around this time, Charles went for a walk outside the mansion, he had just seen the murder on TV, and he saw how the trajectory of the bullet curved, the only one capable of doing that was... But no, Erik wasn't like that, Erik couldn't have been. As he continued walking aimlessly, Charles found himself coming to a small square, there were very few people who were still unaware of what had just happened to Kennedy, that's why everyone looked so calm.

His leg lost strength for a moment.

"I think that man almost fell down."

No one had spoken. The last dose was two hours ago...why did it wear off so soon? He didn't remember taking anything else, he was watching TV, that happened, and then...

Oh. That's what it was. The shot of Tequila? Rum? Why did he go out like that? His head was starting to hurt, he'd better get home before the effect wore off. Charles walked barely three steps when he fell to the floor.

"That must have hurt."

"We have to help him."

Gradually the headache from the lack of serum grew worse as his legs went numb. People's thoughts were beginning to cloud his senses and Charles screamed from the pain. No one came to help.

"Why don't you love me?"

"I don't have money for this."

"He's scaring me."

Charles could only hold his head, trying to silence the thoughts of the people already looking at him... They were all judging, hating him.

"No..." Charles whispered as the noise of those minds buried his own thoughts. Fragments of his memory were present, blending in with his surroundings.

"You can't be my son..." a female voice spoke. "What if he really is crazy?" the voice of someone he hadn't heard in a long time. "It's your new brother, Cain and your new father, Kurt Marko." No, not these memories, why now? "Your freak is causing me trouble, Sharon! Your mutant creep!" Don't hit her please! Mom! 

An empty bottle on the floor.

The smell of alcohol.

A darkened room.

A hand outstretched.

Eyes that never opened again.

Tears were beginning to flow from his eyes that stared at a fixed point, at nothingness. The last time he thought of them was before, long before he graduated.

"Charles?" Moira's sweet voice called out to him "Are you okay?" he turned from side to side looking for Moira, even though deep inside he knew she couldn't look for him, she no longer remembered him. He wanted it that way. "Why did you push me away Charles?" A delicate hand rested on his, fingers gently caressing his wrist. "I'm sorry, it was for the best. " Moira's touch disappeared "Was it really for the best?" The voice was beginning to sound menacing, deeper, and overpowering "Did you think you could really make things better alone? Look at you... And to think I used to look up to you." Charles put his hands to his head and began pulling his hair. "You and your stupid messiah complex will lead you to ruin." Charles let out a cry of pain. "What do you plan to do? Lock yourself in the mansion while you watch them die?" Charles just shook his head, unable to respond, his mind continued with the noise.

"That man looks weird."

The sun shining.

"Why is he looking at me like that?"

The trees around him.

"Is he alright?"

A kiss and a goodbye.

Charles knows that's not real, it's not happening now, he was supposed to be over it. His thoughts don't seem to recognize or separate the past from the future.

Fucking telepathy, fucking mutation, fucking... "Of course you hate your mutation, Charles. Just like you hated mine" Now it was Raven, little, sweet, kind Raven. "The best day of my life was when I was free from you. Your stupid concerns were what had me stuck for so long." Charles could stare at her, parts of her body were blue and others were like the costume she chose for herself. "I didn't want that for you...I just wanted to" His sister's fierce scream silenced him. "And when did you tell me? You just ordered me not to be blue! You just kept telling me over and over again not to be...me." Raven walked up in front of him and lifted his face "Look at you! Mutant and proud..." Raven was laughing shamelessly at him. "You are a disgrace to our kind and to the humans, double prize, Charles!" The pain in his chest was growing, he couldn't breathe properly, his mind wasn't helping him, and "Disappointed that your pet no longer obeys you?" Charles was trying to form a coherent sentence "No, you would never... pet?" the thoughts around him were too much....

This isn't real is it?

I knew I wasn't the only one.

"Where's my mom?"

Be honest Will you go out with me?

"Another fucking hippie."

I'm your only friend.

"Is he drunk?"

Mutant and proud.

Raven disappeared with her back facing him as he could only reach out, trying to catch her.

"We could have done great things together, Charles." No. Not that voice. "You're not alone, you told me." Charles could feel a hand resting on his shoulder, a shiver ran down his spine. "You promised to be by my side..." Charles could see out of the corner of his eye a wine colored cloak fluttering as the person wearing it walked beside him.

No, I'm with Erik.

What do you know about me? Everything.

There's so much more to you, not just anger and pain.

 "Look at me, Charles." The hand on his chin felt so real. In front of him was Erik, so strong, so independent, so... Erik's hand brushed his cheek. "What have you done to yourself?" Erik's look reflected sadness and disappointment, just like in Cuba before Erik and Raven left along with his heart. "I'm sorry..." Charles' voice was barely a whisper. Erik bent down and took Charles' face in his hands, he slowly moved closer, Charles felt Erik's breath on his lips, Erik's grayish eyes looking straight into Charles' blue eyes. "It's your fault I'm gone."

My fault.

They're just following orders. I was at the mercy of men just following orders.

Killing Shaw won't bring you peace. Peace was never an option.

Erik shoved him, knocking him to the ground. Charles watched him from below as Erik gave him a cold, condescending look. "But it's okay, it was getting harder and harder to pretend to love you." Charles' breathing stopped abruptly as he opened his eyes, his gaze searching for something to uncover the lie. "Erik?" His legs were no longer moving, he lay sprawled on the floor, his eyes looking directly into Erik's, his hands clutching at his feet. "You're so pathetic, Charles."

What do you know about me? Everything.

Erik, no!

"What about the trip?" Charles could still feel Erik's lips roaming his body, the nights from motel to motel as they searched. "It was fun, we had fun and that was the point." "But...that time, when we trained." The warmth, the connection he felt with Erik in that moment. It couldn't be a lie, he is -was?- a telepath, he knew lies and that wasn't one. "You saw only a good memory, it doesn't make you special."

How did you do it?

I found the brightest spot in your memory system.

"But when the bullet hit me..." Charles felt the despair, he didn't need Erik to take off his helmet to know. "It was the surprise, but think about what happened next."

The tears.

The disappointment.

A red cloud that took them away.

No more Raven. No more Erik.

"It's the truth, Charles. Whatever it was you were looking for in me... It was never there." Charles was still in denial. Erik turned around and started to walk. "Erik!" Charles began to scream in desperation, his hands trying to reach Erik, he began to crawl as best he could. "Don't leave me! Erik!" he grabbed his ankle for a moment. "I can change! You were right, they won't accept us, they want us dead that's why we must... that's why I must... I must..." Erik shook off Charles' hands and walked away at a fast pace. Charles let out a sob and kept crawling some more until a pair of hands stopped him from behind. The strength of those hands was too much. "Let me go, I need to go with...!" A sharp pain in his arm made him scream. When he opened his eyes again, Erik was gone. In his place, there were gazes silently judging him, others looked at him with fear, others with concern. "Erik?"

"Charles" It was Hank's breathless voice. "You forgot your serum. I brought it. What were you babbling about?" Charles stared at Hank, one of his hands held the syringe. His eyes clouded over again, unable to answer Hank, he just cried.

He was alone, falling free... and he wished with all his soul he could forget.

Cherik Song Machine list here ❤️

[officialleehadan]

Gift of Trust

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by Jennifer! Darling, thank you so much for all your support! it means the world to me!

Prompt: Treebrothers

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“My brother murdered your mother.”

Aspen stood in a tree, utterly hidden from anyone who could possibly see him. The willows around him rustled, their fury banked but not ended by the death of the lord who murdered a dryad only a few paces out of the forest. They were not human and their rage would not fade for a very long time. Only the humans of Waystation were spared their vengeance.

Aspen didn’t dare think about Waystation and the woman he loved. Not now. Not when his brothers wanted more blood on their roots. Not when he wanted to help them put it there.

There would be time for joy after the blood was done.

The human who stood below him was young. About the same age as Rosemary’s sister, Verbena. He came without weapons or even armor, dressed only in simple pants and boots. He showed his empty hands and walked well within reach of the hungry trees.

If nothing else, he was brave.

“My father came here for revenge, but he didn’t understand how much evil my brother did,” the young human, barely old enough to be called a man, said steadily. There was grief deep in his voice, but Aspen suddenly thought that it was not for the lord, or for this boy’s brother. “He came here because he was prideful and cruel. I’m not him. I’ve already ordered what’s left of the army to leave. We won’t… we won’t bother Waystation anymore. I’ll make sure.”

It was strange to think of this human who wanted to make things right, but Aspen thought maybe that was exactly what they all needed. He was angry, so angry, but the man who was responsible was dead, and so was the one who came to avenge him. Even now, Aspen could see that the army was packing up, just as the boy said.

It was a difficult decision. This could still be a trap, although Aspen doubted it. They were far out of range of even the finest bow, and the forest would protect him from any magic that might come for him.

He dropped out of the tree with the ease of long practice and brushed aside the long fronds of the willows around him.

“You chose to leave so easily?” he asked quietly, ready to duck back into the trees if he had to. There were some noises of alarm from the camp, but the young lord held up his hand to ward them off almost as Aspen spoke. “Why?”

“Because there’s been enough death, and I can stop it,” the young lord said, and hesitated. “My name is Elieist. I can’t give you anything but my word that there will be no more cruelty from anyone beholden to me, but you have that much. I hope it is enough.”

“You do not want revenge for your father or your brother?” It was such a difference from the two nobles Aspen had met already. “You will not bring harm to Waystation?”

“Neither I nor any of mine will come through for anything but a call for aid from the town. I’ve already sent word to my seneschal.,” Elieist assured him and shifted from foot to foot nervously. Aspen considered him and listened to the magic he still wore, the gift of his brothers, and their mother before that. “If Waystation needs anything, I will see to it, but nothing else. I owe them my loyalty as their lord, but I do not demand- I don’t even ask for anything from them in return.”

He was young. Younger than Aspen, and grieving for the evil that had been done.

He might even grow to be a good man, in time.

“Come sit,” Aspen said, surprising himself as he nodded to a fallen log nearby. It was not one of his brothers, but a nurse log, with new trees already growing from her trunk. A good place to talk about peace. “You gave me your word, so let me give you mine. I will not harm you, or allow harm to come to you, today.”

“Already you show more mercy than I’ve earned,” Elieist said, but he offered Aspen a hesitant smile and came over to sit. After another moment of deliberation, Aspen sat beside him and set his bow aside. Here in the shadow of the willows, there was little that could harm him. Certainly not this young man who was brave, and hopeful. “May I know your name? Or if you are of the Good Folk, who do not give names freely, may I know what to call you instead?”

“If I was of the Fae, I would own you already,” Aspen said, suddenly amused that the boy had simply given his name so easily and without hesitation. “My mother named me Aspen. You may use it.”

Rosemary told him that he could be intimidating for his direct way of speaking, but Elieist seemed reassured and his smile steadied. The trees around them rustled and he jumped, before he looked up and his smile dropped away.

“I cannot undo the evil my family has done to yours,” he said hesitantly, not to Aspen, but to the trees. Aspen immediately like him more for it. “But I am sorry.”

“They don’t understand you,” Aspen told him and did his best to be kind about it. “They don’t speak the way that you do. But I’ll tell them.”

“Thank you,” Elieist said, his smile returning, tentative again but sincere. “Would you… if it is not too painful, would you tell me about your mother, and how I could honor her? If we are to move into a brighter time, I would like to start it well.”

Aspen thought about it, and came to a decision that was perhaps unwise, but which would lay the seeds for the brighter future that Elieist seemed to want so much.

“Come with me, if you think your people can be trusted without you for a few hours,” he offered instead, and stood. Elieist stood with him but waited politely to hear what he had to say. “The people of Waystation need reassurance. I think perhaps you can give them more than I can, but you will have to brave the trees.”

“Of those in this world I have trusted, the tree that sheltered me from my father’s rages was the dearest,” Elieist said softly with his eyes on the pale leaves above him. “Lead the way, Aspen. I do not believe I will find harm under these trees.”

+++

Treebrothers:

Born and Grown  (Subscriber Only!)

Grown and Known

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Wild Roses and Birdsong

Willow Glow (Subscriber Only!)

Under Angry Trees

Boar Hide Charge

At Dawnbreak (Subscriber Only!)

Gift of Trust (New!)

+

Bare-Handed 

Snow Elf

Sheltered  (Subscriber Only!)

Siege Breaker (Subscriber Only!)

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MASTERLIST

[moonwalker-kenni]

I'm completely (pardon the ableist language, I simply don't know any other way to put it) crazy over this man I've never met who is not even on the planet with us anymore. He just had such a bright light about him. So beautiful and sweet. My thoughts and feelings about him go beyond logic and reality. I know he was just a person. Who was probably nothing like I imagine that he was.

I felt really bad because in a comment on some video, someone was talking about how "crazy" we are as fans and they said something along the lines of "would they hug him before Jesus?" ☠️☠️☠️

And I HESITATED 😭😭😭 and that's so bad!!! 😂😂😂

I know the answer I'm supposed to give. The answer Michael would probably want me to give.

I often feel so badly because I feel so much more passion when I think about Michael than I do any religious anything. There's still a segregation of the two of them in my mind and heart though. Like God and Jesus are part of a structure. An immovable framework. The literal stone upon which life grows. And Michael is the beautiful teeny yellow flower that sprouts out of nowhere in the spring. Or the adorable puppy goofily ambling over to you with excitement, soft fur, and lots of tail wags. Like neither of those things would happen without the rock that is God. There would be no Michael if there were no God. I think maybe a part of me takes God for granted? He says so much about always being there no matter what. So some part of me doesn't think about how amazing He is because He's literally everywhere.

That's what it is. God is too immense to process. I mean my brain is shutting down just trying to process Michael 😂 and he was just one of God's many creations. So trying to process the bigger is basically impossible.

I would also be lying, though, if I didn't mention that I sometimes don't understand God's thought process. I've come to accept that it's not for me to understand. But that doesn't mean I am going to be enthused about that fact. I still feel angry sometimes, thinking about the way that life is set up along with the rules that come along with it (not the common sense ones like "don't murder people," but the other ones that people seem to cling to in order to oppress groups of people). It's hard not to feel frustrated that an omnipotent entity chooses not to fix the screwed up things in the world He created while still claiming to love us SO much that He gave up His son (in my brain it's like why is that the trade off if you're the one making the rules but I digress). Especially when He's like "just trust me" but then when you follow that same logic when dealing with people irl you usually end up in a shitty situation. Which I guess He does to emphasize that He is to be trusted and not Man. it would be nice to understand why...

Anyway. Michael has only wanted to bring wonder and joy. To spread love and to treat others with kindness and respect, even if they don't really deserve it. I keep in mind that he is just a man without nearly the same amount of responsibility or authority as God, and thus also has only a fraction of the transparency of God (I'm talking miniscule, as in we don't know anything about Michael beyond what he has told us). So it's not a fair comparison to make - I know that Michael is not God. God is just a lot to handle. I am His child. And children have complicated relationships with their parents. God is like my Father and Michael is like one of my "li'l friends" that my Dad is always reminding me He ain't one of 😂😂😂. Like Dad is Dad. He comes first in the priority list, but not necessarily in the hug list. Because ultimately, when I hug Michael it's but for a moment. But when I hug God, my Father, it's because I'm home where I belong. Hugging Michael would be like saying good night to the last friend before the streetlights come on. You walk up the steps of the front porch, open the screen door, and place your hand on the knob of the solid door behind it to get into the house. You look back, smile at Michael and wave before finally opening the door, crossing the threshold, and closing the door behind you. You twist the lock and settle into the warmth, safety, certainty, and stability of God's presence. Of home.

[amxthystiine]

Oh god this is gonna be a long one 💀

Now, at long last we get to the meat of our tale, as we cut to our unlucky bespectacled brunette scrambling down the street to school, his heart racing as he darts through the gates right before they closed.

"Phew, that was another close call... Man, Lucy would MURDER me if I was late!"

Thomas Pascall muttured to himself, laughing and shuddering at the thought of one of his closest two friends at the moment - Lucy Franklin, an blonde, usually glasses-wearing amber-eyed formal & intelligent girl with a penchant for sweaters & vests.

She's a very strict stickler for rules and order, being quite cold and blunt, but when it truly counts she wouldn't hesitate to come to her friend's aid and stand up against injustices, or at least, that what she likes to call them.

While she does warms up to you quite quickly once you get to really know her, something about her just seemed...familiar to Tom, in a way that resonated with him. He couldn't explain it, but he felt like he knew her for years.

The same applied for his other closest friend - Emery Bower, another girl with dark brown hair and eyes who just can't be seen without either her crystal necklace, a denim jacket or her black hat with a sprig of lavender attached to it by a pinkish-lavender ribbon.

While on the surface she seemed to be the generic bratty grumpy teenager who you'd expect to yell "IT'S NOT A PHASE, MUM!" she's a truly passionate person in every way of the word, whether it be her ranting about teachers that couldn't fucking do their job or encouraging and hyping up a friend when they're down

There was just somethin about the fire that would light in her eyes when she was excited about something that you couldn't resist adoring, and yet, that twinkle in her eyes felt familiar as well, somehow.

Oh, and speaking of which-

"RAAGH!"

"HOLYSHI-"

"PFFFFTTT SHHAHAHAHA! YOUR DAMN FACE WHEN I GOT YOU LIKE THAT TOM!! I GOT YOU SOOOOO GOOD!"

"Oh come ON EMERY GIVE IT A REST WOULDJA?!"

-That's right, Emery can get a bit petty and mischievous at times. Dammit, OF COURSE she'd try to scare me when I was almost late to school there!

I sigh to myself, walking and chatting with Emery as she animatedly gesticulated her way through the wildest stories she'd hear around town.

Just another regular school day, I thought to myself as I finger-gunned, smiling cheesily at Lucy who facepalmed herself in embarrassment, flushing slightly as she walked over to me and Emery, walking together to our classes as I heard a voice in my subconscious-

"Man, when are you gonna confess to one of em?! I can tell you love em as best friends, but at this fuckin' point I think you want to be something more! Especially with Lucy~"

The teasing voice brang a specific smug clock-eyed face to mind as I heard it ring inside my head, and thus I grumbled my reply under my breath -

"Oh c'mon K, you know I only love them platonically and nothin' more. I'm not damn ready for the commitment of a partner yet..."

That voice, or the bane of my existence as I liked to think of it, is the voice of an insufferable time god that I've done a deal with to gain this time bending scythe in the first place, and now he's stuck in my head, constantly throwing snarky comments at me. Oh, uhm, right, I didn't mention that this was a part of an average school day for me.... Oh well!

I honestly feel as if there's a lot I'm not remembering, and that this guy was the crux of it all, but thinking about said lost memories just felt painful and wrong to me, so I personally just don't like to think about it much.

I do feel as if I'm forgetting something big, though.

As that last thought ran through my mind I sighed again, my head throbbing with pain. I then felt a comforting hand on my shoulder, turning around to find Lucy, a smile that lit up my life on her face. Man, I'll give the madman one thing - he wasn't reaaally too off the mark when it came to my feelings on Lucy. Maybe.

Eventually, we reached our tutor group, or homeroom, or whatever the hell you call it!!

Exhausted and still wheezing after the mad dash to school, I zoned out of the teacher's notices for the day as I gazed around the room, taking note of the others around the room.

A tall, green-&-curly haired boy in a camo shirt, black ripped jeans, green shoes and denim jacket was snoring at the back, clothes a mess as the leaf crown he always wore on his head drifted up and down with him.

Terry Woods, local intimidating guy who doesn't hesitate to use that fact about him to his advantage. Every time, consistently, the guy'd seem like he got next to no sleep when he came to school, his insomnia (or at least, that's what I'm assuming it is-) always getting worse and then better within the month. He has a younger twin, Nova, but I rarely meet her in the halls. She's a sweet girl though, if I recall.

Speaking of Terry, I think something's going on between Emery and Terry, but I'm not really sure what...they never seem to last 5 minutes without glaring at each other or being at each other's sides, and at this point I can't tell whether they want to be in a relationship or they hate each other's guts. Like, one second they're smiling fondly at the other, as if remembering something pleasant about the other person, and the next they're glaring daggers like they're mortal enemies.

Hey look, they're doing it now!

Next to him was the madman daredevil, Richard Robins. His dark blue hair and constantly pulled up hood of his blue hoodie alongside his purple-crystal attached eyepatch over his right eye makes him seem like the menacing, mysterious quiet kid at the back of the class, the impression of which he puts up pretty well, but when it's break or lunch, the only part of that description that really sticks is menace, cause if you thought Emery's jokes were bad, this fucker takes her extraness when it came to pranks and stunts and kicked it up to 11.

Heck, I've heard that the guy has a lighter on him at all hands in his hoodie pocket, ready to burn his hand covered in rubbing alcohol or something to freak out anyone around him.

I do feel a sense of familiarity about him too, but not as strong as Emery and Lucy though. Maybe we met at a concert or a meetup once? Feel like it may be a bit more important than that, but it definitely wasn't for long.

Behind both of them was the local conspiracy theorist as we liked to nickname him, the wannabe detective Martin Menthe, an amber-eyed boy who was rarely seen out of his wizard D&D cosplay outfit - and while it was weird as fuck in my opinion, I ain't denying the fact that his staff, wig and hat was made really well.

Him and some other girl, I think it was Lav(?)

"She wanted to be a prosecutor, right?"

I muttered to myself, getting a reply of -

"Yeah, you're not misremembering someone's name for once ya doofus!"

She and Martin are getting mentored by a person actually in the law workfield, which is extremely lucky, actually, considering the absolute chaos this damn city is at night. This guy is usually aggressively scribbling on something, as he was now, on a notepad while glaring at both Rick and Terry in front of him, who seem to be making a few paper airplanes together.

So, where does the "conspiracy theorist" nickname come from? Well, every now and then Martin will end up dragging a full ass blackboard into school during lunch, the board being covered in red threads and pictures and newspaper articles as he gestures wildly at the entire board, excitedly rambling with a passion that rivaled Emery's about how this accident was linked to one 3 years ago or whatever. Like, his logic is all sound and the guy's terrifyingly good at deductions and profiling, but he never really has any evidence on his red-thread boards, so I find them hard to believe. To be honest, most of the school only crowds around Martin not for whatever theory he's gonna pull out of his ass this time but for comedic content n shit as they probably make parody vids of the guy and post em online for everyone to see.

I've also usually seen him running about at night, always finding where all the fights were (somehow) and scurrying like a little rat as he tries to gather what I assume is evidence for his theories.

Or at least, that's what I think people here'd do. Either way Martin doesn't ever bothered by stuff like that, and honestly? Godspeed man. I will say though, he always hits a peak of his delirium at school around this time of the month anyways, so maybe someone should start watching his caffeine intake??? I dunno man, I'm just concerned for him, because with willpower, determination and confidence like Martin's comes the wildest of incidents, and let's just say it's not Terry or Rick or any other jock round here who gets the most hospital trips round this school.

On the desk to the left of him was Orion, a curious, polite & quite mysterious black-and-white haired amnesiac with decorum to rival royalty. Y'know, I could've sworn I've heard at least Martin ramble at least once about how Orion and Victoria were long lost royalty. Pfft, imagine that! I will say though, how we first saw him at school in full armor, sheathed sword in hand with a diadem on top probably did help his theory, but hey, we already have one cosplaying maniac on the premises so a second one wouldn't be too surprising. He probably got lost on his way back from a convention.

And while usually he is quite nice and caring to others, I still quite often see him with the three I've mentioned before. I will say, I've heard that they're roommates, but still, that doesn't really mean you have to be around them for so often out of said room- like, if you see a hoodied roommate of yours get on the building's roof somehow, holding a basketball, poised to jump as another two your roommates juggle a hoop between them, I think you'd yell at them to get down and stop messing around, and not join your first roommate by flipping through the hoop and into a bucket of water.

Don't ask. The point is, he seems to have some kinda reckless side that just kinda cement him as part of these four as the harbingers of the craziest news that happens around here.

Oh, and about Victoria, she's much more casual and cheery than Orion, and is one of his closest friends. I'd consider them a bit more considering the amount of time they spend with each other, running all around town, but they never really seem to be dating yet, despite the fact that it's obvious these two sweethearts have a crush on each other. They seem to trust each other a lot and are the closest of friends, but something about them feels kinda awkward, like as if they both feel like they're not supposed to be near the other.

It's weird man, just like most of the people here.

At the opposite corner to the Quartet Out Of Hell, sat their honorary 5th member, Jack, an energetic cheery but snarky idiot who has a habit of taking things a bit too far. As I mentioned earlier, he too hangs around the previous four mentioned, and likes to act as a wingman for them, whether it be pulling off insane stunts at dates or switching off the power supplies for the lights as to bail the other out. He's a dark blue haired kid with a yellow highlight akin to a bolt of lightning in his hair, and is usually seen in a vanity jacket and sneakers. Oh, and he's really good with tech, but letting him DJ at last year's prom was......certainly a decision.

I gazed upon my other classmates before gazing out the window, vision blurring as I started to space out-

RRRIIIIIINGGG!

-Suddenly, a sharp noise pierced my ears as I snapped out of my stupor, cupping my hands over my ears as the bell went off. Yeesh, I keep forgetting how LOUD that thing can be! Shoving my hands in my pockets, I joined back up with Lucy and Emery as we split up for our respective classes, from which the rest of the day was a blur, apart from lunchtime, as per usual.

My prediction earlier turned out to be bang on the money as I watched Martin, wizard hat askew, drag his trusty blackboard to the front of the cafeteria and opened it up to see the usual mess of red threads and newspaper clippings, except, something was a bit different about how the audience was gazing upon the board and the confidence that the theorist had while wildly pointing about the familiar images on the board-

Wait.

Is that?

No, no way, it can't be-

And yet, it was. I thought he was just joking about making this but seeing it in front of my eyes right here, right now, has really made me respect Martin's guts for doing this.

The local vigilante identity theorizing board he kept boasting about.

So, uhm, Martin had this weird theory that he kept saying he was "working on" that some people here at this school was somehow linked to the local news's headliners as, if it wasn't obvious enough already, this city's a bit of a chaotic hellhole, with self-proclaimed heroes, villains, vigilantes and anti-heroes scrambling all over the place, and while it's all fun and games hearing & witnessing the latest spat between Firecracker and the Celestial Paladin until you're the one in between them.

Seriously though, knowing Martin's luck, he'll get like 2 of these right, and they'll be the most dangerous of them all to cross, and next thing you know it he's coming to school next morning with an eyepatch akin to Rick's...

...and hey, wait, I recognize that picture! That exact moment where sparks flew between the Midnight Mage's and Monarch's staffs had a photo taken from another point of view, being featured in the front page news! I knew that green blur looked SOMEWHAT familiar...

To be honest, I think this new board may be his magnum opus so far, and I can easily tell that he sure as hell thinks so considering the smug face he's making in the corner right now. Man, some people are NOT going to take this lightly...

...I stared at Emery, curious to see what her take was on it.

And, surprisingly, (or not, honestly) she was glaring at Terry again, and he was glaring back, both with such intensity I could almost hear the crackle of electricity between them!

Lucy, right behind her, was putting up a brave face, but even I could tell she was sweating from all the way back here. Poor girl's gonna have a lot of rumours and scuffles to squash as student council president...I told her not to stress herself out on the job just yesterday as well!

"Oooooooh, man, I often see this kiddo scrambling about at night, but even I have to give him credit. Considering how destructive these scuffles can be, to be able to get even these little bits of evidence is impressive!! Gotta give credit where it'd due 'n all!"

Yet again that sing-song voice reverberated obnoxiously in my head, just what I needed after the entire cafeteria had burst out into yells and heated chatter.

"God damn it K, can you not???? Like at least is there like a volume slider up in there????"

"Pssssht, you deal with it or I take the whee-"

"NO. Especially not HERE!"

"Fine fine, calm down you idiot, I was kidding anyways...I'm no fuckin good round people and have no restraint anyways."

I probably looked like a maniac if anyone saw me muttering and gesturing to myself but eh, in this racket I'd bet everyone was too focused on spreading the word around anyways.

After the small conversation with K, the bell suddenly rang, ringing so effing loudly that even the local gossips around here shut up as they looked up in surprise. My ears are still ringing after that one...

I then caught a glimpse of the headteacher, still in that tuxedo (?) suit (?) (I have no idea how to describe it...) and mask that hid every part of his skin watching with his beady eyes from behind the cafeteria doors...something's definitely up with that guy. Of course, an investigation into him will have to wait as I already have enough mysteries on my plate to solve whatever it is, but man, I'm keeping an eye on him. I squinted at him while leaving, as to be able to somewhat communicate that I couldn't trust the guy.

But hey, I then walked to my next class and the rest of the day flew by. What can I say? I was excited for how this move of Martin's would affect tonight's shenanigans.

As I eventually opened the door to my dorm, darting straight to the bathroom as I changed and got myself ready for tonight, I take a look at my scythe mentioned way back earlier in my room's cupboard.

Look, I had nowhere else to put it ok? Worst case scenario, if someone sees it they'll think it's am elaborate cosplay accessory.

Seeing my reflection in it's blade, I grinned at myself.

Oh yeah, I never really said that I was trying to take up my father's legacy, did I?

Well, a few (years ? or months ? everything's becoming a blur to me...) back I decided to trudge on a journey as to discover what truly happened to my dad, and why he just went missing all of a sudden.

It was this search that lead me to discover his old files on researching time travel, and I then quickly connected the dots between him and the Time-Reaper, however, before he got to share his discoveries in plain clothes, he disappeared. Gone, without a trace, leaving me and my sickly mother behind as she too died a few years afterwards.

Thus, I just have to know what happened to him. You're telling me that I have to believe that he had so much going for his life, and just threw it away by ending it all or just disappearing? No. It had to be a kidnapping, or a final duel, or something if that sort!

He cared for me as a child, and I have many fond memories of all of us together...

...no, I have to get back on track. No time for reminiscing on lost time now.

Basically, I decided to take up his legacy and follow in his footsteps as to be able to hopefully get for info about him by retracing his steps.

Ok. Maybe it was a liiiittle bit influenced by the really cool idea of being a hero. But hey, what else could I do with a scythe that RIPS THROUGH THE SPACE TIME CONTINIUUM?!

I then rushed to the rooftop, clambering up the ladder as I stood on the balcony, leaving on my scythe, my hair flowing behind me in the wind. Ah, man have I missed this!

I took a deep breath, smirking as I swung my scythe back up at a carryable height, walking backwards towards the railing, flipping round it as my vision turned upside down, gazing downwards at the maze of houses and dark alleys beneath me-

I let go of the railing.

Man, I always get giddy at this part!

Twirling my scythe in front of me, I press a hidden button near the centre of the pole, causing the tip of my scythe to reveal a smaller, sharper blade, and rip a time rift that I fall into, resulting in me landing on my two feet on a street a few blocks down from my house.

I then casually walk past as if nothing happened, using the bottom spike of the scythe to sew the hole back up like fabric.

Hehehe. Like the fabric of space time. Wait, is that why it was named that???

"Yes, idiot, of course it is. For someone with a scythe that grants you the power to time travel, you sure don't know SHIT about how it works-"

"God dammit K, don't start lecturing me about how-"

We, (or, well, I?) bicker as I go on patrol round the town, wondering if Martin's sudden call out would somehow influence tonight's events. I will say, a couple of my own suspicions were on there...

I then hear a familiar flutter of feathers and the swoosh of fireballs as I lean on my scythe, turnimg around to see the shadows of a familiar person- and a much bigger beast, the wall near me showing these shadows being lit up by a bright purple light akin to fire. Yikes. Looks like Amethyst got to the Menace first. I would intervene...but I feel if I did I'd probably get horribly injured, would horribly injure someone or just ruin the flow of the fight in general. And I know that the Midnight Mage is a strong magic wielder - she could probably take care of the Menace herself, and be pissed at me if I disrupted her concentration.

Right. I, alongside two other vigilantes round here are part of a team? Kind of? It's more so like having a good colleague you can rely on. Like usually we take our own opponents on by ourselves but in cases of emergencies or situations where one person isn't enough, we won't hesitate to work together. I guess it's an alliance of sorts, then?

As part of this team, we've given ourselves codenames. The Midnight Mage is Amethyst, I'm Wisp, and the Celestial Paladin is Astrid. Some of these weird titles can be a mouthful, so we usually just stick to our codenames or nicknames based on our titles, I guess.

Letting out a small sigh of guilt on ditching my colleague, I flip around on hearing sudden yells and loud, fast-paced footsteps, only to see a blue blur leaping across rooftops, something like smoke and flames trailing on from behind it.

And moments later, from right behind me came the source of those footsteps - a nimble, green-robed figure holding what looked like a huge cup filled with and donning a wizard like ha- hey wait, isn't that-

"COME BACK HERE YOU FIEND! I WILL APPREHEND YOU!!" shouted Martin, changing towards Firecracker like his life depended on it.

Will Martin EVER give up his chase after Firecracker?! I know that he despises him for burning shit down that he considers inhumane, but he also hates Amethyst for her disregard for local property during battles! So why chase one far more than the other?! Even worse, of the two, Firecracker's the one that's far more likely to hurt you-

"Goddammit-! move outta the way! Can't you see I'm in pursuit of an arsonist over here?!"

I hear a sudden yell from behind as I was pushed out of the way, the flame in Martin's eyes being one to rival any blaze that Firecracker made. Yeah...on second thought, maybe interfering with this chase is a bad idea as well.

I turn away again, feeling less guilty as no-one knows how that chase'll end. The one guarantee is that Martin'll lose Firecracker again, and that he'll have some kind of injury to prove it.

I kept going round and round my usual patrol route but didn't find any other disturbances - apart from a couple of shadows zipping past and a crash here and there, and even then I couldn't catch whoever the hell they were.

Thus, I decided to call it a night, disappointed, yet unsurprised with the little action the night had. As I changed back into normal clothes and locked my scythe away again, I leapt into bed, ready for another day of similar tasks and a good, long sleep.

Well, that's what the boy told himself, anyways. Little did he know just how quickly his night-time excursions would escalate...

[jadedrrose]

Strange Connections - ch. seven

Nothing much happens here, but it gets a little interesting toward the end.

Warnings: little moments that kind of imply suggestive things, but that’s it

As more days passed by since the second time Levi had saved you, the more you had to come to terms with things. Many things, that was.

It was likely to happen at some point; seeing a corpse. When you lived down here, it was practically inevitable. Crime happened all around, no matter where you went. That was simply a fact of life for anybody cursed to be born into such a horrific place. You supposed you had just ended up lucky for avoiding it for so long.

But still, it was something that had completely changed you. It was hard to forget the image of the man’s body bleeding out in the dirt. You found yourself having nightmares about it, the thought of that man having a life that was all over in a moment, tormenting you. Especially with how quickly his body disappeared, someone had to have been looking out for him. You wondered how his death had affected them.

Levi had explained something to you, though. The last time you saw him, which was nearly a week ago, he’d been there when you woke up from another nightmare. When you told him what it was about and how badly it had been bugging you, he firmly told you that you shouldn’t feel any sympathy for somebody like that. It was jarring to hear it, but deep down you knew that Levi was right. That man had cornered you, tried taking advantage of you and nearly got away with it. He then asked, "how many women do you think he’s successfully assaulted, if he had no trouble cornering you?”, “this was only the first time someone dared to stop him, I’d say he paid for his actions”.

It kind of made sense after that. How Levi had been able to kill the man with no hesitation, and then not even glance back at what he’d done before rushing to your side. His words definitely made the fact that you’d have to live with what he’d done to you, or worse, be trafficked by him had Levi not done so, sink in. That he wouldn’t have stopped with you. Essentially, this was sparing the lives of many others at one’s expense, is what you concluded.

You also had somewhat figured Levi himself out. It was true that he was a criminal, somebody who’d murdered and stolen before. But that was for survival. He didn’t do those things because he wanted to, he did it because he’d probably end up dead otherwise. Therefore, that meant he wasn’t only those things; he was someone who could care for others, you were an example of that. He had his normal human behaviors, little quirks about himself that showed he wasn’t just some crazy serial killer who was out to get you.

In fact, you’d talked to Cass about it the next time you saw her at work. She could tell something about you was different, that you’d somehow changed since you two last spoke, moments before you were attacked.

You told her the story, in detail too. From when you first noticed your dagger was missing, to the moment you screamed for Levi in some desperate last attempt at survival. And the aftermath; Levi murdering the man to save you, taking care of you for the next few days and buying you a new weapon. You had even shown her the two knives, let her examine them to show they were truly something you couldn’t afford, that you were telling the truth.

This seemed to really get to her. She finally understood everything, why you were so defensive over Levi, all of it. After that moment, she started making jokes and poking fun at your incredibly obvious crush on him, now that she wasn’t so worried over him killing you. She’d said something about how the knives looked super expensive and well crafted, so clearly he felt some type of way about you in order to spend so much on you. You’d waved it off, but she didn’t stop there. 

Today was no different. The two of you were working the lunch shift, which was normally very quiet and slow on a day like this. So that only gave her more time to bother you, to your dismay… or so you thought. 

Part of you was embarrassed, but at the same time you would feel giggly and so girlish when she’d tease you over your strange love life, even pointing out to you that she could tell you were only pretending not to like her antics, because you’d jump at any chance to talk about him anyway.

“Y/n, I’m not gonna lie to you,” Cass started, leaning against the bar counter as you cleaned glasses. “I hope he walks in here just so that I can test how serious you are about him. I’d like to see the little fucker’s reaction.”

“But then I’d be found out,” you smiled, shaking your head as she laughed. 

“Maybe that would be a good thing,” she replied, “I already know you’re going to avoid telling him about your feelings for as long as possible. And that’s only if you get the courage to do it.”

Rolling your eyes at the statement, you put the final glass away and then ran your fingers over the wooden counter, deciding it needed to be cleaned more thoroughly. You kneeled down to grab some cleaning supplies and a new cloth, standing back up and putting yourself to hard work trying to scrub away any grime.

Cass watched with amusement, trying so hard to not laugh audibly at your actions.

“What’s so funny?” you side eyed her, lightly smiling and playing into her banter.

“You said Levi was a clean-freak, yeah?”

“Yeah, I did say that… why?” you confirmed, not entirely sure what she was getting at.

“Well, I’m not saying it’s a definite reason, but you’ve never cleaned like this in the past,” she explained, continuing to observe you with a devilish smirk.

“So? I can’t be clean, now?”

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” she chuckled, “but could it be… he perhaps taught you how to clean up better.”

“What?” you raised an eyebrow suspiciously at her, halting your movements.

“Maybe he thought you were too dirty,” she giggled, winking at you.

“Cass! Don’t even imply-”

“Aha! You took the bait!” she howled with laughter, and you were glad no customers were around at that moment, because this would be quite the entertainment for them, and a huge humiliation for you.

“Bait?!” You shrieked, staring at her with wide eyes, “You’re the one who made the weird suggestion!”

“I know… I know, it’s just too cute, y/n. The way you blush and get all shy at the implication, or even anything else I say about him. It’s no wonder he’s got his eye on you.”

You huffed with embarrassment, turning your back to her to continue cleaning. What made you look worse though was that it was in fact true… you’d been more thorough with cleaning ever since Levi had practically deep cleaned your home for you.

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone now,” she sighed, calming herself down. 

“Hey, Cass,” you called out, just before she could retreat to the kitchen.

“Mmhm?”

“If you dare do anything stupid next time he’s in here, I’m gonna drown you in the sink.”

That only made her lose control again, she was practically in tears from laughing so hard now.

“He really is wearing off on you! Now you’re making death threats!”

–

You felt so stupid and foolish, pacing around your home and daydreaming about things. Cass’ words had more of an effect on you than she realized, putting endless scenarios and ideas into your mind.

She’d said something about not even being sure if you’d ever confess your feelings to Levi. Well, you wanted to prove her wrong, show her that you were capable of doing it. Except… maybe you really weren’t capable… Levi was a very stoic man, somebody who was incredibly hard to read. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking or feeling at any given time. What if you confessed at the wrong time, when he’s more agitated than usual, and then you only make it worse? What if he doesn’t even return your feelings in the slightest way?

“It’s no wonder he’s got his eye on you.”

Cass’ statement from the previous day rang through your mind, again. Did she see something you didn’t, all based on the one time she met him? You knew she was one to make jokes, but this didn’t seem like something to lie about, especially if it gave you the wrong idea and ended up making a fool of yourself.

You tried thinking back on the interactions between you and Levi. The times you’d caught his gaze on you before he’d bashfully look away, when he’d done your corset for you, held you as you cried, cleaned your clothes for you. Would he have done any of that if he didn’t like you?

It was just hard to say, even if Cass told you otherwise. You felt like you were probably overthinking things, getting way ahead of yourself and making a big deal out of nothing. But still, it was hard to convince yourself that he wouldn’t get upset.

You placed your face into your palms as you recalled some other things the blonde had said. “Your Levi”, the suggestion she had made yesterday, it made you feel strange. Like you were going to be sick, but at the same time you were giggling and blushing. This must be what it feels like to be hopelessly in love with someone, then.

Trying to refocus yourself onto the things you were supposed to be doing, you shook the feeling off and resumed your chores. Pulling your clothes out of the tub and wringing them out, you then pinned them onto the line above the bath, leaving the room to let them dry while you did the next thing on your list.

 It was getting pretty late, so you figured it was time to start dinner. You looked through the foods you currently had, and decided it would yet again be a potato kind of night.

You threw a couple into a pot of water, placing it onto the stovetop to boil. 

Now… something to do while the potatoes cooked. You’d done pretty much everything you needed to, so now you wandered around your small home, looking for something to do.

A ridiculous irrational thought then overcame you, and you decided to act on it. 

What if Levi randomly showed up and judged you for having dust atop furniture!?

Grabbing a cleaning towel, you ran your fingers over various surfaces, looking for anything that needed to be wiped up.

The only spots you found were atop your bookshelf and underneath your bed. Which made sense, Levi hadn’t really been into your bedroom, other than to light that candle, but that was as far as you knew. 

There it was again; the butterflies dancing in your stomach, the feeling of the world spinning around you and making you dizzy with embarrassment, even when nobody was around to witness whatever this was.

The idea of Levi being in your bedroom made you feel crazy, it was an idea so scandalous but you found yourself giggling and trying to deny that it made you feel some type of way, whatever that way was. Stopping in to light a candle was one thing, but being around long enough to notice dust under your bed, what would he even be doing in here to notice that?!

Well, you could think of at least one reason why… 

But no! You’re so gross, thinking about things like that when we aren’t even together…

You needed to get the idea out of your head before you went insane. Finishing up with cleaning, you tossed the rag into your bathroom to be cleaned later and went to check on your potatoes.

They were about done, so you drained them and set them out on a plate to cool off. In the meantime, you’d come up with something to eat with them, not feeling too keen on having plain potatoes.

You had a few vegetables left, so you could use those. Sparingly, of course… 

Deciding on that, you steamed them before setting them onto the same plate with your potatoes, and then got yourself some water before sitting down to eat.

You were about halfway through your meal when you realized something felt off. Around this time, there were normally people chatting outside as they all came in from their jobs. Even with the rise in crime, you would still hear the occasional conversation. But tonight, it was entirely and utterly silent.

Setting your fork down, you stood up from the wooden chair to quietly walk toward your door, checking the handle to ensure it was locked. 

You let out a sigh of relief when you found that it was indeed locked.

Shaking your head at your paranoia, you returned to your table and resumed eating the meal you’d made for yourself.

With most of the food gone and feeling quite full, you stabbed the last piece of cut up potato, bringing the fork up to your lips to take a bite.

But your attention was taken off of that as you heard a rattling noise, looking over to where it was coming from, and seeing that your front door handle was shaking.

Was somebody trying to open it? If it were Cass or Levi, they would’ve knocked like any normal person. So what the hell was going on?

Tip-toeing away from the table, you took one of the two knives off the shelf opposite of your couch, holding it close and ready to strike.

Sliding along the wall, you reached the left of your front door, holding your breath and waiting.

But… nothing happened.

You remained in your spot though, fearing that just when you’d turn away, the intruder would make their move.

After about a good five minutes, you finally decided nothing was going to happen. But you still felt uneasy, so you crept into your bedroom, trying to peer out the window without actually making yourself visible to the street. 

Two houses down from your own, a man with a cloak covering his identity was trying to pick at the lock of the house he stood in front of. Not wanting to linger and get caught, you withdrew yourself from the window and gently placed the curtain back into its normal position.

How had he not been able to pick your lock? You knew it was old and probably easy to break if you kicked it, so why had the man been unsuccessful? 

Trying to not think about it too hard, you began cleaning up your dinner and preparing yourself for bed. Of course, you weren’t even sure if you’d be able to sleep now. Earlier, you had assumed your thoughts about Levi would be the thing to keep you awake, but as you laid down, back against your mattress, pulling your covers up to your chin; you lay awake in fear. 

If only Levi were there to protect you… then you could rest easily.

After about fifteen minutes of trying to think of literally anything other than the creepy cloaked man outside your home, you were finally able to close your eyes and begin falling asleep. 

However, you were quickly pulled out of your resting state, just before you could succumb to slumber. You had barely heard it at first due to your sleepy state, but now as you were once again wide awake you were certain you weren’t imagining it.

Someone was knocking at your front door.

You quickly but stealthily got out from bed, yet again taking one of your knives (that you had moved to your nightstand before going to bed), and quietly approached your front door.

Another knock broke the usual silence of the late night, and you tried peering out the window to see who was there. But of course, it was impossible to tell without showing yourself to them.

So you waited for another knock, or maybe for the person to walk away. But to your surprise, they called out for you.

“Y/n? Open the damn door.”

It was… Levi? What the hell was he doing at your house in the middle of the night?!

Releasing the breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding, you moved to open the door and let him inside.

“How did you know I was there?” you asked, moving aside so that he could walk past you.

“Saw you lookin’ out the window,” he muttered. 

“Oh…”

You shut the door and triple checked that it was locked, before turning to the unexpected visitor. Not that you were upset about him showing up…

“Why are you here?” you stared at him, confused.

He stared right back at you with those pretty gray eyes. “I… just had a feeling I needed to come over,” he told you.

But that only confused you more. “What?”

Levi gave you a look that you figured meant he wasn’t even sure himself, but he tried to explain further anyway.

“Um, don’t ask me why, b-but I feel weird urges to check on you sometimes…”

That didn’t really help you understand, though. But it was odd that he would show up whenever danger seemed to be around you.

“Did that also happen on… you know,” you trailed off, not wanting to say it.

“That night? Yeah…” he sighed, crossing his arms and looking at the floor.

“So you get weird feelings whenever I’m in danger?” You questioned, trying to make sense of it. But realistically, there was no explanation. 

Levi nodded, but he seemed just as confused as you.

“Someone tried breaking in tonight, I think,” you informed him. “My door handle was shaking, and then after it stopped I looked outside and saw some dude trying the same thing over at the next house.”

“So you were in danger, then,” Levi confirmed. 

“But that was around dinner time,” you frowned, “so why did you show up now, after it happened?”

Levi could only shake his head. “Just the feeling that I needed to, and I guess it was right since I saw some guy lurking around the street when I got here.”

That didn’t ease your mind, though. Was the man returning to break in while you slept?

But, it was late and you couldn’t think of any other explanations, partly due to how tired you felt.

“Well, if you’re here now, I guess I can finally sleep peacefully,” you yawned.

Levi only nodded, taking a seat on your couch as you made way for your bedroom.

“Oi,” he softly called you just before you could open the door.

“Yeah?” you looked back at him, confused.

“Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to fight.”

[twilightmalachite]

ABYSS - The Ocean of ■ That Drips Downwards 8

Author: Akira

Characters: Souma, Kaoru, Madara

Translator: Mika Enstars

"I’ve… already stopped my frequent, diligent heroic imitations for the sake of those who are lonely."

Season: Winter

Location: Yumenosaki Academy Marine Biology Clubroom

Present day. Yumenosaki Academy, in the Marine Biology Clubroom…

Souma: …!? Get down, Hakaze-dono!…

Kaoru: Eh, eh? What’s this suddenly?

Souma: What are you hesitating for!?

Kaoru: W-whoa, don’t grab the back of my neck and hold me down~! If someone sees us, they’ll misunderstand and think Souma-kyun and I are close, won’t they?

Souma: This is no time for jokes, you know!? I’ve always disliked that about you!

Kaoru: No, no, I think anyone would be confused after you do something straight out of a fighting manga!

This is the peaceful, modern Japan, you know~, I’m not the weird one here, it’s you, Souma-kun, okay?

Madara: —Hahaha! What bitter disappointment! The ambush failed!

Kaoru: Oh, speak of the devil, it’s Mikejima-kun.

Madara: Hahaha. I thought you were completely distracted, I’m surprised you reacted so well to my murderous intent!

The first time we met, you clumsily fainted without even falling safely!

You’ve groooown, Souma-san. Onii-chan’s impressed!

Souma: You are no big brother of mine. As always, you speak nothing but nonsense, Mikejima-dono. Or rather, as all the graduates of Yumenosaki generally do.

Now, just what is it that you want? This is us Marine Biology Club’s territory!

Madara: Hahaha. Still living straight out of a period drama, aren’t you? Hilarious!

Unlike myself, you have not become disillusioned with yourself and given up, and instead are living in line with ideals you dreamt up as a child, huuuh?

Thinking that makes me a tad envious!

Kaoru: What on earth’s going on all of a sudden…?

Madara: Oyaa, Kaoru-san is there as well? I hadn’t noticed, you were hidden behind Souma-san!

It’s rare for us graduates to meet at Yumenosaki like thiiis! A couple strangely but happily united!

Souma: Hakaze-dono often visits this clubroom for some unknown reason.

You should follow his example, Mikejima-dono. According to my friend Adonis-dono, Tenma misses you.

Madara: Nahh, I don’t wanna get tied up in trouble all over again.

I’ve… already stopped my frequent, diligent heroic imitations for the sake of those who are lonely.

I have very few good memories of Yumenosaki, and I would have preferred to not have visited it in the first place.

But well, there’s no helping it this time around. If I leave it be, it’ll end up causing even more trouble.

Souma: …?

Madara: Souma-san. Hand over that vase you are holding.

Souma: This vase…? Just what’s all this about?

Madara: You don’t need to know that.

Souma: Hmph, you’re always like this. You can pretend to be secretive and mystical all you want, but such an attitude makes you only more suspicious!

Madara: I’m only trying to look out for you, by not getting you involved in this absurd mess.

Souma: Ridiculous. I’ve been involved in this since the moment I was born.

This vase surely is related to Shinkai-dono’s household. In that case, this isn’t another man’s problem to me either.

Souma: So why is it you always, always leave me out of the loop?

Madara: Because it really had nothing to do with you… You Kanzakis are in a special position, independent of any religious hierarchy.

Religious guardians, sent by the government of that time. The mere shadow of the samurai who served them; if the religion or god turned against the government, he had the order to cut them down.

Such a reason and history behind their establishment is different than us Mikejimas, who were defined from the very beginning as caretakers of God and given that role within the religion itself.

Jeesh, man. Now I’m talking in the language of period dramas too!

Let’s talk about reality, with our two feet firmly on the ground.

That vase is evidence for a certain crime. In the past, Kanata-san and I had decided together to hide it within this club room.

I even installed an alarm system that would alert me immediately if it were to be moved, you knooow…

That’s why I, who happened to be nearby, was able to rush over right away.

Souma: This vase is evidence of a crime…?

Madara: Yup. So if Souma-san takes a liking to it, brings it out, and has police or appraisers have a look at it, it’ll be a problem!

The unpleasant past that we have buried in the darkness, in the depths of the abyss, would be brought to light.

So I came, before that could happen. Hahaha!

Souma: What is this… unpleasant past?

Madara: Aah, I’ve in turn raised your curiosity, haven’t I? Curiosity kills the cat, you knooow!

No, in your case, I feel it’d be easier to explain everything rather than try to unreasonable conceal it.

I feel you’ll understand and cooperate with this “cover-up” of ours.

Kaoru: What’s this about a cover-up? This crime stuff all sounds fishy, but is this something I’m allowed to hear about? Do I need to leave?

Madara: Either way is fine. If anything, I feel you might be able to sympathize with me more than Souma-san!

Kaoru: …?

Madara: Alright. I have your attention. This must be some kind of fate, and this time I’ll take the rare chance to explain everything properly from start to finish.

It’s probably about time for the statute of limitations to expire, and it’s too heavy for us to carry on our own…

—First things first, God has died.

It was a scheme within our religion, carried out by a secret organization called “ABYSS”.

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[gayseyjones]

what is a sally face ive heard of it before but only ever in like. positive contexts and that one time my friend told me about some kind of stepsibling retcon debacle

basically it was this hugeeeeely popular horror game and it's about the protag Sal aka Sally Face and while it starts off rlly interesting as like, a "Rated R" scooby doo, it just. completely nosedives into extreme racism in the later chapters. theres 3 black characters in the game and in order of appearance they are 1. a cop 2. typical "crackhead" stereotype that speaks in butchered AAVE and 3. Plot Convenient Gay Man who gets brutally tortured & murdered in detail on screen after losing his boyfriend and generally suffering loads. this is a common theme btw. all the canonically gay characters suffer horrifically. and also the plot goes from "there's an Evil Cult Worshipping Some Demons And They're Killing People We Have To Stop Them" to a complete bastardization of native american traditions and stories, which THEN culminates in the "mystic native american people" telling sal that He's The Chosen One To Stop The Great Evil and like. while sal's skin is gray and the creator said that was supposed to make it so he's "any race" he also only has eurocentric features and it's incredibly evocative of the white savior trope. also sal is canonically disabled and this is treated with literally 0 tact at all. For context sal has a disfigured face because of an accident from when he was a child and wears a "prosthetic face" aka a mask to cover it hence the name "Sally face" bc that's what bullies called him. most notably theres a scene where his love interest lifts up his goddamn mask without asking him to wipe his face and it's treated as an Awww Omg So Sweet <3 moment and its very annoying. as for the stepsibling retcon I did not hear about it being retconned but like. some context for that is sal has this friend named larry he's pretty cool a lot of people shipped them and then a new chapter released where their parents married and they became stepbrothers so. You can imagine the discourse that created.

also even if the game didn't hate black ppl and native americans and lgbt ppl and disabled ppl the plot still fucking SUCKS taking all that away. like that time sal killed Everyone In His Whole Entire Apartment Complex Including His Family Who He Loves So Much Without Hesitation After He Already Lost His Mom When He Was A Kid and it goes against everything he stands for as a character but okay. whatever. the writing is a goddamn mess.

And all of this drives me INSANE because I will be the first person to say that sally face started off good. it did. the first two chapters were really enjoyable. there were still some iffy bits because everything does but for a minute it was just a ragtag group of metalhead kids solving really weird gross mysteries in their town and it was fun. it was good. and then all the racism and homophobia happened and it was. not good. one of these days I need to write an entire essay about the rise and fall of sally face because it FASCINATES me

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Tell me a story about a highly advanced futuristic kingdom.

"Your father was murdered by the royal guard last night," the high functionary said.

The young man on the screen blinked in surprise. The functionary's words were carefully enunciated, and yet the computer's voice, as it spoke them, could be heard plainly across the room, as though spoken in the common tongue. How could the functionary possibly know that? The royal guard, his father's closest associates, had been trained by the functionary for generations.

The high functionary paused to make eye contact with the man on screen. When the pause was over, the functionary spoke again. "We suspect it was for financial gain. Your father had made enemies of certain powerful people. Our investigation suggests that we do not need to fear for our lives or liberty." The functionary glanced down at his tablet again.

"But the royal guard's loyalty was a secret, and your father was very popular," the functionary continued. He stared at the man on screen, who did not blink.

"The royal guard had been loyal to your father for many years, in part out of fear of reprisal from your father's enemies. We expect that if we reveal these secrets now, many of the royal guard will be eager to murder you and your father for your good fortune. Your father's friends, who did not fear him, will be horrified and resent you. Our investigation suggests that your life would be in danger from this moment forward. But we expect that you are the kind of person who would have faced this danger anyway, without hesitation."

Onscreen, the man on the left raised one hand to gesture as though to dismiss the idea. The functionary turned his attention away from him, to the person on the right, who remained sitting motionless.

"You said we don't need to be afraid of our lives," the man on the right said. "This means that we will not be. It doesn't mean that we have to make a show of our loyalty." He tilted his head slightly. "Can we make it obvious that we know who murdered our father?"

The high functionary made another eye contact with the man on the screen. The man on the right's hand was still raised, not in a gesture of agreement or dissent, but in a gesture that was not quite one either.

"I can't speak for the royal guard as a whole," the high functionary said. "But our investigation shows that many of them are not quite so loyal as you imply. Some of our own people have been kidnapped to the royal guard with a view to being used as leverage against us. If we reveal that we know, these people will know that we betrayed them. They will expect to be executed, and it will give them an opportunity to take out their revenge on you. They might very well be right to do so. The royal guard could, at the very least, try to kidnap you, in order to execute you without revealing which side was behind the attack."

The man on the right spoke, and his expression became something between despair and joy. "I can do that. I can give the royal guard the leverage it needs. There are only two other people who know about me and my father. One of them is dead; the other one is a child. One of them is dead because of a personal grudge; the other will do what I tell him and not be in danger. We have already made arrangements to keep each other safe. We can give the royal guard what it needs. I will tell them that they have my loyalty, and then I will give them their orders to kill me and your father, and then they will kill you for me."

The high functionary sat back in his chair. "Very well," he said.

"Very well," the man on the right echoed. "When do you want me to start?"

"I'll let you know when you can contact your father's friends," the functionary said. The man on the left opened his mouth, then seemed to change his mind.

"I will not try to contact the other two," the man on the right said. "The ones with the grudges."

The functionary made a sign to his computer. The man on the right spoke again. "I will not try to contact anyone who had their own reasons for wanting my father dead. But I will try to contact everyone with whom I had a personal connection to him. There are several hundred of them; our investigation is still ongoing. I will send out some of the first ones, in case anyone who sees you contact them. I am sure they will not want to help us. But if we have time, I will send out more. I would like you to take a look at those as well."

"I'll be there to keep watch over you," the high functionary said. "If anything happens to you, I'll know, and I'll do everything in my power to get you back."

"I'm sure I'll be safe," the man on the right said. "This will not be the first time I've made my father's death look like an accident, and it will certainly not be the last. Our enemies were already afraid of us. If our friends are frightened, the royal guard will be afraid of them. We will make their decisions for them."

The functionary nodded solemnly. "I am certain you are very clever. When are you going to start?"

"As soon as you give me my instructions."

A second passed. Then the man on the right's hand waved slightly, and then made another gesture.

"I'm ready to go," he said.

"I will keep you in my thoughts," the functionary said. He pressed a button on his tablet. The man on the right got up and walked over to him.

"My father's funeral is set for today, correct?"

The man on the right nodded. The functionary had never seen the young man on the screen outside his office, and had no idea what his real name was. The functionary knew that he had been in the royal guard. He knew that he had fought for his father against his own people, and survived the fighting. He was smart and strong, and he was dangerous and loyal to his friends.

"It is," he said. "I am ready to go. I am ready to give you the first part of my instructions, and you are ready to hear it."

"That depends on your safety," the functionary said.

The man on the right looked at him in surprise. "Are we talking about my safety, or yours?"

"Either," said the functionary. "I want you alive, and I will not hesitate to bring you back alive. If you fail, you must do your best to come back with me."

"I am sorry," the man on the right said. He seemed about to say something, but the functionary waved his hand again, and he fell silent.

The functionary looked at the tablets in front of him. There were five more tablets on the right, five on the left, and one in front of the man on the screen. In total, there were twelve tablets. It would take a great deal of time to use them all, and there was no guarantee that any of them would help. But even