#what are the powers that lie beyond humanity and how to relate to them

[rival-the-rose]

I revisited Borne by Jeff Vandermeer again this week and as always was struck by how much symbolism and allegory appears to be shoved in his writing but either I'm missing the majority of the references or it's all more of a "where lies the strangling fruit" situation.

[leviathanleva]

Cujo

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Supersoldier!FemReader

Description: A monster in human skin, a weapon disguised as a person, no thoughts, no emotion, as per design. He despises you and everything you stand for. He’s tried to kick you out of his squad and failed, he’s made it his mission to break you no matter the cost.

It comes as a surprise when he asks you to lie and say you love him.

[5.5k words]

[Angst, Power Play, Light Degradation, 18+]

Chapter 1 "Raspberry Tart"

Hound.

A fitting callsign for a dog that only knew how to follow orders. A mindless beast whose chain had been thrust into his hands forcibly and now he was to be your navigator, your Northern star in a sea of black. He’d have had no problem taking you under his wing, but you weren’t just some rookie in need of training. He couldn’t crack a cheesy joke and make you snicker, couldn’t relate to you in any way, couldn’t find common ground to start a conversation.

He’d tried to break you, poking at the squishy unknown beyond the stone exterior in the hopes that there was something still there.  It was incomprehensible, you were a living contradiction to the natural order, an anomaly made reality by nameless, faceless, suited figures scrambling for power and drowning with money. He was a stoic man, cold-blooded, ignorant of his trauma, and suppressive of any flicker of tenderness that tried to wiggle out. He was trained in the heat of battle, under the rain of bullets and among the hills of corpses. He taught himself to withstand anything thrown his way. You, on the other hand, had nothing to withstand. You weren’t stoic or calculative or cold.

You were indifferent.

It irked him.

Late at night, when he was left to his thoughts, he wondered what they had done to you.

What chemical turned a human’s sclera black and devoid the iris of color? What concoction was fused into your blood to make your muscles grow so dense you could punch through walls, at will? How could you pick up the heartbeats of enemy forces without even entering their headquarters? How did you see in the dark without any gear save for a peculiar oxygen mask?

What sort of poison had been pumped into you? Had it hurt? Does it hurt now?

You were a macabre sigh.

You don’t look healthy; gaunt features sharp enough to cut glass and dead eyes that burrowed into his soul. There were no bags under your eyes, you slept well at least, perfect for someone whose hands reeked of blood. The fat was barely any, it was impossible to retain the supple softness of femininity with your condition, and if it wasn’t for the perky tits showing beneath your loose tee he could have easily mistaken you for a scrawny man. A paradox; porcelain skin devoid of scars blanketing over a heap of muscle that could tear limbs like they were loose threads.

You’d been a pretty thing once, before the augmentations. He could tell.

You barely reached his collarbone and yet you could take a grenade head-on and live unlike him. And you had, for him. He’d nearly lost his mind when you had, tucked you into his chest because he’d lost too many good men already and you were fresh in his squad and dying under his care. A bleak moment of weakness on his end that he’d believed you’d have no recollection of because half your fucking face was missing. But then the flesh had crept back onto your exposed cheekbone and he’d pushed you away as quickly as he’d hugged you. His mask did well to hide both horror and bewilderment. It had taken you under two minutes and you were ready to go again.

He’d thought your files were a joke, had read them absentmindedly over a glass of bourbon then tossed them aside and waited for the actual reports. They weren’t a joke at all.

You were his shield. It’s been a year since you joined Task Force 141 and you had taken so much damage in his stead it was mindboggling still. There was no fear, no hesitation, no doubt, or rebellion; you simply sprawled yourself over him like a ballistic shield, soaking in anything lethal coming his way. It was a heartwrenching scene, but how could he feel empathy when he’d seen you rip people apart.

You were his weapon, a leal monster, ready to pounce at the flick of his wrist. But your loyalties to him were temporary, shallow compared to the ones you held for your torturers, your makers. He hadn’t expected you to abandon Gaz to fend off the enemy alone when you’d heard a vocalization of the target’s whereabouts over the coms. On that deployment, Ghost had learned that you held no value for human life, you cared not for the well-being of your teammates. Mission first, success at any cost.

After that display, he’d spend hours arguing with Price while trying to find a loophole that would let him kick you out of the squad. A seemingly endless exchange of words led to nothing, the Captain had taken a few long phone calls, all fruitless aside from some measly promises to instruct you better. You’d been summoned shortly after and the phone had been passed onto you because the bastards couldn’t even be bothered to correct your ways face to face.

“Protect all your teammates at all costs, not just the Lieutenant.”

“Do not abandon a comrade.”

“Your squad comes before your target.”

Simon had nearly missed the last sentence; it had been whispered so lowly over the line.

“Unless the target is within direct line of sight.”

He was left seething. He didn’t want you here. He’d tried again, stating more facts, adding more blood and bone-chilling scenarios to the list of reasons why you needed to be transferred, to no avail. He’d been hit with a stygian truth after. Either Task Force 141 or some blokes from KorTac, there were no other organizations that would take you in without downright exploiting your capabilities.

Judging by what little he knew about you, you wouldn’t care, but he would. He’d be caught dead before letting you walk into those war criminals’ grimy paws and have them lock your attention on him as your next target. No. You were his weapon, his shield, his hound; if anyone was going to lead you into a massacre, it would be him.

His charge, his responsibility.

His pet.

He’d settled after that, begrudgingly letting you stay.

And it wasn’t all bad. Over time he grew accustomed to your presence, you’d eat together, train together, sit together in some forgotten corner of the base and enjoy a moment of silence. Ghost was an intimidating man, both rank and appearance kept most people out of his way, but with you constantly on his heel and your docile nature out of combat, he grew fond of your companionship. Some days he forgot you were even there, skulking in his shadow.

Rarely did you speak without being spoken to, never whined or complained. It was as refreshing as it was disturbing. He dealt with it for the most part, but sometimes he couldn’t. Sometimes he wanted to see you shatter, find a crack in the masquerade for the sake of his own sanity. He needed you to crumble, to find a way to break you because then he would have some sort of reason to cling to. Some vague explanation for the turmoil you caused inside him without even meaning to.

He was torn between hating you with everything he had, leaving you be and retaining the fickle peace between the two of you, and obsessively delving into your being in search of some long-forgotten spec of humanity that yet lived.

It was becoming a problem.

Finally, he snaps out of his morning sulking and remembers he has a cup of black tea secured in his hand. He bunches up the skull mask on his nose and takes a candid sip, then grimaces.

“It’s cold.”

A soft remark muffled behind a mouthful of buttered toast. His eyes trail up, tired and distant, to find yours studying him like he was an intel chart.

You spare his drink a glimpse, offering wordlessly, then lick the grease off your thumb and let your fork rest against the leftover scrambled eggs on your plate.

“Want me to reheat it, Lieutenant?”

He hadn’t even noticed when you’d gotten up for a second serving, the only indicator being the stained empty tray lying next to your current one. You ate a lot, had to in order to regain the energy you exerted during missions, at least that’s how he understood it. A part of him hoped it would stick, add some more curvature to your form, show him there was still an ounce of normalcy in your existence, at least physically, but it never did.

“You can heat shit too now?” the rasp in his voice is still heavy with sleep. He’s drained and bitter after another night of nothing but restless tossing and he’s poking fun at you as strain relief.

And as usual, it flies right over your head.

“No. I meant in the microwave.” you motion past your shoulder, pointing at the cutlery set up in the back of the mess hall. When he remains silent you extend an arm towards the mug, palm spread out and waiting. “I don’t mind.”

Of course you don’t, you’re a good mutt. The demeaning slew nearly succeeds in slipping past his lips, he snuffs it out with more stale tea.

“Nah.” he turns down your offer and tucks the mug closer to his body. “ ‘S fine.”

“Pyrokinesis is preposterous.” you say, cooly, addressing his previous snark after a beat or two.

It pinches a nerve.

It’s not meant as a jab at his intelligence, just a fact based on your experiences with human experimentation. It’s never a joke or a cocky scoff or anything that would allude to a personality.

“You’re bloody preposterous.” he barks back and his eyes crease in distaste.

The wannabe super soldier telling him what was and wasn’t possible was not on his tolerance list for the day.

There’s a pause, one which he doesn’t appreciate as you’re stripping him bare without consent or clemency. Your stare is degrading, has been since day one, and you’ve no interest in privacy or personal space. The only reason you keep everyone at arm’s length is to minimize any possibility of injuring your subordinates, as instructed by your shadowy puppeteers. Each action, word, and thought from you seems normal at surface level, human, until one understands the reasoning behind it. Everything about you is twisted, it’s creeping up on him, warping his reality.

You’re prying through a blank visage, no remorse, chipping away at his persona and feigning concern.

It’s sickening, it feels so real.

“You’re snippy again.” you note, mow down the rest of your breakfast, and push away the food tray. “You’ve not slept. Again.” it was a statement rather than a question. Your hands clasp together, fingers intertwining as you abandon your hunched-over pose and adjust to a professional stance. “Have you considered – ”

Your maternal tattle is cut short when a phone is thrust into your face. You blink a few times as the image registers:

A puppy. A Labrador puppy all fluffy and adorable stares back at you from the screen.

You look up unamused, letting Soap’s smug grin beam down on you, a ray of sunshine on such a rainy morning. He’s a chipper one, carries both your apathy and Ghost’s grimness on his shoulders like it’s nothing.

“No?” the smile dies on his face and his subtle crow’s feet disappear.

“No.” you answer with a small shake to your head and earn a scoff. “It’s just a dog.”

“Fucking hell, Hound.” he slumps on the uncomfortable metal bench next to Ghost, swiping at his phone before tucking it in his pocket. The pout lasts a few seconds as he rubs a hand over his stubble. “I’ll find yer weak spot one day. Mark my words.” then he turns to the hulking mountain of a man beside him. “Mornin’, Lt.”

John MacTavish had taken a liking to you early on, shining antipodal to the rest of Task Force 141. He’d made it his goal to work a smile out of you and it had begun with dad jokes, then evolved to funny videos, now it was cute animals.

It was a doomed cause, but also none of your business. How he spent his free time was not your concern so you went along with it as long as it didn’t involve you actively participating.

“Mornin’, Johnny.”

“You’re a dedicated man, Sergeant.” you offer simple words and snap your mouth shut before they degenerate into anything derogatory.

“Unlike yourself.”

The cafeteria was lively with soldiers seeking a strong coffee and a hearty breakfast. The cacophony of chatter kept your hearing busy, your senses were dulled, you were relaxed, but you weren’t deaf. You didn’t miss the Lieutenant’s cynical nip.

The ambiance has slowly turned hostile, he’s extra cranky. You pinpoint it to his silent dwelling earlier and leave it t your tongue to resolve the matter before it escalates.

“You’re displeased with me today.” you lean back and let your hands glide off the table, resting them in your lap and appearing smaller. A subtle change, but one you’d learned he fancied; being smaller than him gave him more authority room and indulged his masculine pride. “Have I done something wrong, Lieutenant?”

He likes to stay high on a power trip and humiliate you, keeps your leash secure and short as if governing over you is a boast.

“Don’t like you in general.” casual, passive; he’s peeking at you from beneath light brown lashes. “Think we already established that.”

It’s always a step forward and a thousand back. He’ll be approachable one day, open to discussions on many topics, which are more monologues than dialogues. Then the frail serenity will snap and he’ll want to crawl out of his skin by simply being in your presence. You knew little of his internal wars, knew better than to carve a seat to a psychological bloodbath with no predetermined outcome. But it was confusing, he bore too many burdens and he was making it your problem.

You took bullets for him, would endure anything for him, you’d walk into a minefield if he so wished. You obeyed without question, proven your loyalty yet he refused to change his outlook and continued to treat you with as little fairness as possible.

He was a reject yet he judged you for your difference to the rest of his men. A hypocrite. How unnecessarily…bothersome.

He speaks with subtle malice, yet his body plays a different tune and you run your mouth before thinking. There is no backbone to his passive aggression.

“You lie.” 

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to humble your higher-up in a public setting, especially in front of his most trusted subordinate. However, you cared little for social norms and interaction standards.

He’s mustering a counterattack, as cold and as fowl as his tea, but it never leaves the confines of his skull mask because you continue to yap.

“A truthful man does not sweat. His pupils don’t shrink.”

The stab is made worse by the lack of satisfaction in your voice. You’re indifferent that you’ve caught him in his untruthfulness and it serves to twist the knife deeper.

The least you could do is show him grace by reciprocating his hatred with your own, but you don’t.

You don’t care.

Fuck you.

Ghost rises with the intent to leave, doesn’t spare you another glance, only stares straight ahead, past the crown of your head, and towards the exit.

A year, a whole year since you were assigned to him and still you were a dense twat with not a drop of regard for anyone, not even yourself. It was infuriating how stuck in your ways you were, he’d tried to rupture a change and the results were null. He’s fed up.

You’re a lost cause and his nerves are stretched thin, he’s inclined to simply avoid you today.

“Lt, wait.”

Soap, always the buffer to your scuffle, the voice of reason, but there’s nothing to cushion this time. The cord’s been cut, Simon’s let go of you for the moment and he’s in need of some good alone time to properly simmer down.

He’s stuffed his hands in his jeans, thumbs sticking out and glossing over the stitching. He doesn’t turn back when he offers a response.

“Appetite’s gone.”

If he was any shorter, he would have disappeared in the sea of soldiers, but he’s too easily distinguishable for such mercies. His steps are thunderous, you’ve committed the beat of his stride to memory. He was your highest priority on the battlefield, everything about him has been burned into your mind and it’s left a mark in your day-to-day. He could be on the other side of the base and you’d find him with a blindfold on.

A good soldier, the best. Why couldn’t he appreciate that?

You watch him unblinking as he rounds the corner and disappears out of sight.

An exasperated grunt makes your head reel back.

“Life of the party as always, Hound.” Soap snips, disappointment dripping past his teeth. It’s a gentle scold, as a big brother would his younger sibling after they’ve misbehaved.

“He lied.” you retort and your expression hardens in self-defense. “He wouldn’t be upset if he hadn’t lied. Why did he lie?”

“Ask em yourself, you blind eejit.”

The gravity of his words doesn’t register until they slip out.

There’s no stopping you now, there’s a goal set in front of you. He’s almost stirred enough to stop you, but a meek nag in the back of his head prevents him. Maybe it’s for the best that you talk it out and snuff out the fire before it has a chance to grow. He pities Ghost in a way. Of all the people he could have…

You secure the abandoned mug of tea and are already trailing after the Lieutenant.

“Oh, here we fucking go…” John is left with his cheek resting in his hand and scouring the mess hall for a livelier company to lighten his morning break.

You follow him by scent alone – a pleasing musk that characterized him well aside from the cologne. You maneuver around the horde of military personnel, washed out in a cluster of camo and rugged limbs. The rain has only worsened, battering against the row of windows gracing the corridor, you can almost smell it through the glass. It’s a lovely aroma, but Ghost’s is favored and it guides you through the limbo of concrete, up a few flights of stairs until you understand you’re heading towards his office.

He’s a good man, the Lieutenant, a wonderful man – stern and fair, caring in his unique decrepit way. So why does he insist on treating you like a disgruntled mentor?

If he’s feeling generous, you’ll find out soon enough.

You let yourself in absentmindedly, barge in like the inelegant brute you are and if there had been a conversation bubbling beyond the door it would have rattled you back to cognitive thinking. But the silence had only welcomed you.

He’s sat behind his desk, looming over sparse documents that are of no interest to you, a cigarette languidly burning in the ashtray next to his elbow, smoke sucked out by the ajar window.

His eyes lift at your intrusion.

The fucking audac –

“Why did you lie?”

Straight to the point as usual. No wordplay, no gentle gestures to picture a power imbalance and ease him into it. He’s your superior and you’re supposed to show respect. Tough luck when you forget that little detail.

“Didn’t give you permission to enter.” he watches the sentence seep in as you set his tea at the edge of his desk, mulling.

Without a word, you walk out as whimsically as you’d entered, tiny body made gangly by the white lights illuminating the hallway. The door closes with a creamy click and despite his irritation, he snorts.

A beat of nothingness before three curt knocks sound, it’s comical. You’re a God damn clown.

“Enter.”

You walk in and clear your throat and that blank expression never falters. With legs spread wide and steady, you clasp your wrist behind your back, nose brought high to expose your neck, spine straight and stretched like a violin string.

“Permission to speak, Lieutenant.”

He has the spite to deny your request, cut your escapade short and shoo you away.

“Granted.” he says instead.

The clock above your head ticks and soothes the stale silence, that and the storm outside. The lights are off, the blinds hold back the scant sunlight overshadowed by an ocean of clouds. The only lamp alive is the one on his desk, deep yellow and warm, casting grim shadows over the skin-tight skull mask. The pen hoisted between thick, battle-worn fingers is still.

He’s waiting, watching you like a prowling predator, chin dipped low and eyes half-hidden behind the ridges of his eyebrows.

“Why did you lie?” you repeat with less zest and your shoulders slack a tad.

You’re the best person to share with openly, would take his confessions to the grave, and have no reason nor will for judgment. All he needed to do was ask for you to never mention this to anyone and you could be tortured to death and not budge. It was so simple, you were simple, ranks be damned, you were here for him.

Though Ghost was anything but one-dimensional. He was a complicated individual with a rich past, he was comfortable trusting you with his life, not his secrets.

He steers away from your question and offers a crappy tease instead.

“Fishing for a Psychology degree, Cadet?”

“That’s not a proper answer.” you’re bullet fast to voice your displeasure with his evasiveness. Your paper-white gaze holds his honeydew brown one, displaying openness and hoping for reciprocation.

“And I’ve taught you proper interrogation.” he spits back with growing mock, taut in his chair, muscles solid and ready.

He fights a war not of the physical world, a solitary brawl, in which you refuse to participate. There is no point in such self-induced struggles; the debate of the heart and mind is a phenomenon known to all and it can be a slippery slope. Hence it had been chemically removed from your system.

At least you can see it bothers him, whatever it is he’s musing over. You’d offer advice, you’d help if he let you dip your toes in the problem, but he was too stubborn.

You fail to understand that you’re the problem.

“You’re avoiding the question.” dry and bland, a boring fact both of you have come to acknowledge.

“I don’t need to answer your fucking question.” the pen and papers are pushed to the side as his attention is fully directed towards you. He readjusts and even while sitting down he seems larger than you. “Mind your bloody tone with me, Dog.”

You startle at that, tighten like a board and your expression falters for a second. It’s not his sharpness that shakes your awareness awake, it’s your behavior – obtrusive and insolent, insulting him with nonchalance unacceptable for a soldier of your rank when conversing with a superior. Your nails dig into the fluff of your palm to ground you, and your knee trembles with the barely repressed need to bend and dig into the floor.

It’s a fleeting sight, but he sees you stagger. An alien sensation coils in his stomach.

Finally.

Finally…

A glint of normalcy is peeking beneath the crooked façade. You’re brooding, maybe even experiencing something, branching out from the year-long unbreakable apathy.

“I apologize, Lieutenant.” you yield, backtracking until you settle into a less casual mindset. “I’ve no right requesting any information of you.”

“Damn straight you don’t.” he sinks his teeth in the opportunity, strangely eager to coax a more prominent reaction out of you, obsessive even. Speaks to you with a demeaning twinge, egged on by the split second in which your brows dip. “Forgot your place.”

His tone is biting, but his movements are fluent as he stands and rounds his desk to approach you. He towers over you unapologetically and you’re left staring at the center of his collarbones, avoiding his eyes as a sliver of respect.

He clips your chin between two calloused fingers, burdens you with a look of contemplation as he debates an idea.

“Open.” he commands and you oblige.

Your jaw lowers as your lips part without an ounce of hesitation. The hairs on his arms rise in anticipation, concealed beneath the course military blouse.

His thumb travels up, past the dimple of your chin, and over your plush bottom lip. His skin grazes your bottom teeth before he presses down on your tongue.

“Suck.”

Your lips curl around his salty digit, tasting the smoky cigarette he’d mouthed a few minutes prior. His concentration wanes, his pupils expand briskly before he catches himself softening. He pushes on the roof of your mouth to guide your vision to lock onto him.

Your rhythmic suckling sparks a warmth low in his abdomen. A dull aching pulse licks deliciously at his loins and he sinks his canines into the side of his cheek to snap out of it. He can’t afford this, not with you, you don’t deserve to witness tenderness when you have none to offer in return. So he remains an explorer and keeps pushing boundaries if not to see you uncomfortable, then for his own curiosity.

“You do as I say, when I say.” he rumbles a guttural reminder of your place, then slips his thumb out of your slithery hold and takes a step back. “On your knees.”

Your legs fold in an instant, knees digging into the tiled floor with a deaf thump. You’re face to face with his crotch and a sickening thought passes by him that makes his thighs clench.

Pushing boundaries, that’s all this was. Nothing more.

He rests a hand on the hem of his jeans and fiddles his zipper, alluding to actions he didn’t intend to follow through with. A somber attempt at making you react, but you don’t. There’s not even an involuntary twitch of a muscle – you’re still as a statue and just as emotionless.

He’s stuck between pondering if you’ve called his bluff or you’re simply passive to the idea. Either way, what he’s hinting at is vile and you being this pliant is unnerving.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re just gonna let me…” he trails off and swallows the bile rising in his throat.

What if you were left in the hands of a less gracious leader? What if some fucked up bastard had gotten a hold of you before him? What if he’d succeeded in kicking you out and you ended up in KorTac…?

What would they have done to you?

What if –

“ – I do as you say, when you say, Lieutenant.”

He snarls at that. Grabs a fistful of your top and boosts you to your feet. The tips of your boots are barely touching the ground and he’s lurched over you, so close that you’re overwhelmed by his breath.

Toothpaste, cigarettes, a feint hint of bourbon from the night before.

You inhale slowly, too comfortable in his grip and it makes no sense to him considering his treatment, then exhale audibly and speak again.

“Why does it bother you so much? My condition.”

“It’s not normal.” he gives you a solid jerk, emphasizing his words, spewing poison. “It’s shit. How am I supposed to trust you if you don’t give a flying fuck about me…or the team?”

“I would never let – ”

“ – Don’t gimme that crap.”

You’re an adaptive creature. You remember the intricacies of man despite no longer seeing any value in them. His frustration is evident, a spout of bio-chemicals thickens around him, from which adrenaline and oxytocin are the most prominent. He’s torn between protecting himself from you and protecting you from the rest of the world. And at the end of the day, he’s only human and has spent too much time with you, a member of the opposite sex, to be unaffected by your presence.

You do the first thing that comes to mind. A short-circuited move in the name of self-preservation while also not causing him any harm as per your orders.

You kiss him. Inch close while he’s in a haze of despicable turmoil and press your lips where his would be hidden behind the mask.

His lethal tantrum ceases.

He’s stunted, shaken to the bone as he stares right through you. His eyes are bulging, accentuated by the charcoal face paint. His whole body is pulsing, you hear his heartbeat, steady but clamorously loud in your ear, then he cocks his head to the side and you begin to question if your choice of action had only worsened his state.

“I’m sorry.” you blurt. “I misread you, I didn’t – ”

He’s clawing at his mask until it catches on his nose and graces you with a strong jaw littered with nearly blond stubble. You bite your tongue before more words spill and risk shattering the desperate trance he’s succumbed to.

He devours your mouth with a hoarse grunt, the force causing your neck to crane back. The large hand holding you in place vanishes shortly before he starts pawing at your hips, clutching at the firm flesh and then seeking refuge in the dip of your ass.

“Lieut – ” you suck in a breath when he hoists you up like you’re nothing and nudges your legs until they’re wrapped around his thick waist. Your ankles lock over the small of his back and you hold a steady grip on his collar as he shushes you with a husky “shut up”.

His stubble grazes and prickles as he reclaims your wet lips with bruising vigor.

The chain lies broken, his resolve has been torn to shreds after months of no reciprocation. He’s a starved man, too battered and scarred to seek his fix from a stranger. So he’s looked to you, an amalgamation of senseless strength and a hollow heart, an abyss devoid of feeling or emotion, the worst possible option, but in his mind – the only option.

Desperation blinds even the strongest of warriors.

With wobbly steps, he squishes you between the wall and himself, lets words flow without a single sound, and twirls his tongue around yours as you perfectly follow his shaky guidance. He sucks at whatever he can find, made mad with a craving for your essence despite never having tasted you before, slobbers you like a touch-starved dog.

Crushed into the warm safety of his body, in the darkness of his quarters, you're hidden from the world as he gingerly indulges his wants. Senses peaking from overdrive, you only hear, smell and feel him, a fleshy mountain carrying the scent of what you learn is home. What little exposed skin you find is scalding, he shudders while you unintentionally map out his shoulders in search of purchase.

He peppers heated pecks down your jaw with a resounding groan and finds the even pulse in your neck.

You jolt as his teeth encase the spot and he freezes.

“Want me to stop?”

His head is nestled in the crook of your neck, away from the possible judgment of your sight. His voice is low, a scratchy reverberation, strained with a need too great to be put out by his self-restraint alone. He’s a mess, oozing hormones, jittery and uncertain but too lost in his delight to retreat.

He’s slipped inadvertently and wound up vulnerable.

“No.”

He’s satisfied with your answer only for a moment before the nagging reality starts chewing at his gut. You aren’t normal. You’re not the typical bird he’d pick out in a bar after a particularly heavy mission and one too many glasses of scotch. You’re fucked up.

He doesn’t want to keep asking, wishes so direly to stay blind and dumb to the facts spitting acid in his face. But he’s too grounded for such fantastical blessings.

“Want me to keep going?” he looks up with a clenched jaw.

His breathing slows, preparing for a hit similar to a bullet to the chest, but there is no Kevlar to shield him from the devastation. He’s bare before you, at your mercy despite his stoic composure keeping him visibly untouchable. You should pity him, feel something because your situation hints at him being more than an ally or friend. You should muddle the truth or let him down delicately, he deserves as much.

He wanted you to want him. He didn’t want to be alone in his desires.

But you’re no liar, you’re not a gentle soul. You offer him a curt, tasteless answer.

You stare him straight in the eyes and shoot.

“No.”

It stings more than it should.

“I want for nothing.”

The fire in his belly is extinguished, it feels as if the blood is sucked out of his body. The stab leaves his pulsing cock flaccid with only a stain of precum smeared against his boxers as a reminder of the blossoming need you’d snuffed out mercilessly.

He holds your gaze as the spark in his shrunken orbs vanishes, then slowly sets you down and tears himself away with disgust; regretful and insulted.

“Get out…”

Chapter 2 >>>

Masterlist

[I'm a bit uncertain about this one. It's a niche idea, but it's been swimming in my head for some time now. Someday I'll be satisfied with my writing, but for now I'll settle for this. I'm not great at COD characters so if anyone seems OOC forgive me. I try my best, but I'm a rookie.]

[savagewildnerness]

Part IV

The Children of Darkness

Notes are a bit random on this and not well formulated, but in case anyone is interested… book version for page references is new UK Sphere publishing.

POTENTIAL EPISODE TITLES

The Devil’s Road

Symphony of Malice

Notes:

Lestat’s fighting spirit: how have we seen this manifest of the TV show so far?  How will we see it manifest in the future?

What is the connection between Lestat refusing to surrender and him always enduring?

Even in terror: Nicki prisoner and he and Gabrielle in danger, Lestat is still the *doer* - a being of action, who, at odds with his impulsive stereotype is immediately attempting to form some kind of plan.

Nicolas’ presence is often described as some form of “shimmer” – as if his mind is unreachable.

Lestat also describes himself “staring coldly” at Nicki – disassociating in order to be able to cope with the situation?

Lestat talks of his instincts here numerous times – he is drawn to Armand – to his beauty, his power and his allure, but his instinct tells him over and over again how dangerous Armand is and basically Lestat’s instinct says RUN.  Where is this instinct from?  Is it the instinct of The Hunter and Lestat knows the danger of Armand in the exact same way he knows the danger of The Wolves when in front of them?

“the astonishing innocence of his boyish face” (p216) how Assad is this description of Armand?

“as if the devil still retained the face and form of the angel after the fall” is so Memnoch coded!

Lestat is a very new vampire here and even as a mortal he was young!  Yet he is so brave.

Magnus, Allessandra and Armand are not a dissimilar age?  1400’s-ish?

The old queen (Alessandra) talks about dreaming of the mortal world above and its music and so on from her stone pillow in just the same way Lestat describes himself doing in modern day at the start of the book.

P221 “Nicolas looked like an animated corpse.” And I think, in many respects, already he is, sadly sadly sadly.  I love the description of him as “A child thrown among porcelain dolls.”

“The power of Satan will blast you into hell.”  “You keep saying that! And it keeps not happening as we can all see!”  Surely this will be on TV!

“Will any of them allow me to take Nicki alive from this place?” Yes as a reader you already feel how doomed Nicolas is by now.  How can Lestat not feel it too?

Anne loves the word “MALICE” and uses it a lot in this part (in relation to Nicki and to Armand)

P226 he Devil’s fiddler whom you worship from afar every night” – how much of Lestat’s thoughts has Armand actually eavesdropped upon?

I can imagine TV Armand saying “You, for whom the working of the dark trick is an act of shameless greed.  You gave it to the very womb that bore you!”

“that our immortal faces should be such masks for our true souls” I found interesting, as you’d often say a human’s face reflects their soul.  But of course a vampire’s face does not change with time.

P227 – Armand’s quote “Tell me why!” surely will be on the show?

“He knows no limit and so he has no limit” is essentially “Only the impossible can do the impossible”!

Is Lestat’s rage (p227) transference (he feels Armand’s rage) or his own range towards Armand and about Nicolas?

“Ah sad lost child, roaming catacombs beneath a great city and an incomprehensible century.” – Does this description reflect show-Armand’s nature/essence?

I REALLY HOPE Lestat says “I never lie.  At least not to those I don’t love.”

“I am that new evil.  I am the vampire for these times” will surely be on TV?

Nicolas, no matter how on the verge of death he seems is listening to every word when they’re in this place, as he later brings up “The canker In the heart of the rose” that Lestat calls himself.  So what does Nicolas make of it all, listening as a human who has just been tortured by these beasts… who thinks Lestat didn’t love him enough to turn him.  And who knows what the vampires said to Nicki.  They can see his thoughts, so beyond the physical torture, the power they will have had in his mind to potentially reinforce and solidify all of Nicolas’ deepest fears…  Nicki moans at the canker in the heart phrase.

“There is no romance in what you are.  There is great romance in what I am.” I feel this is deeply the essence of Lestat, to be remembered in all he does.  Lestat despises lack of Romance!

“She receded from me as if she were an image in a sailor’s glass.” What a gorgeous metaphor!

Magnus appears to have brought death to MANY mortals quite fine!  So what exactly is Alessandra saying here? I do think Lestat hasn’t fully understood her when he talks of loving mortals already and maybe he is in part horrified by the implications of immortality?  I also wonder what Nicolas, the only human listening here makes of Alessandra’s summation of immortality?

P233 Lestat asks if Magnus loved mortals the way boys love butterflies as they rip of their wings – it’s a thing Armand is often accused of by others.

Orpheus allegory re-Lestat and Nicki p234

P234 The way Lestat describes Nicolas’ experience of being locked up so closely to his own… and Lestat will now do unto Nicki as was done unto him by Magnus.  This is A Lot for them both… because Nicki has fully seen what these beasts are from the way they tortured him… and Lestat is now both beast, lover and lover who (Nicki thinks) didn’t love him enough…?

P235 “Do not do this thing” is italicised.  Lestat cannot hear Gabrielle’s thoughts.  So does she even say this, or does Lestat just imagine it or know she would say it?

I love the mix of love and death and desire in Nicolas’ turning.  It’s a weird combination of the most carnal of all the turnings and yet the only emotion aside from this pure satiation of lust and need is the entire existential dread of existence itself!  That interspersed with such human memory of love and human experiences that are lost forever now, for them both.  Lestat is clearly aroused by turning Nicolas and he seems to kind of shut off his reason/human love and let his desire take over?  It’s a strange mix of desire (what Lestat always wanted), domination (the power Lestat has over Nicki – reflecting somehow that his class meant he always had some kind of power over Nicki) and what Lestat knows himself is a disaster I think even as he does it.

What a quote – “philosophy straining to contain the ghastly images, the torture, to surround it with language…”

Nicki raves about The Witches place on p236 just as Lestat did when he had just been turned on p97

It’s interesting how Lestat acknowledges here that Nicolas cannot truly know what he is asking for in pleading for The Dark Gift and acknowledges how awful it is the power he has over Nicolas.  It’s one of the things I love about this book in particular – no matter what Lestat does, his internal moral compass is incredibly self-aware and correct.

P238 & p266 – Lestat tells Nicki he has misunderstood everything here and Nicolas says very similar in their last argument on p266

For anyone thinking Nicki only hated Lestat by this time – p 239 “Unspoken words coming from him of love.”  Nicolas loves Lestat even now, no matter what he’ll later say.  Lestat sees it in his mind while Nicki is here still mortal.

I feel as though Nickistat represents to Lestat for eternity that tantalizing prospect of what a mortal life might have been.  Lestat was only on the cusp of manhood when he was turned.  What might it have been to be two artists, in love – growing old together, loving and dying.  Well, it would have been awful Lestat – but because you can never access it, it remains eternally an ideal and unreachable vision – that glimmer of a possible mortal life and love with Nicolas.  The last vestige of the idea ever having any reality to it dies along with Nicolas in this section.  Perhaps while Nicki is still human, Lestat is still connected to his own humanity in a way that once Nicki is turned Lestat isn’t ever again, as there is nobody who loved him as his human self who is also still human left alive…?

In Nicolas’ turning, Lestat slits his own throat rather than his wrist to make Nicki a vampire – it is carnal, sexual and indicative of death as well.  On TV there could be some visual parallel possibly between how Lestat creates Nicki and how Louis killed Lestat?

The slant of the colourless landscape in Nicolas’ mind reminded me of the slant of the floor in S2E5

P243 To see Nicki change had been to see him die.  Why do we usually see most humans cope fine with turning and their transition into a vampire in the books?  If it really is so random as Armand says…?  That said, Nicolas was utterly broken before he was turned, so!

P258 – Nicolas keeps his and Lestat’s dressing room as a shrine to Lestat – even a half-drunk bottle of wine left untouched.  If that does not speak of the depth of his love for Lestat and of his pain at his loss, what does?

Lestat finds Nicki’s violin not where he lives, but at Renauds.  Nicolas left Renauds never to return after Lestat’s on-stage breakdown where he saw Lestat shot but not die.  Not only had Nicki given up studying violin – he never played the violin again after that day, until he became a vampire.  Imagine what his experience must have been.  Friendless as all the actors from Renaud’s have gone abroad.  Not even a violin for solace.  Thinking he is unloved.  Nicolas must have felt his own descent into death.

Lestat worries whether vampire Nicki feels anything at all anymore p256

What does Nicki feel about playing The Devil’s instrument?  Especially when he has not played it for so long…

What does it mean that Anne introduced characters as villains (e.g. Armand, but Lestat too) then she and we grow to love them….

P260 quote – why exactly can’t Lestat stand Nicki’s music now seeing as he describes it still as very expressive.  How does it feel to Nicolas that he now has all of the technical and emotional skill he always wished for on the violin and can do with it as he will, and Lestat just calls it ‘petty’ – another punch to the heart to tell him Lestat never loved him? 

Lestat and Nicki loved each other as humans and despise each other as vampires as much.

Lestat compares Nicki to his whinnying and dying mare numerous times – poignant allegory

The sorrow that Lestat and Nicolas’ last fight is in Renauds – a place they were truly happy

Sam is gonna act his socks off in expressing the meaning behind the loss of Renuads and the perversion of it into something vampiric, when it was Lestat’s whole world of artistic expression as a mortal and an emblem too of his and Nicki’s love and start of life.

The Witching Hour again on p247!  Anne uses it so often!

Armand consuming Nicki’s abode, like an insect-demon and he instantly lets Lestat know he knows about Nicki being made (nonverbally)

I love the juxtaposition of opposites in Armand - Devil versus innocence etc… and for Lestat - danger versus allure

When Armand attacks Lestat with the way nobody has ever cared to teach him anything (p250) it is The Cruelest.  That he steals this from Lestat’s mind is even crueller… and I love it.  Please make the TV show…!

As a lover of sunrises and sunsets, may I say, I love how Anne describes skies!

Armand trying to get Lestat to kill Gabrielle and Nicki is utterly horrific.  I hope that’s on TV!

The way Lestat says “Exactly!” When Gabrielle is saying they need to get Armand’s knowledge even though she cares less about it than the meaning of leaves and stars etc. even though Lestat absolutely doesn’t mean exactly, as Gabrielle’s pondering are alien to his own humanistic mindscape!

Nicolas’ shrine to Lestat in Renaud’s.  HE LOVED LESTAT.  I will say it over and over!  (This is not saying they were meant for each other.  I LOVE TOO that Nicki is DEAD!)

I love how Anne even makes the traditional comedy and tragedy theatre emblem into a poetically poignant image

Even though Lestat and Nicki despise each other’s vampire-selves, there’s such sensuality still between them.  When Lestat gives Nicolas his violin, Nicki leans his head against Lestat.  When Nicki says “The Devil’s Instrument”, he looks into Lestat’s eyes for the fist time, and he’s trembling.  This is the first time he has played violin since Lestat’s theatre breakdown!

The music Nicolas plays, Lestat tells Nicki it is petty.  However, he describes this too as sensual and full of emotion.  The violin tells a tale.  The emotion bends and twists Nicki.  It is a lamentation and it seems to perfectly express Nicolas’ inner world.  Why does Lestat call it petty?  Because Nicolas can mock humanity with his music now?  It certainly isn’t because it lacks emotion.  I think Lestat fears how inhuman he is as a vampire, and he hears confirmation of it in Nicki’s music now.  But that doesn’t mean Nicolas’ art is bad or petty or lesser.  Of course, Nicki’s art is *more* now in most respects as now he is technically perfect.  I’m reminded of how this week I told someone (who was asking technical aspect of piano playing of me and I am NOT technical on piano!!!) That violin is my first instrument and their response was - “Like Paganini! Like Stephan Grappellli!”  And like… No…. Not like genius violinists!  Like a rubbish violinist!  Obviously, I know them… but it is odd to me that you namecheck them to me.  Because.  NO.  NOT like them!  Anyway, I digress….

To Nicolas, Lestat calling his vampire-art petty must feel horrendous - like a physical slap.  He envied the ease of Lestat’s success as a mortal, but never begrudged him it.  Now, Nicolas has all the technical skill he desired and Lestat calls his creativity PETTY.  What an insult & a DISMISSAL!  Cruel as Nicki’s words are to Lestat.   (I really wanted to read from Nicki’s perspective this time.  We are literally in Lestat’s mind this entire book, but he is not the only being who feels pain.)

P264 versus p230 - Nicki remembers Lestat’s “canker in the heart of a rose” comment from when he was mortal, near death, tortured by Armand and his coven.  He remembers all these beasts said to each other that night.  What a horrific true first introduction to what happened to Lestat - these monsters torture him, drink his blood, tell him goodness knows what horrendous things about Satan and how evil and Satanic Lestat is… Then Lestat is one of them….

All Lestat wanted as a mortal was to be good and to carve a grove in The Savage Garden.  But now, he uses that as an insult to Nicki.

And I’ve said it many times, but I do not believe Nicki went to Paris, hoping for he and Lestat to fail.  I believe there is truth in it, in the nihilistic way we can all believe “Wouldn’t it be funny if there was an apocalypse in 5 minutes and we were all DEAD.” (Just me?  Well, ME, anyway..) and we all have these dark thoughts… I definitely believe these were thoughts Nicolas had.  But I do not believe he desired it… at least not for Lestat.  I think of it more as a depressive thing - if it fails - YAY, I always knew it would.  And he DID love Lestat.  And he did need his light.  But now he doesn’t.  Now he is A Dark Thing: the summation of his worst fears he no longer needs Lestat and what’s more I think it’s why Lestat cannot stand him - he is now the embodiment of what Lestat fears *he* might be as a vampire: an entirely inhuman creature.  But Lestat is never that.  However, Lestat created vampire-Nicki and the inhuman thing he is.

“It’s all a misunderstanding, my love” Nicki says to Lestat on p266 in their final argument.  Almost exactly what Lestat says to Nicki p238 “You have misunderstood everything” before Nicki is turned.  The sorrow in this echo/twist/reiteration.

I am not sure about it, but I wonder whether part of why Nicki is SO cruel to Lestat at the end is as he NEEDS Lestat to leave him and he knows that no matter how Lestat despises him, he won’t abandon him.  Yet, Nicki probably knows DEATH awaits him not too far away now.  And he likely knows, were Lestat to stay, he could drag Lestat to his death as well.  So, maybe he is freeing Lestat, in a way?

But although Lestat and Nicolas despise each other, they love each other too.  The opposite of love is indifference.

[ratsoh-writes]

How do monster stats work?

What would someone see if they "Checked" one of the skeletons?

Ehehehehe finally this question is getting answered!!!

Ok so when someone performs a “check”, they see five things: LV, HP, DF, AT and status

LV:

Level of love, or basically how many kills this monster has had. This stat will show as 0 for any monster/human who’s never killed, a first kill is set firmly at 1 and the number increases slowly with the more violence the monster/human has performed.

LV climbs slowly, so high numbers are a lot harder to achieve than you think. The majority of fell monsters only have an LV around 1-3, and the highest number in recorded history was Laios the Violent, a ruler in outerfell during the war between monsters and humans. His LV was said to be 35 before he finally died. Truly a beast.

The highest LV of all the skeletons would be coffee who has a solid 9. Next is butch who has a 8.7.

Monsters who are LV sick and past the controllable stages LV stat will change to a fuzzy unreadable blob instead of a number.

HP:

This stat reflects the status of the body, mind and souls health. For humans, their number rarely goes down for emotional damage except in moments of crisis, but for monsters who’s souls are directly connected to their bodies, strong emotional damage can read the same as actually being physically damaged

The average HP of a healthy human is between 500-800, and the average HP of a healthy monster is between 450- 600.

The base number of a humans/monsters HP can be increased or decreased based on how fit they are mentally and physically, so often a persons base number fluctuates over time.

Monsters with dimming never see their HP go past 100

Any monster who becomes a royal gets a massive boost to their HP through the ritual, putting them at average 1600-2200.

DF:

DF, or the defense stat, is a number describing how sturdy one is against magical attacks. Defense has nothing to do with actual physical armor and cannot be increased by any outside force.

The average DF for humans is very narrow, between 30-40. For monsters it’s a lot more flexible with any number between 1-100.

Through intense training of one’s magic, it is possible to increase DF, but it really doesn’t change too much. Masters at combat often report their stat only going up a couple points over their whole lifetime

AT:

AT describes the power behind a monsters magic attack, not their physical attacks or strength.

AT is a stat that only appears in humans who have access to their souls, so it only shows in witches. In a normal human, the spout where a check shows AT is left blank

AT can range anywhere between 1-100 for monsters, and for mages and witches that range increases to 1-130.

For royals, they get a boost of 35 to their AT in addition to whatever their base number was before

AT is directly related to HP so, when a healthy monster/witch trains and gets fitter, they can see their AT increase, as well as when they become sickly it decreases. Its rates of increase and decrease are much smaller than HP though.

The average monster will lie between 15-30 in AT, above average is 31-45 and anything beyond that is considered incredibly talented regardless of monster type

STATUS:

The status is a very brief summary of how that person is doing. It usually shows as a short sentence like “darling is craving something sugary” or “mister is anxious about his upcoming test”. It rarely goes into detail unless the monster being checked wants someone to see what they can’t say.

Here’s a little example of what you’d see in a check, using sans!

Sans Wingdings

LV: 0

HP: 380/380

DF: 9

AT: 12

STATUS: “yes he’s aware this raises more questions than answers”

And last but not least, a few more facts about checks

It’s considered very rude and invasive to perform a check without permission, one never does this to a stranger unless they’re sure they’ll win a fight with them lol.

When a human joins a coven and trains to be a witch, the first spell they’ll learn is how to perform a check

In order to become a professional fighter (magic sparring) one needs a DF stat of at least 15 or higher. Anything lower than that is considered a high risk for permanent injury and won’t be allowed in any competitions.

In order to join the royal guard, you need a minimum of 10 DF and 15 AT.

The royal with the highest DF is Asgore with a whopping 89

The royal with the highest AT is toriel with a whopping 105.

It’s impossible to hide performing a check as it’s a very “loud” sensation. People have described their soul being checked as similar to feeling their insides being “wrapped up”. It’s not painful, but definitely uncomfortable if you’re not expecting it.

[jennyboom21]

And you replied: "Of course it is." You knew this was a a lie and it landed you in therapy but you want to believe.

This is the fakest moment in American history. Not since the moon landing has anything been so fake.

But you know what?

It's OK. This moment is actually interesting and fun. A certain sort of goofy obsession has seeped in. No, it's not real, but who cares? We all love this phony love affair. We will continue to love it. We will keep loving it until this spectacularly fake relationship dies and Kelce becomes a cautionary lyric on one of Swift's future albums.

For now, however, despite knowing this relationship isn't real, and likely some type of marketing ploy, we're all going to treat this like it's a true love story. The question is why do we like something that we know isn't real? The reasons, I believe, go beyond some of the obvious and superficial ones. It's not just our societal obsession with stars. It goes deeper than that.

Kelce and Swift represent a fleeting moment where we can all be a little nerdy and little obsessed and maybe even laugh at ourselves a little bit. I'm not talking about Swifties or Kansas City fans. Both of those groups are already hardcore and infatuated. This is about the rest of us. The people who don't have time to get obsessed about anything. The people who normally don't care about football, or how many stadiums Swift has sold out, can feel like they're part of something everyone else gets.

There's a more cynical view that says we're infatuated because our own lives are so boring. It's less that and more that our lives are so full. We don't just have our jobs and loved ones but the world seems chaotic and dangerous. There are threats to democracy, financial stress, a rise in white nationalism and extremism, and a general sense that things could go awry at any moment.

It's not simply that Swift and Kelce are a distraction. It's that sometimes we desperately need one.

This story is also about something else. The ability for all of us to laugh at ourselves. It's likely Swift and Kelce are laughing about this, too. So is Kelce's mom, Donna Kelce. Remember that scene in Kansas City when Travis scored a touchdown and Swift wildly celebrated but Donna, well, was just chill? That wasn't because she's seen her son score dozens of touchdowns. It was because she just didn't want to play along. Donna Kelce doesn't play that.

Yes, this is a conspiracy theory, but it's one of the few accurate ones.

I also believe we like the idea of Kelce and Swift as a couple because, at least as far as we know, they both seem like good human beings. We never truly know the people we follow as celebrities and while I don't know much about the singer, I do know the football player. He's known on the team as a diligent and decent person. He's been described to me by a former coach of his as "laid back" away from football.

Swift herself continues to do things away from her day job that have a considerable and positive societal impact. In a recent Instagram post, Swift pushed her 272 million followers to register to vote. The group Vote.org says it recorded more than 35,000 registrations.

"I've been so lucky to see so many of you guys at my U.S. shows recently. I've heard you raise your voices, and I know how powerful they are," she wrote on Instagram. "Make sure you're ready to use them in our elections this year!"

This, along with other things related to Swift and Kelce, caused the heads of right-wingers to explode. One wrote on X, formerly known as Twitter: "Taylor Swift hates America. Taylor Swift hates President Trump. Taylor Swift loves communism. Maybe Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift would be good together.”

Their anger was another reason to love this relationship.

The last time the public had such an infatuation with a couple was Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley. There was a belief that relationship, like this one, wasn't real either. That one felt weird to watch.

This one feels great to watch.

For the people who hate this story, don't worry, you're not alone. "I'm already over it," Chargers running back Austin Ekeler told the Dan Le Batard Show with Stugotz. "I'm over the Taylor Swift stuff. Can we move on please?"

No, we cannot. We will not. How dare you even ask?

And for those of you who say you don't care about any of this, well, you've read this far. You obviously do. Just like the rest of us.

Even if it is totally, without question, completely fake.

[what-if-i-just-did]

Divine & Demonic

Once upon a time, there was a demon. This demon was the king of Hell. He had large, black wings, sharp claws and horns, and a crown. The demon ruled the fires of Hell for millennia, evil and cruel.

Until, one day, a human was accidentally sent to Hell instead of Heaven. 

A child. 

No child belonged in Hell. 

So…. now the demon had to communicate with Heaven to find out what had gone wrong, and how it could be fixed.

An angel came by to verify the situation. And the moment the king of Hell saw this angel, it was the beginning of the end for both of them. They locked eyes.

If one were daring enough to use such a human cliche in a story of the divine and monstrous, one might call it love at first sight.

And this perception was not one-sided. 

Were they human, their breaths would have caught, or their hearts might have skipped a beat, perhaps. As it was, they simply stopped dead in their tracks for one small, imperceptible moment, before continuing as if nothing had happened.

The angel, like most others, had smaller, white wings, three eyes, and a golden halo. Yet there was something…. unique. Something in his energy, in his aura, in his power. Something was different.

The demon king felt drawn to the angel. He, however, knew that uttering such a thing, or showing it, would be beyond unacceptable. Even thinking it would be punished, were he not the ruler of his realm, with no spies in his mind. He quickly found an excuse to get the angel alone- Not a lie, no, but an excuse related to the reason he was there in the first place.

The rest, as they say, is history. The beginning of a sordid, ethereal love affair that lasted nearly a century before it all went horribly wrong. They had been discovered; Of course they had. One cannot simply hide from Gods and Archangels. 

The angel was punished first, and in the most brutal way. For all the tortures Hell doles out, it does so creatively, sadistically, beautifully. Heaven’s punishments are rarely as intriguing. It would be cruel and efficient, the type of punishment that leaves them cold without the fires of Hell to warm them.

The angel, heavenly creature, was pushed to Fall. He crashed into the roof of Hell, alerting his lover to their discovery. The demon cared for his ex-angel, gently introducing him to the reality of his new being; a demon, like any other. Wings black by ash, halo cracked and torn, eyes ripped out and replaced by glowing embers picked from the fires of Hell.

They had thought that the end.

Instead, a short while after, came Heaven’s retribution. This was no punishment- this was revenge, for tempting and taking one of their angels. As if it hadn’t been Heaven that cast him out.

The demon’s majestic wings were ripped from his body, stolen and hidden. His pride, his power, even his reign suffered under the loss of his imposing, captivating wings.

And this time it was the angel- now no longer an angel- that comforted his lover.

The demon lost his throne soon after his wings. 

Ex-royalty and ex-angel were shunned both by demonic society for consorting with one another. They took a look around them and realized the only thing they had left here… Was each other.

With a determined nod and a soft kiss, they shed their demonic natures, becoming mortal.

Human.

Their human lifetime passed within a blink of the immortal eye, yet they filled their time with love, and joy, and family, and passion. And when the time came to be judged, 

Heaven or Hell,

There was no denying that their human selves had been good, and kind. They were begrudgingly let into Heaven, and lived their afterlife with the same love and peace as they’d lived their human lives.

[miyamiwu]

Link Click Season 2 – Everything We Know about Agents and their Abilities

This post will contain spoilers

This is a sequel to my season 1 summary of their abilities, so I’ll be referencing to some stuff there. And since season 2 is still ongoing, this post will be updated after I watch every new episode. Be sure to check the latest version of the post before reblogging.

Episode 1

(1)

Right after "Qiao Ling" stabs Lu Guang in the season 1 recap at the start of the ep, the scene then changes to that of Lu Guang in a forest, followed by a dying Cheng Xiaoshi with his head being held in someone's hand (probably Lu Guang's).

As present-time Lu Guang watches "Qiao Ling" confront Cheng Xiaoshi in the living room, Cheng Xiaoshi's voice is then heard saying in the background, "Lu Guang, if death cannot be avoided…"

The scene then changes to that of a bloody left hand with a black watch (presumably Lu Guang's hand). And behind this hand is Cheng Xiaoshi, wearing his yellow and blue jacket, lying on the ground.

We are then brought to the present-timeline, with Lu Guang thinking "… then it might be better to face it now."

(2)

With Red-eyes having to ask about Cheng Xiaoshi’s powers, it is confirmed that they did not see what CXS saw while the latter was in the photo in their confrontation in S1E11. This disproves my S1E11 #2 inference.

(3)

Red-eyes was able to point out Cheng Xiaoshi’s lie easily.

Episode 2

(1)

Red-eyes can control a person to do things beyond what is possible for a human to do on their own. An example of this is how they had Liu Min dislocate the cricoid cartilage in his neck in a short time.

(2)

The Red-eyed kid whom Qian Jin gave the photo to has pointed bangs. This is presumably Li Tianchen. (From hereon, if I say only “Red-eyes,” then it’s unknown if it’s Li Tianchen or Li Tianxi)

(3)

Red-eyes can remotely control others after gaining a photo of them.

(4)

Red-eyes’ power is also related to photos. And either Red-eyes themselves have the ability to take other people’s abilities, or they know of a way to take it (perhaps through a tool, a ritual, or through someone or something else)

Episode 3

(1)

Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang don’t have to clap their hands to enter a photo. They can just hold hands normally.

(2)

Li Tianchen was the one who gave the photo to Lu Guang.

Episode 4

(1)

Li Tianchen was the one who took Liu Min’s phone.

(2)

The Red-eyes kid who called Qian Jin has a phone number of 184-897-5497.

(3)

During the call, Red-eyes didn’t talk, just breathed heavily. Yet somehow, Qian Jin seemed to have gotten their message, for he later replies with “You are really a madman…”

(4)

The one on the phone is later revealed to be the Li Tianxi, the girl on the photo that was given to Lu Guang.

(5)

Li Tianxi is mute.

(6)

As shown in S1E3 #1 and S1E7 #4 (refer to my season 1 summary), an agent acting as someone else does not inherit the physical limits of the person they become. This is further shown in this episode when the doctor checks Cheng Xiaoshi’s pulse. Instead of detecting Tianxi’s pulse, they detected Cheng Xiaoshi’s.

(7)

The one who went to the police station and claimed to be a witness is Li Tianxi.

[niaevum]

INFO I. CRIMSON GLORY.

Built in XX63, Crimson Glory's origins start when destroyers become to get shunned from society, their existence seen as nothing but a threat. A couple who hid their identity from the law decided to use whatever means to offer destroyers a future, but it did not last long. Despite of their benevolence and how well they maintained the order in the organization, all funded by themselves, their actions have started to be considered a threat to humanity and the grand scheme of peace. That was nothing but a lie, as that organization was the perfect coverage to continue with their atrocious experiments and build the perfect army under the guise of offering destroyers a chance at life.

The young couple was framed for a crime they did not commit and imprisoned, only to be executed behind the scenes, their bodies disposed shortly after. On the surface, the organization continued to serve its purpose, however it gradually changed. Once taken over, from helping destroyers, it became something grotesque, its main focus being on kidnapping the poor and all those whom others would not miss, to experiment on them. The thirst to find out more about destroyers, their limits, their weaknesses, how their bodies worked drove the leadership to be reckless in their abductions, until it became noticeable.

Nonetheless, it was not a deterrent but somehow it became a stimulant to continue with all those actions. Although the experiments have stopped for a couple of years, the organization thrived under the facade of helping any unfortunate destroyer, mainly children. Were they not the easiest to manipulate and break? Thus, a different nightmare has started, one where children were broken beyond repair and rebuilt to become the perfect soldiers, servants to those who decided to employ them. The entire process was painful as they had to ensure that any destroy would know what true fear was, but also had to control their power well-enough.

Once they managed to perfect their new project and created their loyal subjects who would rather obey than suffer the consequences, the experiments were restarted. Any destroyers who fell short the imposed standard, rebelled or dared to make any mistake would become an experiment, against their will. Very few exceptions were made for those who strayed from the "right" path.

Things take a turn for the worst when the organization's leadership is taken over by August, someone who thirsted for power and abused it whenever in its hands. His dream to expand Crimson Glory became a reality, but at the death of many destroyers. His ambitions flourished the organization, but were the death of many young destroyers who had fear instilled in them and did not retaliate, death being their liberation. August recognized talent, but also feared it, to the point where he became paranoid that one day one of the destroyers would kill him. The only one with that potential at that time was Azriel. He was the prodigy of the organization, his feats well-know. So, he sends him into a mission that he was bound to fail, with as little information as possible.

As he predicts, Azriel is killed in action and there is no body to recover. While August is relieved that he got rid of one of his biggest headaches, he miscalculates and ignores the relations Azriel formed and the people he left behind. Regardless of how much his organization flourished, August continued to have a feeling of dread in his gut and that proved right when a war started months after Azriel's death. He knew nothing of the purpose behind that fight, but lost many of his talented soldiers. The opposing side was too powerful. He realized how careless he had become considering that removing Azriel would remove all his problems. It is at this point when Veronika chooses to change sides and betrays Crimson Glory.

The problem was that the war is lost despite her participation. Her friend, who had been part of the rebelling forces is killed in front of her and Veronika herself gets imprisoned, tortured daily, under the effects of the Mirage, an inhibitor meant to suppress their powers and make them an existence close to that of a human. Despite the pain she goes through, she manages to manipulate the guards and her executioners, turning them against each other. Her power, although weak was enough to make them fight each other.

With her body in tethers, she struggles to leave the underground prison, forcing her body heal itself despite still being heavily under the influence of the inhibitor. As expected, the underground fight draws attention and it becomes an internal struggle, while her destination had been always one: August. She kills him brutally, making him suffer before passing away. That had been the stepping stone for her, murdering all his employees and loyal followers, humans and destroyers alike. Having come that far and surviving, despite being prepared to embrace death if needed, Veronika takes control of the organization and self-proclaims herself as its leader. Things are chaotic for quite a few weeks, as she still had to eliminate anyone who was still on August's side. Without any allies, this prolonged into months, until she started to finally recruit talented people who fell out of favor with the world. She did not act as a savior with them, nor lied when bringing them to her side.

The organization starts to change gradually. While all the trainings remain as brutal and harsh as before, the ridiculous punishments no longer take place. The guidance destroyers receive changes from making them a weapon to serve under someone, to granting them the opportunity to defend themselves and stand on their feet. The recruitment of new destroyers no longer happens with any person who possesses powers, but only if Veronika or anyone from the closer circle considers that someone is talented enough to join them. The organization teaches them survival skills, grants them freedom and treats them as humanly as possible, but in the end, she makes it clear it is an employment contract; they dedicate their life to her and are to be loyal to her. Any betrayal results with death.

Under Veronika's guidance, although shaky and imperfect at first, the organization blooms even more than under August's rule. It grows to become one of the most dangerous organization from the world and anyone whose name is associated with it is granted special rights, aside the fear and reluctance that such affiliation instills. Nonetheless, those who abuse that power to get anything forcefully, cannot obey the rules and become a threat to the organization and herself are disposed quietly. Although fairly lenient, Veronika is a strict leader who does not allow those working for her cause meaningless chaos. Even if she grants them freedom to do whatever they want and even covers up whatever mess they create, most are not allowed to stray too far. Even if they are talented, not all have the ability to escape unscathed were they to become a public threat and she would rather not see them being in such a position and in needless pain. Despite being rather cold towards them, she values each of them.

[outofangband]

Do you know if the curse on Hurin and his family only affected them when alive? Or did it influence their spirit/fea afterwards?

Well that’s a huge crux of The Words of Húrin and Morgoth, anon!

“This last then I will say to you, thrall Morgoth,” said Húrin, “And it comes not from the lore of the Eldar but is put into my heart in this hour. You are not the Lord of men and shall not be though all Arda and Menel fall in your dominion. Beyond the Circles of the World you shall not pursue those who refuse you.”

“Beyond the Circles of the World I will not pursue them,” said Morgoth, “For beyond the Circles of the World there is Nothing. But within them they should escape me until they enter into Nothing.”

“You lie,” said Húrin

“You shall see and you shall confess that I do not lie,” said Morgoth

( OK that part is kind of funny to me because isn’t Morgoth’s whole point that if he’s telling the truth how is Húrin going to confess?? he’ll be nothing and in nothing but that’s beside the point)

I’ve noted in the past that we can detect at least one confirmed lie regarding the nature of the curse on this page; Morgoth tells Húrin that nothing will be hidden from him however in the Wanderings it specifically states that many things were hidden from him, not just distorted but entirely obscured. Specifically the triumphs of his son and most notably the killing of Glaurung (though Húrin discovers this anyways later, much to Morgoth’s displeasure). This doesn’t specifically relate to the question of death in the afterlife but I did just want to note that anyways

Anyways, the fate of humans after death is a rather enduring mystery in Tolkien’s work. We don’t only that they go elsewhere, beyond the knowledge of elves and apparently beyond the knowledge of Morgoth. There is more I can say about this generally in the Atrabeth but unfortunately I do not have my copy of Morgoth’s Ring with me at the moment! (I’m at work and I always keep my copy of the Narn with me in my backpack but I don’t have most of the histories there). But I can return to that later if anyone wants

But there is a lot I can say about this. For one the sentiment of this being put into his heart in this hour is reminiscent of his brothers dying words to Turgon, if not in the words themselves but in the sense of premonition. It’s not as directly satisfying a premonition as “their chain still awaits you” which I truly believe Morgoth remembers when he’s once more bound by Angainor (and given the similarities between Húrin and Tulkas it’s fun to imagine that just for a moment, the visage of the Champion of the Valar flickers before his eyes and becomes another golden haired warrior who laughed at him. Anyways) but it’s definitely a powerful line and though again, Húrin will never see it, it does come to pass.

Húrin is among a few humans to speak of the Valar directly, mainly in The Wanderings when he speaks of Námo, Manwë and Oromë and in his conversation with Melkor. And in the BoLT version, he successfully prays to Manwë when he sees Túrin’s capture by orcs.

Also in the book of lost tales version, Morwen (Maevwin) and Húrin (Úrin) do not pass on but rather remain in the woods beyond Doriath, “bemoaning their children”. This is never implied to be a result of the curse however and obviously this version is not canonical anyways

But I do not think that the curse extends beyond death. Morgoth says the victims will die miserably and “curse both life and death” but even he seems to think that death is an escape for them albeit not any happy or peaceful one as he believes it is simply Nothing. (Just like with Húrin and Manthor’s talk of Shadows in The Wanderings, I think the capitalization of Nothing is very interesting)

Finally I would note that the words “she was not conquered” seem to imply that Húrin believes that the curse ends in death but that’s only my interpretation (I don’t think that’s primarily what the quote is about but I do think that’s a possible inference to it)

I hope this answers your question, anon! Please feel free to ask more!

[wizardwisenmore]

Hey, being a woman is NOT a purely social construct. You should hunt down whoever told you that lie and congratulate them for being an idiot.

Listen... I've been around this track a few times now. I know how this argument goes and I know how it ends and neither of us will wind up happy. But if you really wanna hear my thoughts, well, there's the read more.

Ultimately, what you need to know is any and all anti-transition rhetoric is based upon the same ideology that informs eugenics which stems from capitalism and racism, both of which are about obtaining means to control.

What do I mean by this? Eugenics and terf rhetoric are pseudo-sciences informed by the desired outcome rather than the collected data. Scientists (if you can really call them that) such as Samuel Morton had preconceived notions of race and thus spent accumulating "proof" such as the measurement of skulls to reinforce their racist point of views and position within society. With these so-called studies, they were able to strip less wealthy/fortunate individuals who didn't fit the ideal from rights and other civil liberties such as common respect. Similar types of "studies" that relate to this are the same as terfs being able to "tell" when someone is trans because of supposed more "masculine" or "feminine" features which are purely based upon western European "beauty" standards. This lead to the loss of genuine body autonomy for those individuals under the scrutiny of this rhetoric.

Body autonomy is an especially broad-reaching conversation but as these arguments tend tofocus on reproductive rights, let's look at that. The base idea of a woman (which from word roots does actually translate to "female person" but words change and develop so, "female" back then doesn't necessarily mean what it does today but that's a whole other convo) as an individual who can give birth stems from the time of serfdoms, feudal lords, etc. when keeping track of the bloodline was very important. So, those who controlled people who could essentially make new people were able to obtain greater power by more or less having control of the population itself. They controlled who could and who could not have children together.

We've made great strides in liberating that choice and made it so that those who were grouped together because of a biological asset have more control over it (though it's threatened now). Creating a more even playing field means that the line between one group and another has been increasingly blurred. Evolutionarily speaking, this is highly advantageous and stems from the development of higher thinking that spurs things such as math and philosophy and removes the class of people who were more or less mostly culturally intended to produce children when necessary.

This leaves the current classes of today which are high, middle, low, and no-income individuals within each class the ideal situation is that all individuals are of equal opportunity. However, having these economically reinforced classes doesn't actually permit equal opportunity. Capitalism, which is the root cause of this, reinforces these classes because a divided populace means a more marketable and therefore profitable population. Within capitalism, humans are very much a resource and so just as it was in the middle ages, being able to control those who can produce new people is a key to increased profits.

With how widespread commerce and trade are today, being able to cast a wider net is important when being able to sell goods. People aren't uniform though so it's difficult to be able to predict what people will buy beyond basic needs like food and water, but even those resources aren't safe from demographics. Demographics as you may know is the grouping of people into generalized categories like adult and child, men or women, yknow like the sections at target. Having more uniform demographics makes it easier to sell goods so having a "woman" demographic that's streamlined across certain biological needs, food, fashion, etc. creates an easier group to cater to. Thus, many companies fund those who reinforce this demographic, and many others like it.

However, people as a whole aren't streamlined and neither are they their biology. If you can grasp the concept that it's wrong to judge someone by the color of their skin then it shouldn't be too hard to acknowledge that it's unfair to judge someone by their genitalia. Which are abstract ideas that have affected culture for centuries now. So, "women are those who produce children" has been a very cultural interpretation of biology that has become obsolete. The only way to create true equality is by allowing full body autonomy and separating the idea of womanhood from biology. Defining women on the basis of biology restricts the definition itself because that ultimately reduces women to biological function rather than literally anything else like fashion, art, language, the list goes on.

Even biologically, humans have no true dichotomy. All the sex chromosomes do is produce one hormone or another be that estrogen or testosterone which creates physiological changes that present as the phenotype of the chromosomes. All humans have receptors for both hormones, that's why HRT works and if that's the true biological basis of what you consider man or woman, then we've already covered that. If you are considering the reproductive aspect then that draws issues within the means of fertility.

Even before modern transition methods, there have been those who have been able to live comfortably as a gender that differs from the one traditionally assigned to their sex at birth. And before you come in here with the "archaeologists will still be able to tell by your bones", as one who has studied archaeology I can tell you that those methods are spotty at best. What tells more about who the person was and how they operated in their society and culture is what is found buried with them such as clothes and religious artifacts.

So judging people upon a phenotype is deeply unfair. The true key to equality is being able to separate human identity from our biology. Who we are is not a reflection of what we are.

[literalliterature]

51, 62 & 69 for keet and yonder!!

All of these were soooo fun tysm

"51. what is the most beautiful thing in the world, for them?"

Keet: She's capable of finding beauty in a lot of things, as an appreciator of art and nature. More than anything, though? Music, particularly the kind that tells a story, whatever its story may be.

Yonder: The answer to this has changed throughout their life. When they were a young adult, they would have said the most beautiful thing in the world was a rainstorm. Now, it's growth where it shouldn't exist, weeds climbing through dry cracks. Also, they're a raven, so shinies.

"62: outside of otherworldly forces, what do they believe in?"

Keet: Loyalty. The value of a group. The power of her own body. Up until recently, the benevolence of the water.

Yonder: Family. The reversal of time and of mistakes. That there is a right way for the world to be, and a wrong way. Themself.

"69. How would they describe their party members?"

Ohhh boy okay.

For Keet:

Hydor (water genasi fighter/paladin): BFF, occasionally with benefits. The similarities between the two of them are hard to miss--both weird feral children from the woods, both wanderers, both tied to the water, both very naive but well-intentioned. It's no wonder they got along immediately. Keet also hasn't forgotten that he was the first to come up to her the day the party met in the tavern, and she's grateful for it. She thinks he has plenty of reason to be way more confident in himself than he is.

Rhea (astral genasi warlock/druid): The coolest person on the planet pretty much, and also one of the most strikingly beautiful. She has a kind of bravery that Keet hasn't really come across before, one that makes Rhea fascinating to her. Leaving a home, especially one that you've basically never left before, is a hard thing for Keet to fathom, and learning that Rhea did exactly that for the sake of her sister really raised Keet's estimation of her very early on. That being said...it's weird to Keet how much she's into reading, and she also thinks Rhea could use a little help being more perceptive and getting accustomed to wild more lmao. Keet is very much willing to help with that though. (Also yes it's gay.)

Zephra (tiefling conduit): The slightly scary face of the party. Keet still feels a little bad for the way that she initially treated Zephra, which is to say she was pretty judgy and kind of cold about Zephra's weird magic and attitude. They've been doing a lot better for awhile, though, and especially after the stress of Alcaeus's temporary death and the way Zephra helped the group through it, she definitely recognizes her value beyond being smart and charming. Keet does still get a little frustrated with her shadiness and willingness to just lie about basically everything.

Alcaeus (human cleric): Oh Alcaeus........there is so damn much I could say about the relationship between these two. During the ritual to bring him back to life, Keet called him "the heart of [the party]," and she meant that. She thinks of him as maybe the primary thing holding the group together, and for that reason, she worries for him, and she thinks that she could've recognized sooner that he needs the kind of support he gives everyone else. In terms of just the two of them specifically it's like. He's her dear friend he might still be mad at her for the military thing he's the ultimate confidant he has the best chance of understanding what she's going through right now he's a cipher that she knows nothing about he's a therapist he's a good country boy he's kind of creepy he's her "twin in the tragedy of loss" he's her brother he hasn't ever leaned on her yet as much as she wants him to.

For Yonder:

Siobhan (human artificer): Crazy bitch (positive). The two of them haven't interacted one-on-one a huge amount yet, but Yonder knows a fellow scientist/investigator when they see one. They both relate to and admire Siobhan's willingness to experiment on herself and others in the name of discovery/creation of new weapons lmao.

Tavien (human [?] rogue): A Child. A really demonstrably fucked up kid, but still a kid. As with a lot of children, Yonder is lowkey a little protective of them, inasmuch as they're capable of being protective of anything (and mostly from a distance). Even if they're a crotchety old bastard now, being a kenku, it wasn't all that long ago that they were a child themself, and they remember how little power a child has over the world that they live in. They're also glad that Tavien is very much down with killing mean assholes lmao.

Ybor (dragonborn paladin): Meatshield tbh. He's the newest addition to the party, and he and Yonder essentially just met, but so far they think that he's a real asset as a Big Beefy Fighter Man and not as much of a fool as he initially seems. Ybor has a kicked puppy vibe that Yonder can get behind quite honestly fhenxhbsgdgd.

Sol (half-elf sorcerer): Moron, but another necessary meatshield. Yonder still hasn't quite forgiven him for causing the nonsense that magically aged them up by 10 years, even though the effect was recently reversed. Right now, they are planning on leaving the possibly cursed discount bag of holding that they got near Sol while he sleeps instead of hanging onto it all night themself. They will feel at least a little bad if something negative happens to Sol as a result though.

Ziva (ghost sorcerer): The only other real adult in the group besides themself, frankly. Yonder probably gets along with her the best out of everyone, both for her relative maturity and for her bookish type of intelligence, which they also have. Since their talk in the Raven Queen's temple in which she opened up to them a little about her missing daughter, Yonder has developed a new sense of empathy for her. It's almost enough to make them feel a little bad for not opening up to her in the same way about their own loss--almost.

[ziorea]

DWC Feb 22 day 4 Influence/Distant

“I don’t know how you got my number, my dead name, or how you found me but we are going to sit here until I get all the fucking answers.”  A black leather coat was tossed on the table before her.  Stitch on it was two bright red cherry lips that parted to show a pierced tongue.  The words ‘Lick Me” wrote in cursive below it.  The owner of the jacket? A woman with midnight hair, copper skin, and half-elf ears.  “Onyx?  Sorry, I called you the wrong name. It was what our records had you labeled as.”  Ziorea sat up tall in her seat at the table legerdemain.  Her hair was pulled up in an elegant twist.  Earrings worth a month’s wages dangled from her ears.  The outfit she wore sleek and professional white silks but her pink highlights contrasted with the business elf look.

“Records? Look Lady Nightfall, I don’t know what you want from me but I am not going to join your cult.  I will pay whatever debt I owe and we move on?”  Onyx smiled as she turned her seat backward and straddled it.  A cigarette tin was pulled out and opened.  One offered to Ziorea.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”  Ziorea smiled.  All her years of training to be a powerful woman of the house blurred together. At this moment she wanted to run away from the woman before her.   Lips pursed together and teeth clenched.  Air blew through her nose before a smile was given to Onyx.   “I don’t want money, I want to find our sister.” 

A rich laughter came from the darker hair of one of the two ladies.  “I don’t have fucking siblings and there is no way I am related to a noble purebred like you.  Um no offensive” 

Offense was taken but Ziorea tried her best not to show it in her expression.  “Our sister shares the same mother, a human fire dancer.  Yet different fathers.  We are not related.”  It took all of her emotions to stay calm and control.  Her tone did mimic one of an adult talking to a child even if it was most likely she was the younger of the two.

“My mother was a whore, who danced her way in and out of noble homes.  It made her rich beyond belief and I have no doubt many ‘love’ babies where dropped around the world from her crotch.  That doesn’t make them my siblings.” Onyx hissed as she placed a cigarette between her looks.  The barkeep gave her a narrowed look threatening the woman not to light it.  After all Onyx did have a repetition of drugs and sorts.  A middle finger was offered his way but no flame met the tip of her smoke. 

“She was my father's favorite person besides my own mother.  Cali was born within months of me.  I grew up with her.  In fact she looks a lot like you but with flame-red hair instead of black.”  Ziorea smiled trying to make some peace.  “Cali even is an artist like you in ways but does Henna.”  

Onyx snorted.  “Cali, cute name but yeah don’t know her.  Or why do you want me to even bother looking for one of my mother's mistakes?  If your good old papa raised a half-elf right next to his pure blood baby more honor to him.” 

Ziorea did wince, her bloodlines had influenced the comfort of her life.  Cali’s own half-human and half-elf had caused her to be in the shadows.  They pretended no one knew who the father of Cali was.  The child had been raised as a lady-in-waiting to Ziorea with no hopes of pretty new dresses, titles, or respect.  

The silence that came from Ziorea caused Onyx to lean forward and grab the wrist of the elf.   “Look, there are reasons I have put distance between me and the life of noble elves.  They lie, hurt, cheat, and kill.  Leave me alone and don’t contact me again.”  Onyx’s own emerald eyes locked on Ziorea’s violet ones.  “I have to find her..” Ziorea pleaded not giving one reason why but she did jerk away.  It was at that moment she noticed Onyx has swiped her personal communication device as well.  “Give that back!”

“Fuck you, fuck off, and hopefully I can find someone to fuck me tonight..” Onyx grinned as she deleted her number from the comm.  It was tossed on the table next to the noble.

The rogue rose from her seat.  Without another word, just as quick as she appeared Onyx left Ziorea to her thoughts.

Mentions of my alts @just-onyx and Cali (Who has no tumblr)

@daily-writing-challenge

[brick-van-dyke]

Uh, New Story™ Rambling Post?

Just a random post of original story ideas I want to blurt out somewhere and get some feedback for if anyone wants to chat with me about OCs, ideas and yell about stories lmao

Will have picrews (with links), any art or notes, etc and will be updated as I go.

So we have these two main characters so far:

Their names?? I have no idea. But I do know the the first one goes by they/them and is the narrator and the latter is their love interest, a lady who partners up with them.

I'm thinking maybe the buddy-cop trope in a mystery, sort like the Sherlock Watson dynamic with these two.

As far as setting and atmosphere goes, I'm thinking maybe dark academia?? Definitely relating to magic, astronomy, gods, etc. I love playing around with the idea of eldritch powers beyond comprehension; that desire for knowledge and the unknown, I love settings that are filled with human curiosity and the result of both that innocent longing and that darker hubris that leads to grave mistakes.

I want the protagonist to be a sort of shy, stand offish person, but also hints that they're hiding something deep down. Maybe their perspective is that of an unreliable narrator and the story is told via their bias and lies?

As for the second main character, I could see her being a bit more open and honest. Maybe as she also helps the protagonist as a sort of moral weight that pulls them back from their lies. Or maybe even better of an idea could be the pros and cons of both, and how both characters wish they could be more like the other? An honest and kind woman who doesn't want to be so kind and open; who wants to be able to lie, meanwhile there is a character who feels compelled to lie and wishes they could just be open and reveal all that is burdening them.

Theme-wise, I'm thinking maybe a story that centres the idea of how progress can only be achieved through warmth and kindness, not judgement and coldness. Though that may change. I think, as usual with what I write, I'll end up sneaking in some themes about self love, mental health and healing from trauma. I especially love stories about becoming independent after feeling controlled, so I suspect I'll end up adding that as at least a minor theme throughout this story, if not all of the stories I write. It's a go to for me and something I love to explore and express through writing.

As far as the main conflict and potential twists, I already have in mind that the protagonist would have a connection to the mystery to some degree, particularly the idea that the protagonist's inner troubles are caused by the same thing/ person that caused the overall conflict. Meanwhile, I could see the second main character being their support and reassurance that they are more than their circumstances. I would also like to flip this down the line where the protagonist ends up doing the same for the second main character, their partner, when she goes through similar turmoil once her own inner conflicts are brought to the surface.

[To be continued later]

Credits:

Picrew (1)

[phantom-of-the-ruckus]

Cult theory updates 3

I'll prop write my first essay today and facing the inevitable essay about why I refuse to ignore the you-know-what (Still not me defending it, justifying, or condemning it. I made clear several times that I don't think the characters are related, but I'm taking the neutral stance. Don't try to twist my words) and why I personally believe is an important aspect to Nick's character

I feel before writing the essays about my cult theory and the characters, I guess I have to get the big taboo subject out to clear out things

----

Update No. 3 Indoctrination

There was something very peculiar about the puppets seeing human as cattle, and if it wasn't for other theories and headcannons that I read I wouldn't have gotten the "Aha moment"

I am not sure if this is the right terminology, but it is some sort of beliefs that the members of the Handemen cult are set to follow

1. Mortimer is the only leader and the major voiced to be heard the sort of "father" of the clan (Father as in father of creation )

2. The studio is the safe place for puppets, the host world is not.

3. Puppets are the superior creatures and humans are animals. You don't want to behave like an animal

4. Don't trust anyone other than what the leader says to trust, specially hosts

This is based on the behavior and things the characters said in both games. I do believe it's part of the indoctrination and brainwashing they have into following Mortimer and obeying him.

This goes into analyzing Riley's character as a whole and what makes her relationship with Mortimer and their bond pretty much important since she's the most loyal and brainwashed out of all the handemen

She also has a particular great dislike for humans besides the irony that she sees potential into in their world but was also the one who told Scout the cruelties or the host world so she didn't want to come out.

I take this as Riley seeing potential of using our own world to the puppets advantage and go beyond making a stupid little kids show

Still, keeping the puppets tied to them and not to play with the animals meant for experimentation and slaughter, but help in the cause Mortimer tied them together

Her mind is set in one goal and that goal alone

---

Second update of the post, Mortimer's lies and how this is normal of cult leaders as well.

Tw: mentions of actual cult leaders (Jimmy Jones)

I was thinking more about Mortimer lying not only to Riley and the puppets in general and thus I remember another fact about cult leaders

They lie and keep stuff from their followers.

Te best example I can give is Jimmy Jones. He keep riches and lied several times to their cult about their ways of living. He pretty much had valuables, lived better than their followers but punished those who tried to get something good for themselves?

Why? My best guess (Not an expert ) is that it's egocentric, keeping their followers to obey, and acting with paranoia to the basic needs.

Why I am saying this?

Well Mortimer does this things in the game is a different way.

1. He's quite egocentric and alludes himself as a king and a sorta god

2. He uses fear and abuse to get this followers to follow him and obey him (pulls Machiavelli's the Prince argument of being feared more than loved)

3. He's quite paranoid and believes Riley acting on the need of closure and happiness, or Nick desire for affection is a sign rebellion.

From what I could tell, cult remembers are forced and learned to be content with crappy styles of living and a lot of sacrifice.

Basically being content into what the leader has given them, so wanting something that the leader did not provided could be seen as something bad (in theory ) and I think Mortimer's metaphor of a king fits well

A king stays in power making sure all their subjects are miserable but complaint to his rule. A happy subject is a sign that someone is disobeying him and is denying what the king impose or gave.

Taking this as an example, in theory Nick's happiness was a sign that he was defying the way of living expected

Maybe Mortimer punishment against the puppets is to make clear that he is not someone who can they tamper with, and his "heartbreak ending" it's just a way to manipulate into feeling guilty for trying to betray him

[positivlyfocused]

More Proof On The Way To Becoming Super Human

It seems every week at least two significant spiritual things happen. These things prove I’m expanding as a spiritual being. This past week was no exception. What happens proves I’m uncovering my “supernatural powers”.

Of course such experiences are not “supernatural”. They’re things we all can do. Doing so just requires dedication. Dedication most people won’t put in. So it only seems such things are impossible. Or their possibility gets relegated to superheroes on the big screen. Many of us simply won’t prioritize such things.

Meanwhile, some people actively enjoy such abilities. Members of certain Buddhist Orders, for example, develop such capabilities. But even they may not go far. They see such abilities as distractions from their ultimate goal. Their ultimate goal being renunciation earthly desires, not developing occult powers.

I don’t consider such abilities distractions. I believe they serve vital purposes. They help people realize their godliness. Such experiences introduce people to their eternal natures. Experiencing them can even radically change individual life trajectories and society at large. They can change how we relate to each other. They can help eliminate human suffering by showing us how connected we all are. Connected not only to one another, but to all things.

They can even help us lose the fear of death.

Ending human suffering – one person at a time

That’s right, supernatural experiences relieve people of fear and insecurity. Fear and insecurity lie at the heart of many “bad” human behaviors. Mass shooters, aren’t born mass shooters, for example. Experience nurtures people into such states. Psychopaths aren’t born that way either. They become such people at the hands of other people.

All that can change if everyone directly experienced their immortality. If people knew they were integral parts of God, they’d fear one another less. They’d experience more grace and love from within. No matter the external conditions, such people could change their lives into better lives. Better lives for themselves and for others.

Changes like that can’t come from “faith” though. Which explains why religion often falls short. Religion can mollify insecurity and fear. But religion also can foment fear and insecurity. Especially those based on sin and damnation.

But direct experience of one’s eternal essence teaches differently. Directly experiencing one’s consciousness as it exists beyond the physical offers compelling, visceral, undeniable evidence. No one, for example, can deny out of body experiences exist. Not after directly experiencing one.

Positively Focused’s goal then is empowering people in this way. The practice shows them they are gods in human form. Through direct experience, the practice reconnects people with their immortality. From there, people discover what they really are. In time they free themselves from fear, suffering and insecurity. They find instead empowerment, freedom and joy. Then life becomes the joyful adventure that is the Charmed Life.

What is our potential?

My personal practice has me questioning many things nearly everyone takes for granted as impossible. What if, for example, things “superheroes” do in movies actually represent real-life human potential? What if we can fly? Can we travel to other dimensions? Can we shape shift?

I don’t think coincidence explains people’s fascination with superhero movies. Perhaps the reason we’re so fascinated is deep down we know such abilities are possible. But since so many don’t believe them, such abilities remain latent.

Until now. I know, I sound crazy. But my experience says maybe I’m not so crazy…

^^Abraham making an assertion I’m beginning to believe is accurate.

I’m testing that “craziness” to see what’s behind it. What I’m finding shows that maybe we can do more than our logical minds allow. Maybe…our potential is more unlimited than we believe.

My latest experience

Shape shifting, for example, is something I’m systematically exploring. Recent experience indicates I’m making progress. Of course, actually shifting my shape requires rather intricate and significant control of certain realms. It also requires highly refined abilities. Abilities accessible only in nonphysical. It also demands that I soothe a LOT of resistance, primarily resistance manifesting as disbelief. But also manifesting as fear.

And yet, evidence I am producing shows promise. Take, for example, this recent experience:

^^Notes from my experiences during session 187 titled: Preparatory sessions for shape-shifting?

Descriptions in this note pale in comparison to the actual experience. It was EXTREMELY profound. So real was the experience that it left me giddy days afterwards. And the fact that it ended seconds before my timer went off told me a greater intelligence was at work within me. An intelligence possessing a sense of humor and an awareness of my time experience. I attribute that intelligence to my Broader Perspective.

What was that experience?

In case you don’t know what “murmuration” is, here’s a video of the phenomena:

^^This is what my body felt like

Watch the “meta” structure the birds’ flight paths create. Note how that shape changes, but the number of birds and their orientation, while changing, remains cohesive. My body felt exactly like this. Though I perceived it maintaining its overall “shape”, I also sensed that it could change shape. That it actually was preparing to change.

I’m not quite ready for the full capability shape shifting implies. Not yet. Just as I’m not fully ready for fully-conscious OBEs. Otherwise, I’d be shape shifting now. And traveling to other realms and dimensions while fully aware of the experience.

That I’m not doing that (yet) tells me I still have some resistance. Fear remains the biggest resistant element between me and these full-blown experiences. My ego hasn’t quite acclimated itself to a realm in which it’s not designed to function. But it’s getting there.

As it does, that fear is subsiding.

What the future holds

Shape shifting is my future. As are the other occult abilities. I strongly believe this. I already am projecting my consciousness outside my body and aware I’m doing so. Everyone does this. Nearly everyone disbelieves they do this however. So they don’t remember doing it. Or, they aren’t aware of doing it. Or both. I’m becoming more and more aware of my out of body experiences. I record them. And I retain the experience. More and more, I’m becoming aware while in them. Doing so, I’m gradually extending my time in them. Changing the emanation that is my body will be a nice complement to out-of-body travel.

This whole exploration began with manifesting desirable circumstances and events in waking consciousness. It actually started with wanting to be more positive. Now, it has expanded a great deal. I never thought I would want to manifest these supernatural abilities. Abilities that actually aren’t so supernatural. But now that I’m starting to experience them directly, I can see how they were my destiny.

Someone must show humanity what’s possible. Someone must show us the future that can be ours. Perhaps that person is me. Want to join me and my clients in this pursuit? Contact me. Let’s talk about it.

[miniz00]

Wall of text about Xiomara incoming

She started as my character from Diablo 4, a necromancer, and with the way I've started to flesh her out in a few roleplays, she generally approaches things with the "nothing is free, I'll scratch your back, but you could do anything from scratching mine, to giving up your soul, depends. On what? Good question, too bad I'm not answering." type deal. She does still have a heart and some compassion left, so she's like the "I'm not evil, just misunderstood, and possibly just a little bit evil, actually, yeah" type of character. So with Baldur's Gate, I'm leaning a bit more into that theme with a slower burn on the transformation. We're starting as a Drow, a race generally feared and hated by others since they're, for the most part, a rather cruel and egotistical people, believing themselves the ultimate species, above all else to the point of enslaving others, and especially as she is (or was - still figuring that little snippet out) a Lolth worshipper - evil spider goddess of their society - meaning she regularly faces reasonable suspicion and a hint of hostility here and there from others. Despite that, however, she didn't let that affect her outlook on life and the people around her, no matter what race they were from - Elf, Human, Druid, Tiefling, everybody was the same in her eyes - and she did her best to help whenever and wherever she could, using her magic. She wasn't the best of wizards just yet, but she certainly was working hard to get there. She wanted to put as much good into the world as possible, especially considering the amount of bad her people liked to put in. As she adventured with her little team, she'd often find herself bending over backwards to help others, whether it be to take on a camp full of goblins to save a grove full of Druids and allow the Tieflings holed up with them safe passage back to the city, or defying a 'god' and fighting her way through a crèche full of fierce, ruthless Githyanki warriors to help two of her closest friends, all without asking a single thing in return.

However, the adventure was not without it's flaws. At every turn, people would lie to her - then beg for her help in the same breath. They stabbed her in the back, stabbed each other in the back, betrayed those who helped them - her kindness was often met with continued hostility and distrust from others. Alongside this, a rather frequent occurrence in Xiomara's travels was death… death of enemies, allies and the innocent. An amulet she'd found during her journey let her converse with the dead, however. She could gather all sorts of information she wouldn't be able to when the target was alive. And that… intrigued her. She'd always seen death as the grand finale, a final flourish to a life lived with grandeur, or a last dying whimper from a pathetic, worthless existence… and yet, here she was, communicating once more with those very same people. She began to figure there must be more. A third state, beyond both life and death, a different plane of existence… something. It all came to a head when she'd come across The Necromancy of Thay. A tome filled to the brim with forbidden knowledge relating to controlling the essence of life - even in death. Merely opening the book was almost enough to drive her to madness - but that wasn't enough to stop her. She pushed on, memorizing every single page of that damned book, and while it might've cost her just a little bit of her sanity - she didn't mind. In fact, she felt better than ever. She could see it already; the world becoming hers to control at will. The power to end life, as well as grant it… in that order, if she so wished.

Currently, we're at the turning point in her story. Where she really starts to see how deeply flawed existence as a whole is, and lean into a slightly darker side of things, not being so hesitant to resort to violence and subject her enemies to a horrific demise - and then bring them back on her side.

I ain't reading allat: She's going from a super helpful friendly neighborhood Drow studying magic to the jaded "Oh my god I'm SICK of all you lying, backstabbing ASSHOLES" obsessed with being able to control life and death, and we're currently at about the turning point where she starts to become just a little more of a sociopath