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fangbangerghoul · 1 year ago

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Snippet Sunday!

It is currently 12:07 AM EST and I am going ahead and post this bad boy, so I don't have to worry about it later!

This week has been full of lots of changes and honestly it has helped motivate me to write chapter 9 of Fleeting Pleasures a lot! I cannot believe I am on the second to last chapter of this long fic. It's blowing my mind.

Under the cut will be a portion of Sam Coe's POV after the events of Chapter 8 (which I highly suggest you read to understand the context!)

I am going to go ahead and tag my writers crew (if I didn't catch you, please let me know so I can add you!):

@bearlytolerant @silurisanguine @eridanidreams @a-cosmic-elf @staticpallour @toxiclizardwrites @therealgchu @5oh5 @booburry @atonalginger @aislingdmdt @thatsgoodsquishy0 @spookyspecterino @lisa-and-shadow @samcoesclub

Chapter 9: bad decisions

Snippet of Sam's POV:

He heard a knock on the bathroom and it pushed him out the sinkhole of his thoughts. Whenever he thought about it he would run himself in circles and ride a rollercoaster of emotions that always finished with a new kind of despair he wasn’t used to.

“I’m coming out.” He grumbled, throwing his toothbrush back into the cup that was on the sink and took one last minute to splash cold water on his face. Something to shock his system back to normal. Sam reached to grab the door, ignoring the glimpse of his dull blue eyes in the mirror and when the wood door opened, Barrette was on the other side. He gave his usual awkward grin and did a small wave.

“Good morning, Sam! Have you been sleeping better since Noel gave you that herbal tea to try?” He asked so casually about a subject Sam had never remembered mentioning to him. Normally he would have shrugged it off but this time it irked him in particular. The members of Constellation were more prone to talk to him in soft voices or speak about his business more openly when he wasn’t around. It made his skin crawl.

“No.” Sam said plainly, staring Barret down for a moment before relaxing his shoulders. He was trying to get comfortable around those he considered family again. However the transition from consistently raiding and interrogating Crimson Fleet members to having normal mundane conversation was an adjustment. “Good morning though.”

Sam walked past him, careful not to bump into Barrett as he walked by. He didn’t like it when someone brushed against his left side even after the wound had fully healed. Sam also didn’t like to think about that fact so he just kept on moving. He was ready to eat.

On his way to the eating area he stopped by his room one more time to grab a mahogany robe to wrap around his loose white tee and baggy gray sweatpants. The elastic sometimes didn’t stay around his hips and would occasionally sag so in order to protect everyone around him from seeing the moon so early in the day he liked to wear his robe. His slippers dragged a bit as he walked like he was taking a sunday stroll through a park. Sam was never in a hurry to get anywhere, to do anything really.

“Dad!” He heard the young squeak of his daughter from around the corner and Cora ran up to him and hugged him tight. He winced instinctively but tried to catch himself so she wouldn’t think she hurt him. Her curls were bouncing and wild and the smile on her face was brighter than any star he had seen in a long while. Seeing Cora always gave him a little bit of his life back especially after being separated from her for as long as they were.

“Hey sweet pea.” He rubbed her back gently in the embrace and kept his arm around her as he led them forward. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Dad it’s noon.”

“Oh, what are you doing up so late then?” He smiled at her teasingly.

“Daaaad.” She said in protest as she pushed herself away from him gently. “Were you going to come to the meeting later today?”

“Meeting?” He was puzzled at her question. Sam didn’t know of any meeting, not one that needed to involve him.

“Ms. Morgan was talking to Walter earlier and I heard them say when Andreja and Vlad arrive they were going to have a discussion.” Cora said with a bit of concern in her tone. Sam knew if she had heard that much then she was all too aware that the meeting was about Ghoul.

“Is that so?” He asked with a cool tone trying not to give away any concern he may have felt. He still didn’t have the heart to tell Cora that Ghoul did this to him. Even though the other’s had continued their recent pattern of talking about his well being behind his back he figured how much further would that subject be?

“Yeah! Dad, what are you eating for late breakfast?”

“Cheese pizza, if you are asking.” He said with a sly smirk.

#starfield #sam coe #starfield fanfiction #coemancer #sam coe fanfiction #starfield fanfic #fang writes #snippet sunday #cora coe

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nosafeharbour · 1 year ago

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Encyclopedia Eorzea III: Werlyt thoughts

How is this the second Werlyt thoughts/reactions post I've written in 2023. The Sorrow of Werlyt ended over 2 years ago

This is literally just Werlyt (so also Gaius and Raen) musings, I'll actually finish reading the rest of the book later...

It's beautiful. I've looked at this for 24 hours now

Holy shit, all this Werlyt lore… Gaius was viceroy of Werlyt for TWENTY YEARS?? In-game it sounded like he led the invasion during the epidemic 10 years ago, when you see him adopt the Raen kids, but otherwise wasn’t too deeply involved... but it was under Garlean control since the very start of the Empire? Gaius came into the picture midway through, after it briefly rebelled.

"A young Gaius van Baelsar" capturing Werlyt when he was 30... I guess him being legatus in his thirties makes complete sense with the timeframe of Ala Mhigo, but having it spelled out so plainly… wow

Thinking about the memory of Gaius in the Emerald Weapon trial being a 30 year old is so funny. You jumped-up little shit

It’s hard to pin down dates because everything is measured in years after Werlyt was taken, without it ever giving a starting date, but you can work backwards… the rebellion 30 years post conquering + 20 years of Gaius as viceroy + 5 years before ARR when Gaius begins advance on Eorzea in 1.0 = 55 years ago. The Empire is also 55 years old, which lines up:

Between 55 and 455 years ago: Werlyt is founded (happens after Gyr Abania is unified, but Werlyt is still described as “newly formed” when it was conquered, so definitely closer on the scale to 55)

55 years ago: Werlyt falls under the Empire

25 years ago: While the Empire is stretched thin conquering the Far East, the Werlytians stage a revolt and retake the province. Gaius comes in to quell it, and becomes viceroy after the previous one is killed (Gaius is 31 yrs old) (This is also the year Doma is conquered, so that also lines up)

20 years ago: Ala Mhigo is conquered, Gaius is also made viceroy there

15 years ago: Gaius’s fuckup at the Battle of Silvertear, and when he starts to lose favour in Garlemald

10 years ago: The epidemic, when the Raen kids are orphaned

5 years ago: Gaius leaves for the invasion of Eorzea (1.0), which eventually leaves Valens as viceroy after the events at the Praetorium

Did the epidemic happen under his watch? The flashback of him first reaching out to Allie and Alfonse makes sense to be 10 years ago, but the energy of that scene was very much “arriving to a situation” and not that… it was already under his jurisdiction…

I don’t know how I feel about the change of context here, at least in my understanding of it. It honestly feels a bit of a shock that Werlyt has been under the Empire for 50 years? They never stated any specific years, but I always read it as a decade or so? Long enough for it to become their new lives, short enough that people still remember life before. Gaius coming in to “save” Werlyt from the epidemic by way of conquering it was this mixed bag that ultimately did build towards his character thesis of “good intentions stuck in a bad system”. To think the epidemic technically happened under his watch is new and strange, I dunno. I need to replay it with this in mind to see if it checks out

Especially with that one post-Emerald scene where Gaius is all “Things were shit in MY legion? But I ran a tight ship” lmao… I know a lot of people take the piss out of that scene thinking that he was only discovering racism for the first time in his life (he literally has scenes in ARR about stamping out discrimination in his Legion), but I always read it as his ego meaning he believed that his influence and word over his Legion was immovable, that nobody would behave that way because he told them not to. It complements his view that he always thought he was doing good, but not yet having had the blinders of being a cog in the fascist system removed. These things will always still happen. It would be good to see that scene again, with all this context of the epidemic happening during his time as viceroy... If the times are all correct, I feel like him being stretched thin between Ala Mhigo and Werlyt is a part of this

The “all the good Gaius had achieved” line in regards to him building up Werlyt as viceroy makes me wince, while I do like engaging with Gaius having good intentions, just talking about all the good he did and not the fact it was still a conquered territory + the epidemic? Even I’m balking at that, and I’m a Gaius enjoyer. Slow down here. I’m looking at the artwork of destroyed Werlyt from when he re-conquered it right below this paragraph LOL

The Raen of Werlyt migrating there directly from Corvos, to the point that their religion and food is still Corvosi-inspired... seeing it spelled out so plainly after this incredibly fleeting and brief image from FanFest... wow. I get to feel even more insane over Corvos, now

Really curious about the timeframes, still. If Raen only arrived in Werlyt a little over 50 years ago, in one fell swoop they have turned Albi's Welytian grandmother into a Corvosi grandmother

Werlyt religion being polytheistic, seemingly a fusion of the Twelve and Corvosi religion… I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT CORVOS…

I love the kind of demographics you get from these books:

Werlyt currently undergoing negotiations with Ul’dah for ceruleum, so they can continue mining… Gaius overseeing said negotiations in Ul’dah, Ul’dah is Albi’s turf... Thinking about them in Ul’dah together. It’s actually so fun thinking about Gaius visiting so many Eorzean city states as an envoy. He’s helping, but also he’s keeping his god damn head down (or in a chicken suit)

Werlyt’s main food being stewed dishes is just another thing that lines up with what I imagined, mostly just because it’s what I figured Albi and Gaius would eat a lot (both from cold places, they both know how to cook simple stuff but aren’t master culinarians)

Cheese being a major export to Garlemald, and there being a major cheese presence in Garlemald already (via Ovibos milk, so native to Garlemald itself and not all imported)... cheese lore

There’s way too much dairy talk in here, “dairy enthusiasts” pleeeeasseeee stop making my favourite place like this when I’m lactose intolerent

After The Sorrow of Werlyt says that Terncliff is too high above the ocean to fish, but then Tataru’s Grand Endeavour had orphans collecting seashells, I was so confused on whether or not Werlyt has beaches or not. I’m glad they clarified that there are a few harbours amongst the cliffs.

All of this geography and agriculture lore is neat just in that it’s showing that Werlyt is really quite big. You never really get a full sense of scale in-game, between Terncliff and what we see of the main Werlyt town (?) during Emerald trial/post-Diamond

We have three Werlytian surnames – Hunte, Souther, and Horne!

Severa Souther and Valdeaulin Ganathain… I care them. Severa is only 23, bless her heart. Valdeaulin being 48 is just exactly what I’d assumed/hoped.

The leader of the interim government is Talbot Hunte. Have we seen him..? I’m picturing the Revolutionary Commander in my mind when I read that, but I don't think he was ever named

All of these Werlytian names (surnames, and Hyur first names) have a Germanic feel, while Severa and the Raen kids have Latin-based names. The Raen in Werlyt originate from Corvos, so I am hoping it’s because they are sticking to Corvos being the root of the Latin-based Garlean language, as it should be? Severa had a Garlean parent? Hmm

Bereft at the casual mention of “the bravery of the Baelsars and the Warrior of Light”… THE BAELSARS

Kind of sad they straight-coded Milisandia by giving her a crush on Alfonse. That lizard was one of the gay ones :/

I think Gaius is possibly the first character to get a second Encyclopedia Eorzea entry. I was hoping he would, but had low expectations bc they've never given any other recurring characters new entries... but they did this, for me

“... and though his quest for vengeance would claim the masks of Altima and Deudalaphon, the hunt for Ascians was quickly set aside when he learned of the Empire’s plans to produce the noxious weapon Black Rose” – Black Rose is important and thematic, but seeing the Ascian plot dropped so abruptly even in this book is breaking my heart all over again LMAO

So extremely cool that there are 6 pages just about the Ultima Weapons!! Including the Allagan iterations, the original ARR project, and the second project during Werlyt

I do like the line “According to the testimony of Gaius Baelsar…” in the section about the Ultima Weapon, about how Lahabrea guided them to it. Gaius sat and gave testimony to the Alliance about a lot of things, huh!

I also like the confirmation that Proto-Ultima is the last iteration the Allagans made, and that all the visuals of the Ultima Weapon are magitek and Garlean-made. It’s hard to tell, since the earlier Ultima Warrior has them too, but the fact that Ultima Weapon’s horns look like Gaius’s helmet means it was done on purpose… kinda moe. Nero trying to impress his legatus

Interesting that the Heart of Sabik is mentioned so clearly, and that Valens knew he couldn’t recreate it… but still acquired a piece of Ivalician auracite to base the Oversoul system on. Reading this all post-Pandaemonium is enlightening

Seems that the “third eye” looking chestpiece on the cuirass of legatus armour is the synthetic auracite they used for the same purpose as soul crystals! Having a visual on that is neat

Another extremely obvious hint that Nero made the second (red) G-Savior, which only makes Gaius not finding out he was still alive until Tataru’s Grand Endeavour so funny/weird. Nero literally must have been in Werlyt!! The Ironworks were talking about him constantly! Gaius, are you stupid! (yeah)

#lore #the sorrow of werlyt #reactions

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donnerpartyofone · 10 months ago

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I always seem to make myself the expert of something I really don't like, and this is simultaneously producing good work and sucking the life out of me. I started working on Amityville because I had a question about why so many have believed in a patently ridiculous story, told by plainly dishonest people, and most frequently heard in the form of a bad movie and an even worse book. When I started working on THE ENTITY it was because I love the movie so much, but then I had to deal with the unforgivable novel and a lot of infuriatingly bad and unethical pseudo-scientific reportage--and like it was important to understand and contextualize that stuff, not just dismiss it, the nature of that was part of my focus. Now I'm working on this Phantom of the Opera project and it's like...it's not just that most iterations of the story are bad, but the book is actually REALLY bad. I'm not unfamiliar with this kind of antique pulp writing either, this is just a particularly bad example and I swear to god reading it is making me stupider. It's not just a dumb story with shallow and unlikable characters, it also has the quality of someone inarticulately explaining something that happened last week; it's sort of vague and there's a lot of summarizing, and it's distinctly unthrilling, like it's just really uneventful for the most part. And this is going to be a key part of my analysis, I'm not torturing myself like this in order to be judgmental and superior. The question is about how even though the basic foundations of this story are unsound, there is something about it that compels people to retell it endlessly, even though few ever get it right (and I'm arguing that one particular unlikely candidate manages to make proper use of it, and it's not the Lon Chaney one which of course is great on its own merits). My goal is never to monologize about how moronic and inferior something is, even though that's a temptation that everyone with internet access can probably relate to. In a way I think that flawed work can provide really fertile ground for exploration and discovery because there there are a lot of questions to ask about it, about what it's trying to do, what it does by accident, what makes people react to it. A work of art always has subtext, but it also has a subconscious if you know what I mean, and there's a lot of interesting stuff in there especially with less polished products. Discussing a work of genius can have the quality of a foregone conclusion unless you're the first person to do it. I think that taking something imperfect really seriously and trying to understand its effects is a good thing to do, and I think I'm particularly suited for this--but I do sometimes wish that my life's work were more focused on something I just unconditionally love so I wouldn't have to spend hours and hours and hours analyzing stuff that gives me brain damage.

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malvenor · 6 months ago

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alright, i'll give you benefit of the doubt. i'd like to hear exactly what's wrong with my breakdown if you dont mind! i say this with genuine interest in what you have to say, and curiosity, no malice at all. but i do think that if you're gonna say "everything in this is wrong," you'd do well to explain just what is so wrong, or at least just one example. just saying something is wrong without providing explanation also serves to make one look silly! ...hopefully i dont sound pretentious saying that.

i knooooooow i said i didnt wanna argue. i still don't, honestly. but well, debate is ok.

i do also want to give myself just a little defense and say that my post is a casual person's criticisms, rather than a huge big one meant to be taken seriously. emotions are in there, dyeing my commentary unsightly colors at times. not the biggest defense, but hey, its there.

so yeah, all that wordy preamble to say: yes, i'm probably wrong. in the interest of self-improvement, i'd like to know why!

I expected no response and got a genuinely respectful one! Sorry if I sounded snippy - plenty of things I like get a lot of odd and unfounded criticism, and it's very easy for little things to get under my skin. I can give a bit-by-bit breakdown, for sure! And I get that it's from a casual perspective, but such a lengthy review even from a casual perspective should have a tad more than the first third of the release version of a game completed, y'know?

Ahem, anyways! Preamble out of the way, and with all due respect (which is a fair amount thanks to your stellar attitude!), here are my nits and my picks:

Less a correction and more a tip for anyone who read that post: You can re-access the tutorial at any time by going back to Selva Oscura, the game's prologue chapter, under the same menu where you access the Cantos. I recommend everyone do this anyways because you can collect some Lunacy just for visiting the map.

Next bit, I actually half-agree with. Yes, Limbus Company has a stubborn and poorly-explained learning curve, and it is less immediately intuitive than Library of Ruina. It is, however, also an intrinsically less complicated game than Library of Ruina. Having a base understanding of "when my side's numbers are higher, I win more often" will be learned quickly, and the fight against Ebony Queen's Apple will tell you the rest you need to know (since I believe this to be the game's only halfway decent tutorial). However, I will also point out that the intuitiveness is the only part of the previous two game's learning experiences that were actually good: LC and LoR also had pretty fuckin' bad tutorials.

From a casual perspective, the ins and outs of exactly how clash values are calculated are wholly unnecessary, but the basics are pretty plainly laid out, I find. It gives you a big number that will always be the starting number, a smaller number with a plus sign, and 1~5 little symbols that the game calls coins next to those. I feel like most people pretty easily grasp that when the coins flip heads, signified by the glow, they add their value to the big number. Even if this isn't understood by the player immediately as that, it becomes more obvious once you get to, again, Ebony Queen. I'll admit, this is more subjective, but it still stuck out as something people tend to grasp pretty quickly, especially former Ruina players.

aha okay yeah that's fair. the game does not, in fact, inform you how to upgrade your units.

However! It does not take two cantos to unlock Luxcavations. Now I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you dropped the game before that update, but a few weeks after launch they removed thread and exp from the Mirror Dungeons and added grindable micro-stages for them instead. EXP Lux is unlocked I believe around stage 1-10, an upgraded version around 2-18 (?), and Thread Lux after clearing Canto 2, where you also unlock Mirror Dungeons, which is where you get Lunacy and BP Exp. So, while that may have very briefly been true, this has been cleared up and fixed!

Defense skills are probably the only truly well-explained thing in the Prologue tutorial, so I'm sorry to say that this one was purely a personal issue on your part. While the circumstances of their use are not made immediately clear, that's less an issue of the explanation and more an issue of the game's balance, a discussion to be had that is far outside the scope of this post.

Nitpick among nitpicks, dungeons do not have a different combat system! Normal battles still occur within them, and starting in Canto 4 the Focus Battle system (reminiscent of Ruina's battle system) will also occur on overworld stages on occasion! Just a matter of "not quite as cut and dry as immediately laid out"

Ah, the classic victim of the tutorial and it's vague misrepresentation of the purpose of Resonance. This will have multiple parts, so starting off with the most understandable misunderstanding: Resonance does not, in fact, increase the damage you deal. Weird, right? It increases the Offense Level of skills in the chain, which is a small but extremely important distinction, since Offense Level can also affect Clash Power. Is this ever explained? Fuck no. Not your fault, just a bad tutorialization moment again.

While this is not made immediately obvious to the player, Sin does carry more weight to the battle system than you may think! First and foremost, adding a second layer of resistance really highlights how powerful the game's multiplicative damage scaling can really be, and allows some units to still be useful even if their primary damage type is resisted by the enemies.

It's not just that, though! Even on release, the sins did sort of have their own little niches like you described in your post, but you didn't quite make it far enough or get a large enough roster to really notice the patterns. The most obvious example of this is the difference between Envy (purple) and Gluttony (green). Envy is basically the plain and simple damage color, associated with multiple "nuke" skills, as well as being the primary color for Charge, which is Damage: The Archetype. Gluttony, on the other hand, lacks "nukes" altogether and is often used as a technical, status and self-healing type Sin, and also has a fair bit of Paralyze for some reason? Regardless, there's identity with each Sin, which I think is cool!

There is, because Limbus sort of fails at gacha-ing, still an odd sense of progression in Limbus! Not only are the LCB Sinners automatically upgraded as you finish the initial batch of Cantos, but the feeling of getting bigger, better, stronger options comes from not only expanding your roster, but the feeling of more complex teambuilding and additional gameplay mechanics through gameplay-story integration. Eventually we even get new story-locked toys to play with! There's also the micro-progression in Dungeons (including Mirror Dungeons, arguably especially so) but even on a grander scale, there is a nice sense of it. Less so than Ruina, of course, no denying that, but they go out of their way to make it still feel good to play through.

I will not be touching upon the story comment because you already included that edit. Yes, anon is right, it does give you the tools you need to understand what is present.

Some more subjective things, but I tried to tackle them in as objective a manner as possible. But as we are all experiencing art here, there will inevitably be these subjective matters to discuss! Many of these things weren't your fault either as they were added later in updates to the game, but such things are to be expected in live service titles.

To circle back to the original point, sometimes you just have to sit back and wonder if what you're saying will hold water, and if you happen to know enough to speak at length. I'm sorry you had a negative experience with the game to start, and I am morally obligated to not recommend gachas to people in general if they don't wish to play them, so I'll not be asking for your return. I just like clearing things up!

I hope this was informative, and I thank you for reading!

#limbus company #ask

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rn-zane · 1 year ago

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SETTING: emilio's apartment TIMING: early november PARTIES: @mortemoppetere + @rn-zane WARNINGS: suicidal ideation SUMMARY: emilio promised to teach zane a few moves to protect his own undead ass

Emilio had never been much of a teacher. Maybe it was because of the way he was taught. The ‘all or nothing’ method that Elena Cortez had used to mold her children into weapons didn’t translate very well to non-hunters. On the rare occasions he’d seen fit to recount his training to people not raised in a similar way, they’d found the methods cruel. Emilio didn’t know how to explain that they weren’t, especially not when he’d been unable to justify using them on his own daughter. It was different, he thought. When it was him, it was different.

But it still made him a shitty teacher. Still, he wanted to try. Zane wanted to learn how to watch his own back, and Emilio figured he owed the guy something after everything. He didn’t like owing people, didn’t like having outstanding debts to worry about. He told himself that was the only reason he was doing this; he almost believed it was true.

There was a knock on the door; Emilio called for Zane to come in. When he did, the slayer tossed him a knife. “Here,” he said. “Try to stab me. Need to see what I’m working with.”

—

The thought of this was mildly terrifying and mostly just dumb and something Zane would have never even considered if this wasn’t a literal matter of life or death. He’d never wanted to know how to fight, always more interested in healing or trying to deescalate a situation. At least he had been, before the start of this ever growing list of people he’d punched, people who had hit him and one person he’d done more than just knock out.

A part of Zane was scared of being better at hurting people, despite all internal arguments that this was simply for protecting. It was but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t make him better at inflicting damage if necessary. Once upon a time, he’d thought it was never necessary but living here, being what he was, had proved that wrong.

These fears wouldn’t get belayed to Emilio, who was graciously offering to teach despite being the farthest thing from a teaching figure. Proven so very eloquently the second Zane entered the door and got tossed a knife with no warning. If Emilio wanted to see what he was working with, the fact that Zane cringed away from the knife and let it clatter to the floor was probably not the start he’d been hoping for. “Woah, yeah. Okay. Hi.” Great start.

“I don’t know why I expected this to go any different,” he muttered, reaching down for the knife, uneasy at the sight of it in his hand. Zane knew well enough that arguing on Emilio’s tactics was about as pointless as banging his head against a brick wall. So he stepped closer, skeptically holding the knife, reminding himself that he’d seen Emilio fight, that there was no way for Zane to actually manage to wound the slayer, before thrusting the blade in the direction of his stomach.

—

The knife clattered to the floor and, for a moment, Emilio just stared at it. Expression blank, eyes blinking slowly. He lifted his head to look back at Zane. “You are already bad at this,” he told him matter-of-factly.

He hadn’t been expecting much else, though. It had been clear from the first time he’d come into contact with Zane that the guy wasn’t much of a fighter. He’d run from Emilio rather than stick around to fight him, making it clear that when it came to fight or flight, he was the sort of person who defaulted towards the latter. And that was fine, if you were a normal person. But for someone who lived in this world, someone who was a part of it? You needed more than that.

He waited as Zane bent to pick up the knife, watching him carefully. The way he held it in his hand, the way even its slight weight seemed uncomfortable to him… There was a lot of work to be done here. Emilio could see that plainly, even without Zane actually making his move.

When he did make his move, it was an easy thing to avoid. Emilio took a step back, casually twisting to the side so that the blade cut only open air. Then, a hand shot out to grab Zane’s wrist and twist it. Not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to be uncomfortable. The other hand, already sporting a stake, brought the weapon up to rest against Zane’s chest. “You’re dead,” he said flatly. Then, he dropped the vampire’s wrist and pulled the stake back, spinning it absently in his hand before shoving it back into his pocket. “Try again. Something different. You have speed on your side, use it.”

—

Despite knowing Emilio, the overbearing sense of vulnerability constricted Zane’s throat the second his wrist was grabbed. It was honestly a wonder the slayer hadn’t managed to take him out that first night in the hospital, with the way the stake found a place at his chest with such ease. More than vulnerability, this first attempt was all it took to awaken utter hopelessness. He didn’t want to learn how to attack but could he even be taught how to defend himself?

Zane stumbled back a step once his arm was released, resisting the urge to rub at it, already feeling weak under Emilio’s steely gaze. The cacophony of emotions were at the very least making him grab the hilt of the knife tighter, concerned gaze taking in the slayer’s stance as he simultaneously tried to shake the weight of feeling useless off his back. “Speed,” Zane muttered back, allowing himself a moment to try and let useful memories to the forefront of his mind. Action movies, watching Emilio fight, remembering anatomical weak spots.

With a hint more conviction this time, Zane swung the knife, now fully convinced that Emilio would in no scenario end up getting cut. It sliced through the air where the slayer’s chest had previously been, followed right away by a second swipe, an attempt to push Emilio back, maybe get him off balance enough so when his own leg actually made a move to sweep the other’s, there’d be a sliver of a chance of it actually doing something.

—

He watched the expressions flutter across Zane’s face. The anxiety, the vulnerability, the hopelessness. This kind of thing wasn’t easy; Emilio could hardly pretend to relate to Zane’s struggle to learn to defend himself when, as a slayer, he’d practically been born with a knife in his hand. The same blade that looked unfamiliar and clunky in the vampire’s grip was like an extension of Emilio’s own arm when he held it, something as easy to control as the fingers on his hand. He didn’t remember learning the things he was teaching Zane now; he’d been so young when they were beaten into him that it sometimes felt as if they’d been there all along.

Zane repeated the word, and Emilio nodded. “Everybody you fight’s got a weak spot,” he said, falling back a little. “First thing you want to do is figure out what it is. Speed is mine. Not as fast as I used to be, and even if I were, you’d probably be faster. Take in the person you’re up against. Figure out what they’re bad at. Use it. Won’t be the same every time, but you’ll get good at picking up on it. And know what you’re good and bad at, too. You’re fast, but you don’t go as fast as you could. You hold back. The people you’re fighting won’t. Speed doesn’t mean shit if you’re too afraid of hurting anyone to use it.”

He fell back into a defensive position when it was clear that Zane was ready to go again. This time, it was smoother. The swipe was fast, the second faster. Emilio had to push himself to avoid them, to the point that the sweeping leg actually did knock him off balance a little. Not enough to take him off his feet, but enough to send him stumbling backwards a few steps. He righted himself quickly, ducking under Zane to get behind him. This time, the stake rested against his back. “Better,” he said, in a tone that made it less of a compliment and more of a statement of fact. “But you’re still dead. Gotta protect yourself after an attack. Hope it lands, but assume it won’t. Hitting them when you assume you won’t is less of a risk than not hitting them when you assume you will. One gets you tired, the other gets you killed. Attack, then fall back into defense. Get ready for them to come back at you.”

—

Too afraid of hurting anyone. That really was what all of this boiled down to, wasn’t it? Zane was terrified of hurting someone, whether on purpose or by accident. Way back when, he’d made somewhat of a promise to the man currently teaching him to fight that if he ever went off the deep end, starting hurting people, Zane would give himself up for the stake. The sentiment still stood yet the fear of that scenario becoming true had only grown since then.

His head felt heavy when the pointed end of a stake found his back, Emilio’s words slightly muffled. A shame, since he seemed to be providing some good tips but Zane’s ears were rushing, the sharp staccato of the slayer’s words making everything unreal. He swiveled on his heel, arms moving at a speed that jolted even himself, shoving at Emilio’s chest with a force he hadn’t expected. Although he hadn’t even expected to shove the other in the first place.

“Sorry, that was - sorry,” Zane spluttered, pulling his hands back to his chest just as sharply, retreating back a few steps. Nails dug into palms as he balled his fists, unaware of his eyes changing hue. “This is a bad idea.”

—

He wasn’t expecting another attack. It caught him off guard, more than a little. The force of Zane’s shove sent him tumbling backwards, the wall behind him the only thing that kept him from falling on his ass. The stake fell to the ground, and Emilio let it stay there as he straightened. He shook his head at Zane’s apology.

“Don’t be. It was a good hit,” he said, propping himself against the wall and studying Zane’s features. The eyes going red, the look on his face… Some people weren’t built for violence. It was something that had taken Emilio a long time to understand, something that hadn’t clicked at all until he’d come here, met people who were more people than weapons. There were people who weren’t compatible with the kind of shit he’d come to know as commonplace.

Unfortunately, there were also people who didn’t get much of a say. Plenty of slayers out there didn’t give a shit how Zane felt about violence. They’d stake him just as quickly as they would a mindless spawn. And Emilio was coming to realize that he didn’t want that to happen. “Look,” he sighed, “I know you don’t like this. Not your thing, I get it. But you’re going to have to learn how to handle yourself if you don’t want some asshole to come along and turn you to dust. It’s not what you would have picked for yourself, I get that. But it is what it is. This is what you are now. You gotta learn to go with it.”

—

Zane’s eyes moved to the stake on the ground, finding it easier to focus on the piece of wood than Emilio straightening himself after the blow. The feelings of shame, mixed with success at what was probably the closest he would ever get to a compliment from the slayer, were making his brain go a bit haywire. And Emilio speaking in a way that was almost… empathetic? It did prove what Zane had suspected all along, that the hardass attitude was just a big cover, but boy, was it making everything feel a bit unreal.

His gaze finally returned to Emilio, eyes back to a soft brown but still creased with worry. This is what you are now. Someone who could hurt people. Who had hurt people, both bad and good. “What if I can’t?” Zane asked quietly, shoulders dropping in defeat. It was a rhetorical question, and one that Emilio had pretty much answered already. He’d be nothing more than dust if he couldn’t. So instead of waiting for an answer, Zane moved instead to pick up the knife he’d dropped in the process of shoving the slayer, holding it with an ounce of determination that hadn’t been present before.

With a heavy exhale, eyes closing for a moment, he let himself feel the weight of the knife in his hand. Nothing else except to go with it, huh. Eyes opening, Zane squared his jaw before giving Emilio a nod. “Okay.”

—

“Then you die. Again. For real, this time.” It was blunt, and maybe a little harsh, but it was the truth. After everything, Emilio thought that Zane deserved that. He’d been lied to by his sire already. He deserved a little honesty, even if it was something hard to hear. And while Emilio might not have been good at much when it came to human interaction, he was good at the truth. He was good at telling it how it was, regardless of how much trouble it landed him in or how unpopular it made him. Reviews of Axis Investigation might condemn him for his bluntness, but at least the people writing those reviews got the truth they’d asked for.

He watched Zane’s expression, watched the determination slip into place. As the vampire leaned down to pick up the knife, the ghost of a smile flickered across the slayer’s face. He leaned down, too, picked up the stake and positioned it carefully in his hands.

“Okay,” he repeated. He tilted his chin up, falling easily into a defensive position. “Throw away your thoughts. Don’t worry about the damage you’ll do. I’m a hunter. I tracked you down. I’m going to kill you. How are you going to stop me?”

—

Like other things Zane has struggled with, repetition seemed to be the key. It seemed obvious now but the second he’d failed to catch the knife, he’d been sure this was a lost cause. It definitely didn’t feel like a win yet but it was… something.

Emilio was a surprisingly decent teacher. Zane knew better than to mention it, had a feeling that any sort of genuine compliment wouldn’t exactly go down the right way, but it did make the vampire try harder than he thought capable. Maybe a bit too hard at times if the black eye on Emilio’s face was anything to go off, having met Zane’s elbow at some point. Luckily for Zane’s guilt, the slayer served as good as he got - obviously holding back seeing as Zane was still alive but he was definitely sore.

It felt different from the other times he’d felt the aches of a fight. He didn’t feel scared.

He was too sore to care about the status of the couch he was currently sitting on but the company of Perro was definitely helping. Distractedly scratching behind the dog’s ears, Zane watched Emilio, faint fondness visible in the tired eyes. “Why’d you agree to this?” he asked softly, turning his eyes back to Perro at the sound of complaint when the petting was no longer up to standard.

—

Zane did all right. Not amazing — it was clumsy and unbalanced, the way he fought, but Emilio could certainly see some improvement by the end of the session. And, if he was being honest… the whole thing was more fun than he thought it would be. He’d been dreading it, when he’d first agreed to help Zane train. After all, he’d failed to train his daughter and hated himself for the assistance he’d given his sister in training his nephew. Training, before this, had always been so much more brutal. Tossing children to wolves and seeing if they survived without having their throats torn out. This was different. It felt kinder, more productive. He didn’t hate it.

He limped back to the living room from the kitchen, carrying a pair of glasses and setting the slightly less full one in front of Zane before settling onto the couch beside the vampire. The glasses would be familiar to Zane, of course; he’d been the one to buy them, after all. Emilio lifted his to his lips with a sigh, reaching his free hand out to rest lazily on Perro’s back.

He glanced over as Zane spoke, shifting a little where he sat. “You need to know how to defend yourself,” he replied. “Lot of people out there who’ll kill you if you can’t.” Emilio used to be one of them. He tried not to focus on that too much, tried not to dwell. “I’ve… seen a lot of people die because they didn’t know how to hold their own. You don’t deserve that. So if I can help, I’ll help. Probably owe you that much, after everything.” Zane was his friend. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he knew it was undeniable now. And Emilio, for all his faults, took care of his friends.

—

At the sight of two glasses being brought over, mixed emotions flashed across Zane’s face. He was pleased to see that his donation to Emilio’s cupboards were still in one piece but not really looking forward to drinking whatever was in the glasses. It had only taken the one time to learn that the slayer seemed to prefer strength over quality of taste when it came to his beverages. Even so, he attempted a grateful smile, which turned into a grimace the second he brought the drink close enough to smell.

Emilio wasn’t a man of many words, very to the point, never one to say anything he didn’t mean. It was a change of pace for someone like Zane, who almost always said too much with too many words, so in a way he envied the slayer. The amount of words didn’t matter because the meaning, the conviction, was there. Emilio cared whether or not someone shoved a stake through Zane’s heart. It was dressed in a feeling of owing the vampire something, which was ridiculous considering all the help provided at the barn, but still.

He was smiling, there was no stopping it nor hiding it, so Zane settled for a sip of the disgusting liquid. “Well,” he coughed out, the first sip no easier than the last time, “thank you. Honestly. Like, I kinda want to hug you right now - don’t worry, I won’t - but, uh… it’s nice. That you have my back.” He paused, putting the barely touched glass of alcohol back on the table. “And I do want to have yours, y’know. If we’re talking about owing people something. I get that you’re not exactly the type to ask for help but… well, I’m here.”

—

Zane didn’t look entirely pleased with the beverage choice; not many people were. Emilio liked his whiskey strong and cheap, and that tended to be a combination that warded off most other people. He rolled his eyes as Zane made a face at the smell. “You don’t have to drink it,” he said, taking a long gulp from his own glass. If Zane didn’t want it, Emilio would drink it himself… which he figured would only prompt the vampire to insist on braving it out. He had a strange habit of worrying about Emilio; the slayer couldn’t pretend to understand it.

He was beginning to think it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, though. He thought back to what Rhett had said not long after coming to town, when he’d still been pissed as hell that Emilio was making friends with people who weren’t as human as he might have liked them to be. The question of whether or not the existence of these friends meant that Emilio no longer wanted to die still wasn’t one he knew the answer to. He still had a hard time mustering up much will to live on the bad days, and even on the good ones it was fleeting. But… He didn’t hate the idea of people caring about him quite as much as he used to. Maybe that was a step in the right direction.

Still, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes as Zane smiled in response to his statement, couldn’t stop himself from letting out a huff of air as the vampire coughed around the taste of that cheap whiskey. Coughing, Emilio thought, was awfully dramatic for a guy who didn’t even breathe. “Do not hug me,” he warned with a dubious look. He watched that glass of whiskey go to the table, stared at it so he wouldn’t have to look at Zane. People caring about him wasn’t the worst thing, but he still wasn’t sure how to react to things like this. To people who wanted him safe, wanted to protect him. It felt strangely backwards, like something that shouldn’t be. Emilio was the protector; it was what he was for. “You’ll have to get better with a knife first,” he said, because it was easier to make one of his stupid jokes that no one else ever found funny. “Otherwise, I’ll just watch my own back.”

—

It was subtle, but there. A small shift in Emilio, more easily spotted now that Zane wasn’t dodging punches or figuratively catching his breath after being slammed into the floor. It made the vampire happy, hopeful, which Emilio would probably hate if he knew but… maybe he’d hate it a bit less than he would have some weeks ago. Whatever was spurring this change, Zane was glad for it.

The glass stayed untouched after that first sip, even though Zane knew it would mean more alcohol for the slayer but at this point, liver damage killing the man felt about as likely as a heart attack killing Zane. So he let himself not worry about that for now, allowing himself instead to bask in how weirdly nice this was, how accomplished he felt at having completed something he’d been terrified to do. A step towards forging his own path, with some unexpected help. “Yeah, I know,” he chuckled, amused by the almost doubtful look in Emilio’s eyes, like he wouldn’t quite know how to react to a hug. It made Zane want to hug him even more for some reason.

Huffing out another laugh, Zane smiled at Perro and shook his head, as if the dog might understand how silly his owner was being. “Alright, fair enough.” He paused before glancing up at Emilio, a bit of hope in his eyes. “Same time next week, then?”

#writing #mortemoppetere #thread:emilio #emilio.006 #suicidal ideation tw

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voraciousvore · 1 year ago

Text

Bucky's (18/44)

***Contains some soft, safe vore***

Chapter 18: Strange Feelings

After that fateful night, Patty couldn’t get Ronny out of her mind. She was obsessed. She believed he was the key to her escape. If he could get the tracker off her wrist, she might have a chance to get away. She couldn’t see herself convincing any other Giant to help her take it off. He seemed sympathetic to her plight as well. She hoped he would come back soon. She was desperate to get away, and she felt renewed vigor with the vague outline of a plan.

Her revelation that he thought she was an employee at Bucky’s, working voluntarily for a wage, stunned her. She had assumed that all the Giants who came to the restaurant to feed on humans knew the humans were prisoners. It had been plainly obvious to her, but perhaps not to the customers. She saw the restaurant in a different light now. Maybe not all the customers were so ignorant, but at least some of them must be under the same delusion. Maybe not all Giants were as bad as she thought. Perhaps, if she did successfully escape, she’d be able to survive on the large side of the city—especially if she had Ronny to help her.

Ronny. She wasn’t sure what to think of him. His hot temper and sullen attitude scared her, with him being so incredibly large. Plus, he was a Giant, and Patty didn’t have the best experiences with Giants. From observing his interactions on his dates, Patty sensed that Ronny had a lot of baggage in his past that he was trying to work through. Yet, underneath that rough, edgy, gruff exterior, she saw good in him as well: buds of compassion, gentleness, motivation to be a better man. There was something about him that made her heart flutter, that made her feel warm inside. These feelings alarmed her, and seemed wrong and inappropriate to her when directed toward a Giant, so she made an effort to deny and reject them. She couldn’t accept that any of that made sense. She needed him to help her escape, nothing more.

The humans arose in the morning with Bucky’s usual banging on the ceiling and ate their breakfast, which consisted of leftovers from last night’s dinner service. Patty found herself next to Cesar, of all people. She hadn’t talked to him much, even though he was always hanging around in the common room since there was nowhere else for him to go.

“Hey, Cesar, why do you bother to get up with the rest of us this early in the morning? It’s not like you have to be present for Bucky’s morning inspection,” Patty pointed out.

Cesar shrugged. “Just to be with everyone else, I suppose. A little community time before I’m alone again here. It’s awfully boring with little company and nothing to do, day after day.”

“But at least you don’t have to be eaten, right?” Patty said, trying to look on the bright side. She had to admit, Cesar’s situation sounded abysmal, being trapped in the same rooms indefinitely, pointlessly, perhaps for life, with no stimulation. As terrible as it was to be served as live food in a restaurant, at least Patty got some variety in her life and had a function, a purpose, a role to fulfill.

Cesar sighed and gave Patty an intense look. “The irony is painful.”

“Huh?” Patty replied, confused.

“I’m probably the only human in here that WANTS to be eaten, and I’m the only one that won’t be. The universe truly hates me.”

“Wait. You WANT to be eaten?” Patty balked.

“More than anything!” Cesar exclaimed passionately, a dreamy look in his eye. “I don’t care if it’s a Giant or a Giantess, to be honest, as long as they’re sexy, with nice teeth. I just want to be eaten so badly. It sounds so hot, so intimate, to be inside someone like that. To pleasure them with your whole body. And you know, a lot of Giants get erotic pleasure from eating people, which makes it even better.”

Patty stared at him with bafflement. “You’re nuts.” She was grossed out at the thought that Giants that ate her might be doing it to satisfy lustful, not just gluttonous, urges. Just then, Bucky opened the ceiling, and the humans scrambled into rows. Patty happened to be standing next to Graham Cracker this time.

“Graham, your glasses!” she hissed.

“Shit,” he muttered, removing them from his face and hastily stashing them on a couch nearby. He moved back into line just in time for Bucky to pass over him with his glittering eyes. He sighed with relief and wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. “Thanks Patty.”

“No problem,” she whispered back. After studying each human with painstaking detail, Bucky dismissed them to the tank. The day started off fairly typical, with a few humans being chosen for breakfast. The breakfast shift was always the worst, because humans who were eaten early in the day were always returned to the tank later, where there was a good possibility of being picked again for lunch or dinner. On the other hand, fatal ingestion was very rare in the morning, so at least the humans had that for consolation.

Patty hung out with Slim Jim and Little Debbie most of the time, since they were such nice people. Patty had no idea how Little Debbie kept up her cheery demeanor despite the empty despair they all suffered from, but she appreciated her attempts at positivity. Many of the humans couldn’t stand Little Debbie’s chipper attitude, and preferred to wallow in gloom. Patty didn’t want that: She knew the importance of not giving up hope, if she ever wanted to escape, and she was feeling more optimistic than ever today.

Patty learned more about Little Debbie as she spoke to her. She was the youngest of three sisters. Her mom was too sick to work, so she had been forced to step up to financially support the family and help pay for her mother’s exorbitant medical bills. Working as a prostitute, on top of her other job, proved to be lucrative. Unfortunately, she had been caught. She worried about her mother, in her sickly condition, and hoped she was still doing alright.

Slim Jim talked about how much he missed his wife and children. He had two young kids, a girl and a boy. He hoped they were doing okay, but of course he had no way to contact them. He wasn’t optimistic, considering how desperate he had been to provide for them when he was arrested. Jim was normally a respectable man, not a hardened criminal, and he berated himself for the bad decisions he had made. He was full of regret and beaten down after his failed escape attempts.

Patty tried not to get too close to anyone, for obvious reasons, but it was impossible not to get to know people and make friends. There was nothing else to do in the tank except talk to each other, huddle in fear, and watch the selected humans get eaten. Honey was one of the first unlucky humans of the day. Patty, Jim, and Debbie watched as a Giant slathered her with butter, stuck her inside a blueberry muffin, and wolfed her down, rubbing his belly with contentment afterwards. Pepper was next, accompanying a southwestern-style omelet and some hash browns. The Giant whose plate she was on delighted in tormenting her, stirring her up with the food on his plate, picking her up with his fork and dropping her, before finally scooping her up with a forkful of hash browns and tossing her in his mouth. After playing with her on his tongue for a while, he swallowed her whole and licked his lips.

Despite the distractions, Patty continued to daydream about Ronny coming to rescue her. Little did she know that Ronny was thinking about her as well. Much like Patty, he was ambivalent about his true feelings. He figured she was an inferior human, a small little nothing designed to fit on his dinner plate and inside his belly. So why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? Why did he feel so strange when he thought about her, so excited and euphoric, like he was floating? Such feelings made him exceedingly uncomfortable, yet at the same time the heavy darkness that was constantly crushing him down seemed to vanish. He felt light and sunny—perhaps even happy. What the hell was wrong with him?

He could hardly focus on his work the next day, thinking about her. He typed on his keyboard, mechanically going through the motions, but his mind was elsewhere. When he ate lunch, his food seemed tasteless and bland without her in it. He barely touched his macaroni and cheese, so by the end of the day he was already starving. At first, he resisted the strange impulses in his head, and went home. He changed out of his suit into more comfortable clothes and checked his fridge. Nothing looked appetizing. He only had eyes—and an open mouth—for Patty.

He thought about how delicious she tasted and began to salivate. How good she felt, tumbling down his throat. Moving around inside his belly. His stomach growled. He was disturbed to find himself aroused, his pants growing tighter around his groin, his insides and lower half reacting in a visceral, carnal way. This feeling wasn’t right, not when directed towards a human. He sat down on the couch, turned on the TV to distract himself, and tried to cool down. He needed to put a stop to his racing thoughts and his heart throbbing in his chest.

He stared at the TV for a good fifteen minutes before he realized he hadn’t paid attention to any of the programming. He couldn’t get Patty out of his head. He wanted her—and not just to eat. He wanted to be with her, to get to know her. To hold her in his hands, up to his chest. He was burning with an unexpected passion that was almost painful in its intensity. He wanted to rescue her from her terrible confinement and be her hero. He had felt whole with her, in a way that literally nothing else could.

Ronny sprang up from the couch, slicking his black hair back with his hands. He was sweating. He needed to get these thoughts out of his head. He couldn’t possibly feel this way about this woman, this human. Could he? And what would she think about it, if she knew his true feelings? About him? Some despicable, barbaric, man-eating Giant who ordered her up on a plate to be eaten? There was no way she could feel anything for him beyond fear and revulsion.

He reflected on how he had aggressively, angrily scarfed her up in his pasta the first time he met her. Chowed down on her with chicken wings. Drank her up in his beer, even after she begged him to have mercy on her (though, to give himself credit, he had stopped himself initially, until Bucky interfered). And, the whole time, unbeknownst to him, she had been a prisoner at the restaurant, forced to suffer and submit to his whims. He had been such a stupid jerk to her. He wondered, if he had known the truth, if he would have treated her any differently upon their initial encounter, if it would have changed anything. He honestly wasn’t sure.

Ronny started to spiral. He was drowning in guilt. He recalled memories from further back, all the horrible things he’d done. He thought about that sweet human girl back at the office, Candy, whom he had tortured and almost murdered. She had done nothing wrong to him except make him bitter because she was pretty and he resented humans. He had a long, long list of cruel actions he had inflicted upon her: dunking her in his coffee, playing with her in his mouth, flicking her in the head to knock her out, stashing her in the perverted boss’s laptop bag to take home, smashing cake all over her, belittling her with insults, trapping her in a refrigerator, wrapping her up in spaghetti, putting her in a microwave—the list was endless. He had done so many objectionable things, he couldn’t keep track of them all. Sure, he had saved her from the boss’s savage lust and gluttony in the end, but that hardly made up for all the horrors he had committed. He knew he had sinned beyond what could be forgiven.

He looked down at his hands, shaking. He couldn’t go on like this, continuing to be the monster that he was. He needed to change. He realized he wanted to save Patty for selfish reasons, but a good deed was a good deed. She needed help, desperately, and he had the means to free her. At least, he hoped he did. He wasn’t sure if he could steal her away from the restaurant and get away with it. The owner had seen him before, knew his face. Bucky had taken precautions. The trackers. There were obstacles, but Ronny was certain, if he were gutsy enough, he could overcome them.

Full of determination, Ronny left his apartment and made his way over to Bucky’s with purpose. He didn’t have a clear plan in mind, but he knew he had to try. He needed to feel, in his heart, that he could be redeemed.

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

#giant #giant/tiny #g/t #tiny #g/t writing #size difference #giant tiny #g/t fluff #Bucky's #g/t story #g/t vore

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nerendus · 1 year ago

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Spice, moonlit, ghost

spice - have you ever encountered a house that you believed to be haunted?

The house I spent most of my childhood in, I 100% believe was haunted. Maybe not by the spirits of dead people (especially since no one every died in that house), but at the very least the residual remains of a person who once lived there. An elderly woman lived in the house before us, and just on the overall vibes felt in the house, it definitely felt like a grandma was occupying the space around us.

I only ever really experienced the sound of soft breathing over my shoulder and someone sitting at the foot of my bed, but my mother and sister have been so much more lucky in experiencing things. My mother has heard someone quite plainly say hello back to her when she's alone in the house, and my sister becomes plagued by like, seriously bad vibes whenever she doesn't clean her room.

And whilst this isn't exactly about the house itself, when our neighbour across the street passed away under extremely suspicious conditions, that night before anyone found the body, my sister had an extremely bad dream of a figure standing over her—and the vibes were bad not necessarily in the sense that the figure wanted to do her harm, but more of her experiencing their pain. Doesn't exactly mean anything conclusive, but I think back to that time and time again.

Another time, me and my family left our house for about six weeks, and the place was left clean and tidy and all the lights were turned off to conserve energy. But when we returned, there was an empty pizza box and half-eaten apple in the kitchen and random lights in the house were on. Maybe not a ghost, but it certainly was weird.

moonlit - are you a neat or messy person? Is your room / house orderly?

Oh, without a doubt, I am extremely messy. I clean my room and not a day passes before it's trashed again. I still have tons of boxes from when I moved to this house a few years ago still stacked up and not moved an inch. One day I'll get to properly unpacking my stuff. One day.

ghost - is there someone that you miss having in your life?

Plenty of people. Especially from my Instagram and Wattpad days, I had a lot of friends that I kept in close contact for several years. But as I got older and interests parted from them, there never really became a reason to still talk to them, and while I genuinely don't feel compelled to reach out to them, I still do quite miss them.

#texts from the underbrush #📬

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lesbianbreastmilk · 1 year ago

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Still thinking about the Emperor's romance and how it spans across the three acts in such a subtle but strong way. Like with Badri, she definitely didn't know what to believe at first, didn't immediately start using the tadpoles. Every time they met in the Astral Prism, she felt drawn to the guardian in a way that went beyond her understanding. No one had ever wanted to protect her; she has a pretty conflicted past in which she has sought to help others to the point of her own suffering. And I think the martyr pov comes from the fact she's a half-aasimar with an enstranged connection to cosmic divinity. That's why she sought to learn magic often, even the magic looked down by others, like necromancy and its uses for medicine and investigation. (The murder mystery in the Act 3 is her jam because she's good at it with Speak with the Dead lol and technically her job if you take away the tadpole mess.)

BUT what I'm trying to say is that she knew the guardian was lying to her. Plainly. She can tell. She went the crèche path just because she wanted to know more about the prism and test the waters with the guardian. As much as their conversations were pleasant and her presence was warm, Badri lived a life that she got to know the minds of the strangest people you could find; being a private investigator does that to you. In the prism, when the Emperor thinks you're about to kill her, it really dawned on Badri that this was a situation where she had to trust this guardian she knew little about because despite all subterfuge she really seemed to want to protect her and her companions. I think this is where the similarities between the Emperor and Badri start because they're both pretty strange people in their own way. Both sacrifice a lot for others with a goal in mind - and sometimes their good intentions fall short because they can't anticipate every angle. No matter how much they claim they might.

With Badri, she had a strange-ass friendship with my durge, and they met while she was investigating murder sprees in BG; Badri tried her best to try and bring my durge out of her pact with Bhaal. She could see the person beneath the reigns of a bloody god. But never managed, especially since Orin is particularly nasty and obessesive. And to her, Badri's meddling was annoying even if it proved to be an opportunity to get Solemn and Equinox (my durge's name) captured and tadpole'd. I envision they travel together, but Badri never tells Solemn and Equinox about her past because she believes this is her break to make a change. So you get why I think the Emperor and Badri are alike. Both omit things because they believe it'll help in the long run; given Badri is a beacon of shiny light with mostly noble intentions and the Emperor is a shady little shadow with personal goals. They make the whole puzzle fit.

The first time the guardian/Emperor is vulnerable with Badri, she hugs her without a second thought. Because Badri has made up her mind, that whatever her secret is, she'll have a good reason to keep it hidden for now. When they touch, it feels so serene for a second and stirs a connection between them that was already taking shape, like a cord made of gold among a starry realm. Every time they meet the scent of vanilla and garlic is present which is a smell she attributes only to the guardian's presence. And that's when she tells the guardian: "You protect me, I protect you." It's almost like sealing their destiny as intertwined. I know the companions often wonder why she is such a jovial soul, but a bit of a loner, and it's really because she seldom connects with others. But when she does? It's until the end.

When it's finally revealed that the guardian is a mind flayer, she is surprised, but not in a bad way. Because finally, everything made sense. She had humored the hypothesis in her mind, but it seemed so far-fetched. But now standing next to it, helping it, and hearing its voice as they are, she understands the visage. She sees how it mirrors each other; the glowing eye and scar, the purple and red tones of her make-up. The guardian is as much as part of the Emperor as anything else. But this form is its essence. Where the warmth and care come from. So Badri does stare, but unlike the Emperor's self-conscious comment, "stop looking at me like that," it's just because she gets it now. And it excites her. She wants to know everything it may be willing to share.

The Emperor is squid over heels with Badri and it is very evident when it shares everything they were in their past life. It wants her to know, it wants her to be its star amidst the darkness of thoughts and tiresome loneliness. I firmly believe it seeks companionship because it wants to love so badly, but mind flayers have no blueprint for it. Enslaved by an Elder Brain and driven to enslave others, so to the Emperor, freedom is everything. And Badri is as free as they come, with an insane background and species. She is as weird as it comes in a package of humanoid. Star-like eyes, always topless, wings of celestial nature, and a job unfit for her kind. At least in the eyes of the gods.

She likes mortality and people. And the Emperor does too, albeit it sucks at connecting with others while Badri is pretty good at it. It is madly in love with her because she is so accepting of who they were, who they became, and who they are now.

I think the romance/sex scene is the first time the Emperor got intimate with another person while being a mind flayer (those desperate squid moans are sub-mode sorry 🫵🏻🦑), and it holds probably a meaning beyond words. That's why their mind connection fills the gap of words. They mean the world to each other. And the pleasure they derive from this love is endless.

Badri is not scared of its predator nature, and the Emperor can fully embrace itself in Badri's arms. Tentacles in the pussy and all.

Oh, and also Badri didn't particularly care the Emperor didn't tell her it was Balduran before becoming a mind flayer. It's something that clearly brings him mixed emotions, so she respects that it didn't want to share such painful aspect of its past and who they were (and no longer are). Also, she thinks Ansur is kind of an ass for trying to kill his friend because it was a "mercy death" instead of becoming a ""monster."" She tries to be neutral, but it's the same thing with Lae'zel where she's like "that's not a ""ghaik"" it's my beautiful purple wife 💜 🥰🫶🏻"

#hello yes im back #throws a 10ft long thought post #bg3 spoilers #badri the starstorm #the emperor bg3 #otp: You protect me; I protect you

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myybelovedghostandme · 2 years ago

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You’re Losing Me

I just think that as someone who is currently going through the ringer with my m*rriage, You’re Losing Me might be one of the most gut-punching songs she’s ever written and released, especially when held up next to Cornelia Street.

There is something so tangible about a line that says, “you say I don’t understand,” and I say, “I know you don’t” because of how often communication falling apart is just the first step to the downfall of a relationship. You plead, and beg, and explain over and over and over again what you want and need. And then nothing changes.

He told me to get out of the house. I begged him to try counseling. He relented—but only because he didn’t want to look like the bad guy. He didn’t want to be accused of being unreasonable.

Those first few months, he tried to get me to leave.

The signs are always there, whether you see them or not. Sometimes, it’s just refusal to accept what’s plainly in front of you: the end of a relationship. Sometimes it’s denial, sometimes it’s thinking, “If we can just make it to XYZ, we’ll be able to fix it.”

Six years (how long I’ve been married) is a long time, especially when it’s been spent building a life with someone. “Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?” WRECKS me because it reminds me of a conversation where my spouse sat me down and told me how he wanted to divide assets. Taking a life built together and ripping it in half as if that will ease the ache left in the wake of the destruction.

I turn this song on in the car and scream it at the top of my lungs. There is something healing about having a song that encapsulates exactly how a moment/relationship feels. I cry when I reach the line, “I know my pain is such an imposition.” I can’t breathe when I hear the bridge.

My spouse looked me in the eye told me he didn’t love me anymore. He told me my mental illness was a burden. He told me I wasn’t pulling my weight (untrue, he just wasn’t paying attention). He told me I was dark, troubled, and painful to be around. He told me I was a piece of shit. That I was embarrassing. At 29, he believes I am too old to love things as broadly and loudly as I do—and especially so of Taylor Swift, as if she hadn’t been there are every single pivotal moment of my life. As if she hadn’t gotten me through the absolute worst days I’ve ever lived through. In order to be accepted, I had to become less.

A lot of this is because I don’t want kids, which is something I was very clear about before we stood at the altar and said, “I do.” Now, it’s gasoline on the fire. I’m a miserable bitch because I don’t want a family—as if it’s only family when there are children in the picture.

There was a moment, months before he asked for a divorce, where I gave up. Deep down, I understood that it wasn’t just that we weren’t on the same page. We weren’t even reading the same book. We were even in the same genre. I understood then that we didn’t understand each other, we didn’t want the same things anymore, we were no longer compatible. The things he used to say he loved about me, the things he said that helped him fall in love, were now reasons why he hated being with me.

I stayed because I love him. He agreed to counseling. The two of us, sitting across from a marriage counselor once a week, splitting open our chests until our hearts lay raw and bleeding on the floor. Learning to communicate. To forgive. To understand.

And it’s working.

Last month, he asked me to never leave him.

Last week, he said he was so happy we never got divorced.

I am left with a husband who loves me again but a marriage I no longer believe in. I don’t know what love is anymore because I can’t understand how someone who claims to love me would have said the things he did or done the things he did. When he tells me loves me, I can’t trust that he means it.

I feel like I’ve lost more than the illusion of a happy marriage. I’ve lost myself along the way.

It’s just crazy to me that midnights came into the world two weeks after my marriage fell apart, an album that I listened to and immediately said, “this album is the opposite of lover.” A breakup album, whether it was intended to be so or not. Full of complex emotions, skipping between love and loss, loneliness, anger, confusion. A variation of the stages of grief played out over the course of 19 songs. A heart laid bare.

You’re Losing Me feels like the song that ties the entire narrative together—and completely eviscerates Lover. And it nails home that, once again, Taylor Swift albums are the landmarks of my life.

#taylor swift #you’re losing me #midnights #from the vault

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multipleoccupancy · 3 months ago

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Theo and Andrea just exchanged a short glance at the worry over barbers doing stitches. Theo was about to offer to find a physician but Violet said she trusted them and he took that as permission that the barber would do, if he was even needed in the first place.

As she went to sit up, both Theo and Andrea moved to try and offer support and help for her to do so. While they disagreed with her attempt they thought she might as well try and learn it was a bad idea than believe they were coddling her. She had clearly used up a lot of energy to do just that and Andrea held onto her arm to support her in an upright position. Seeing the beads of sweat on her brow, Theo moved to the wash basin, emptied it out of the window unceremoniously and then poured clean water from a jug over a small fold of cloth.

"Well I am sure he will be mighty grateful for a knife like that," Theo mused while he rung out the cloth a few times, catching the water in the bowl. "I hope we don't meet a Hound either," he said plainly and honestly, "if just one shard can do that, I hate to think what the rest of it is capable of." He noticed her checking the corners of the room, quietly and slowly doing the same curiously.

"Bacon and potatoes," Andrea repeated for Violet's order, she turned to Theo, "No candies, you can have beef with dried fruits." Andrea insisted, brushing a hand across Theo's back before she headed to the door to go and collect some hot food for them all. "You just stay right here, I'll be right back." She promised before letting herself out of the door.

Theo approached Violet with the cool damp cloth and gently pressed it to her forehead to cool her down and to wipe away the beads of sweat. "You have gotta take it easy for a few days," he said quietly, his voice low and while concerned did hold notes of relief, much like her father in the mine before his confessions. "You can rest here, ain't nothing going to happen to you in a town and especially not with Andrea and Chief around." He cracked a smile but he was clearly worried for her. "I've also got more dynamite sticks but I don't think folks here would appreciate that all too much."

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

"I thought barbers only... cut hair and trimmed beards," she admitted, "At least, it's the only thing they do in my timeline." She had never heard of anyone going to the barber to get stitches! "But if you say the barber can do it, I trust you." After all, this wasn't her timeline. Things were different, here.

Violet sat up to try and see if she could spot Chief out the window. Unfortunately, sitting up in her current state was a complicated endeavor. She had to be very careful, each motion sending jolts of pain down her back. It took her a long, laborious minute, before she could sit on the bed -and even then, she had to awkwardly stay away from the pillow, worried it would hurt if it touched her back. At the end of all this effort, she hardly had the energy to crane her neck. She'd have to wait before she could see Chief.

She managed a smile, but there were beads of sweat all over her forehead. "I made another knife like that, for my dad. I'm happy to know it'll come in handy if he ever needs to slice a monster." It was a comforting thought if her Hound Knife could keep her father safe, even while she was away and unable to help him. "If we encounter a Hound, I could make knives for you, too. Though I would rather not see a Hound again." And with that, she checked the corners of the room. No billowing black smoke. Phew. "But if people here are used to using monster parts, maybe we'll come across someone selling Hound Shards!"

Andrea's list of hot food made Violet salivate. She was very hungry! And very relieved that the saloon didn't only serve monster meat. After her encounter of the day, she didn't want to eat monster meat at all. "Some bacon and potatoes would be great," she replied, encouraged by Theo.

#hvbris #killian #violet #asoue au #& Andrea

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forever-emo-phase · 3 years ago

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Mission Status: Sick!

Notes: Hello this is my first fic for Sanders Sides! It is inspired by @illogicallyinclined‘s hockey AU! If you haven’t ever gotten into it, do it! However, you can still read even if you don’t know anything about the AU! Characters: Virgil, Logan

Ship: The whole thing is pretty much just analogical pining Warnings: Panic attack is described Genre: Just guys being dudes being gay. Fluff maybe? It’s not sad and that’s all I can tell you. Summary: Which is how Virgil arrived at his current situation, Logan tensely sitting at his desk in the middle of the night with shoulders so tight he looked like he was seconds away from shattering.

'It's a good thing that my homosexuality is stronger than my pride', Virgil thought as he opened a capri sun and violently squeezed it onto his sheets.

Check it out on Ao3 here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/33804841

Anxiety sucks. Virgil’s nails are always bitten down to the quick, hands never still, and the insides of his cheeks chewed and raw. If Virgil had to find a bright side, it would have to be his ability to read people. With just a look, Virgil could tell by the slump of his shoulders when Roman needed a little bit of extra praise. He would notice the redness around Patton’s eyes and know that he would need more company than normal.

But the one person Virgil prided himself on seeing was Logan. It was almost second nature for him to sense the tension in Logan’s shoulders without even looking, he could almost feel it in the air. He could see when Logan needed to get out of his head and stop pushing himself before he broke.

Dealing with Logan’s emotions, however, was slightly harder. If his approach was too physical, like he would approach Patton, Logan would withdraw. If he tried to take the same approach he would with Roman, showering compliments tempered with a light bit of teasing, Logan would get uncomfortable and retreat.

Which is how Virgil arrived at his current situation, Logan tensely sitting at his desk in the middle of the night with shoulders so tight he looked like he was seconds away from shattering.

'It's a good thing that my homosexuality is stronger than my pride', Virgil thought as he opened a capri sun and violently squeezed it onto his sheets.

The thing with Logan is that he doesn’t care about himself. He will push himself to his limit and keep going, but, if someone else needs something? He will help as much as he can, even though sometimes it may not be overly obvious that he is helping.

“Hey Logan?” Virgil says from across the room, staring at his now soaked bedding.

“Yes, Virgil?” Logan doesn’t look up from his computer as he sharply replies. For a moment Virgil wonders if this scheme was the best idea, it could fail horribly and Logan could be angry and refuse. But, the wheels were already in motion, his sheets were already wet, and there was no turning back.

“I fucked up.” He said plainly, watching as Logan’s head turned so fast to look at him that he was surprised that he didn’t hear a crack. Realizing how ominous his statement was, Virgil raised his hands and quickly spat out a placating “No it’s okay i’m fine!”

Logan let out a sigh before replying “What did you manage to do that was so dramatic that it required that statement, while I was sitting in the same room, only a handful of feet away from you?”

“Well…” Virgil started, choosing his words very carefully to make sure his plan could not fail. “I was panicking a little bit while I was drinking my Capri Sun and I squeezed it a little bit too hard. It spilled on my sheets and my bed is soaked now.”

Logan’s eyes assessed Virgil, making him momentarily wonder if his lie was believable. Did his dishonesty show on his face? Was Logan about to get angry and yell at him? His hands began to shake slightly and his breathing picked up and, he thought wryly, at least now he wasn’t lying about being anxious. His fears were eased when he saw the slight softening of Logan’s face.

“Oh Virgil,” Logan huffed out, his face morphing into an expression of fond exasperation, “You need to stop having drinks in your bed, especially ones of the extremely spillable and sugary type.”

Virgil shrugged, “It is what it is, you know?”

“It does not have to be the way that it is?” Logan said with a hint of confusion sneaking into his voice. “You can very easily change the circumstance.”

A small chuckle escaped from Virgil as he watched his roommate struggle to wrap his head around the statement. Logan was extremely smart, that was obvious, but watching him puzzle out modern slang and sayings struck Virgil as endearing every time. “It’s too late to change it now, you know?”

“You are correct.” Logan intoned and Virgil could already see some of the tension leaving Logan’s shoulders as he began to relax during the conversation. “Do you have a plan for drying your bedding before it is time for you to sleep?”

“Not at all.” Virgil said as he absentmindedly brought his hand to his mouth to bite his nails, but stopped as Logan let out a soft click of his tongue as a reprimand. As he lowered his hand, he absent-mindedly wondered if Logan was even aware that he had made the sound. Either way, Virgil found it incredibly sweet. “I’ll probably just sleep on the floor. My pillow is dry.”

Virgil made a show of picking up his pillow and feeling around for a dry blanket so that he could make a temporary bed on the floor, however, he was quickly interrupted.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Logan scolded lightly, “You can sleep in my bed. I will be up for a significant while longer doing work, it is no problem at all.”

Everything was falling into place for Virgil and he had to resist the urge to steeple his fingers together like a Bond villain. But his work was not finished, there was still one more task- Get Logan In The Bed.

“Dude no!” He exclaimed, “I’m not taking your bed! You’ve gotta sleep at some point!”

“Virgil,” Logan sighed, “I have a lot of work to do that I need to get done soon. I was actually planning to get up and pour myself some more coffee.”

Shit. If Logan got caffeine into his system, it was game over. His plan would fail and he would just be in Logan’s bed, and while that wouldn’t be the worst thing, it was not the plan. Panicking, he blurted out a quick “No!”

“No?” Logan said with a raised eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

‘Now or never’ Virgil thought to himself, before delivering the line that had inspired the whole plot.

“I wouldn’t feel okay with taking your bed, just in case you decided to sleep. Could we just share for the night?”

Logan looked puzzled, “I suppose, but I have already told you that I am not necessarily planning on sleeping tonight.”

“I know but.. I would feel bad.” Virgil said, his anxiety rising now that he was this far into the plan and there was truly no turning back. “Could you just… Would you just lay down for a minute? It would make me feel better.”

Judging by Logan’s expression, Virgil was convinced that he had lost Logan. His plan had failed and he felt a burn of shame in his chest, clenching his eyes shut. God he was so stupid! He should have just refused the offer to take Logan’s bed and slept on the floor! He should have not even tried this stupid plan! Virgil had not noticed his breathing picking up and his fingernails burying themselves into his palms as his thoughts spiraled into a pit of anxiety. He had not noticed until Logan’s voice washed over him.

“Virgil?” He said, somehow both softly and with authority. “Name five things you can see.” Virgil pried his eyes open, not really remembering when he had closed them. “Bed. Computer. Shoes. Water bottle. Posters.”

Logan nodded his head, with a small smile. “You are doing very well. Now four things you can touch.”

“Uhhh…” Virgil hesitated, eyes darting to Logan, “Sheets. Pants. My hair. Wet blanket.”

“Good job. Three things that you can hear now.”

“Your voice. The air conditioner. Our obnoxious neighbors.” His breathing had started to slow and he could feel his body relaxing.

“Two things you can smell, you’re almost there.”

“Capri sun from my sheets and your disgusting coffee.”

“Last thing, one thing you can taste.”

“Toothpaste.” With his breathing regulated and feeling calmer, Virgil smiled wryly back at Logan. “I’m sorry. That was… sudden.”

“You are perfectly fine. I have reassured you multiple times that I do not mind helping you.” Logan said soothingly. “Why don’t we go lay down? You are typically quite tired after these events.”

“Yeah… that sounds good.” Virgil said as he stood to move to Logan’s bed, straightening his sleep pants and he went. “Do… are you going to lay down too?”

Logan hummed, walking to his laptop to shut the lid, as well as flipping the main lights in the room off. “Yes I suppose that I can for a moment. Just to assure you that I do not mind that you are in my bed.”

Virgil lifted the sheets of the bed and crawled under, scooting over so that he was next to the wall, leaving space for Logan to enter. “Alright. I promise I won’t keep you too long.”

“Well.” Logan said as he joined Virgil under the sheets, “I, in all honesty, could use the sleep.”

Virgil smiled at Logan with a soft “Good night then.”

“Good night Virgil.” Logan whispered, reaching up to turn off the light next to his bed, plunging them both into darkness.

The next time Virgil opened his eyes, the sun was shining through the window of the room and his head was resting on Logan’s shoulder. One of Logan’s strong arms was wrapped across Virgil and Virgil could hear Logan’s soft breathing against his ear.

Slowly reaching into his pocket so as to not disturb Logan, Virgil pulled out his cellphone, which was at 9%, and quickly snapped a picture before sending it to Remy with a simple caption.

“Mission accomplished.”

(And that is the end! Feedback is very appreciated!)

#Sanders Sides #sanders side fic #virgil/logan #sanders sides fanfiction #Sanders sides fanfic #ts virgil #ts logan #roman mentions #patton mentions #remy mentions #virgil sanders #logan sanders #Analogical #ts analogical #logan/virgil #hockey AU #tw panic attack #Larz does a write

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the-insomniac-emporium · 4 years ago

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Everybody Talks Too Much (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Mute!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence Summary: Whenever Cassandra gets angry, no one wants to deal with her. Well, no one but you, that is. Thankfully, the middle child appreciates your company... not that she'd ever admit it. Notes: Another self-indulgent fic with a selectively mute reader. This one's a lil different. Sections in italic are mostly indications that the reader is miming actions in order to communicate, though there are a few internal thoughts that are marked as such. Unlike the past two I've done, this takes place pre-relationship, so there's some mutual pining of sorts. I think that's the word.

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Among the many servants of Castle Dimitrescu, there were a number of secret rules to be followed. Guidelines that were never written down, only spoken in hushed whispers, for specific (and dangerous) circumstances. Most could be divided into one of two categories: 1, how to reduce the chances of a Lady of the house killing someone. 2, how to make sure that if they kill someone, it will not be you. Of these rules, there was one that you knew best of all, despite never having been told it. Why? Because you have observed it time and time again. After all, the rule revolved around you. To put it plainly… If Cassandra Dimitrescu was in an awful mood, but had yet to draw blood, send in the mute.

Even now, as you rushed down a corridor, you did not know why this rule was in place. You simply knew that you had been summoned countless times by frantic maidens, to go serve their volatile mistress. Admittedly you did understand their eagerness to thrust the task upon someone else. Cassandra was often considered the deadliest of the Dimitrescu daughters, for she was the quickest to anger, the one with the deepest bloodlust, and took the longest to calm down. Personally, you disagreed, believing that it wasn’t terribly hard to know what she did and did not like. All it took was some observation. It was Daniela who scared you, seeing as she was unpredictable. She didn’t even need to be in a bad mood to want to kill you.

Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean that you saw no danger in working with Cassandra. In fact, you saw a fair bit, such as now: Right as you round the corner, a shiny object hurls past your head, embedding itself into the wall. Had you been walking ever so slightly faster… Well, you preferred not to dwell on such things, especially not when the one who threw the thing was still nearby. Based on the howling laughter and swarm of insects that moves around you, the intended target was Lady Daniela. Across the room is the markswoman herself; Cassandra stood tall, huffing in anger, staring at the spot her sister had just vacated from.

“Damn it!” She yelled, stomping her foot as if the resulting shockwave might do what her weapon had not. Oddly amused, you’re quick to remove the sickle from the wall, careful as to not damage it. It’s a tad dirty, but nothing you can’t fix with your handy pocket cloth. Cleaning as you walk, you slowly move towards your employer, not even bothering to spare her a glance. After all, you had your own rules for dealing with her.

(1: Avoid eye contact for at least one minute after an outburst.)

By the time you make it to Cassandra, the minute has come and gone, allowing you to ever-so politely look her in the eyes when you return her blade. She scoffs, then practically rips the sickle from your hands. This was your job, however, so you made no complaints. Not that you could, at least not verbally. Instead, you gave a short bow of acknowledgement. Afterwards you stood still, awaiting either instructions or a dismissal. Neither came.

“I can’t believe that little shit tried to take my favorite dagger and thought she could get away with it! Agh, the nerve of her! Can you believe this?” Cassandra snapped, turning to you as if you might agree with her. Nod, simple yet effective. “At least you know how to handle a blade. Damn Daniela is lucky she didn’t get any scratches on mine.” Then she pulls the knife in question from its place on her belt, letting it gleam in the light. A soft exhale, head tipping to the side, wow is it pretty. So is the one holding it. Your mind wanders but your gaze does not. Always polite, always ready to serve.

(2: Do not get distracted; she is no patient lover, rather a demanding boss.)

“Cassandra! What was all that noise a minute ago?” Someone called, interrupting your ‘conversation’. The speaker soon appears, being none other than Lady Bela, the most reasonable of the castle residents. Though that meant little, considering the nature of her family. As if to prove your point, Cassandra merely rolls her eyes in reply, refusing to divulge the truth. And so Bela turned her gaze to you, perking a brow. “Feeling up to talking today?” She asked, already knowing the answer. Of course, your hands are already moving, not even waiting for her to finish speaking. This is a game you know intimately.

A hand goes to your belt, moving to pull a nonexistent blade from its sheath. Raising it, moving it forward then back several times, launching it towards the wall- towards the hole left behind. Then shifting, waving your hand in front of your face while exhaling a sharp breath. Flinching. An exaggerated gulp, pretending to check if your nose is still attached, sighing in relief. Lastly, an inclination of your head towards the culprit. Cassandra.

“I was aiming for Daniela. Not that it matters, nobody got hurt,” she stated, confident. Both hands clasped together, then tapping the palms together, mimicking a heartbeat at a reasonable pace. Suddenly a stomp. The beating stops, and you hold your hands next to your ear, as if listening for signs of life. Pause. Three seconds. Worried expression, eyes wide. Finally, fast as a gunshot, the heart beats again, wildly. At this, Bela shoots her sister a look of doubt, as well as judgement. Hoping to change the subject, Cassandra looks to you. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Rubbing your chin, thinking. Squinting for effect. Ah, got it! Both hands go to your sides, lifting the imaginary hem of a dress you aren’t wearing. Waltzing forward, yet in place, with the poise expected of a professional maid. Then the focus shifts to your face. Fear. A silent scream, a hand at your forehead, feeling like you… might… faint. Falling backwards, making a step at the very last second to prevent a real collapse. End scene.

“Someone was scared?” Bela asked, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. When you nod, she does as well, considering the implications. “Why would they send you?”

“I hardly care why, I just want to know who so I can kick their ass,” Cassandra interjects, taking a step closer to you. All you do in response is shrug. Unsurprisingly this is not enough to please her, and before you know it she’s wrapped a hand around your throat. “Give. Me. A. Name. Now.” A perked brow. Thoughts practically telegraphed. ‘What do you expect?’ Opening your mouth, slightly, then wide, back to almost closed. No sound comes out. Obviously. It’s not like you wanted to break your own rule, but in this case you had no choice.

(3: Give her whatever she wants, consequences be damned.)

Luckily for you, Bela acts as a foil to Cassandra, there to smooth the seas. Moving behind you, she reaches into your back pocket and retrieves the notepad you keep there. Then she’s handing it to you while making eye contact with her sister. Cassandra promptly releases you, though she’s clearly not pleased, going so far as to push you away in one last act of anger. Internally you roll your eyes. On the outside, however, you quickly write down everything you know… which isn’t much.

“I don’t remember who it was. A lot of people have asked. This happens a lot.” Then you hand the paper to Bela, who soon looks back up at you in confusion. Too antsy to wait for her own turn, Cassandra yoinks the notepad from her sister’s hands, reading it over several times before reacting.

“What the fuck? Why would they send you to me because somebody pissed their pants in fear? I’m going to kill someone. Ugh, I don’t- this doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” Cassandra ranted, pacing back and forth, looking like she wanted to destroy something immediately. To your surprise, Bela doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. If anything, she looks amused, and smiles when the two of you make eye contact. Something tells you that she knows something that you don’t. Before you can react, she quietly retrieves your notepad and returns it to you. Then she pauses, thinking, eying you with curiosity.

“Why don’t you go for now? See if anyone thanks you for stepping in, hmm?” She suggested, tone implying that this was absolutely about something else entirely. Still, you don’t care to disobey, and so you bid the two of them farewell with a deep bow. As you leave, you can almost make out part of what they say next. But you’re certain that you must have heard incorrectly. “Showing your favoritism a little too much, sister? If even the servants can see it-” the rest of the sentence is cut off by angry muttering from Cassandra. After that you’re too far away to hear anymore. What a strange day...

--------------------------

“Hey, you know where Lady Cassandra’s room is, right?” Ygritte asked, casually, definitely not having just been told by someone else that you were the solution to her problem. Pretending that you were unaware of this, you give her a smile and a nod. Later, behind her back, you will mentally add her to your list of people to watch out for. Maybe even decide to refuse to share your biscuits with her. In the meantime, you pretend that you don’t mind whatever task she’s about to dump on you. “Can you bring these books to her? I really have to get back to the kitchen soon, and that’s in the opposite direction…”

Technically true. Something told you that the real problem was that Cassandra had been extra loud the past few days. Regardless, you accept the books from her, leaving before she even finishes thanking you. Why do people do this? I don’t get it, you think. It’s like they think I’m immune to her rage. If that were true, I’d gladly throw myself between her and others. But no, that’s not the case. Hmmph, if only they saw my scars. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you keep walking, subconsciously rubbing the spot on your arm where Cassandra had cut you. Well, the worst spot. Being pain tolerant had made her take interest in you, during your first few weeks, but it’s what allowed you to learn her rules. Your rules, really.

Knock. Knock. A pause… three more, much softer. The door swings open, revealing your Lady, whose eyes widen at the sight of you. Tipping your hat (which you are not wearing), you greet her, forcing another smile. Then you present the books, free hand gesturing with a spiral motion towards them. She doesn’t respond. No, wait, she glances at the door hinges, considering closing the door in your face. Now both of you are staring at each other, daring the other to move.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she finally said. There’s a gruffness to her voice that you hadn’t expected. It’s unlike her usual tone, less angry, more tired. Were those bags under her eyes?... No, just smudged makeup. “Don’t just stand there- tell me why you’re here.” Again, you gesture to the books, extending your hands further towards her. This time she takes a half-step backwards to avoid you. Peculiar. “Someone else was supposed to bring them, dipshit. Fucking hell, why can’t anyone around here do their damn jobs?” At last, she takes the books from you, carrying them deeper into your room. Though she does not close the door, you assume that your job is done. Or maybe you simply do not wish to deal with a Cassandra who’s frustrated by your specific presence. Either way, it breaks one of your rules, though you do not remember until it is too late.

(4: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family.)

“Where the hell are you going?” The sound of buzzing flies, a blur of motion around you, then the form of Cassandra solidifying in front of you. One of her hands is raised, pressing against the center of your chest. She pushes you, hard, making you stumble backwards into her room. Next thing you know you’ve crashed onto her floor. A tad stunned, you bring a hand up to hold your head, blinking rapidly for a few seconds. There’s the sound of a door closing, and then someone’s trying to help you stand. “I didn’t say you could leave yet. Now c’mon, I’ve got stuff for you to do.” Then she’s guiding you to her bed, making you sit down on the end. Panicked thoughts race through your mind one after another. What exactly was she intending? Thankfully you don’t have to wait long to find out. “Read through these, and-” a pause, like she hadn’t known what she was going to say until she was already speaking- “take notes. Make a summary of the bookmarked sections, or whatever.” Handing you a couple books (neither of which being ones you had just brought to her), she sits on the other side of the bed, refusing to look at you. She does, however, say one last thing, voice barely above a whisper. “Just stay for a while, okay?”

Inside your head, you make a mental note to amend your list of rules.

(4.b: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family. If Cassandra asks you to stay, you stay, no matter what. It’s worth it.)

#cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #stayed up to write this #totes worth it

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mloreley · 2 years ago

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Forgive my piggybacking on your post, OP, I just had a lot of thoughts stirred by this passionate rant that I agree with every damn word.

Anders being self-doubting, self-fearing, still fighting the programming he's dealt with his entire life is exactly why things go wrong, and you can observe it plainly in the series. The fact that his reaction to Merrill's blood magic is to condemn her immediately, to believe the Chantry insistence that it's Bad Always Bad Bad Magic, is one sign. He struggles with his identity, he doesn't even go by his given name, he holds himself back from everyone- either because he fears hurting them, or he fears being hurt by them.

His "mages like that [who use blood magic] are what give us all a bad name" reminds me so much of respectability politics within marginalized communities, especially when it comes to intersections of marginalization. It "hurts the cause", but if he's indeed fighting to convince people that mages- who do, to some degree, actually pose a threat fantasy metaphors are tricky and can be problematic this way - aren't monsters, to change the narrative around them, then why can't he also consider the narrative about blood magic being inherently bad something that should be examined?

Again, it has some very real risks and not everyone is equipped to deal with it, but maybe if the stigma were lifted and people were trained how to control it it might be a different story

I wish that the game hadn't been rushed, that key components of the narrative hadn't been pushed to background dialogue that can be so easily missed and are rare triggers to begin with. I wish that there had been more missions to help mages, that the third act didn't default to "you work for Meredith now" and having Orsino panic and go full "THEY'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!!" mode on us.

Also, I despise the rivalry path for Anders. It's insanely upsetting and abusive, and small wonder that accusing Anders of going "Justice" during an argument causes him to glow and yell, clearly more Justice-leaning in the moment, "I AM ANDERS!!". You've gaslit him so badly that his already suffering sense of self gets swirled together with Justice.

And I could write a whole other rambly post of my own about how Anders' reputation is treated in Inquisition and by the dev team once everyone decided he was the enemy- calling him a 'terrorist', the original plan to have him be a rotting, injured, sad man in a cave before it got scrapped, turning him into the boogieman for Both-Sidesing things in Inquisition, just. So much.

Anyway fuck the chantry, fuck the templars, Anders was right, and I'm fucking tired. XD

Okay but what I can’t get over is when you meet Anders, and he explains Justice, he says his anger and hate corrupted Justice and overwhelmed him—changed him—and he’s miserable and guilt-ridden and full of so much self-hatred and fear of hurting someone he loves again and certainty he will, that he takes THREE YEARS of being in love with Hawke who is actively pursuing him, before even considering risking a relationship.

And I fucking believed him. I thought ‘That makes sense. Spirits are influenced by how they’re believed to be (a great example being the awful things that happen to poor Justice on a Rival!Path in DA2), and their environment, and what they’re pushed to do. He’s clearly not a demon, which tracks, because that only happens to a spirit corrupted completely away from their core being, and Justice and Vengeance aren’t antonyms—they have solid overlap. So, it’s more like he’s unstable and a little bit shaky in his sanity, dealing with this, but still very much a spirit and himself—just also sort of unwell.” It made sense. I really thought Anders would understand what was going on.

It wasn’t until beating the whole fucking game and having complete context, that I was able to look backwards and realize that’s entirely wrong. In Awakening, Justice has /exactly/ the same personality as in DA2, just more stable and calm and curious, less unwell and fractured. That’s what I said before? No, not exactly. What I mean is, Justice pushes Anders in Awakening to consider a more active role in defending Mages. He’s forceful and passionate about doing the right thing—hell, when you meet him, he’s championing a bunch of humans in the Fade to save them from a demon by force. He changed, yes. But it wasn’t his personality. It was his stability.

Anders’ feelings of anger and hate and desire for justice and vengeance didn’t hurt Justice at all; those feelings are all just ones. It was his fear and guilt that did. It was the way he’s been raised his entire life by the Chantry to consider himself dangerous and violence dangerous and action dangerous, and caring too much, fighting back, standing up, using magic to fight back, all dangerous and bad. It’s his /fear/ that he is wrong and bad. It’s his religious trauma over his own existence biologically as what he is. Justice didn’t change. Anders was afraid of what he and Justice did—were able to do—what Justice did to protect him. And immediately assumed he was the monster and he was at fault, because as much of a rebel as he is and as much as he believes Mages are not monsters and deserve to be free, like basically all minorities who had to unlearn the bigotry they experienced their whole life, he has not been able to stop applying to himself rules he long ago stopped apply to everyone else in the world.

And that fear, that belief Justice had been warped and hurt by him, and schism in his own mind about not just what Justice means, but what it means as it relates to him and what he’s allowed to do and want, and it making him evil as a person to pursue even if he thinks it’s right, /that/ is what warped Justice. That’s why Justice is unstable and unwell and their relationship is fractured and strained, despite caring for each other, and Justice’s overwhelming desire to help Anders. Anders is terrified not of Justice, but of himself. And in retrospect all of this is made so clear by his two paths in DA2.

Since gaining Justice, Anders was immediately attacked and almost killed by another Warden, and had to flee, and it was bloody. He ran to Kirkwall and kept his head down, struggling to help as a doctor for refugees in the slums, risking freedom and life every day by practicing magic as an apostate. He’s utterly alone. He spent years fleeing the Circle and being dragged back. As a youth, he fell in love, and they separated him and his boyfriend and took him to another tower. He kept trying to escape. He was left in solitary confinement for an /entire year/ after his seventh escape. The wardens saved him, and he had a home and freedom for like 6 months in awakening, then the Wardens bowed to the Chantry’s demands and initiated a Templar to follow him literally everywhere like a prison warden and that hard earned freedom and community was lost. He saved Justice’s life by letting him live in his body, but in doing so was proclaimed an abomination and almost killed on the spot by the Templar Warden, and fled, alone again. In Kirkwall, he isolated himself to try to keep others safe, and spent his time healing. Then he meets Hawke, and goes to save his first love from being made tranquil, only to find the Chantry is using their own church to bait him, and he has arrived too late, Karl is gone, and he is nearly made tranquil himself, then forced to kill the only person he’s ever loved when Karl regains his person for seconds and begs him to do it before he’s a mindless slave again.

From here, he spends the next 7 years helping heal Hawke’s team, smuggling Mages out of Kirkwall to save them as part of an Underground Railroad, championing mage rights and protesting, writing manifestos, healing refugees and the poor, and doing everything in his power to make the world better. No one in Hawke’s party, except determinately Hawke (and determinately Bethany as well, before, well), takes him and the plight of Mages seriously. He’s treated as an extremist and an annoyance and over the top for regularly talking about the fact that, you know; his minority group literally is being killed in the streets and turned into mindless slaves for the church every fucking day, and no one is stopping it. He becomes more and more desperate and isolated and the situation gets so bad, Justinia has ordered an Exalted March to purge Kirkwall, and Meredith has sent for the Right of Annulment to kill every mage in the circle, about half way through Act 3. And still, no one does anything. He’s completely alone, even in just, fucking validating the severity of the suffering and death and injustice they face.

If Hawke treats Anders like a monster, like an abomination, and Justice like a demon? Over the course of those 7 years of being dismissed, abandoned, and outright attacked by the closest things he has to friends, he becomes less and less stable, more and more lost to the Chantry fears he’s a monster, less sure of himself and his identity, more alone, and confused, and broken, and hopeless. Pulled in too many directions and giving up in despair and trying to fight at the same time. And Justice gets worse. He becomes believed by everyone to be a demon, until even Anders is uncertain and afraid of them both. And then Justice is torn between hurting Anders, and letting innocents die, both of which go intrinsically against his nature as a spirit, and what happens to Justice is what happens to any spirit forced to be and forced to act outside of its nature: he begins to be warped into a demon.

If Hawke is a friend to Anders, and he is not alone in his fight for his people. If Hawke helps him, and reassures him, and he is able to stabilize his mind and emotions and realize he’s not a monster, and his cause is just, he and Justice stabilize together, and no longer have even the issues they do in Act 1, because his warped view of justice and his fears are overcome, and with Justice’s sense of self not constantly threatened, the problem is removed. They both get to be happy, and well, and cohesive. It empowers Anders to see he’s right and just, and to make hard choices rationally, and find who he is and what he wants, with great assurance and passion, and Justice to retain who he is and stay a spirit, while both help the world.

And anyway it just makes me extremely upset that Anders even with all his conviction and belief, has still had such fear and guilt over his very being drilled into him by the Chantry, that he truly believes he’s the monster in his relationship with Justice, and a danger to everyone around him, and it’s the Chantry the whole time. It always has been.

#dragon age 2 spoilers #Anders

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