#understanding who they are outside of the barriers of good and evil

[ntaras]

i’m going to kill everyone on the internet

[softaestluv]

Guard Dogs

You were a proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy. Ghost only looked to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar. Even if Riley wanted more.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Neighbor! Reader

This chapter will contain smut! 18+ content!

Tags: Smut, Cunnilingus, oral, vaginal fingering, creampie

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, & Pt. 5 | masterlist | ao3

Ghost used to believe he favored winter more than summer, despised sweltering days when sweat trickled from his mask. Gathered wet pools in his collarbone, dried sticky on his skin. At least during winter he could blame the cold in his home on the weather rather than the loneliness.

But now he isn’t entirely sure, not when he knows your warmth, makes the cold almost tenfold without you.

He decides it may just be when it brings you to his doorstep, rainstorm rumbling behind your standing figure. He lets you in despite running away from your home less than a week ago. Doesn’t let his pretty bird stand in the storm for long.

“My power went out, it’s dark and cold over there,” You explain, swiping your tongue over bitten dry lips, “Is it okay if I stay here until morning? I didn’t know where else to go.”

His girl was scared was she? Came to him for rescue.

Almost snickers at the irony, came to his home, the same walls he only felt alone and frigid in. Yet you stand at his doorstep, seeking refuge like he could provide you with the same warmth and comfort your home does, that you do.

So, he sets a kettle of tea for the both of you. Joining him quietly in the kitchen, leaning against the opposite side of the counter he is. He keeps his eyes on the stove, doesn’t exactly plan to fill the awkward tension with anything more than the boiling water. Small talk wasn’t his strong-suit, and he definitely didn’t want an explanation from you.

Why would he need one? The two of you were nothing but neighbors, friends if that.

However, the silence seems to bother you; he knows it does when you speak up, “How are you?”

“Been fine,” He huffs, handing a steaming cup of tea to you.

And because he doesn’t want to know how you and your new boyfriend have been he doesn’t ask.

“That’s good, I’m glad,” Give him a tight smile in return.

The room becomes silent again, the sound of both of you drinking tea fill the kitchen. Even after the both of you are done drinking, no words are said, gazes avoided as the light tapping of your fingernails against the glass replaces the slurping, loud even between the pitter of the rain outside.

“Don’t you get it?” You finally ask, laughing remorsefully under your breath, continue once he tilts his head at you, “It’s you.”

He still doesn’t understand what you mean, brows furrowing together under his mask.

You sigh, “There’s no one else, I don’t have a boyfriend. I was talking about you, Simon.”

“What are you talking ‘bout?”

“You’re who I have waiting for me at home. You’re who I want to spend time with. Who I want to come home to. Well I don’t mean it like you’re sitting waiting around for me, it’s just,” You begin to ramble, trying to explain your emotions while your face warms, turns the pretty pink he has grown to love.

The rest of your words don’t matter to him, his balaclava is forgotten on the floor, insignificant. A stupid barrier between him and his bird. Breaks the distance between the two of you in two quick strides. Has you hoisted on his kitchen counter in a second, lips stamped to yours. Your words swallowed down between his lips, dissolved into a muffled yelp.

It’s intense, cups his palms around your jaw so tightly you can’t even think about pulling away from him, but you kiss back with the same intensity. Makes his head spin at the sheer way you reciprocate, doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed like this before. Like your life depends on it. As if you intended to take the breathe from his lungs, trying to portray your emotions through your lips.

The past months poured out of his chest and into your pretty mouth, but your own desires fill his chest, leave him impossibly warm and full. The pain of just looking, watching for so long without being able to touch or taste had him digging shallow indents into your skin, didn’t want to let go. Though you don’t seem to mind his strong hold, only cling to him in turn, curling your arms around his neck. Trying to pull him closer as if your proximity wasn’t nearly enough.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He rasps against your lips, hot air blowing over your cheeks.

“Thought I was making it pretty clear,” You chuckle lightly, “Figured you didn’t want me like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Simon says, “You don’t get it.”

Presses his lips against yours again, even if he has more he wants to say. Doesn’t exactly know how to balance pouring his heart out to you and sealing your mouths as one. So, he tries to do both, breathing hushed words between kisses.

“Thought it was too good to be true. You don’t get it,” He repeats, because, really, he thinks you don’t understand.

Don’t understand that he thinks you’re too good for him. That it doesn’t make any sense that someone like you would want someone like him. Broken and damaged when you were anything but.

Accepted what you were willing to give him without pressing for more, even if he wanted to fuse himself with every dimple and blemish on your body. He almost doesn’t believe it. It’s not what he deserves, some educated man should be in his spot. A man that isn’t tainted in filth and blood.

A better man.

And yet, you kiss him like he is the only who deserves you. Look up at him like he hung the fucking stars. He would— if he could, string them bright and twinkly above your pretty head.

Doesn’t think you truly understood how much his fingertips ached everytime he forced them to clench onto something other than your soft body. How hard he had to dig his teeth into his knuckles when he climbed into bed after he shared dinner with you. Stomach still full, pretty voice still ringing in his ears, cock heavy in his palms.

“You’re all I wanted,” He confesses, “Wanted to come home to you every day.”

Don’t understand that he never wanted anything more.

“And what if I did have a boyfriend?” You ask, “Would you just let me go that easily?”

Can’t help the way he holds you a little tighter. Something possessive burns in his throat now that he knows the taste of your lips.

“Don’t wanna think ‘bout that. Doesn’t matter anymore. I have you now, don’t I?” He grunts against your neck, breath warm on your skin, “Riley and I were yours, always. Tried to show you that.”

Your next words— if you can call them that, are nothing more than breathless quakes. Make his cock throb painfully in his pants; you’ve been nothing, but sensible, sophisticated, but now you sound so frail, impatient.

“Show me then, Simon.”

The way your gaze sharpens is cue enough for him, doesn’t need to be told twice. Won’t miss another opportunity or wait another second to make you his. He wasn’t exactly eloquent, couldn’t express what he wanted with his words. Opts to use his roughened hands the only way he knows how.

Takes your plump thighs into his hold because as much as he’d like to bend you over his kitchen counter, lap at your pussy like all the endless pies you’ve made him, he’d much rather prove he could satisfy you in his bedroom. Fuck you wet and sticky into his mattress.

It’s a mess of limbs, stumbling down the hall as you plea his lips not to leave yours for more than a second. He almost stops at his couch, bumping clumsy into it on his venture, but he decides splitting you in two over the arm would be for another day.

The kiss turns lewd as he carries you, smacking lips messily, saliva sloppily smeared against tongues and roofs of mouths, teeth knocking together. Though it doesn’t deter you, only slot your lips against his more earnestly. Barely manages to drop you onto his bed before you’re pawing at him to join you.

Yanks your clothes off like they personally offended him, feet and arms getting stuck in the tangles of clothes. His own follow soon at your sweet request, both of you stripped to your underwear.

It’s almost impossible to keep his hands on just one part of your body. Probably spends entirely too long palming your round breasts, pinching your pert nipples, kneads the doughy meat of your sides and hips. Large hands everywhere and nowhere at once, like he needed to touch every inch of your body, wasn’t enough until he did. Hypnotized by the way your supple flesh spills between his fingers, how you arch into his touch with breathy whines.

It’s overwhelming being able to touch you however he pleases after holding back for so long. Makes his touch that much more firm, calloused and scarred fingers scratching your smooth skin. Can’t fucking decide what he wants to do first because he wants to do all of it.

But when he descends between your body, peeling your underwear off so you lay bare for him, and his eyes land on your pussy, soaked and pretty for him, he loses all reason.

He spreads your thighs wide, must be hovering close, feel his hot breath on your wet cunt because you whimper a quiet ‘oh Simon, please.’

And because he can’t deny his girl of anything, especially when you ask so sweetly, his tongue swipes between your folds, dragging slowly to your clit. Something carnal washes over him as he repeats the motions like he’s pussy-drunk, intoxicated by the pretty noises you let slip past your lips.

Surprises himself when he groans deep and beastly against your sensitive flesh. Hadn’t even realized he had been making noises between each wet lap and harsh suck. Too inebriated by your arousal, melting on his tongue smoother than any plate you’ve placed in front of him.

Spreads your glistening cunt open between his thumbs, burying your face into the pillows from the way he openly examines you. Breaking you down and peeling you apart under his intense stare. He doesn’t mind too much, not when he drags a finger between your folds, dipping the full length into you. Causes you to snap your head forward, give him such a pretty moan when he plunges a second finger in. Spongy walls popping around his thick digits, slowly works you stretched and opened. Until he could comfortably burrow to the knuckle with each stroke.

Deliberately kept it slow, drawing out each glide so only his fingertips remained. Took his time breaking through your wet entrance, enjoyed the desperate little mewls you released above him too much to give you anything more. Strong and deft hands bring his pure girl ecstasy, gentle despite the way he’s used them to hurt others.

Wasn’t pleased until your thighs began to tremble either side of his head, hoists them on his shoulders to settle them. Smushed his face against the fat of your thigh, decorated the skin in his lips and teeth.

“More, more mmph— Simon, please.”

Can’t hide the smile that breaks across his lips, pressed teeth to your thigh from the way you whimpered his name. Sounded so pretty coming from your lips, begged so sweetly for him. He rewards you, wraps the cushion of his lips around your swollen clit and smothers his tongue over the bead in calculated strokes.

Your hips buck away from his stimulation, loud cry muffled against the sheets when he suctions the bead. A firm arm bands around your waist, holds you down to take it, wouldn’t let you escape his grasp that easy. Doesn’t stop until you finish on his tongue and around his fingers, hiccuping on your breaths as you stiffen. Your palm wrapped tightly around his wrist on your hip, dig indents into his flesh as he works you steady through it. Slick gathering in his palm and between his knuckles.

He rests between your thighs a little longer, not quite trying to overstimulate you, but rather staining your taste in his throat. Both of you basking in your orgasm.

When he crawls on top of you, you blink lazily at him, half-lidded and dilated. Swipe your thumb across his chin to wipe your collected slick off. He doesn’t let you move far, chases after your thumb and sucks it clean, makes you inhale a sharp breath through your teeth. Kisses the pad gently when he’s done, trails soft pecks down your palm and arm, over your shoulder to your chin. Stops when he reaches your lips, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb.

“Wanted to know how you tasted for so long,” He murmurs, lips brushing against yours with each word.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck, scratching at the short blonde hair, “Thought about you every night after dinner. Kept hoping you would just eat me instead.”

Simon’s eyes flutter, exhaling through his nose like a bull, “Was so hard to keep my hands to myself, you know that, sweetheart? Especially when you look like this.”

Emphasizes his words by squishing the plush of your hips, “Couldn’t stand thinking you were in some other blokes bed.”

Hooks his hand under your knee, pushing it higher slightly, adjusting his own hips between your legs. You’re soft and pliant, just how he imagined his girl would be, let him bend you how he sees fit.

“But you weren’t, were you?” He hums, “Just perfect and proper for me like always, huh?”

Nudges the bulb of his cockhead along your swollen folds, catching on your welcoming entrance.

You nod your head weakly, “Yes, Simon, only you.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck as he pushes forward. Puffy walls splitting open for him, stretch for his girth, slick aiding in the glide. Feels you dig your fingers into his shoulders, hears your breaths stutter in your throat. Purrs gentle praises into your ear to ease the thick stretch.

His pretty bird was such a good girl, wasn’t she? You can take it, knows you can.

Bottoms out in your pussy, gives you a minute to adjust before you’re slurring pleas against his neck. ‘Oh, Simon, s-so big. Feel so good, oh fuc- please move? Please, Simon?’

So he does, can’t hold back when you sound like that. Give you anything you ask for.

Grinds his hips shallow and slow, makes a steady pace of it. Tangles your legs around his hips, locking them at his back, keeps the two of you pressed together. Broad chest smashed against your smaller one, impossible to move far from your aching cunt. His strokes are languid, gentle. Softer than he’s used to, but he doesn’t intend to fuck the sensation away with hurried and inept thrusts.

He wants to remember how every ridge in your pussy feels, memorize and store each shuddered breath and strained moan you give him. Needs you to feel cherished, the way your warmth has made him feel for months. Wants you to feel each inch of him, molding your walls into his shape until it’s all you ever knew.

You seem to agree, only squeeze your legs tighter around him as if to keep him tucked to your cervix. Though it’s not like he could even imagine pulling away from your searing flesh, plans to keep himself buried inside your pussy for as long as he can.

It’s intimate, almost too tender, but not nearly enough at the same time. As if the way you cling desperately to him, keep him pressed skin to skin doesn’t appease your ache. Like the way his entire shaft finds a home in your pretty cunt isn’t close enough. Decides to intertwine the both of your fingers together, pulls you from his neck so he can rest his forehead against yours.

But your eyes flutter shut, brows furrowing together with each determined stroke. Kiss swollen lips caressing his with each mewl, joins the obscene noises in the room. A mixture of squelches and whined ‘Simon!‘

“What’s t’matter baby?” He coos, wipes the sweat-slicked hair on your temples, “Tell me, huh?”

“Simon, nmmf—oh god. Right there, please right there. Please, don’t stop.” You beg.

He doesn’t.

Fucks you through it, balls sticky with your slick.

“Yeah?” He hums, “Right there, baby? Liked that?”

Your voice cracks over a high-pitched moan, can’t answer with a full sentence when his fat cock plunges deep, rakes against the spongy flesh that has your toes curling and back arching. Watches as you unravel on his length, walls clinging to him after each drag. Mouth slacked when three fingers find your clit. Swipe steady strokes in tandem with his thrusts.

You finished just like that, wrapped around his cock, walls clenching painfully tight, spamming and twitching with each pulse. White froth gathering at the base of his cock.

“That’s it, there we go,” He praises, “My pretty fucking girl.”

Doesn’t even care how he sounds or really, think about the words spilling from his lips.

“So good for me, yeah? She takes me so well,” He continues, talks you through your orgasm, words slurred, “Such a good girl. My sweet girl. Gonna make you all mine.”

You nod frantically babble for him to. Tell him you want nothing more than to be his. And he has every intention to, buries himself to your cervix and paints you as his.

It takes him a moment, bodies still conjoined between your legs even though he went soft long ago. Fingers still intertwined beside your pretty head, basking in your warmth and sweet kisses. Separating is difficult, but the moisture begins to dry tacky on your skin, sticky between your thighs. Becomes uncomfortable, so the two of you take a shower, wash each other clean.

Pride beats his ego when he has to keep an arm around you. Standing under the water, legs numb beneath you. And because you’re too sweet for him, you scratch his scalp while he holds you close. Mollifies under your touch, water drenched kisses shared between quiet giggles.

You return to the bed with him once again. Pulls your bare skin flush against his, tucks your head under his chin, arms banding your hips. Holds you tight through the night, possessive and protective. Doesn’t plan to ever let go. Not when his terribly cold bed melts warm in your presence. Sheets encased in your heat, stinging his fingertips and toes. It’s almost too hot, palms clammy against your pretty skin, but he doesn’t pull away.

Doesn’t care that sweat beads at his back when this is the closest his bed has felt like a bed and not a mattress with coiled springs and worn duvets. The most his house has felt like a home instead of four walls of brick and drywall.

Sleep doesn’t come easy, not when he wants to savor the moment for as long as he can, but your warmth lulls his eyes heavy and tired.

When the morning comes, he thinks it might be a sweet dream— a rare occurrence in his mind. But there you lay, fast asleep in his arms still. He can’t keep his hands to himself when he sees you. Meaty paws trace your figure, pushes the blanket low so he could get a pretty view of your smooth skin.

His touch rouses you, shifting in his arms to turn your backside to him. Mumble a groggy morning to him, muffled against his pillows.

You’re even more malleable than last night, lift your leg so sweetly for him when his hand descends between your thighs because he thinks he might be addicted to you. Whimper quietly into the sheets when he slides home, fucks you lazy and slow. Little more than sex, just wants to relish in your warmth.

Gets to experience one of the lazy Sundays he always watched you take from afar, except now he’s participating. Glass barrier nonexistent, not when you’re in his bed, whining his name against his lips.

Shatters it for him, makes his house a home.

The weekend ends too soon, isn’t ready to leave your cocoon quite yet, but you wake up beside him when Monday morning comes. Ask if him and Riley are going to join you on your run.

They do.

He was sure Riley wouldn’t want anything more.

Leaving each other for work proves difficult, almost stays so he could remain in your contented warmth. He doesn’t, bleeds the taste of your lips in his mouth instead.

And when he does return home, he returns to you and Riley. Greet him with a pretty smile just like you always do, place a plate of fresh food in front of him. Eat dinner together, like you two always used to, Riley snuggled on your couch, but now instead of walking across the street, he stays.

Thank you so much for all the likes/reblogs/comments! I’m so happy you guys enjoyed it as much as I have! 🍒💌❤️

Cross posted on my Ao3 here, as well as all my other fics!

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[dragon-of-grandeur]

I'm not sure you understand.

I'm not sure you understand how excruciatingly lonely someone can be.

How lonely do you think you'd be if you grew up hearing every day that your opinion didn't matter? That no one would be attracted to you because you're too chubby? How embarrassing your own mother thought you were? How your accomplishments were pathetic compared to hers? Hearing about all of the things that were so incredibly wrong with you. Hearing how much of a disappointment you turned out to be.

How lonely do you think you'd be if the only people available to make friends with cared exclusively about the one thing you couldn't do no matter how hard you tried? If everything you ever cared about was considered evil and got taken from you the moment you found it? What if you knew that the moment you were finally free to be a person, everyone you ever loved would abandon you for it? That they would decide they never wanted to see or speak to you again? Every single one. What if you realized you were alone before that even happens? What if you realized all the love you've ever experienced in life was fake?

How lonely do you think you'd be if you grew up so different from everyone else around you that you didn't even feel human? What if you were made to believe that you didn't deserve to exist? What if you were told you were going to die a horrific death for being everything you were inside?

How lonely would you be if you spent every night terrified and trying desperately to cover up your sobbing because you can't tell anyone about any of it?

What would you do?

What would you do to have a friend? What would you do to have anyone? How desperate do you think you'd be? How would you even accomplish that if you weren't allowed to talk to anyone else outside of your family and their friends? Where could you possibly find someone else to connect with someone as awkward, strange, angry, and sad as you? Someone who could know about all of the things inside of you and still love you.

I made someone.

I gave him my passion, my strength, my courage, my confidence, my sense of adventure, my stubbornness, my sense of loyalty, my sense of humor. I gave him my love of dinosaurs, my love of cars, my love of horror movies, my love of 80's music. I had his entire life figured out. I named him. I thought of him whenever I was lonely, which was always. He was the only way I could safely love and be loved by in return. He never went away. Why would he? He's my best friend.

What good would memory barriers have done? How useful would it be if we didn't even get along? What purpose would there be if it caused me any distress to have Alex?

True loneliness can be traumatizing.

Non-disordered plurality can exist.

Created headmates can be life saving.

[sevenslayerdip]

“Crush” is infamous in the fandom for its heavy-handed wink at the camera, when Tara makes these thinly veiled comments about Spike:

“No, see, it can't end like that, because all of Quasimodo's actions were selfishly motivated. He had no moral compass, no understanding of what was right. Everything he did, he did out of love for a woman who'd never be able to love him back. Also, you can tell it's not gonna have a happy ending when the main guy’s all bumpy.”

She’s referring to Victor Hugo’s Notre-Dame de Paris, and the description of Quasimodo—while sort of analogous to Spike, particularly for their shared “bumpy”-ness—feels off, but the comparison outside of this narrow lens is actually pretty fruitful.

Admittedly, my knowledge of Notre-Dame de Paris stems from my High School French class and a quick refresher on Wikipedia. I initially looked into this a little bit because the description of Quasimodo’s love as selfish didn’t seem accurate—my strongest memory is that the novel ends with Quasimodo interring himself along with Esmeralda’s body, letting himself die with her. While self-sacrifice can, I’m sure, be selfishly motivated, I don’t think the final note of the text was ever supposed to feel hollow—and I don’t think it would be as influential a text as it is if audiences interpreted it that way. Even the construction of Tara’s opinion feels off on this point, implying that unrequited love is necessarily selfish. There are many ways that one may be selfish in love, but whether or not that love is returned isn’t a factor.

The one point in her statement that feels apt, but applied with (comically) too much moralizing, is the assertion that Quasimodo lacks a moral compass. He does, but this usage carries a lot of weight (it’s the sort of language used to condemn someone for being evil—lacking a moral compass is usually shorthand for being nefarious) that doesn’t necessarily apply to Quasimodo. The key issue has to do with the way that Quasimodo interacts with the world, and in this way there is a very clear parallel to Spike: he quite literally cannot tell the difference between good and evil. It’s unfortunate that this point is couched within the inaccurate accusation of selfishness, because it distorts the way in which this actually a barrier in a relationship.

To majorly summarize the relevant point: through a series of events, Esmeralda is at risk for execution and hiding at the Notre Dame with Quasimodo. The Roma come to rescue Esmeralda, but Quasimodo believes they’ve come to kill her, and so he fights them off. Subsequently, the King sends soldiers to take Esmeralda to be executed, and Quasimodo thinks they’re trying to save her, so he lets them in. (Another character, Frollo, whom Quasimodo notably loves and trusts, has already taken Esmeralda to be hanged.)

Quasimodo cannot tell the difference between the good guys and the bad guys, which means he’s not capable of keeping Esmeralda safe. It’s a pretty clear reflection of what would be the core issue with Spike, particularly as it is explored in “Crush” (and becomes even more evident in the sixth season). While the function of soul remains unclear throughout the show, we can generally understand the lack-of-a-soul as the inability to appropriately or independently differentiate between good and evil. (This is a deep philosophical divide between Spike and a character like Buffy, who is guided first and foremost by her instinctual morality, but still operates more as an abstract concern than a practical one.) However, “Crush” provides an exploration of this quality specifically as it manifests in Spike within romantic relationships. Throughout the episode, Spike fails to distinguish between love and violence. He confuses confessions of love and threats of murder, using them almost interchangeably: killing Drusilla would serve as evidence of his love for Buffy and he wants Buffy to admit feelings for him under threat of death. Even his shrine to Buffy is a reflection of this, that he acts out devotion by violating Buffy’s privacy. There’s something here incredibly reminiscent of Quasimodo thinking that the King’s soldiers will protect Esmeralda. It’s not maliciousness but danger born of fundamental failure to understand the world.

I’m not necessarily an advocate for Spike getting a soul (once again, I find its function in the text a little too nebulous and I have a personal moral opposition to a philosophical system that excludes any group from having the capacity for goodness, or one that makes a distinction between being good and doing good). However, this parallel between Buffy and Notre-Dame sets it up well. Spike, like Quasimodo when he finally turns against the villainous Frollo, has the ability to change, to gain the ability to distinguish between the good guys and the bad guys. (It’s interesting that when Spike returns with his soul, his first challenge is precisely that: it’s like The First has taken away the ability he earned when he won his soul, confusing his perception of good guys and bad guys.) With this lens, Spike’s flaw is damning in the short term, but plants the seeds for a future redemption. The issue with Spike isn’t selfishness, but rather a deficit that this universe actually has a means to overcome.

Regardless of the way that we interpret Quasimodo’s love, though, the parallel between he and Spike sets up an important difference. When Buffy dies at the end of the fifth season, Spike doesn’t simply die with her. Instead—instead!—he works to do the sort of good that he believes Buffy would have wanted. If Spike’s love did indeed begin selfishly, it is now something else: there’s nothing to be gained by staying in Sunnydale, helping the Scoobies, and taking care of Dawn. There’s no more of Buffy’s love to be won, right? He seems to have taken his love and channeled it into something productive, in an attempt to honor her memory (or maybe as evidence of the way in which he was, in fact, changed by loving her).

There are other comparisons to Notre-Dame de Paris that are relevant to “Crush”: the episode features imprisonment and (attempted) execution, and the relationship between Spike and Dru would seem a close parallel to that of Quasimodo and Frollo, which is about negotiating loyalty with morality. He owes everything to Dru—his unlife, literally—but she wants him to do evil things, which now conflict with his heart. Namely, she wants him to spurn Buffy, whom he now loves, and kill people, which he seems to have developed a newfound ambivalence toward, even if he is only motivated by its effect on Buffy’s opinion of him. And there are comparisons to the series at large. Esmeralda is seduced by the handsome and seemingly kind knight Phoebus, who abandons her after she has sex with him. She is also married to a man in whom she is uninterested, romantically or sexually. (You can draw your own conclusions.)

The most interesting comparison by far is one that also pertains to Spike and Buffy in the roles of Quasimodo and Esmeralda. In the novel, Quasimodo is left as a changeling for the infant Esmeralda, who is abducted from her home and then raised by the Roma. Their lives exist as two halves of the same coin. It’s a pretty compelling metaphor for the shadow self—and, of course, Spike operates as Buffy’s shadow from at least the fifth season onward. (He also functions as her shadow in the second season, and arguably in the fourth.) The more I thought about it, the more I fixated on the way that Quasimodo exists within the establishment but is spurned by the world, while Esmerelda is an outsider who is nearly universally beloved. Spike and Buffy also navigate belonging and estrangement together—Spike is exiled from the demon world, while Buffy is consistently concerned with the ways that she fails to fit into the “normal” world. And both of them seek to find answers to this problem through their romantic lives, with generally catastrophic results.

And, of course, ultimately, we don’t really care how bumpy the character is because we’re compelled by a love story.

[caprisinging]

In defence of Effie Trinket:

Effie Trinket is a character often dismissed at first glance. Many criticise her for not standing up to the Capitol or speaking out against its cruelty, but in doing so, they ignore the challenges she faces within her world. Effie is not evil like some other characters; instead, her behaviour is a result of the influence of a system designed to suppress critical thinking and maintain order through relentless propaganda. Her naïve outlook is not a deliberate choice but the product of a carefully controlled and unnatural environment, highlighting how deeply the Capitol’s lies are ingrained in its citizens.

Growing up in the Capitol, Effie was surrounded by wealth and privilege but also by ignorance. The suffering of the districts was either hidden from her or framed as justified punishment, ensuring she remained detached from the inhumanity of the Hunger Games. To Effie, escorting children to the Games wasn’t an act of cruelty but an act of civic duty to maintain peace and order, an idea instilled in her by the Capitol’s propaganda. She genuinely believes that the Games are for the greater good because that is what she has always been taught. To hold her fully accountable for her complicity is to ignore the systemic barriers that shape her view.

It’s also important to recognise how easy it is to apply a modern outlook to The Hunger Games. In today’s society, people are less susceptible to propaganda because they live in countries where free speech and access to differing opinions are guaranteed. Social media, independent journalism, and just general dialogue allow ordinary citizens to challenge authority and advocate for themselves. Effie’s worldview, however, is shaped entirely by Snow and the Capitol, leaving her no choice but to accept what she’s told as the absolute truth.

Even when Effie is exposed to glimpses of the Capitol’s violence and she interacts with people from the Districts, her understanding of the world remains limited. In Sunrise on the Reaping, Haymitch makes no effort to suggest that his family’s accident was actually punishment for his actions during his Games. In Catching Fire, after the execution of the old man in District 11, Katniss and Peeta lie to Effie, telling her the sound of gunfire was just a car backfiring. Katniss even implies that Haymitch scolds her for being rude to Effie during the Victory Tour, highlighting how deeply sheltered she is from reality—sheltered not only by the Capitol but also by the people outside it too.

This also ties into the broader message behind Sunrise on the Reaping. When Katniss and Peeta watch Haymitch’s Games on the train in Catching Fire, they accept it at face value. However, in Sunrise on the Reaping, it’s revealed that the broadcast of Haymitch’s Games had been heavily edited. If even Katniss and Peeta, who were aware of the Capitol’s cruelty, so readily accepted the Capitol’s version of events, why on earth would you expect Effie to question it? Why would she, even for a second, suspect that the Capitol was lying to her?

Effie’s moral blindness raises important questions about responsibility. Her actions contribute to the Capitol’s oppressive system, but they are shaped by her upbringing and the limited perspective she has of the world. Her loyalty to the Capitol stems not from malice but from unwilling ignorance. Even Katniss admits she might have behaved like Effie and the other stylists if she had grown up the way they had, highlighting how environment shapes morality. Effie’s life, like that of many privileged people today, is a clear example of moral luck, the idea that a person’s choices are often determined by circumstances they had no say in.

Furthermore, comparisons between Effie and other Capitol characters often overlook key details from the books. People criticise Effie for not rebelling, pointing out that characters like Plutarch Heavensbee, who also comes from the Capitol, chose to rebel. However, unlike Plutarch, who comes from a wealthy family and holds a position within President Snow’s inner circle, Effie lacks the same level of privilege or access to the upper echelons of the Capitol’s society. As noted in Sunrise on the Reaping, her family name is in disgrace, limiting her social standing and keeping her preoccupied with surface-level concerns like fashion and etiquette to avoid falling further out of grace. This isolation allows her to absorb the Capitol’s propaganda uncritically. In contrast, Plutarch’s firsthand exposure to Snow’s ruthlessness—his purging of officials and his manipulation of the media—may have contributed to his rebellious nature. Effie’s lack of knowledge, therefore, makes her more susceptible to the Capitol’s narrative and less likely to challenge it.

It’s also worth noting that, even if Effie had wanted to rebel, she wouldn’t have been able to accomplish anything meaningful. Effie was an escort. What exactly could she have done? She couldn’t rig the reapings or refuse to do her job because, ultimately, as sad as it is, two children from District 12 would have been sent to the Games every year regardless. There was no real effective course of action she could have taken that wouldn’t have just led to her dying in vain.

[dev-mars]

Malachi being 900 years old is crazy. I love him but that makes no sense. How is he literally not completely insane after being isolated by himself for that long. He was slightly evil for little bit but like he just acts like a normal kid. Plus, language changes so rapidly the gang probably wouldn’t even be able to understand Malachi. He would basically be speaking a whole different language.

Honestly, if you wanted him to be from a different time period the story could be that he was basically dormant or asleep for most of the 900 years then he gets awoken. Maybe he wakes up because Irene was reborn as Aphmau and this caused the balance of the entire world to shift. Then when Aphmau meets Malachi she’s the only one who can understand him because she can still understand languages that Irene knew. That would give Malachi a good reason to latch on to Aphmau so much. It would also make Aphmau feel directly responsible for him because she’s one of the few people easily able to connect with him.

Like, Aphmau is kind enough to take in any child she meets but I think it would be interesting to make that situation more nuanced. Malachi desperately wants to form connections with other people and at first Aphmau is the only one who can give him that. This leads him to be more trusting of Aphmau. Also, I think it would be really cute for Laurance to try everything in his power to connect with Malachi despite there being a language barrier (probably all of the boys would do this but Laurance especially because he sees himself in Malachi and he stays with him at the castle.) I can picture him making a fool of himself like pretending to fall or making silly faces at him just to get Malachi to laugh. Then soon after the castle the group meets Lucinda who later can create a potion or enchant an amulet so Malachi can understand everyone. Eventually, he wouldn’t need it anymore because Zoey helps him learn to read and write. Zoey also understands what it’s like to be someone living outside of the regular passage of time so she would be able really understand how Malachi feels.

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ War Chapter 2

Trigger Warnings: None

It was cold, dark and empty. The wind was blowing. The trees shook. It was every and Lucas was all alone outside his home. There was no mum nor Dad there with him. There was no Moon. Only him. It was only him walking through the trees, bare footed. The leaves crunched under his feet the further he went. The deeper he went into the woods. All of a sudden he was back at the haunted house. The house that was trapped in spirits because of an alpha named Hongjoong once meddled with witches and killed omegas, trapping their souls deep within the spiritual barrier. They learned the lore at werewolf school but everyone thought it was a spooky horror story and none of it ceased to exist.

"Lucas." The wind called. "Lucas come here." The wind called again. "Lucas. Come inside. It's cold outside." The wind said, luring Lucas into the house. The house smelled damp and rotten. It smelled like a place of executioners. A place where souls were murdered. A place of torment. Lucas walked into the house and up the stairs, following the light. The floorboards creaked underneath him with every step that he took. "Come here little apex." The voice called out, making Lucas stop. The young man had his back to him. He was by the fireplace, watching, curiously. The man had blackened hair like his soul. His shirt was shredded from the last encounter he had. The last encounter with her.

Lucas crept forward and looked at him. The man was frozen like a painting. He did not move and he did not speak but Lucas got a good look at him. His face was slim and he had high cheekbones. If he smiled there would be a dimple somewhere. If he laughed it would surely look possessed. His neck down to his chest had scratches, making the young apex want to reach out to see, but he stopped himself. All of a sudden the man moved and turned away slowly, waiting for the apex to follow. Lucas followed him down the stairs slowly, when the man spoke. "I once had a lover. My sweet omega. She had a fiery heart with passion. She was my best friend. She would always wake up early to bake me cookies. She tended to my pack until her soul was taken from me." The man said sadly. "What happened to her? Your lover?" Lucas asked, following the man. "What do you know about Hongjoong, Lucas? Did you know his lover's soul was taken by another alpha? That he possessed her brain. Manipulated her and then she was gone." The man cried. Tears of blood streamed down his face. "Are you Hongjoong?" Lucas asked. "Yes." Hongjoong turned around. "Her soul changed. It turned evil because he was evil. She didn't know who I was when she was taken. She was gone." "I'm sorry!" Lucas apologised. He didn't know what to say to the heartbroken man.

Lucas thought Hongjoong was executed for playing with dark magic and killing omegas. Lucas didn't know why Hongjoong was calling him for his help. "Please believe me. I want to be buried. I don't want to be trapped in these walls anymore. Will you help bury my body so I can move on?" Hongjoong begged. Dropping at the young boy's feet. "There is a way to get my body out and set me free. All you need is yourself and your brother Moon to help. On the next full moon come to me. Step into the fog and I will reach out. Pull my body out and then bury me in the back garden. Do not tell anyone. Elders and alphas believe I was evil but it was the werewolf pack that stole her. Please help me!"

Lucas shot up sweating profusely. He hadn't experienced a dream so real before that it shook him up. He didn't understand what was going on. First, the weird house he and Moon fell upon, then the dream. None of it made sense to him. Lucas shook his head when he heard his father demanding him. "What?!" Lucas shouted. "Don't 'what' me. Your mother has called you five times this morning." His father said. "Yeah. Let me get dressed." Lucas groaned when his father opened the door making him glare. His father had long curly hair that was slightly dishevelled and his eyes looked tired as if he was sick and tired of shouting at Lucas for getting up late every day. "What's the matter with you?" His father asked. "Bad dream. Can I get changed or are you gonna watch?" Lucas said plainly. "Enough of the attitude." His father said and left the room making Lucas roll his eyes.

Lucas spent the whole weekend feeling tired and his mother thought he may have gotten sick. Apparently, there was a werewolf viral infection going around so by Monday he was in bed with his mother checking his temperature. His mother was the most beautiful woman he had seen except for the girl in the werewolf lore class. She was cute too. "You're not hot." His mother said as she felt his head. "Are you cold?" "No mum. I promise. I think it's a stomach bug!" Lucas assured. He didn't want his mother to baby him. He wanted to prove to his mother he was strong and sickness wasn't anything that would stop him. But that dream. That forsaken dream bothered him. Moon had even suggested talking to his father, Jeongin, about it but he didn't want to. Technically he was closer to Father Felix but he didn't want to burden him with such dreams. "Mum," Lucas called out before his mum could escape and get some soup for him. "Do you think the lore about Ateez is true? Someone didn't lie did they?" Lucas watched his mother's face shift quickly and she shook her head. "No. It is the truth. Only focus on it for your test. Don't ask questions." His mother said plainly. He couldn't even ask her because she was so dismissive. Even his father's would be the same. Why would they teach about a topic they wouldn't speak about at home? Why was it so taboo?

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@silentreadersthings @ihrtlix @galaxy4489 @catlove83 @linocz @eastjonowhere @hyunmikim @hpnsfwaddict @tsunderelino @multistan248

[a-chaotically-small-lunta]

Okay okay, so we all know the idea of like tiny aliens crashing in a humans yard. With said aliens being either a pilot who had a crash landing, or a team of scientists studying a new world. But what about an escape pod type situation.

Picture it! One day a person is just minding their business maybe they’re gardening outside or typing away at a computer when suddenly something crashes near them (Rip the window if they were inside)looking over they see a crashed alien space ship. Except it’s not slim like the movies and doesn’t even have guns on the side, at least visibly. It’s more bulky and more the size of a decent size rock, one requiring two hands at least. Anyway, a hatch opens and two small aliens step out holding strange weapons (cause ya know aliens) and they look around before seeing the human. Both sides freak out. The tiny aliens shout something back into the ship as they stand guard, but they are shaking.

The person after shaking of the shock of “holy shit aliens are real and they just ruined my roses” notices that the aliens aren’t wearing proper space suits, Nothing fancy at least, but rather normal clothing. No belts, no fancy equipment, something a more day to day person would wear; but what do they know about alien culture. Perhaps more then they think as they notice that through a few of the windows or even on the opened hatch, a few more aliens are appearing, looking out to gaze at the strange huge world they crashed on. That’s when the human figures out that this space ship isn’t for battle, transporting goods, or science. It’s most likely an escape pod, and a big one. Think ships that would transport immigrants to their new home but ya know space. That explains why the two “guards” aren’t trained, it probably wasn’t a super important ship and probably carried whatever the alien equivalent to a lower class was. Maybe this is reflected in the design of the ship, with it not being super fancy or have weapons.

Either way there are still aliens in the persons home. Maybe the human lowers themself down trying to be non-threatening towards the aliens. There’s clearly a language barrier and probably a non-verbal language barrier too. Perhaps the human decides they want to help the aliens and find out what happened. Destroyed home world? Escape of an evil Monarchy? Space Nazis? Who knows!

Somehow the aliens trust the human through very slow non-verbal communication with a few miscommunications with said communication. (How were they supposed to know that the hands up wasn’t peace but meant hungry?) Either way, the pick up the spaceship and all its passengers and puts them in a safer place. Let’s say the aliens and the human build a friendship, even though communication may not be possible, the two species learn a to understand and communicate anyway. Maybe through time the aliens and the human build a small city or settlement for all the aliens who arrived on the ship. Maybe using a pool table and a train table as a base and just slowly expanding to accommodate the growth.

Who knows what happens next. Perhaps they help the aliens rebuild their ship and fit it with a defense system, so that they can continue their journey, and maybe a few decide to stay with the human. Maybe the house is passed down from generation to generation, keeping the aliens secret until they decide it’s time to leave or simply becomes impossible due to population size. Perhaps the government gets involved and our once average human joe has to go and save all their tiny alien friends!

Just tiny aliens. Not all of them have to be scientists and pilots. Some are just people looking for a better place to live

[sylvia-forest]

[CN] Shaw's Dual Cultivation Pact Date - Part 2

⚡Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Date which hasn’t been released in EN yet!⚡

Proceed at your own risk, I guess? 😂 Although it's not that spicy but still, a warning is a warning 🤭

[Section 3]

A month had passed since I had "swept Shaw out the door," and he had not come back since.

He might also feel a bit embarrassed and angry.

MC: But you can't blame me for this; anyone who heard such words would… Villager: What did you say?

I realized that I had gotten distracted thinking about Shaw again, so I quickly cleared my throat and refocused my attention.

MC: It's nothing. You just said that there was evil energy surging under the mountain? Villager: That’s right! I don’t know what happened this time, but the formation barriers you set up don’t seem to have any effect!! Villager: Although Taoist Master Shaw doesn’t permit us to come to find you, we saw his condition and it was truly… MC: Shaw? What happened to him?

Startled, I interrupted him. The villagers were surprised to see me speaking so urgently and were taken aback, but they still answered honestly.

Villager: Wasn't it you who sent Master Shaw down the mountain to help us exorcize demons and spirits? There have been too many demons recently, and he has been busy running around everywhere. Villager: Perhaps it's because he's been working too hard. In the past month, Master Shaw's temper has become increasingly bad, and his methods for exorcizing demons have become more and more…

The villager hesitated, stammering as they began to speak.

Villager: It feels like... Master Shaw is showing signs of being possessed by demons. MC: ...possessed?!

Seeing me gasp, the villager began to sweat profusely, and their speech quickened.

Villager: We know that Master Shaw is a good person! But we're just afraid that if he starts treating people like this in the future… Villager: Ahem, what I mean is that we are worried about Taoist Master Shaw, so, that’s why we want to ask you to come out and help your disciple! Villager: If he really does something irreversible, it would tarnish the good name of Fairy MC! MC: ...I understand. MC: I'll handle the matter with Shaw. After you go down the mountain, instruct everyone not to go out today. Villager: Yes, I'll go right away!

The villager breathed a sigh of relief, thanked me profusely, and left.

I lowered my eyes and counted with my fingers.

MC: On the seventh day of the seventh month, when the yin energy is at its peak... It turns out it's already come to this.

I gathered my loose hair, secured it with a blue lotus Taoist crown, picked up my horsetail whisk, and headed out the door.

Demons' aura. A sky-high demonic presence.

The setting sun was like blood, with white bones hanging from withered branches, and ghostly flames mingling with cooking smoke.

The mortals had long since shut their doors tightly, afraid to speak carelessly. In the distant mountains, unknown creatures were making sharp, piercing cries.

After hiding away on the mountain for so long, I've almost forgotten that the outside world is actually like this purgatory.

MC: I really miss the old Qixi festivals... That was the true human scene.

I murmured in contemplation as I began to search for Shaw's presence.

The flower scent was wrapped in a heavy stench of blood, making it appear both gaudy and acrid.

MC: Shaw?

Soon, I caught the faint scent of familiar Tumi flowers near the abandoned cemetery in the southeast.

?.?: For every person you've harmed, I'll cut off one of your claws. It's actually a favor to you. ?.?: ...Regardless of whether you've done evil during this time, I find you displeasing now, so I want to eliminate you. Is that not allowed? ?.?: Want to beg for mercy now? It’s no use.

I couldn't make out what the demon was shouting, but Shaw's voice came through clearly from the graveyard, each sentence ending with a distinct note of pleasure.

In the next moment, a scream pierced the air, and the stench of blood grew even stronger.

My heart sank and I hurried over.

Boom— —

Thunder rumbled ominously, and flashes of lightning crisscrossed the sky. In the intermittent light, a tall, slender figure stood firmly in the center.

Around him are the remains of monsters and demons, and the young man stands amidst a sea of blood. At this moment, he does not seem like a righteous defender of justice, but more like…

Bloodthirsty demon.

...Shaw's cultivation has already reached its peak.

I watched the scene before me with my heart racing, almost stirring up some repressed impulse.

Shaw's God-striking Whip was swinging continuously in his hand, while a demon beast dodged left and right. In the end, it was struck by a bolt of lightning and was obliterated with a scream.

Shaw: I said it was useless, so why bother running?

Shaw's brows and eyes were full of exuberance, with a smile of extreme pleasure at the corner of his mouth, as he reveled in the brutal scene.

Shaw: I'm in a very bad mood this month. I can only say that you are unlucky and happened to meet me.

As he spoke, he took out the talisman and chanted the incantation.

[He recites an incantation here which is kinda hard to translate]

——He wants to summon the Five Gods of Thunder?! Just to annihilate these monsters?!

Without a moment's hesitation, I waved my whisk and immediately sealed the talisman he was about to ignite.

It was only then that he noticed my presence. In an instant, Shaw's gaze was more dazzling than lightning, nearly blinding me.

Shaw: .......You are finally willing to come. MC: ….Shaw!

I stretched out my hand towards him and spoke hastily.

MC: You can't kill anymore now, otherwise you will become a demon! MC: Come with me, I'll help you stabilize your Taoist mind!

Shaw stared at me intently, and after a while, he finally broke into a smile.

Shaw: Good.

Before he finished speaking, he fell forward.

I quickly teleported over to support him. Even through the layer of clothing, I could feel how intensely hot his body was.

MC: ….It can’t be delayed any longer.

I no longer hesitated and took Shaw to a broken house near the mass grave and began to set up formations for him.

Shaw [in pain]: Mm—

In the instant the light flared, a look of pain immediately appeared on Shaw's face.

MC: Is it difficult? Just bear with it a little longer…

Shaw [breathing heavily]: Not uncomfortable.

Shaw interrupted my words, breathing heavily.

Shaw [hesitantly]: I thought...I thought you didn't want to see me anymore

My breath caught, and I instinctively wanted to respond to the unspoken feelings before me.

However, Shaw's vibrant, living form and the red cinnabar symbols that had fallen around him reminded me of my true purpose for coming here.

MC: How could this be?

Another yellow talisman fell, and the dense array of runes bound Shaw, leaving him unable to move.

My fingers gently caressed his heaving chest and came to rest on his heart.

MC: You are my most precious furnace, why don’t I come to see you?

The light from the talisman illuminated the dim old house and also lit up my path.

A black crane perches on the hem of my skirt, its wings poised to fly.

—

[Section 4]

After Shaw heard what I said, a smile appeared on his lips.

Shaw [In a light voice + breathing heavily x1]: Fairy Xuanhe, you finally don’t want to pretend anymore? MC: The goal has already been achieved; why pretend?

I casually replied to him while drawing symbols, as if we were in my courtyard rather than this run-down house.

MC: I was surprised. When did you know about it? Shaw [x2]: Known it from the beginning.

My fingers paused. He raised his eyebrows at me triumphantly.

Shaw [x3]: Back then, Fairy Xuanhe, burdened with too much bloodshed, was hunted down by ten righteous paths and fell into these mountains. Shaw [x4]: After just three to five years, a Taoist priestess named MC suddenly appeared in the mountains. Shaw [x5]: With profound skills and a kind heart, they set up great formations to protect the safety and security of the people around them. Shaw [x6]: It's really... admirable.

Shaw’s breathing was rapid. Although he was clearly talking about me, his tone was so mocking, as if he were recounting someone else’s story. I felt a surge of irritation rise from the bottom of my heart and couldn't help but retort.

MC: So, you were sent by those idiots to test me?

Shaw [coldly]: Do they even deserve it?

Shaw sneered and raised his chin.

Shaw [whispers]: I just wanted to see you myself.

His gaze slowly moved from my brows, down to my nose, to my lips, to my throat... Finally, as if discovering something, it settled on my heart.

Shaw: .....No wonder you have been staying in that yard and refused to come out. MC: I didn’t refuse to come out. Shaw: In fact, you sealed yourself in that courtyard. MC: I didn't… Shaw: The demonic aura has long invaded your heart and mind; you are the one who has fallen into darkness. MC: I'm just about to become a demon!

I blurted out, my anger surging suddenly. I reached out forcefully, intending to strangle the man in front of me who was spouting nonsense.

However, as soon as my fingertips touched the blood vessels on his neck, they were immediately burned and recoiled.

The burning pain brought me back to clarity. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm my emotions.

MC: Shaw, I’m just... about to fall into darkness. MC: And with you as the furnace here, I can definitely dispel all the demonic aura.

Shaw's throat moved slightly as if he had finally realized something.

Shaw [surprised]: You want to practice dual cultivation with me...? MC: What else?

I chuckled and slowly stretched out my arms to hug Shaw from behind.

The intense yang energy filled Shaw’s robust body, like a flame that would never extinguish.

The robe was exceptionally loose after the battle, but with a casual flick, it fell into place.

My fingers measured every inch of his hot skin, and the wonderful touch made me addicted.

MC: Life is so joyful in the mortal world; I have no intention of falling into darkness. MC: Over the years, I have devoted myself to research and finally invented a method of harmonizing yin and yang.

Shaw clearly remembered the books he had borrowed. He raised an eyebrow and made an effort to turn his head to look at me.

Shaw: Because demonic energy is extremely yin, you're planning to find an extremely yang 'container' to balance it out. MC: That's right.

I turned my fingers and lifted Shaw's chin with a whisk.

This is the first time I've seen my... cauldron up close.

From this angle, I noticed his eyelashes were so long, his nose bridge so straight, and there was a thin layer of sweat at the corners of his brows, fine and dense.

MC: Shaw, you came to me of your own accord. MC: It is you who want to practice my techniques.

I silently executed the spell and infused the final incantation into Shaw’s dantian.

The fragrance of tea flowers instantly filled every corner of the room.

I know it's ripe.

Shaw, with no strength to resist, was pressed to the ground by me.

On the Qixi festival, the day of extreme yin, with the body of extreme yang, everything was perfect.

My breathing was even faster than Shaw's. The demonic energy that had been suppressed for a long time was no longer in shackles of the seal. It was jolting left and right in my body and was in desperate need of an outlet.

MC: I…

I was like a moth endlessly circling, instinctively drawn to an untouchable blaze, yet fleeing in panic just a second before being consumed by the flames.

For a moment, I even felt that the decision to practice dual cultivation was extremely stupid.

Because it was too hot and painful.

I bit my lower lip and gripped Shaw's shoulders almost with hatred, my nails drawing faint blood marks on his skin.

——Why? Why should I go through this?

As the Xuanhe Fairy, I have always wanted to live according to my true nature and have never harmed a mortal.

Before the demonic energy entered my body, I was said to be weird, rebellious, and unreasonable; after the demonic energy entered my body, I was said to be cruel and suspected of evil intentions.

These fools have also pinned some baseless charges on me and summoned ten righteous factions to kill me...

Why should I endure this!

Unconsciously, blood began to seep into my vision, and the smell of blood rising in my throat gradually overpowered the floral scent, filling my nostrils.

Shaw: MC, MC….! MC: What?

Shaw called my name several times before I woke up from my daze and looked at him blankly.

He was sweating all over, gritting his teeth, and obviously felt uncomfortable, but his golden eyes were still bright, reflecting only my figure.

Even though I was in a mess and my blue lotus Taoist crown was crooked.

Shaw [HIS HOARSE VOICE SOUNDED SO ASKFSGH x1]: MC, give me your breath. MC: ....Transfer Qi?

My mind was so dizzy that I didn't even understand what these two words meant. Shaw suppressed his breath and sneered.

Shaw [x2]: If you want to practice dual cultivation, of course you have to transfer your Qi.

Oh, indeed, the breath could also settle into the lower abdomen. I thought groggily as I leaned closer to Shaw's lips.

In the instant our breaths intertwined, I was pulled into a vortex named Shaw. 

His tongue entwined with mine, then released, only to forcefully invade again, exploring every corner of my mouth, sending shivers down my spine. 

This wasn't me giving him air at all; it was clearly... him taking it from me.

The sound of the rubbing of clothes mixed with my heartbeat, infinitely amplified in my ears, and the burning sensation that was originally painful to me gradually became less unbearable.

At this moment, it seems that the vigorous yang energy and the deep yin energy have finally found a point of resonance, beginning to tentatively merge.

My vision kept wavering, and the scene before me became a kaleidoscope of colors. The painful memories of the past gradually receded like a retreating tide.

By accident, my mind suddenly recalled a small incident when the evil energy had not poured into China and everything was still too peaceful.

That day seemed to be the Qixi festival. I was wandering in the market and met a young man.

The young man said he had someone he loved and asked me if I had any spells that could help him.

What happened next? Did I help him…?

Shaw [annoyed]: You're distracted. MC: I didn't…

All my words were swallowed up by him, and Shaw didn't want to listen to me at all.

He inexplicably began to refuse to cooperate, causing the yin and yang energy that had already been harmonized to change suddenly. I couldn't help but want to hide, but my waist was firmly held by him.

MC: This… This is not right…

I clutched the nearly shapeless talisman papers tightly and spoke intermittently.

MC [blushing]: It should be me… MC [blushing]: It should be me taking your original yang energy; this is the only solution. Otherwise, I...!

I whimpered briefly, the stimulation was too strong and I had nowhere to escape, I could only scream like a rogue.

MC [blushing]: You are my furnace, you must be willing to help me achieve success!

Shaw [breathing heavily + that low seductive voice of his x1]: Who says I'm not willing?

Hot sweat and Shaw's voice both fell into my ears, as he chuckled softly.

Shaw [x2]: I realized... that although you are a talented demon practitioner, you’re also quite foolish. Shaw [x3]: Why do you think I've been practicing your techniques all along?

It's too hot. My mind can no longer understand his words; I just shake my head, trying to escape, but Shaw won't let me.

His lips repeatedly kissed my earlobe, whispering in the closest proximity.

Shaw [x4]: As I said, I will do my best and risk everything I have for the person I like.

Every time Shaw said a word, I felt the violent demonic energy in my body fade a little—

He didn’t have his original yang energy taken by me; instead, he used his yang energy to completely eliminate the demonic energy.

MC: You... you changed my technique? Were you deceiving me?!

Shaw [x6]: Is that not acceptable? Shaw [x7]: Who told you to lie to me back then?

Shaw lifted me up forcefully as if to punish me, and I fell into his tender kisses.

Shaw [x8]: On that Qixi Festival, I told you I liked you and asked if there was a spell to make you like me too. How did you respond? MC: What?

Was that boy Shaw?

My memory doesn’t quite match up with this. Could it be that the years of demonic energy have damaged my mind?

I was speechless and couldn't explain anything. Shaw’s chest rumbled with laughter as he smiled.

Shaw [x9]: Forget it if you don’t remember. Anyway, I already got what I wanted.

After all, I was pulled into the whirlpool by him again.

In the midst of the chaos, I almost had the illusion that Shaw had risked even more than I had imagined.

No, it's not an illusion.

MC: Shaw. 

I reached out my hand and brushed away Shaw's messy hair, wanting to look into his eyes again.

—

📿 Call 1

📿 Call 2

[sheepheadfred]

Ectoberhaunt Day 17: Cosmic Horror

Summary: All that exists continues to grow out of control without Balance. Human mortals threaten that in order to control for themselves.

Ao3 link

The endless expanse continues to stretch and yawn. Bigger and bigger yet never thinning. Never stopping.

A never ending hunger to grow.

All encompassing voids and those that fill it existing in every realm and dimension. Forever at war. Forever in a dance.

The void wanting to exist and expand and the something else desiring the same.

All things exist in twos.

Time and Space.

Matter and Void.

Light and Dark.

Life and Death.

The twos became a three to keep them from overtaking the other.

All existing yet in balance.

And sometimes Balance is given form to help the two opposite yet equal sides not overtake the other.

Those smaller things that cannot grasp Balance will always seek to harness one or the other. Sometimes both.

If they disrupt Balance too greatly, all will collapse for their section of reality. Reality as a whole will continue, but the wound may take a long time to heal.

Parts of Balance exist in smaller parts, unique shapes to the different realities.

Time can be in any form. In this reality they call themself Clockwork.

Clockwork is aware of the infinite, at least their section of it, and waits for Space to catch up. They can wait, as it will happen as it has many times before.

It only makes sense that Time's Balance, Space, will be in the mirror realm connected to theirs.

Space, Time's Balance, was reclusive like their counter. Reclusive, yet all encompassing. You cannot escape space just like you cannot out run time.

The small things inside Space, the ones calling themselves humans, wanted to break the delicate barrier into the realm that Time resides. The realm of the dead filled with the energy of death.

Mortals who lack understanding already thought they knew all about such matters. Assigning 'Good' and 'Evil' to things and belonging to a morality they themselves invented. When it is just the natural way of things. The expanse of Infinite does not account for things like 'Fairness' and 'Justice', only 'is' and 'must' and 'what never will' and potential. So much potential lost or gained from many variables.

The two mortals who had sought to understand and even erase the 'Evil' from death's hand. They managed to search into the unknown for answers and the speck they managed to see gave them none but a hunger for more. An unknown that was seen by three before death touched him and he drifted away.

The mortals slowly lost themselves in this worsening obsession. A portal. A permanent gateway between! This realm gained Time's interest from the beyond in them wanting to do so. A chance to understand death and appreciate life! Space was curious but Time was not so hopeful.

This gateway did succeed, but not in the way the mortal couple hoped for outside of their knowledge.

A young mortal, still and already but a boy had come into being as a paradox Time was fascinated with him long before they realized what it meant.

Balance had chosen an avatar.

Balance's avatar was a perfect balance between Life and Death with a love of Space and is loved by Time.

The boy, both mortal and dead, does his best to bridge the gap between both worlds. Allies and friends gained as he slowly unlearns the bias his parents forced on him.

But one boy is not enough to change the views of the world where adults assume they always know best.

Sad but true. Especially for him.

Tragedy of powerlessness in the ways that matter.

Time would see this coming and it still greatly saddens them.

Time and Space do their best to protect their Balance, a child blessed by both yet burdened by hardship. Force him into a new reality, one far from their corner of the infinite with only a few blessings and keepsakes from his allies before the end.

For now, a child sleeps in a state between all until it is safe for him to wake.

Humans always assume they know best.

The ones who have sway at least, in any case.

When they can't know or understand something they perceive as dangerous, they seek to destroy it.

They could always try to understand, but these humans who 'pulled the trigger', as their own kind would say, already made up their minds before trying to know the unknown and 'other' besides 'how dangerous' and 'how to destroy' and 'rip it open to see what ticks'.

When they set their sights on the infinite, it was bound to end badly. The only window they could see was their mirror world, home to the restless dead whom they have already labeled as 'Evil'.

They could only see 'Evil' in the dead without care to understand it, only wishing to destroy the 'Evil'. The mortals who ripped a hole between the veil were not the only ones who sought their own doom.

Balance's Avatar stopped it the first time they tried to erase their mirror realm, but they were more secretive and had more power to do so for the second time.

Mortals wearing white, a color of order and cleanliness, acted as if their souls were bleached of compassion as well. Empowered by the Orange and Teal veil rippers, instead of a human missile they used an insidious flower as a key component to aid their self destruction.

No matter how much the child of Balance tried, nothing could be done. No ally or former enemy alike could stop it.

They launched their weapon and ceased.

Between the milliseconds, Time- no Clockwork- could grab their precious chosen of Balance and save him of this fate.

Clockwork, the fragment of Time for this small corner of the infinite, was able to make one choice not pertaining to anything but affection for the child.

A favor? Mercy? Or a cruel sentence?

Maybe an act of Love?

Too late to wonder.

It's over.

The mortals and the dead in this corner of the infinite cease before anyone knew what had happened.

In between the seconds, only able to be counted by Time, faster than a thunder clap. Nothing could be done.

By trying to cut themselves off from death, to refuse it and any understanding that could be gained, they severed life. For how could a mortal understand or appreciate life without its cycle of grown, change, and decay as life comes to meet death if you erase the finish line that exists so new can replace the old?

All the death energy and the force of stolen life, the energy of life left to live for so many, backfired on them.

This section of eternity screamed in agony as it was ripped apart, yet the larger unknown reaches felt it more akin to a mosquito bite. Small and insignificant. A mild irritant that could bring greater agony if the fates were cruel enough.

Time's larger being felt bad for its partner, Space, but it knew for that small realm it was only a matter of 'when' and never 'if'. Not unless major changes were allowed.

Many different timelines continue on past that point, simultaneously ended, because mortals dared to see death and wish to conquer and destroy it. Gone mad from only a small fragment of the vast expanse.

They obsessed yet the beyond did not care.

It was only one fragment of the ever expanding whole.

Only Balance's Avatar, thrown far away from demise, was ever proof the doomed realms ever existed.

[yakool-foolio]

(??? Route, 2nd Playthrough, up to Day 12)

Choices made:

Spare Eito

Reveal Takumi's Secret

Save Second To Last Defense Academy (Reasoning: The LDA has a barrier, Revive-O-Matic, and more people ready to fight than the 2nd group. Saving them would be a huge boon for the unit even if there was a sacrifice to be made. Good of the many vs the good of the few.)

Don't Reveal Nozomi's Secret (Reasoning: Revealing her secret outright would probably destroy Nozomi's trust in Takumi instantly. Also I really wanted to avoid making Takumi a pillar for the other students to heavily rely on to the point where it could become obsessive. I want to keep him on an even playing field with the others now that the future has become unpredictable.)

Tell The Truth About Nozomi (Reasoning: Now that there was time to actually talk to Nozomi about this, I felt a lot more comfortable deciding that the two of them should reveal the truth together, even if it stings for her. If they go in together, it should help in the long run. Eito's lie would backfire so fast I'm sorry man but it would make things ten times worse to say she's a trainee commander. I love you but your idea sucks.)

Many hard decisions have been made this session! Lots of debate, but I think we're going somewhere that could potentially allow for all the students to be on equal footing and work things out. I'm very happy to have the real Moko on our side at least! We need another beacon of positivity around here with how thing are going. We lost Darumi in exchange for the 2nd group, but I think it was for the best. The Supreme Commander continues to be an intimidating villain, only rivaled by the one stuck in the cage...

I got Eito's first bond event! As expected, he doesn't consider any human to be close to him, and any that do try to get close are killed in secret, such as his parents and anyone trying to befriend him. This does hint that he may not have been completely isolated in the hospital after killing his parents, since he covered up his crimes and was viewed as pitiful rather than being locked up for the murders. He hid his crimes well enough to continue living outside of total isolation, but I doubt he'd spend much time in public spaces as much as he could help it. He probably lived alone in his parents' house for as long as possible, no one able to take him in as his guardian. How sad it must be, to be pitied without anyone truly understanding why he was a victim and anyone close to him had to die. He's a victim of the world turning a blind eye to his suffering. People only want the fake Eito, so why should he be forced to play pretend with people who would hate his real self with his disorder? He decides it's better to cut ties with them, literally. I do find it kinda cute that Eito shoos Takumi away after their little talk. Man is resisting so hard grabbing Takumi by the collar and strangling him.

And speaking of these two gay trainwrecks, Takumi is awfully willing to tell Eito everything despite knowing he's a master at manipulation. I'm honestly starting to wonder if his shitty lie to cover up Nozomi's past was purposefully bad cause he wants to see them crumble. Regardless, Eito really is Takumi's primary outlet, the only one who would listen and understand everything he has to say about what he went through in the previous timeline. And Eito is definitely going to take advantage of his openness. Though there do seem to be inklings of genuine assistance in his words, such as telling Takumi that honesty can only get him so far in reaching the ending he's searching for. As a devious little bastard once said, "There's only one truth, but endless possibilities for lies, y'know? And some of them are only white lies, or lies to be kind to people… If you deny all of that just because it's a lie… Then that means you guys are just terrible at being lied to!"

I am staring daggers at 'necessary evil' being a reoccurring phrase. Because boy howdy has that phrase been on my mind for a while when thinking about this game's themes.

[scribefindegil]

Before the beginning for any of your mp100 works!

Before the beginning for Brassica Heresy: Dimple has a bad time. (Broccoli horror. also character death kinda but. it's Dimple. you know he's fine)

Dimple’s had a few days to get used to the power of the Divine Tree. He’s been watching the goings-on all across Seasoning City, nudging the currents of adoration along the most advantageous paths, keeping his eyes on anyone who might present an obstacle to his dreams of godly ascension. Even before that, his senses were more wide-ranging than anything a human could understand. He knows how to track threads of psychic energy and to tell when an evil spirit or an esper has passed through somewhere. He can sense the presence of his fellow evil spirits as easily as a human could make note of a bad odor. Even in the middle of a fight, it’s almost impossible for him not to notice shifts in the spiritual landscape around him.

Which is why he can sense the exact moment when his barrier around Shigeo shatters.

He flings off the broccoli constructs that are clinging to his body, diving back down towards the inner hollow of the Tree. More of them block his way, and he sends a beam of power shooting through them to clear himself a path. Pieces of endless vegetal bodies fall into the void, but there are always more rising to replace them. They close in on him, a squirming mass of green blocking his view and leeching the power from his godly form.

What’s left of it.

He’s lost an arm and part of his torso and cracks are spreading over his body. It doesn’t matter. Dimple’s going to lose this fight, but if he can just reach Shigeo, just get him out--

A blast catches his chest. Another tears at his leg. But Dimple ignores them. He’s given up on tactics, given up on anything but raw frenzied desperation, lashing out around him with his remaining limbs and what power he can still muster.

He can’t use it all. Shigeo needs it. Needs another barrier. Needs to wake up--

Dimple breaks through the press of vining constructs and falls. He slams into the ground, tries to leap back up but his legs are too unsteady. As soon as he touches the broccoli, roots begin to swarm up, writhing over his body. Worming their way into the cracks in his form.

But he can see Shigeo now, being lifted by those same roots. Almost gently. Almost delicately. They’re going to bind him to the wall like a fly in a spider’s web, feed on his power until there’s nothing left.

“Shigeo!” he bellows. The boy’s eyes flutter. For a second he tries to raise his head, but then he goes limp.

Dimple strains against the roots holding him. He wrenches free, leaving chunks of his form behind, and dashes for Shigeo, shooting out another barrier from his remaining hand.

The roots pop it like a soap bubble.

“Shigeo!”

This time Shigeo doesn’t move. Dimple can hardly see him now. He collapses to the floor, his damaged legs finally giving out. Green roots sprout through his arm and constrict his body, and the ground in front of him seethes and bubbles as a single broccoli construct emerges and stares blankly down at him. It holds out a hand.

“Shig--”

The Divine Tree watches as the parasite falls, its head split down the middle by a green broccoli spear. The fingers of its severed hand twitch once and then go still. The hungry roots go to work on what power still lingers in the golden remains.

And then it turns to the throng of worshipers waiting outside to give them to good news. A great threat to their happiness has been defeated. Now nothing will stand in the way of their joy. Of their fun.

Of their devotion to the Divine Tree.

[razzle-zazzle]

can you tell us more about branch villainous parent idea you have?

Had to put this one under a cut bc it got long sorry.

tl;dr ancient troll sorceress who kinda made herself immortal but then spent centuries trapped underground adopts one (1) small gray trolling when she escapes in the hopes of using him as an agent in her big revenge plan

Okay okay so. I was listening to "The Monster Under Your Bed" by Madame Macabre (among some other songs) and somehow ended up creating a silly little AU where Branch is adopted and raised by something a little bit eldritch and a lot bit unsuited to taking care of a child. So meet Lola (<- placeholder name)!

Lola's a Pop Troll... or at the very least, she used to be. Her backstory starts a good few centuries before the Bergens even show up, but just long enough after the splitting of the genres that most Pop Trolls at the time only had a vague idea about the existence of other genres. Lola was just like any other Pop Troll, really—in fact, she was even quite a catch! A love of singing and dancing, a clear voice and pretty face; she had quite a few admirers.

But, well, her story's not as well known, in the days of Trollstice, but for those who do know it, it's a cautionary tale. Because Lola, like any Troll, was able to use her song to affect the world around her. And she pushed the limits of this power, often in... well, it was more carelessness, at first. A descent into destruction that started slow and snowballed, until she was pretty much a step away from Evil Sorceress. At the end of her tale, in an effort to put a stop to her, a small band of heroes used the Pop String to defeat her, sealing her body underground in the roots of one of the many Troll Trees of the time. Thought dead, Lola became a cautionary tale about the dangers of using one's song to destructive and selfish ends.

Except she didn't die. She was already beyond death, at that point. So for centuries, she remained trapped, unable to pierce the barrier sealing her in her tomb. And in those centuries, the Bergens came, discovered the Trolls, and Bergentown formed. In those centuries, the number of Troll Trees diminished down to one, caged in the center of a dreary town.

Enter Branch. From stage top, falling from the tree after being pushed out of the way by Rosiepuff. Branch, who's small and scared and curls up in the crook of two roots, where a small patch of either-lobelia-or-rhododendrons-I-haven't-quite-decided-which-flower-works-best-yet are growing. The barrier containing Lola has eroded slightly, over the centuries, and the slow genocide of the Pop Trolls by the Bergens has only sped up the process. She's still trapped, but now there's a small hole that light can sometimes get through.

When Branch first falls into Lola's tomb, he almost doesn't make it out alive. Why does she stay her hand, though? Is it because she could see a kindred spirit in the Trolling that had lost all hope? Because she saw in him an opportunity to escape her tomb and finally enact revenge? Because centuries buried underground can tire a person out immensely, and the thought of expending energy to kill one little Trolling was too much for her that day? Whatever the reason, Branch manages to climb back out. But he comes back, again and again, just to... talk. The scary lady trapped underground understands grief, after all, and Branch feels safe underground where the Bergens can't reach. No matter how much the shadows move and hiss and cry. But going in and out stretches the already weak barrier to its limits...

There's only a week or so between Rosiepuff's death and the Great Escape, in my headcanons (something something Chef randomly going in and eating Trolls outside of Trollstice in flagrant violation of rules or tradition purely because she can), so only a week or so after their first meeting a Bergen's shovel both clears a path and snaps what little remains of the barrier, loosing Lola upon the world.

When she "adopts" Branch, it's with a clear goal in her mind: raise this little gray Trolling to be an instrument of destruction, groom him for the eventual role he'll play in her revenge scheme. There's just one problem:

She gets attached.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible by James Russell Miller

Mission to the Gentiles (Mark 7:24-30)

Much of the public life of Jesus was devoted to caring for sufferers .

The doctor’s little girl told the messenger where she thought her father could be found, as he was needed immediately, “I don’t know, sir; but you’ll find him somewhere, helping somebody.” When people sought for Jesus and could not find Him, He was usually away with someone in need, doing good, helping somebody. At this time, however, He was trying to get away from the crowd. He certainly was not trying to hide from His enemies, for He never had any fear of men. Probably He needed rest for Himself and His disciples. At least we are told “He entered a house and did not want anyone to know it.” We are sure Jesus never hides away from those who need Him in their distress. It is never true that He cannot be found. He never shuts the door upon those who pray to Him, or those who come to Him in trouble and want to find Him, refusing to see them. We will never find Him absent nor in hiding when we go to Him with any question or any need.

Try as He would, Jesus was not able to get away from the people. His attempts to have a little rest, were always thwarted. We are told here that though He wished to remain in seclusion, He could not be hidden. We cannot hide flowers their fragrance will tell where they are. Jesus could not be hid from human need there was something about His love which revealed Him to all who had any need. In this case it was a mother with a great sorrow who sought Him. Her little daughter had an evil spirit. We cannot understand how a child could be possessed by a demon but in this case it was a child. Very great was the mother’s distress. This woman had heard in some way of Jesus and of His casting out of evil spirits over in His own country. She had never expected that He would come into her neighborhood, as she was a Gentile, living outside the limits of His country. But when she learned from some of her neighbors that the Great Healer had come to the town, and was in a certain house, she lost no time in finding her way to Him. She came with strong faith. She was sure that Jesus could free her little girl from the terrible trouble. She fell at His feet, in the attitude of deepest humility.

Mothers may get a lesson from this Gentile woman. If their children are sick they should hasten to Christ with them. If they are in the power of any form of evil they should especially seek the help of Him who alone can give help in such cases. There are evil spirits besides the demons who possessed people in our Lord’s Day. Every child is exposed to constant temptations and my receive hurt. In every child there are natural evil tempers and dispositions which, if not cast out, will greatly imperil the life.

The first difficulty in this woman’s way, was the fact that she was a Gentile. Christ was not sent to her but the gospel now is for all the world. No nation has any exclusive claim to it. It is for the world. But Jesus devoted Himself only to His own people. Not until after He had died and risen again were His disciples sent to all the nations. The woman’s nationality was a barrier. Jesus was not sent to any but the lost sheep of the house of Israel.

Matthew tells us that when the woman began to plead with Jesus, “He answered her not a word” (15:23). This is one of the strangest incidents in our Lord’s whole life. Usually He was quick to answer every call for help. His heart responded instantly and lovingly to everyone who came to Him. A Christ silent to the cry of a mother, pleading for her child, seems so contrary to what we know of the sympathizing and helping Christ, that the record seems almost incredible. He was never unsympathetic, unloving, indifferent, or cold. We may be sure, however, that His silence in this case did not show lack of interest in the woman. His heart was not cold to her. All we can say, is that the time had not yet come for Him to speak. The woman’s faith needed still further development and discipline to bring it to its best.

People sometimes think now that Christ is silent to them when they call upon Him in their trouble. No answer comes to their cries. He seems not to come for their distress. But they may always know that the silence is not indication of indifference. Christ’s delays are not refusals. When He does not speak to answer our pleadings, it is because He is waiting for the right time to speak.

Matthew tells us also that the disciples interfered, begging Him to send the woman away. They seem to have been annoyed by her following after them, and her continual pleading. The fact that she was a Gentile may account for this. The Jews had no sympathy for the Gentiles. It took the disciples a long time, even after the day of Pentecost, to be willing to carry the gospel to a Gentile home. Here they wanted Jesus to send the woman away and to stop her annoying cries. This is the way some people try to get clear of the calls of human need, even in these Christian days. They cannot stand the cries of those who are suffering. They cannot bear to see those who come with pleas of distress. They turn away from their doors, those who come asking for help. They do not know that they are turning away Christ Himself, for He says that in the needy who stand before us, asking for aid He Himself stands, hungry, thirsty, and sick, a stranger. “Inasmuch as you did it not unto one of the least of these, you did it not to Me” (Matthew 25:45).

When Jesus did speak to this woman at length, it was a very discouraging word that He said. “First let the children eat all they want for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.” The children were the Jewish people. They were in a peculiar sense God’s family. It seems very strange to hear the word “dogs” falling from the lips of Jesus Christ, applied to Gentiles. It does not seem like Him. It would not have been surprising to have heard the disciples use this offensive designation, for they still were full of the narrow Jewish spirit. It was common for the Jews to call the Gentiles by this name. However, Jesus was different. There was never in His heart even a shade of contempt for any human being. No doubt there was something in the tone of the voice which Jesus used, or in the look of His eye as He spoke to the woman that took away from His words, the offensiveness.

Certainly she was not insulted by what He said. Perhaps she was encouraged by the word “first”, “ First let the children eat all they want.” A first implied a second. Or she may have detected in His language, a play upon words which gave her hope. There were little pet dogs in the home as well as children. She was only a dog but the dogs had a portion. They lay under the table and got what the children left. The woman with her quick wit seized upon the picture which the words of the Master suggested. She was content to be a dog and to have the dog’s share. Even the crumbs off that table would be enough for her.

There is strong faith in her reply. At last she had won her victory. Jesus said to her, “For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter.” In all the New Testament, there is no other such striking illustration of the persistence of faith. Obstacle after obstacle was met and overcome. The woman believed from the beginning that Jesus had power to heal her poor child, and she determined that she would not go away without winning from Him the help which she so very much needed.

The lesson for us is that we should never be discouraged by delays in the answering of our prayers. Even God’s silence to us should not dishearten us. He before whom we stand, can do for us whatever we need to have done. Nothing is impossible to Him. He waits to draw out of faith until it reaches its fullness of power and wins its victory.

If this woman had turned away at any time, discouraged by Christ’s seeming repulse of her, by His silence, or by His seemingly scornful words she would have missed the blessing which at last came to her in such richness. No doubt many people fail to get answers to their prayers, because they are not importunate. A man spent thousands of dollars drilling for oil. At last he became weary and gave up the quest, selling his well for a mere trifle. The purchaser, in two hours after he began work, came upon one of the richest oil wells in the country. The fist man had lost heart just two hours too soon. The same lack of persistence causes failure, no doubt, often, in praying. Jesus says we should always pray and not faint; that is, not give up.

We can picture the joy of this mother as she at last went to her house and found her child well. Her home was not longer darkened by this old-time sadness. The child was no longer under the power of the demon but was happy and well and beautiful. Whatever the trouble with their children may be mothers should always find the way to Christ and should plead with Him in patience, persistence, and faith, until their children are blessed and happy.

[granulesofsand]

I actually did my system homework this weekend. We have a funky relationship with our amnesia, so instead of sharing memories we each learn the thing on our own. Sometimes we teach each other, but I do better with hands-on stuff.

So I read an article about RAMCOA, one of the ones that we’re planning on transcribing to our internal library. I spaced out hard for the first read through, but I did make progress.

This article talked about the thought process of really little kids, before they can differentiate between self and other. One of the milestones here is developing a sense of safety. Children are supposed to feel cared for and understand their needs as natural and curable, and abuse shuts that right down.

Instead of safety, warmth, whatever babies normally find ‘good’, the systematic abuse within the group creates fear, disgust, an intrinsic ‘evil’. Because this is intentional, these bases are built into labyrinths of self-hatred.

Survivors of this kind of abuse report feeling ‘rotten’ or ‘poisoned’, and are sometimes able to elaborate with what was given to them throughout their lives.

And that’s what it is! I know now I’m not the first person in my system to realize, but it was new to me. That smell we worry lingers on us is from a flashback, not a physical sensation from the present. That’s why no amount of soap makes it go away, and why everyone says it’s not there. It only exists in the past, in our memories.

I was told I would be unpopular because I stank. That it was dangerous to be near me because rot brings disease and others will be effected. They said I was rotten from the inside out. And all of it was a lie, a sham grown from the see sown so many years ago.

The article was about transgenerational trauma; familial cults and groups that raise members from babes. How that inner doom can be externalized and the self-other barrier temporarily broken. It says that a survivor can project their pain onto someone they abuse, but that it doesn’t have the same positive effect as similar but healthy practices.

It’s hard to be angry with abusers knowing they went through the same cycle. I figure we were the fourth generation born into the cult, counting conservatively. Some of those children are still there, full circle as they hurt their own kids.

I can’t think about what that means for them, so I look at us. We’re one less branch of their tree, and we have a shot at a peaceful life. We might be out-out before we die.

I don’t know if anyone else has done this yet, not from our group. I’ve met a few of them in the wild, people who we knew or admitted to having grown up there too. It seemed like the only way to escape is in a body bag, and here we are. Still standing (that’s funny because we can’t really stand anymore).

I’ve been spending a lot of time looking at the sky. It’s a different feeling, even if it’s the same view. I like to sit outside and finally appreciate being alive.

[astranovus]

Tatooine, slaves, and Anakin part 2 actually

You weren't expected to know how to read if you were a slave. Shmi knew enough because she'd been born free, but there wasn't enough time in the day to really sit down and share that knowledge with Anakin.

He was 5 years old when he started tinkering with things using nothing but this strange innate knowledge to just work with wires and components like they talked to him. Fixing things was fun and droids were like them. A machine with a master.

They don't teach you history and science and whatever else. You don't go to school. Anakin had a job at 6 years old, and grew up too fast. Innocence would last a few more years, but Shmi knew she couldn't hold onto it forever. It would die.

Watto didn't care how old he was. The junk shop was open late into the evening for some of Watto's shadier deals, and Anakin would have to sit and wait as the suns went down outside. You don't ask for food, you just be thankful if it's given.

At least they had a house over their head, food to eat, work to do, a life to live. It wasn't so bad. Sometimes Watto was even nice. Anakin had a feeling Watto was a lot nicer than most slavers. Something about his mother being less worth than he was.

You knew how much everyone was worth. The old woman, maybe a handful of truguts. A spry young man with pep in his step, that's a full bag, enough truguts to get a speeder. You could buy a whole house and then some with a few pretty Twilek. Throw in a droid or two and you'll get more.

Having slaves was more important than having truguts.

It always confused Anakin. Why wouldn't the masters not make things better for the slaves if they wanted them so bad? Why would you let everyone live in filth and squalor.

You say sir, please and thank you, and be polite to your master, to people in the shop, to anyone who wasn't a slave.

People talk about disappearing all the time. Your neighbors can change from one day to the next.

Someone's always running off into the desert. Hoping. Anakin watches a friend die just outside the radius of their invisible barrier.

He never forgets it.

Most of the others he just hears about. But the memory paints the same picture.

If you follow the rules, you'll survive.

There's always talk about freedom. There's also talk about the perfect master, the one who saved them all by promoting peace, because they are good and just, and they get rid of all the evil.

That kind of master, that kind of person, could do a lot of good in the world.

Someone told him being a slave is easy, why would you want to be free?

Anakin hates it, but sometimes, years later he remembers and thinks he understands.