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theculturedmarxist · 4 months

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These days I mostly avoid being around art spaces and the dwindling population of people that frequent them. This is for the same reason you might duck an old friend who’s been transformed by time and circumstance into a thing that you scarcely recognize. Sometimes it’s better to remember them as they were.

I broke my rule the other night to attend the closing of a theater I built long ago, and it was every bit as sad and disappointing as I would have expected. Hardly anyone came to send her off, and the ones that did could muster nothing better than a couple of beers and off to bed. The whole thing was over by 11.

“Who are you voting for,” a pudgy, bearded, graying Xer, asked me before I left. He was wearing a kind of middle-aged bohemian get-up, right down to the hipster hat, that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a commercial for a new Type II diabetes drug. I’m down to talk my doctor about . . .

“I’m writing in Dave Chappelle,” I said.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the part of his brain that knew how to process a dissenting opinion. Not finding one he sputtered, “But you’re not for Trump.”

“No.”

Then a skinny, wan, pale guy with sunken eyes, and long, greasy black hair, sober as a judge, like someone who’d acquired all the physical attributes of heroin addiction, without ever having had any of the fun, said, “Then you have to vote for Biden, or Trump wins.”

“So what,” I said.

And that was when they both shit themselves and I had to do the whole red-pill/blue-pill thing. By the time that was over, everyone else had gone and I followed suit. Leaving the building for the last time, I thought of livelier days when the whole place, the whole block, the whole city, was full of life and crazy energy.

How did this happen? How did we get here?

This is an article I’ve started, abandoned, and started again a few times over the years. That’s partly because I still had some hope when I began that I might one day be able to return to my craft as a theater director without revealing my opinions. But that was before Due Dissidence had a YouTube show. Now I very visibly express ideas 3-4 times a week that would get me professionally and socially cancelled in about 5 minutes as soon as anyone from that crowd took the time to check out the channel, which of course they would.

Another thing that’s kept this one at the bottom of the digital drawer is lingering affection for a lot of people who are still making the music, lighting the lights, and all that. I have dear friends in the arts and this is going to hurt some of their feelings. Except for the ones who regularly DM to thank me for saying what they can’t without risking career suicide. Those will be greatly cheered by this piece, in the way of a bullied child watching their tormentor take a hard fist to the nose, so I guess in the end that part’s a wash. Here goes.

In the 8 years since the election of doom that transformed me from the kind of guy who wanted to have a beer with Rachael Maddow, to the kind of guy who would protest her book reading, I’ve had lots of debates with lots of people. Enough to notice a distinct pattern

Conservatives will generally keep it on the issues; they may not agree with you, but as a rule they aren’t going to go right to ad hominem attacks on your character. Liberals can go either way: they may debate the issues with you, but they’re just as likely to attack you personally as a closet Republican, a Russian plant, or if you happen to be a white man, that’s kind of their go-to. But the absolute worst people you can find yourself engaging with are members of the arts community. I know this because I’ve been a member of it since at the tender age of 19, I bullshitted my way into a directing gig at the still extant 13th Street Repertory Theater.

The artists I worked with then as a kid from Queens dazzled by the bohemian world I had infiltrated wouldn’t recognize the artists of today, and I suspect they wouldn’t like them all that much. Heirs to a 60’s counter-culture ethos of distrust for authority and institutions, and to an older tradition of the artist-intellectual, they generally thought of all politicians as dishonest psychopaths, and spent more time discussing Kafka than the evils of Soviet Russia, which occupied the same position of public enemy #1 that its successor state does today. And lest the wokeratti immediately jump to its aforementioned go-to, the scene was far more substantively diverse than what you might find at a theater or a gallery today. They were gay and straight, old and young, black and white and brown, and in a major departure from the current moment, both penniless and well to do. There were artists living rent free in the loft above the theater, others renting $250 apartments in pre-hipster Williamsburg who had to walk across the bridge to get to rehearsals for lack of train fare, and still others living comfortably on the Upper West Side. If there was a failing it was in a tendency towards pretentiousness: when a middle-aged woman pronounced confidently at a post-rehearsal dinner that the principal crisis of the modern age was the “post-Nietzschean vacuum,” I almost laughed in her face. No one had that problem in my native Flushing, and I suspected that was true most places. But the problem wasn’t racism, sexism, or homophobia-expressing those sorts of views would have been just about the only thing that could have gotten you ejected in an atmosphere where pretty much anything went, and it was that way in the arts community for as long as I was a part of it.

Generally, I like to heavily source everything I write, ‘cause when you’re offering controversial opinions, you had better cross all your t’s and such. But because the arts are such a distinct subculture and the kinds of institutions that have the means to conduct a wide survey on questions like: what class background do artists usually come from, or, when did artists start to favor censorship, never would, I must of necessity rely on my personal observations and speculations. Which makes this, by definition, a personal essay, so take it as you will.

I’m starting from the premise that something has gone very wrong when you have an American arts community that tends to be politically conservative in the sense of being to the right of general sentiment in the Western world on class and economics; that mindlessly supports politicians like Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton who’s records are at odds with even the identitarian issues that they claim to care about, and that sees de-platforming and cancelling figures like Joe Rogan as a legitimate tactic, never considering the idea that once you let that genie out of the bottle, no one will be more vulnerable to having it turned against them than artists. I’ve given a lot of thought to how a bohemian scene of intellectuals and misfits turned into something resembling a PTA meeting in Scarsdale. This is what I came up with:

I will concede this to the painfully woke white people that dominate the arts even as they lately denounce their own position: rich white people are the crux of the problem, with the emphasis being on “rich” rather than “white,” as some would have it. The low to no pay circumstances of most creatives are beside the point, even though many of them will point to this as evidence of their moral authority to speak on matters of poverty and marginalization. If “artist” isn’t a Professional Managerial Class job, what is it? It sure ain’t factory work. The pretense of artists to social disenfranchisement calls to mind John Goodman’s line in Barton Fink, where his serial killing salesman tells John Turturro’s slumming writer, “You’re just a tourist with a typewriter, Barton. I live here.”

Most of these folks are just playing dress up for a while before they pack it in for Grad School and take up residence in the same sedate suburban enclaves from whence they came. Just as in every other sphere of American society, the arts are, and always have been, dominated by these kinds of middle and upper-middle class, mostly white people, whose sensibilities reflect that reality. The higher up the food chain you go, the more evident that becomes. The same exact advantages of money and connections that favor people in every other industry, favor those who attempt a career in the arts. Perhaps even more so because the standards are so nebulous. If you’re a doctor, or an attorney, you either do your job well, or you don’t. If you’re an artist, the quality of your work is subjective which leaves a lot of room for just hooking up the people you relate to, which in the arts is going to mean a lot of rich white people, hooking up other rich white people. The net effect of that is, if a lot of bad ideas are coming out of the suburbs, that’s going to be reflected in the work.

When the PMC’s were more rooted in the New Deal, with its focus on class and economics, as was the case when I first entered the scene, so were the arts. Now that they’ve turned to neoliberalism in their economics, and the post-modern turn has unmoored their social activism from observable reality, we have an arts community that has nothing to say about the current moment that strays an inch from what you might hear on MSNBC. This is why, as just one example, in a moment of social strife and economic dislocation, the Artistic Director of Connecticut’s Long Wharf Theater recently seized on the idea of a Black Trans Women at the Center festival as the best use of his platform and resources. The company lost their home of 55 years shortly thereafter.

Whereas in the 30’s a good many artists responded to the Depression by adopting a Marxist-Leninist posture and playwrights like Clifford Odets, (the writer being satirized by the Cohens in Barton Fink), and later Arthur Miller and Rod Serling, began writing plays for the first time that placed working class people “at the center,” this generation of artists greets the moment with only contempt for the struggles of working people, seeing them as reactionary Trumpers who sadly lack the education and sophistication to realize that the economy is great, incremental change is the best we can hope for, and getting all bent out of shape about books full of graphic cocksucking in your child’s middle-school library is totally uncool. Rather than to represent the struggles of average people, these artists offer them nothing but derision and when they do bother to acknowledge them, it is only to portray them as wrong-think culture war enemies.

Adding to the problem, poor people who manage to get to college usually don’t decide to major in something that’s going to almost guarantee that they end up poor. Being an artist is a luxury most people from economically disadvantaged environments just don’t think they can afford. You’re a lot more likely to choose it if you have a trust fund to fall back on. So, essentially you end up with a scene dominated by trust fund babies, no matter what identity group they align with. Their politics proceed from there. All these artists going on about white privilege is partly a case of, to use a phrase with which any theater aficionado will be familiar, “Methinks thou dost protest too much.” And as with Diversity Equity and Inclusion efforts in other sectors, this results in pretenses at promoting “representation” amounting to nothing more than trying to find more black and brown people from similar backgrounds to the whites that are already there, and who consequently share the same attitudes. Barracks and Michelles are always welcome, but the Hueys and Assatas make these folks deeply uncomfortable. The theater party I walked into last week, was no more racially diverse than the scene I knew in the 80’s (perhaps a bit less), but it was palpably less wide-ranging in class perspectives.

Another reason the censorious Victorian lady in high dudgeon pose that has become the liberal class default setting over the past 10 years or so, has had so much appeal to this group in particular, probably has to do with the psychological afflictions common to artists, combined with the insecurities inherent in the profession. This is something else I’d love to see a study on: common psychological illnesses in artists, but lacking such a study, I can only tell you what I’ve observed. Most people don’t choose a career in the arts because they’re very secure, contented and happy sorts. The level of personal psychological torment that’s driven them to such an irrational career choice varies, but deep neurosis, emotional neediness, and pervasive self-doubt are kind of a base line. I do not except myself from this analysis: my head is the kind of snake pit that Indiana Jones has nightmares about. Proceeding from there, you’ll find a fair amount of narcissism, borderline personality disorder, manic-depression, and just plain old depression-depression. These qualities are not at all ameliorated by constant rejection and criticism, which is kind of the nature of the beast. In some ways the people who are attracted to the arts are the least capable of enduring its vicissitudes without severe psychological damage. So, you have a bunch of deeply insecure, neurotic people, trying to make their way in a profession where the rules are vague and the agreed upon standards of successful work are non-existent, and then you hand them a secular religion that gives them not only rules and standards, but a weapon with which to bludgeon their critics as -ists, phobes, and reactionary heathens. That’s like throwing crackers at a starving man. Naturally they jumped on it en masse, without ever thinking through the consequences. Critical Social Justice gave artists something they haven’t had since Duchamp signed a urinal and called it a sculpture: certainty. And this group is far too ignorant of the past to know why their forbears rejected the kind of formalism that these standards impose, and what the price paid in quality, creativity and individual expression will be in the long run. Insofar as they embrace Duchamp’s lesson, it is only in using the precedent set by his famous prank to avoid being interrogated on the basis of quality, talent and craftsmanship.

Which brings us to my final observation.

I’m going to let you in on a secret, although if you’ve ever been dragged to a “new interpretation” of Hamlet on the Lower East Side, back when we still did that sort of thing, you probably already know: talent is rare. That’s why we call it talent. If it was common, we’d call it something else. I’ll give you a breakdown from something I have a fair amount of expertise in-auditioning actors. If you audition 100 actors, it’s going to go something like this: about 10% will be so God-awful you have to wonder where they got the encouragement; around 60% will be passable in the way of people who have had a lot of training; 20% will be very good; 8% will be excellent; a final 2% will be exceptional-in other words, talented. So, based on my admittedly subjective observations, only about 30% of the people who call themselves “artists” have any business pursuing it. And only 2% of those are really gifted. So, the scene is, and always has been, mostly populated by hangers-on who are only one 30th Birthday away from packing it in and getting a Masters in Social Work. The appeal of a set of standards that remove the basis of evaluating work from its quality to its adherence to a set of clearly defined political beliefs is obvious. If you can’t out-talent people, you can at least out-woke them.

None of this is to say that representation in the arts isn’t a problem or wasn’t a problem until these meddling kids started performing their virtue for likes and clicks. It’s always been a problem, particularly at the level of management and project leadership, in the arts as in every other sector of society. I would posit that DEI efforts are a solution in search of a problem, only in that part of the reason for that lack of representation, has always been a lack of artists of color walking in the door, which in turn has to do with the economic realities I’ve mentioned. There aren’t a lot of poor white people walking in the door either; I’ve owned 5 theaters in NYC across three decades, and I never met another theater owner or director, who grew up on welfare. In my experience, that lack of representation never had to do with virulent racism in the arts community. It always had to do with class realities and broader issues of structural racism society-wide that stop POC from ever making it to the door to be considered. If you were paying any kind of attention, that lack of diversity was always an embarrassment, but you can’t work with people who simply aren’t there because of societal problems that reach far beyond the arts. If we really want to do something about this, we need to go out into impoverished and marginalized communities, provide training and encouragement to young people in particular, then offer them jobs in our theaters and galleries, instead of only looking for POC from similar backgrounds to the people who are already there in order to assuage their white guilt. Until we see arts institutions doing that, we will know DEI efforts in the arts for what they are: one more example of rich white people protecting the privileges of their class, even if they have to outwardly denounce them in order to do it.

In the end, the arts scene as it exists today and the institutions that support it may have simply become too sclerotic, out of touch, and irrelevant for saving. The future is with activist-artists grown naturally from their communities, using new technologies and platforms to draw attention to concerns and realities that no gatekeeping clique of PMC’s will ever understand or think to explore. As our self-appointed creators of culture have abandoned us, it may be time that we abandon them in turn, leaving their venues to close as they should, leaving their 501c’s to go bankrupt, as they are doing, and taking the space their collapse opens up to create something new of our own.

#class war #class politics #art #professional managerial class #diversity

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pbandjesse · 10 days

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I feel kind of sad this evening. I don't know why. Nothing happened. I am just in my feelings. Probably just a continuation from my feelings yesterday.

I slept a little better. I had intense dreams again. I woke up way before my alarm and scrolled on my phone for a minute before sleeping another hour. I didn't have to be at work until a little later because I would be staying later. So I woke up at 730. The luxury of it all.

When I got up James was there. And I would get washed and dressed and felt off. But I was fine. Just a little uncomfy.

I realized I didn't want to lead the ground element actives so I asked in the group chat if I could switch and that's when I learned our morning group canceled super last minute. Ah alrighty. No rush then.

I had a nice drive to camp. And would sh e my breakfast. And got to work on finishing up the bear pins I had been working on. Sarah and Elizabeth would come in. And once I was done my bears I would drive the gator to the lodge to try hanging the curtains we got. But they weren't the right size. Boo.

Heather would come over to the lodge and we came up with a little plan for putting the basement rooms back together. Sarah and Manny would join us soon and we would all work together to try and put it back to a presentable state. I was taking charge a bit and directing what needed to be done and it was a little much. Because I didn't have all of the answers. But I think we made the spaces a little better. The art needs to be hung still. But it looks better then it did.

I would drive Manny up to the barn to help out with maiden choice and the horses. We couldn't find Heather for a minute so I went over to the feild and found her. She hurt her back so I took one of the horses to lead and filled her in on what we finished. And once we found Manny I passed Stormy the pony off to him and drove the gator to the hacienda to set up for the group.

While I was putting chairs down the caterers for the overnight field trip came and the guy was really frustrated about thinking he was going to be in the other building. And was just kind of snippy with me for no reason. And the. I found ants. And was trying to just be chill but also like. I am not in charge! Don't be mad at me! I have no power!

Sarah came to help. We finished getting the tables and chairs ready. We cleaned the tables off. And we would drive the gator together back to the office.

I had my lunch. I took a little drive to 711 to get a donut. I had some nice conversations with people in the world. And when I got back Elizabeth would ask if I could run an arts and crafts program this afternoon. Sure. So once I finished eating I would go set that up. I wanted to teach a bead project. So I got some bracelet stuff, some sewing stuff, and some bead critter stuff. And the actual program was so wildly easy because I only had 4 people. Two girl students and two adult lady teachers. And it was just really lovely. I made a few bead lizards and gave two of them to the students. And they were very excited to receive them. Which made me feel nice.

I didn't have anyone sign up for the second block. I cleaned up and checked it with Elizabeth and she said I could go home. Excellent. So even though I was prepared to work an extra hour today, I didn't have to and that was good.

I had a find drive home. I was so excited to go home. I ate the other half of my donut in the way home. And I got home at 5.

James was there!! They had gone on a bike ride to DC today. And we're working on stuff around the house. And our plan for the evening was pizza, salad, and wall paper.

James did most of the actual hanging of the wallpaper. But I did help!! And I think it looks so good. We need to order one more roll but what we got done looks so good. We have to finish some of the tops still. But that will come later. I am still very happy with it for now.

I had to unpack my suitcase to hang all my clothes for the trip because we got a fabric bug spray. So tomorrow I will spray those and let them dry for two hours like it said too. Hopefully it doesn't smell to weird. Things we will do to be safe.

I repacked the other side of my suitcase to to get all my socks and underwear and stuff sorted. I may reassess my backpack again because I'm not positive about the travel purse I'm bringing. But everything else seems good. I still need to download stuff to my tablet. To read and watch. I will probably work on that tomorrow too.

I am trying to feel better. I am going to go get cleaned up and get in bed. And hopefully tonight I can sleep easier. I hope you all have a good night tonight. And that tomorrow is fun. We have a very full field trip day. But I get to spend it down by the stream looking for creatures and I'm excited about that.

Sleep well everyone. Until tomorrow.

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taking-thyme · 2 years

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I find it so funny that I’m like “I’m not a good witch, I barely even meditate, nothing spiritual going on here” meanwhile I have supernatural things happen to me constantly but I still don’t think anything of it. I’m like if Shane Madej was a witch 🤦‍♀️

Like seriously, here’s a list of all the supernatural shit that’s happened to me so far:

I once started sobbing with worry because it was November and there wasn’t any snow yet, and not 5 minutes later did a blizzard begin. There was no snow on the forecast (hence the crying). My siblings still call me “the snow witch” after this incident

I was joking about Satan at school one day and my nose immediately started bleeding. I told my history teacher and he absolutely freaked out and accused me of being a demon

My sister’s Godmother’s prayer rope (basically an Orthodox Rosary) exploded for no reason. It was just hanging on a hook, nothing touched it, and then I heard a “POP” and beads went around the room as the prayer rope lay in pieces on my desk. I cannot stress enough how literally nothing was touching it or anything. I just said “wow I must be haunted” and carried on with my day

I once had a dream where I actually hit the ground after falling. Apparently old wives tales say that if you hit the ground during a falling dream you actually die. Who knows, maybe I am dead and Purgatory is just Earth but worse?

I asked the Universe for a sign on what to do while walking home, disgruntled after a day of doing nothing, and immediately a Dove erupted out of a nearby tree fighting off a Crow. That’s an omen if I’ve ever seen one

I’m a pagan witch who works with Apollo, Thor and Odin. I once had a very important dream where I was speaking with Odin and Thor, but unfortunately I can’t remember what they said to me. I’m just so amazed that I actually had a dream about them

Also, on the note about working with Apollo, there are TONS of crows and ravens in my neighborhood and I always say "Hi Apollo" whenever I see them. In a tarot reading about which deity to work with, The Sun card flung itself out of the pile and I was like "Okaayyy, Apollo it is!"

I was listening to a Tarot reading once and the reader went “I feel like the name Gigi or Cici is important” and I literally had to stand up and pace because my deceased Great Grandmother’s name was Gigi. A couple days later I was talking about her with my Mom and she mentioned redoing some of Gigi’s old craft projects, and I heard a woman say “Don’t mess with my stuff”.. So apparently Gigi is some sort of ghost or spirit guide

I frequently see shadowy humanoid figures in my peripheral vision, but when I turn to greet them nobody’s there. While I do wear glasses, I’ve gotten my eyesight checked for anything that could be causing these figures and have gotten nothing. The figures are sometimes very detailed, with clothes and eyes, but once again, one look and nothing was ever there. I sometimes wonder if I’m seeing ghosts or something.

My mother was declared reproductively sterile before giving birth to me and my 3 older siblings. Yet more evidence that I’m secretly a demon

That time a faerie ring popped up in my backyard. Our garden has flourished effortlessly every year since.

As a witch, the first spell I ever performed was a healing spell. My friend was sick with Crohn's Disease and was bed bound at the hospital for a while, so I got his permission to do a healing spell to try and make him feel better. Not 30 minutes after the spell was complete did I get a text from him saying he felt a lot better and that it must've worked. He was also allowed to go home a few days later.

I have a really good sense of Intuition, to the point where I can feel when it��s going to rain or snow before it actually does. I was on a walk with my Mom once, and I told her we shouldn’t go down that path because there would be snakes. She said that’s ridiculous, but not 5 minutes later, she just goes “Damn you, child” as a snake slides past her foot. I still haven’t let her live that down.

Conclusion: I may be the Witch version of a Disney Princess. If I ever randomly stop posting, assume I've been whisked away on a magical adventure, please and thank you.

#witchblr #witchcraft #witch #baby witch #fave

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pepafms · 10 months

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ੈ✩ ( maluma. 28. cismale. him/he. ) : oh god , there is no way , pedro pablo " pepa " jaramillo i just walked past us ! it is only a matter of time before pheme reports on hollywood's pretty boy avoiding the paparazzi while wearing the air jordan 5 retro se craft . stan twitter is currently so obsessed with the actor - singer - songwriter and eats up everything they do since they project themselves as the rugged bad boy , with both tatted up sleeves, the odor of bleu de chanel on their person and the multitude of luxury accessories . but rest assured , the general public knows better about this A - lister , i mean we all saw that ' the colombian actor-songwriter has been hitting the clubs a little too much lately , has he hit rock bottom ? ' . i give it a day before people spins some positive publicity for them . ( tatia/tati/tatiana. she/her. 25. est+. ) tw: mafia , murder, blood, homicide, bombs.

pedro pablo " pepa " jaramillo was born on devils night ( or at lease thats what his grandmother used to say ) , born two minutes later than his twin sister at 10:02 am on october 31st, in medellin colombia. a fact that his twin loved to rub in his face , since she was born earlier , she was the boss and he had to do whatever she said. growing up with a majority masculinity in the jaramillo household was anything but pleasant. unlike his sister , he needed to prove that he was a jaramillo. that entailed fighting with his older brothers , in their mind : they were making him tougher. in his , well lets just say that it got worse before it got better. if there was anything that pepa was good at , it was certainly charming his way through any trouble he got himself into . ever since he was a little kid , trouble and pepa seemed like the perfect match : soulmates even. if there was anyone that pepa admired it was his father , he knew who they were , he knew what they did and still for someone reason , the thought of being part of something so dangerous , it made him feel powerful , respected. if there was anything that he learned from his father , it was simply that people respected power and they were royalty , no one dare even look at them the wrong way, he had learned that at a very young age. at the age of twelve , his father decided that he would allow pepa to go with his oldest brother to a " meeting " it was supposed to be some kind of pardon from the Mexican cartel, their had been some bad blood and things were going to be amended. he knew this was his one shot to show his father , that he was man enough to be part of the family business. though things didn't turn out like that . right before coming down to an agreement , it was called off and that their had to be a price to pay, blood for blood . it all happened in a blur and the next thing as he looks down at his hands . he sees them covered in blood, his attempts to save his brothers life were futile , they shared a moment , a small moment before he lost him . the ride back home was silent , its like the world around him stopped moving, like there was nothing else that mattered . as he stepped in colombian soil, he locked himself up in his chambers and didn't speak to anyone , not even his twin , he didn't even attend his own brothers funeral. shortly after that , his mother decided that a life in colombia wasn't the best , especially for camilo , who was still rather young. MIAMI was the next destination , his father had a lot of connections and people he trusted in , people who would bend backwards just to make sure that they had someplace to lay their heads. even his father started a winery business , to launder the money in of course. you can take the man out of the violence but you can't take the violence out of the man. his father was a prime example of this. the problem with business such as theirs , you always have a target on your back and most of the time , you're not even the goal itself . his mother was clear representation of that . another one lost , another one that had suffered at the hands of his father , part of him resented him , for letting this happen once again. as the years went by , everything changed . the family wasn't the same and it all became about greed for his father, something that sadly pepa learned all too well. with a family like theirs , with the type of life that they lived . pepa needed an escape , he needed something that he could use instead of having blood on his hands. music was that outlet , music was what helped him get through life and it's what landed him in the city of dreams, a platinum recording artist and the co owner of JARAMILLO ROCK RECORDS but nothing in this life comes without a little bit of suffering. the true question is would this be a venture for the jaramillo twin or would this be the end of the line.

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inwintersolitude · 1 year

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- May 4th 2023 -

Do you plan your meals in any way? Sometimes. I have a meal planning app on my phone, and I use it more when my husband is home from flying which is about 4-5 days a week. But if he's on a trip and I'm home alone for a few days, then I don't bother with planning as much. And my appetite can be finicky sometimes, like I won't know what sounds appetizing until the day of, so that's another reason why I don't always plan ahead.

Have you ever been front row at a concert? Which one(s), and how was the experience? Nope, I've never really had any interest in going to a concert, much less the front row of one. I wouldn't be able to nowadays with my noise-induced ear pain.

What's the strongest earthquake you've ever experienced? I've only ever felt one, in 2007 - I just looked it up and it was a magnitude 3.6. My parents and brother and I were sitting at the dinner table and the whole house shook, and at first I thought it was a sonic boom or an explosion. We were only about 5.5 miles away so we definitely felt it.

Do you know your best friend's middle name? Yep.

If you have a passport, where do you store it for safekeeping? In our safe deposit box at the bank.

What's your favourite kind of juice and when did you last drink some? Either lemonade or cranberry juice. It's been several weeks since I last drank either of those.

Were you in the scouts when you were young? Yep, I was in Girl Scouts from kindergarten through 4th grade, but then I stopped because I was frustrated that we didn't do enough camping/outdoor stuff and too much sitting around doing boring crafts lol. But then I rejoined in 7th and 8th grades because a lot of my friends were in it and we started to do more camping at that age.

How long are your fingernails right now? Very short.

Do you like the Scream movies? I've never seen any.

What sort of music have you been listening to lately? Mostly classical. A little bit of classic rock.

Are there any bills you need to pay? They're all on auto-pay.

Have you ever been told you look like a celebrity? Yes but now I can't remember who it was. Personally, I think I look like Mia Wasikowska when she was younger (we're pretty much the same age, less than 3 months apart, but she looks a little older than her age and I look younger than my age). I think she looked like me the most when she had light brown hair for her roles in Jane Eyre and In Treatment.

How many people could sleep in your home? (Not counting floor space, beds and couches only) Four. We have a queen size bed, a daybed, and a couch.

Are you a fast reader? Kind of, I think? But I'm not sure what's considered average.

Do you own a leather jacket? Nope.

Is there a university campus in your city or town? No. Well, there's a building that's a small satellite campus for a university that's in a city that's about 35 minutes away. But it's just one building off on a country road outside of town. The only reason I even know it's there is I pass it on the way to one of my favorite hiking trails.

Who last called you on the phone? Did you pick up? If so, how long did you talk? My husband, and yes I picked up. He was calling from the airport in Houston before his last flight home, and we talked for about 10 minutes.

What grocery store/supermarket do you shop at most frequently? Buehler's.

Do you know how to play the card game Hearts? Nope.

Are you a more of a light or heavy sleeper? It seems to vary a lot throughout my sleep cycles.

Have you ever done freelance work? What did you do? Nope.

Name four things you can see right now. My desk clock, my old AOPA pilot wings pin, the fence in the back yard, and a framed family tree that my great aunt drew by hand, going back to our first ancestor to come to North America in the 1620s.

Do you charge your phone every day? I charge it every night while I sleep. Sometimes during the day if I've been using it a lot and it's getting low.

Is your washing machine currently running? Nope.

How's your energy levels today? Pretty normal.

Have you ever torn a muscle? Yep, when I was doing lifeguard training and preparing for the test where you retrieve a weight from the bottom of the diving well, simulating rescuing a person who had sunk down to the bottom. I dove down to the bottom, grabbed the weight, and when I pushed off the bottom of the pool I tore/pulled a muscle in my leg.

Do you have any cereal in your house at the moment? Yep, bran flakes.

When was the last time you went out to eat? Where did you go and who with? About a week ago, with my husband. We went to the cafe in town.

Is the street you live on short, long, or somewhere in the middle? It's pretty short.

Should you be in bed right now? Nope, it's only a little after 8 p.m.

#survey #surveys #random questions #personal blog

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sxugaryx · 4 months

Text

The truth (Fanfic)

Murder Mystery Au 💌

“Detective Harlan, you wanted to see me?” Geppetto said while opening the door.

Has he been caught? No, he did everything perfectly, there was no reason for him to be a suspect.

“Ah, Mr. Geppetto come here, I just have a few questions regarding this case”

Geppetto sat down, he needed to stay calm, he had gone this far, he needed to keep up his facade.

“What can I help you with?” He did not get defensive or accusatory, he didn’t ask more questions about why he was summoned here.

The less you talk, the less you incriminate yourself.

“Mr. Geppetto while we were investigating, we found out something odd, something that only you could know the answer for” Harlan walked around the room as he spoke, like a tiger in a cage.

“Me?” He tried to sound as genuinely confused as possible.

“Well, around the time of Miss. María’s death we found out that the puppets around the area had a strange malfunction” A very strange malfunction, almost coordinated.

“What sort of malfunction? Why wasn’t I made aware of this before?“ Geppetto tried to look as if he was in deep thought, “I don’t recall the Workshop union getting any complaints or requests to fix an issue”

“That’s what was odd about it, the puppets only stopped working for an hour, and after that, they were all as good as knew”

And hour, it takes an hour from María’s house to his home.

“The police securitrons all suddenly stopped working, that’s very strange, we didn’t notice until now while giving maintenance, that’s when the error was found, alongside the others” Harlan stopped walking and stared at Geppetto, but he wasn’t intimidated, he needs to play the part of a clueless older man.

“That’s very concerning, specially considering they were puppets part of the police force, this is a dire situation should it happen again” Geppetto stood up when he said that, for a more dramatic effect.

“Sit down Mr. Geppetto I don’t wish to worry you” Harlan paused, taking a seat as well, “I just wanted to ask if you knew a way for someone to control puppets, either from a close distance or remotely”

Law 0, Geppetto has control over every single puppet ever built in Krat. It was easy to disable them, easy to run away, specially with all the adrenaline in his body.

It takes him an hour to go home, but he arrived in 25 minutes, he was gasping for air but he had to cover his mouth, he didn’t want to wake up Carlo, so he silently went to his workshop, where he locked himself for hours. He came out by 5 am, showered, washed away the blood in his hands, and went outside to burn the clothes he used to commit the act.

“That’s… not possible”

“Mmm, Mr. Geppetto you have worked with the alchemists before right?” Harlan knows that puppets are powered by Ergo, therefore Geppetto must have some knowledge of it, “Don’t you think it’s possible for one of them to use some sort of power to corrupt Ergo? Or damage it? Or anything that would have incapacitated them?

“No, that’s not possible” This time, Geppetto is telling the truth, only he can control the puppets in that way.

“I see” Harlan lets out a sigh, “You have to forgive me, I’m good at deducting, not much all of this fancy techo magic mumbo jumbo”

That’s what he calls his work? His craft that he has worked and improved for decades?

No Geppetto calm down, he is a stupid detective, it’s been 3 weeks and the alchemists' activities haven’t been shut down, they should have shut down already.

“Unfortunately I don’t think I can help you with anything else”

“Not so fast Mr. Geppetto, I need to ask you something else” Harlan already knew that Geppetto wouldn’t be able to give him a straight answer, he just wanted an excuse to talk with him.

“Go on” Geppetto was trying not to scream, he had come so far, he couldn’t be found out now.

“You are a good friend of Mr. Gabriel, he told us how you had helped his daughter when she was in danger” Harlan was crossing his legs, making direct eye contact with Geppetto.

“While you were alone with her that day, did she mention something unusual? Anything works, think about it for a moment”

He remembers he will never forget all those moments she spent with her. Her life was cut short so fast, they had only been dating for a year, and the day of her death was the day of their anniversary.

He murdered her on their anniversary.

But he had to do it, he had no other choice. He regrets it, he regrets what he did so much, but it’s too late for apologies, he needs to finish what he started.

He needs to not get caught and go back to his home and finish this. He is almost done with his work, just a few more adjustments and-

“Mr. Geppetto?” Harlan asked, he had been quiet for too long.

“My apologies, I keep trying to recall but nothing comes to mind”

“There is no problem, we simply believe that María was aware that she would die soon” Harlan is trying to provoke him again.

María had in her room legal documents that belonged to her father, laws about murder, manslaughter, conspiracy to commit murder, about the act of desecrating a corpse, that one Harlan always found strange, how in Krat that's not a punishable offense, and rather a fine you have to pay. Most likely that's why they can collect all that Ergo without raising suspicion.

Krat has a lot of strange laws, that’s why the alchemists have been able to avoid so much these years.

“That’s awful, hopefully, whoever killed her gets caught, I would hate to think about someone like that running free on the streets” The more Geppetto lies, the better he gets at it.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure that the telltale heart of the killer will give in and they will eventually confess their crimes” Harlan opened the door, signaling to Geppetto that he was free to leave.

“After all, sometimes our conscience gets the better of us”

As Geppetto left, Harlan sat down again, and he re-read over and over again the autopsy report on María.

The report that showed the truth.

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Kill.

I have murder in my eyes Geppetto.

I have a deep passion to see you bleed. To torture you and bury you alive. I see you and I feel greed. What do I wish to achieve? Making you plead. Making you scream.

Next week you will come to my home. I wait for you with a smile. Just you and I alone. Wishing I could be your bride.

I have something very special planned. A sleeve under my hand.

-From the woman of your dreamland, María ♡

♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Why did he do it?

He should have never done it and here he is in this mess.

He shouldn’t have listened to her, she should have ignored her, he shouldn’t have stabbed her.

At that moment his mind was set, there was no hesitation after learning the truth, but that doesn’t take the pain away, that doesn’t take away the fact that he killed the love of his life.

Geppetto has now lost two of the women he loved.

Are those who fall in love with him destined to die young?

This is killing him, María even in death you are killing me.

Geppetto takes a glance at the box, what he has been working on since killing María, since taking away her Ergo. He had to rush home as soon as possible he had to put her Ergo in a safe place.

He clenched his fist, that girl, that crazy woman, she was an evil genius. Maybe he is also an evil genius just like her, his work life has consumed him from the very beginning. For years he has been doing this, for years he has taken notes, studied Ergo, and made the blueprints, at first he was just curious how far he could go with his creations.

Then he realized he was playing God but he didn’t stop, because he was, no, he is obsessed with his work. It was too late to go back, he needed to finish what he started if only Carlo knew the truth of what he had been doing. His son would hate him, Geppetto deserves that hatred, how could he even explain to Carlo what he did?

But the guilt is killing him, his heartbeat grows faster and faster, and he can hear the last breath María took. His mind is playing out parts of the last conversation they had.

——

“Geppetto tell me, what’s your biggest secret?” She had a devilish smile when she said that.

He was quiet, should he tell her? He doesn’t want to tell her but he has kept this secret for so long, this is something that never leaves his mind because he has worked on this for many years. How far someone can go in the creation of a puppet. He knows that anyone would think he is crazy, but María is crazy, maybe if he confesses to someone as crazy as her…

“You are an alchemist, you know how Ergo works”

María is intrigued, she leans in closer to him. She has some special properties in her Ergo, it’s the potential everyone keeps talking about, her Ergo isn’t the same as the one the average person has.

“As you are aware, sometimes puppets can awaken an Ego” Geppetto is thinking about Polendina and Pulcinella.

“This is going to sound crazy but…”

He explained and María laughed, a sick twisted laugh, “That is pretty crazy, but you know what? Good for you”

María gave Geppetto a big hug, “The more the merrier, I understand that Carlo will freak out when he finds out but I’m sure he’ll get over it, you are trying to fix things, you have good intentions and it’s not as if you can just stop now, that would be wrong” María knows how one can dedicate too much to their work, why you want to test the limits of what is possible and impossible.

She was so understanding.

“Okay, now it’s my turn to reveal my biggest secret”

——

Geppetto punches the wall in front of him and lets out a groan of frustration.

But he calms himself when he hears a noise. Geppetto buries his face in his hands and starts crying, sobbing, he had to do it, there was no other choice. She tricked him, she forced him to do this.

He hears another noise, he composes himself. Takes a deep breath and goes to the bookshelf of his workshop, after rearranging some books in a certain way a passageway opens.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you or upset you”

…

“I’m fine don’t worry this is nothing, please don’t worry about me, it’s the other way around, I should be worrying about you”

…

“I’m almost done, once all of this is done we can finally be together, we can be a proper family”

After saying that and leaving with a hug, Geppetto closes the passageway and hides who is inside once more.

Geppetto hears the door of the house open, it’s Carlo, his son is back. The son he keeps lying to, but Geppetto can no longer lie, everything he has held inside for so long has finally got to him, and his heart cannot take it any longer.

He leaves his workshop and gives his son a big hug.

“Carlo I need to tell you something”

“Yes, what is it?”

“The truth”

#lies of p #lop #liesofp #lies of p game #lies of p fanfic #lies of p geppetto #ao3 link #this is in ao3 too #lies of p carlo

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lnaliazmcithilien · 6 months

Text

i can't sign into the Elder Scrolls Online forums, and most of what I wanted to say has been said, but I still want to say it.

I loved the Endless Archive on the Player Test Server on day 1. It was great. I could play it all day. It took up all my free time! I got up to 4-4-1 once. On week 2, it was a little harder, but still fun. I could still get up to 3-3-1

After waiting an excruciating month, I finally got to jump back into the Endless Archive, but this time on the live game, no more waiting, it was there, and it was real. I was so happy! Until I played it.

I thought maybe I'd accidentally enabled a Veteran Hardcore mode. I couldn't get past 1-3-1 even in the same gear I had on the Player Test Server.

I rearranged my gear, put on a Legendary ring for the first time in my entire game play, and tried again. To my dismay, the Endless Archive now had 5 bosses before the level boss, not 3 like on the Player Test Server. I struggled, but after some tears, I finally made it to the level boss.

The level boss killed me almost immediately. I changed my gear twice, but I couldn't make a dent into the level boss, Tho'at's health bar. I spent most of the fight running, shielding, and healing.

This was on my strongest character, my tank who just did veteran Unhallowed Grave. My tank who soloed most of the base game world bosses and some DLC world bosses. My tank who soloed fungal grotto. My tank who soloed every single public dungeon boss in the entire game. And yet, I couldn't get past level, or Arc, 1 of the Endless Archive.

I consider myself a casual player, even though I logged nearly 4000 hours in the first 2 years of playing. I spent most of that time questing, crafting, and playing mini games like Antiquities.

I never expected to get to level 5, but I did expect to finish level 1.

On day 1 of the Player Test Server, it felt like a public dungeon that gradually increased in difficulty after each boss, now it feels like a veteran arena that becomes Hard Mode at the level boss, Tho'at.

In no way, shape, or form is this beginner friendly. It's not even casual friendly. The sweaty veteran DPS already had their content, the Bastion Nymics. Casuals got the delves. In between sweaty and casual was the DLC zone quest and both public dungeons.

The question is, who is the Endless Archive for?

In the Player Test Server, it felt in my little Elder Scrolls Online addicted heart to be made for me 💖

But, now, I can't get past the level boss, so it's definitely not for me. I've talked to several beginners and casuals who don't even sweat enough to touch a Player Test Server. They tried it once and never tried again.

I've seen steamers and sweaty veteran players on the forums saying it's too easy, right up until it's impossible. So, they don't want it.

It's supposed to be a roguelite rogue-like, but each level takes about 30 minutes to an hour. Hades takes 15 minutes from first room to final boss, even for a casual for me. Hades had saves at the door to every room, but the game goes so fast, there's little reason to use it.

But with the Endless Archive after 2 hours, you're only 2, maybe 4 levels in, of at least 10, possibly more. You can't even save your progress after the boss. Even if you're logged out, that's 2 hours of progress deleted. So it's not for the leader boards or completionists.

So... Who is it for?

It's selfish of me, but I wish they could release the version of the Endless Archive I played on the Player Test Server. I think a lot of you would have really liked it. Maybe, we can beg them to make this version the veteran version, and reintroduce the Player Test Server version as the normal mode 🥺

#elder scrolls online #endless archive #feedback #suggestions #normal and veteran modes #save point after bosses

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clementines-writing-corner · 7 months

Text

housekeeping, AI, and naming systems

Hello friends! ᕱ__ᕱ

I suppose I should start with a quick forewarning: this past week has not brought a whole lot of progress in regards to my creative writing and the story I am crafting. I was very busy with school assignments during the beginning of the week and very busy being ill at the end of the week. (Just a common cold and/or my allergies acting up thankfully but regardless being ill always makes my brain feel weird and often messes with my vision, hearing, and sense of balance which is a joy to deal with… not).

However I will update you with some thoughts that I had this week.

Housekeeping

Firstly, some housekeeping. I have decided to change the name of my blog. I am a very private person. I always hesitate to give out my name on the internet. I didn’t have any social media until I was 18, and even now that I do have some social media accounts, none of them have my full name or face attached. This is just how I feel comfortable existing on the internet. I have also always toyed with the idea of writing under a penname. (These two things connect, I promise). Firstly because pennames are cool, but also because of privacy reasons.

When I decided to create this blog, I was unsure about naming it. I eventually decided to choose something close(ish) to my real name because I had the tagline “dot your j’s and cross your t’s” thought up for years before I decided to commit and actually start a blog, and the penname I had picked out for myself did not have a “J” in it. However, recently I have come to the realization that middle names do exist. Also, plenty of authors use their middle initials. All this to say, the penname plan is back in business babes!! ᕱ__ᕱ

So, if anyone was confused as to the name change, that is why.

This is a bit of an abrupt shift in topics, but this week I was required to use AI for a couple different assignments in my classes and it got me thinking about it. I know AI is a bit of a hot button topic right now, especially in creative spaces, so since I was thinking about it a lot this week, I figured I’d put my two cents out there.

I do think AI has the potential to be really helpful in making people’s lives easier (that's what progress is all about, right?). However, I disagree with the usage of AI in creative, professional, and educational spaces until the moral and ethical problems it brings up are addressed. And there are a lot of moral and ethical problems that come with AI.

Plagiarism of other people's ideas and creations is the issue that I’ve been thinking about most often. We are constantly told in academia to “cite our sources” and most universities even have policies that can lead to students who plagiarize being kicked out. Yet, many people don’t see a problem with using works created with AI. All AI is, is an amalgamation of other people’s ideas and content that’s either been mined from the internet or fed to it specifically. So every piece of work AI spits out is a cut and pasted collage of other people’s stuff. And its sources are never cited.

I am most certainly not a techie kind of person so I couldn’t tell you how to fix this issue, or any of the others AI brings up, in a way that I’m sure is plausible. All I can say is that the use of AI without addressing the moral and ethical concerns makes me mighty uncomfortable.

Names

Finally, I can give you at least a little information on my story. I have always been the most obsessive about naming my characters. A 5 minute writing exercise? Eh, it’s whatever. Just use any names that come to mind. But give me any type of fiction writing that’s meant to be workshopped and it’s over for me. I’ll spend 3 hours searching for an appropriate name for the background character that’s going to be in 1 scene tops and never seen again. I get it from my dad, I think. He was always insistent that me and my siblings had names with good meanings. At least, that’s what my mom tells me. I’m like that with my characters.

Now, I have nowhere near as good of a grasp on linguistics and linguistic patterns to create my own language or a naming system from scratch. I’m not Tolkien. However, when I am writing a larger work, or at least a work with some worldbuilding/lore, I like to come up with systems for things like names. This past week, I started to create a naming system for the story I’m currently working on (Ailidh’s story btw if that wasn’t clear). What I have so far is that the type of fae folk Ailidh, Ruslan, and their people will have names pulled from Celtic, Russian/Slavic, Germanic, and French origins. Don’t ask why I chose those languages. I couldn’t tell you.

*~*~*

That’s pretty much all I got done creative writing wise this week. I know it’s not much, but at least it’s not nothing, right? ᕱ__ᕱ Sorry for being so scattered in this post but as I am currently still ill, everything is a little fuzzy. I hope you all have a lovely week and hopefully by next week’s post, I’ll have gotten some more things done within my story.

Remember, dot your j’s and cross your t’s!!

~Clementine J Quincey🪷

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split-spectrum · 9 months

Text

Water and Rock

Chapter 5

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: ***please read the warnings for this chapter*** explicit content, smut, drug use, needles, mild violence, dubcon (could be considered noncon)

Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.

☆☆☆

A sharp pain shoots through your arms when you blink back into the light. The pain forces you look down, where you see the green hands of the two Pykes that are currently dragging you across the floor. You struggle to remove yourself from their grip, or at least to stand up so it will hurt less, but your body is sluggish and is hardly responding to your need to keep your eyes open, let alone fight back.

Next to you, Obi Wan is being dragged in a similar fashion, his eyes still closed. One of his cheekbones shows the beginnings of a bruise. Did he manage to fight before he went down?

You vaguely notice they're taking both of your lightsabers and locking them away in a box, and some part of you registers that it's a problem, but your body does nothing in response. After a few more minutes of being pulled along, you're brought into what appears to be a meeting room. There's a long stone table with heavy chairs which are currently occupied mostly by Pykes, with a few members of the Black Sun Clan interspersed as well.

When you hit the ground, so does Obi Wan, and his eyes finally open. He looks as disoriented as you felt a moment ago, but he seems to regain his bearings much more quickly than you did.

As you bring your gaze back up to your captors, you recognize one of them - the Pyke who's currently seated at the head of the table. Marg Krim, the newly instated leader of the Pyke Syndicate, stares down at you.

After his predecessor's untimely death, the new head of the syndicate was known for working closely with Dooku. It was through this channel that the council had originally intended to spread the holocron rumor in order to attract the Count's attention.

"Marg," your throat is painfully tight. Your voice comes out as a croak. "What is this?"

Marg's hand curls around his drink as he examines the two of you, appearing bored already. "I can't recall the last time we had Jedi guests in this palace. For what purpose have you deigned to visit our little corner of the galaxy?"

"We've come to make a deal," Obi Wan says, his voice strained as he manages to bring himself up to his knees before Marg. "As you may be aware, there's a certain artifact we'd like to offer... to the right buyer, for the right price."

Marg lets out a sharp, hissing laugh. "You wouldn't be talking about a Jedi holocron by any chance? What reason could you have for parting with such a rare prize?" He shakes his head. "Come now, why not tell the truth, and we can all part as friends?"

"A little late for that..." you murmur, keeping your voice low enough that Obi Wan is the only one to hear. You bring yourself up to your knees as well, to address the room more properly.

"We are telling the truth," you insist, making an attempt to imprint that thought into Marg's mind using the force, but finding it difficult in your disoriented state. Whatever drugs must have been used on you back at the bar don't seem to be helping your concentration, either.

"You really expect me to believe that? Two Jedi are selling a holcron on the black market of the Outer Rim?" He takes a sip, then sets down his drink. "Please, don't insult my intelligence. I may not know everything about you, but I know you don't sell off sacred artifacts."

Obi Wan shakes his head. "We are no longer considered Jedi, my friend. We have been expelled from the Order. We're seeking a way to leave the system and make a life for ourselves, and for that, we need credits."

A smirk crosses Marg's face. "You would think the news of Kenobi leaving the Republic ranks would have reached the Black Sun Clan sooner than this."

Obi Wan doesn't give any hint of emotion at being recognized. "It's not something the Council is sharing publicly at this point."

They stare at one another for a long time, before Marg breaks the silence. "We'll find out the truth one way or another. Take them to the cells."

You yank your arm downward when a guard tries to pull you up, and you stand on your own. When you make a move to step out of line, the guard digs his blaster barrel into your shoulder, forcing you forward. The Pyke guards are then joined by a couple of Falteen males, who dwarf the Pykes in both size and muscle, and they surround you as you start to begrudgingly walk forward. You exchange a look with Obi Wan, both of you silently agreeing there isn't much you can do but comply.

Your footsteps echo down a long, dark hallway as the guards escort you to your cell, forcing you through the doorway when you reach it. Marg trails behind, following you inside, where the Falteen guards pull you toward a set of hand binders hanging from chains on the wall. You struggle when they shove you into position, but ultimately you decide to save your strength. Unarmed and surrounded, you have no choice but to let them cuff both your hands above your head.

Marg is occupying himself with something in the corner, but your view is blocked by the guards who are now dragging Obi Wan into an identical set of binders nearby. He's accepting the situation more calmly than you are, staring straight forward as they pull his arms up.

Marg turns around, revealing the needle he's been preparing. Your chest tightens as he moves closer to you.

"Have you ever heard of Pyrepenol?" he asks, giving a casual smile. "I suppose not. It's a variant of Spice that sells quite well on some worlds. It's said to make the user feel invincible."

The guards give him a wide berth, stepping out of his way as he approaches you. "I wouldn't know, myself. Never dipped into this particular supply. It has the side effect of a total loss of control. Not my style."

Your breathing becomes shallow, chest rising and falling more quickly with every step he takes.

"But it serves its purpose when I need it," he goes on. "It's been known to drive some people to madness. Of course, you Jedi are made of stronger stuff. Still... with a big enough dosage, I'm sure you two will be much more cooperative."

He brings the needle to your arm and you pull back as far as the binders will allow, but the bulky Falteen guard attempts to hold you still. You push him back with a weak burst of the force, but it doesn't keep him away for long.

"Wait," you grit, baring your teeth as you struggle. "Think about this, Marg. A total loss of control? You don't know what you're doing."

He just keeps smiling, nodding to the guard to hold your arm against the wall. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I'll get Lord Tyrannis the answers he seeks, and receive my just reward."

"The only reward you'll get is death, dealing with Tyrannis," Obi Wan says, making an attempt to distract him. "He doesn't reward his associates. He uses them until he no longer needs them, then destroys them."

Without further hesitation, Marg sinks the needle into your skin. Then he looks over at Obi Wan, pulling the empty syringe out. "Sounds like Republic slander to me."

Obi Wan's eyes are wide, one of his arms nearly locked into place while the other is still being held by one of the guards. He suddenly slams his elbow down, hard, dropping the guard to the ground. He force pushes the remaining guards across the floor with a massive shockwave, the size of which you've never seen him match. He breaks out of the half-locked binder and whirls to duck the blaster fire of the guards rising from the floor.

Now is your best opening to join the fight, so you yank yourself up by your chains, raising both legs in the air to kick the guard next to you, dropping him to the floor where he joins the others. Your binders keep you from going any further, though, and your efforts are short-lived.

Marg simply shakes his head. He gestures to the guard behind him, who raises his blaster to your head. "We don't necessarily need both of you."

Obi Wan freezes where he stands, hesitating only for a moment before raising his hands in surrender. His hands are then grasped by the guards and shoved back into the binders, but they've been bent beyond repair. They drag him instead to a new chain on the floor with a half-broken set of leg binders attached. The working cuff is clasped onto one of his ankles by one guard while the other pulls his arms behind him. It isn't necessary to hold him still, as they can plainly see he's not going to fight back now, but the guard twisting his arms backward seems to enjoy the wince of pain on Obi Wan's face.

"Please," you hear him say, his tone of voice jarring. "You must listen. You don't understand the risk you're taking. A Jedi must control their power for a reason."

You've never heard him truly show fear before, but you recognize it in him now.

Marg laughs, pulling down the collar of Obi Wan's tunic and sinking a new needle into his shoulder. "Not much of a risk to me when you're chained in my palace, surrounded by my guards."

He finishes his work, still grinning menacingly. "But I appreciate your concern."

Although his voice has betrayed him, Obi Wan's face stays emotionless when Marg pulls away, tossing the used needle on the floor. He wipes his hand down the front of the ceremonial headcovering that trails down his chest, as if trying to clean himself from the residue of touching humans. Then he backs toward the door.

"We'll continue this conversation soon. And please, try to enjoy yourselves. People pay a lot of credits for the experience you're about to have."

Your heart is hammering too loudly for you to even register the cell door slamming shut. Your arm feels hot, the muscles tight and sore, and your breathing is short and ragged. You're trembling, you realize. Is it an effect of the drug?

No. You force yourself to fill your lungs all the way, shaking when you reach the top of your breath, and hold it in for a moment before releasing. You aren't under the influence yet. You're allowing your emotions to take control. You try to turn your attention outward, rather than inward, and you realize Obi Wan has asked you a question. He's looking at you for a response.

"Sorry." You shake your head. "What?"

"I said, are you alright? Can you move?"

You pull at your chains. "Only so far."

He comes toward you, dragging the chain on his leg slowly, seeming to test the distance. Then he reaches up, and he's able to get a hand around your chains. You both lean your weight into pulling downward, but after several exhausting minutes, they don't show any sign of breaking. He releases, stepping back, and you sigh.

"Maybe it's for the best. If I really... I mean, if I can't control..." you trail off, not wanting to give your fears a voice. "It might be better if I can't move."

He shakes his head, looking at the floor. "You will not lose control, and neither will I. We must rely on our training, and we will meet this challenge, the same as all others."

When he brings his eyes up to meet yours, you hold his gaze as if you believe him. But after a few seconds, you shift your eyes to the other side of the room. You want to agree, but you can't bring yourself to say the words when you're not sure they're true.

He gives you an obviously forced smile, and although you can tell it isn't real, you appreciate the effort. He places a hand on your shoulder. "We can both use this opportunity to meditate. If we have faith in the force, we will not lose ourselves."

His hand is warm and steadying, and you find yourself leaning into it, when you realize his thumb is brushing gently back and forth. It's a tiny gesture, but so unlike his usual reserved touch. You jerk back, and he flinches.

"I... I'm sorry, I..." Obi Wan's hand is back at his side, his shoulders stiff as he backs away from you. He clears his throat. "As I was saying, meditation will guide us through this. I have no doubt."

He steps further back, giving you a last uncomfortable look, then sits on the floor, pulling his legs in, and straightens his back into his classic pose, resting his hands on his knees.

You watch him, wishing they had bound your leg instead of your arms, and shift your shoulders restlessly. You close your eyes after a moment, letting the force surround you, and try not to count down the minutes to whatever is about to happen to you.

You're able to achieve some semblance of calmness for an unclear amount of time, and you're grateful for that. After a long while, you open your eyes again and see Obi Wan still sitting motionless in front of you.

"M-" you nearly call him Master, but catch yourself and turn the sound into more of a throat clearing noise.

"General," you try again.

He doesn't open his eyes, but his features brighten, and you can feel him in the force, listening.

Watching him like this, seeing him peacefully maintaining his composure in the face of such uncertainty, you want to tell him something other than what you had planned to say.

You want to tell him that despite everything, you're glad to be with him. So many of your missions are spent with strangers, or alone. Even with the friends you've managed to keep, your life is not like it once was. When you were with him, back in the easier days, as Master and Padawan, things were so simple. He would say things, and you knew they were true, because he said them.

You let your eyes trail over his features. So different from back then. His hair is shorter now, and the beard makes him look much older. But he has the same graceful bearing as he did back then, the same sparkling eyes, the same perfect mouth...

You bring your thoughts to a vehement halt, body stiffening as if you've touched fire. It's then that his eyes open and fix on you.

"Yes?"

You swallow. "How are you feeling?"

"No different," he says, but you notice the subtle, clipped way he's articulating his words. He's speaking low in his chest, the way he does when he negotiates. He's keeping something back.

When he sees the way you're looking back at him, he shifts his position. He nods his head forward, softening his features in the same reassuring expression he's used countless times with you. "We will get through this. Have faith, young one."

Something stirs in your stomach when he looks at you that way. You want to believe it's the simple affection you've always felt for him; the solace his presence brings. You decide to believe it is.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the cell door clanging open, a guard entering with food and water. He sets down the tray on the floor, shoving it toward you with his foot, water sloshing over the rim of the cups. He stares at the two of you for a beat, and then speaks into a commlink on his arm.

"No effect yet."

He turns and leaves, the door slamming shut again, leaving you both to stare at the food and water. After some time, and despite your best efforts not to, you lick your lips.

"I... suppose it wouldn't serve them to kill us at this point, would it?"

You are hungry, but you've had plenty of experience going days without food. Your thirst, however, is hard to ignore. You watch the rivulets of spilled water drip down the side of one of the cups.

The tendons in Obi Wan's neck stand out as he swallows, mirroring your interest. He stands up, picking up one of the cups. He waves it below his nose, inhaling.

"We're at their mercy as it is," he concedes. Then he brings the cup to his mouth, taking a small sip.

You watch his adam's apple bob as he drinks, and you resist the urge to interrupt him, forcing yourself to be patient. When he brings the cup down, you look at him expectantly.

"Well?"

Not for the first time in the past few hours, you're exceedingly jealous of his relative freedom, as he walks closer to you. "It tastes like water." He looks down thoughtfully. "But I would advise you to wait before you drink. Let's see if it has any effect on me first."

His logic is sound, but you don't particularly care. Your tongue is sticking to the roof of your mouth, and your face feels hot. "As you said, we're already drugged and at their mercy. Please. Don't make me beg."

He looks visibly startled, and you're confused until you realize you're pulling at your chains, arching your back a little. You straighten to a more dignified position.

"Sorry," you say, blinking. Your heart is thrumming rapidly in your chest. "It's just... my shoulders. It's a long time to stand like this."

"Of course," he nods, stepping closer. He looks dazed, passing his eyes over your mouth. "You don't need to beg."

Your cheeks flush with heat at the way he says it, and he brings the water to your lips at last. Your hands twitch above your head, muscle memory stretching your fingers toward the cup, but he holds it in place for you, tipping it upward. The cool water tastes so good that you nearly make a noise in the back of your throat as you drink, but you manage to keep your composure. Instead, you close your eyes, enjoying the relief.

When you open them, Obi Wan is lowering the cup. The dim light in the room still manages to reflect perfectly in his eyes, which are locked onto yours. Without pausing, he lifts a thumb to your face. The thought doesn't even cross your mind to ask him what he's doing. He's about to touch you, and your desire to feel him right now is greater than your desire was for the water.

He brushes it gently against the corner of your mouth, swiping downward to catch a stray droplet on your bottom lip. Your mouth goes slack, opening for him. Every nerve ending in your body seems to spark at the same time in response to his touch. He's caught the water droplet, and pulls back, still staring silently. His eyes flicker up from your mouth. You don't even want to breathe, for fear of breaking the trance-like state he's in.

He clears his throat, but he doesn't step away yet. "Was... that enough?"

You nod, slowly, eyes still caught in his piercing gaze. Your chest feels like it will burst if you don't lean forward to taste his mouth, but you're still holding on to some shred of yourself - something telling you that it would be wrong. You hate that part of your mind, but you can feel it becoming quieter with each passing second. Your eyes dip downward. He looks a little uncertain, pulling back just an inch.

"Are you alright?"

The implication behind his question is whether or not you've been compromised, and you admit to yourself that you are. The way you're imagining the feel of his hands on your body tells you that the drugs are in full effect, and you're willing to accept that. Just as all things you've been trained to meditate upon, you hear the thoughts as they pass through your mind, and you let them pass, accepting that they exist, but choosing not to act upon them.

You nod again. "I'm fine, but I'm..."

You trail off, meaning to tell him you're feeling the effects of the drug, but the words leave you. Despite your silence, he seems to take your meaning. Your expression is enough to tell him that you're not yourself.

"I... should perhaps go... over there..." His words sound as disjointed as yours do, his eyes trailing over to his previous seating spot, but pulling straight back to you. He doesn't move.

"I think it would be best," you say quickly. "If you..."

His voice is low, almost a whisper. He leans closer. "...if I what?"

"If..." you blink. Then you pass your tongue over your bottom lip, Obi Wan's eyes focusing on the motion. Your own eyes are trailing down his beard to his neck. "Sorry, I was..."

He's still holding the empty cup between you, but when you don't answer, he gives you an inquiring look and moves it to the side, coming still closer. "What? Is something wrong?"

You shake your head softly, and when he looks at you like that, brows lifted in concern, the words leave you without your permission. "No, I just wondered... if the mark on your neck is still there."

His eyes widen in shock and the reality of what you've said registers within your mind somewhere, but the shame you would normally feel at his expression is dulled. In fact, it's hardly there.

"Commander, it might be better if I stay on the other side of the room until we are... feeling more like ourselves."

You nod, not wanting to disagree with anything he says. You're still enraptured by the slightly scandalized look on his face. You know you should feel some kind of guilt, but all you feel is hunger. Seeing your words make him react like that makes you imagine what he would look like if your hands weren't bound. If you reached out and touched him.

The thought makes you lean closer, and he doesn't pull away when you let your head tilt down to his neck, breathing him in.

His eyes close. "I should... go to sleep. Perhaps I can sleep off the effects."

"Mm," you try to murmur your agreement, but it comes out more breathy than you'd intended. "That might be wise, Master."

He still hasn't stepped away, but he seems to tense even more when you speak. "Ah. Yes. Goodnight, then."

When you raise your head to look at him properly, it's suddenly clear that he has no intention of moving away. His lips are parted, his eyes heavy with an emotion you’ve never seen in them before.

"Goodnight," you respond, and close your mouth over his, your eyes falling shut with relief at the softness of his lips finally meeting yours. He breathes in sharply through his nose at the contact, but he stays frozen in front of you, letting you tease his lips apart and dip your tongue inside. You sigh at the taste of him, his mouth inviting you in.

His shoulders dip, tension finally lessening, and he drops his jaw, allowing you more room. He sucks briefly on your tongue and you moan into his open mouth, all your senses flooded with pleasure. Then his hand slides up to cradle your cheek, and he pulls back to look at you. Your breath is ragged as you search his eyes, unable to return his touch, completely at his mercy. He looks wracked with pain.

"Tell me you didn't mean to do that," he says, panting. "Tell me it won't happen again."

You can see the same conflict in him that's within you. But you're not as strong as he is.

"I-I can't," you admit. "But it won't happen again if you go where I can't reach you."

You lean in again and whisper, lips touching his ear. "So, goodnight."

He shudders at the contact. "Yes. Goodnight."

You close your lips over his skin, sucking gently at his neck. You revel in the way his shoulders cave toward you. "You should go."

He nods his head, hair falling forward beautifully to cover his pained expression. "I-yes. Good... night..."

His hand slides from cradling your cheek to graze your jaw, and down your neck. He's almost gripping you as you work your lips and tongue against him. His thumb presses into your pulse, and then his hand slides further down to your clavicle. He turns his head, moving his body so that you're forced to pull your mouth away. Then he crowds his body against yours, pushing you into the wall, and kisses you.

His mouth is urgent, depraved, and exquisite. His tongue pushes deep into you, sliding perfectly against your own while his hands move from your shoulders down to your waist, wrapping around you, bringing you into the warmth of his body.

He breaks away from your mouth to kiss down the column of your neck, and you sigh, almost in agony at how good it is to feel his lips on your skin. As he trails down, you slowly roll your hips, grinding against him.

"Goodnight, Master," you say in your sweetest tone, as one of his hands slides down to your hip to steady himself as you continue to move, dragging your lower half across any part of him you can reach.

He gives a hoarse groan in response and bucks his hips. The sound shoots straight through you, heat pulsing between your legs. You desperately wish your hands were free.

"Fuck- I..." the curse tumbles out of him like an afterthought as he grinds against you. "We have to stop. I can't stop..."

He kisses you again, baring his teeth when he pulls away, holding your chin in his hand. "I must stop."

Panic runs through you when he says it, although the look in his eyes is anything but convincing. You bite your lip to keep from pleading with him. He shifts his stance, parting your bodies just slightly, and then you feel it. And he knows you feel it. He's stiff, pressing up against your thigh. Your eyes flutter closed.

"Obi Wan," you use his name, and you feel him take in a heavy, shaking breath. "If you want to stop, then stop. But don't stop because of me."

He leans forward again, dragging his lips across yours, then holds himself still, his breath hot against your open mouth. "I must stop because of you, and because of the commitment we have both made."

You tip your head up at the ceiling, making an attempt to clear your mind, for him. You bring your gaze back down. "Then, goodnight."

He nods solemnly. You stare at one another for what seems to be an eternity, and then his hand slips from your waist and he removes your belt.

"Goodnight," he whispers, his final choice evident in his voice.

---

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pbandjesse · 10 months

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And that ends our second week of camp. And it was a better week. We didn't lose power as much. The air quality was better. The food improved. There was other issues for sure but it was a good week.

And today was a pretty good day. I had trouble sleeping. There was a prank last night that went wrong and there was all the screaming around 11:00 and it was very unsettling. Which then led to a big silly conversation in the group chat. And I did fall asleep but then I woke up again at 5:00 and when I woke up for real at 8:00 I fell out of the hammock and startled myself real bad. But I had to get ready and things would be okay it just take me a little while to get myself together.

When I was dressed and everything I worked on cutting the rest of the looms that we would need for today and then was just chilling and waiting for the day to start. I took a little walk and I'm for the time I got back and settled again Tatiana was there. And we got to work on any prep we needed for the day. CJ would also join us and it was really nice to see her. I had found her water bottle so I was good to get that back to her. And she told me that besides the prank last night there was also some possible people leaving camp. I've heard at least three people so far. And the prank that went wrong was because the stockade boys went to do like a sort of ding dong ditch situation over in the girls village, but then the girls chased the boys back to stockade. We're the rest of the stockade boys were on top of the gate and poured ice water on them. The ice water part apparently was not approved and the counselors got all their phones ruined. So it's kind of a nightmare. I'm not sure if someone was fired because of that but I would not be surprised. Property damage is no joke.

CJ left and me and Tati continued to work on the stick looms for the little kids. And then I set up the loom that I brought in to make a bigger piece and she worked on her loom and it was just really nice.

And the groups were pretty good today. I had to be a little strong worded with a few of them because they were being disrespectful about the project. But it was just like one or two. Overall the kids really liked the weaving and this was a really successful project. I had one little boy at the end of the day tell me he has been coming to camp for 3 years and that this was their favorite project of any project that they've done and it just made me feel really good.

After my two morning groups I went down to get lunch. I did forget the specialty ketchup. But it was fine. We had weird vegetarian chicken sandwiches. And we had a couple CITs sitting at our table so I went to sit outside and everyone came and joined me. While we were sitting there I made a specialty staff group chat and I called it the most specialtiest chat. And I made a tiny bus the avatar. For the most special staff members.

After lunch I went for a walk again and went up to arts and crafts to make sure that everything was set up for the afternoon. And my group would not be on time. Because right before they were supposed to come there was really bad lightning and thunder. It was the whole reason I had left the lodge early. Only a few minutes earlier than I normally did but I didn't want to get trapped down there. And so I went up hung out in my hammock until it was raining too much and then came under the tent to chill. A child had given me their plushie to fix so I worked on that and then the thunder got really bad so I checked on Tatiana inside. And I tried to figure out if my groups were coming.

They were all held up in the lodge because they couldn't walk them across the field. But once there was a lull in the storm they did come up and originally I was going to have them go outside but then this guy got really really dark so I brought them inside and we worked on the floor and they were the littlest camper so they didn't really mind. And they did a pretty good job overall. And I was really happy with their counselors because they really were engaged with the kids and we're doing a very good job. We had music going and everyone was doing art and it was great. He only real issue was that because it was storming they couldn't leave and so we did not get our half an hour afternoon break. I was a little sad about that.

But once the storm let up they were able to go and collected all of their art and then tipis came and I talked to all of them about what they were going to be doing. And I was able to convince two of them to be my test subjects for metal casting.

And it was so fun. It was really interesting seeing what they figured out and I let them aged you too so that we could make some test ones and make some mistakes and we figured out that the metal getting poor directly under the ground and then while it's a little dirty it does not really matter. And so we played with that for a while and I made a little bear as an example but he's a little strange. It's definitely hard to pour the metal but it is going much better than I was expecting on that scale. And the two kids I was working out with were just really fun.

I checked on the kids outside periodically too and they were making bracelets and beating and having a blast. I'm really glad I have new beads coming though because while Julie had given me some and they're great there's not a lot of bracelet string left like the stretchy kind. And it would be nice to have more colorful stuff. So hopefully that will be here soon.

I also helped a boy who was working on his homestead coup. And he had to make a quilt square and I got him to cut little squares to sew them together into the quilt square. Just a really simple one but he had to do three lines of stitches. His first two went well. He has trouble threading the needle but that's fine. The third one though he did inside out and I said no you are not going to get a right off for me you did it wrong. So I cut it off and you could just tell he was so upset. He wasn't like showing it but he's like I just want to be done and I'm like I get that but also you're not going to rush through it and not do it correctly. You're two means nothing and you shouldn't get an award if you're not going to do it right. So I made him do it again.

I'm serious about this like if you're going to come to me to get something signed up you're going to do it right or you're not going to do it at all. I really don't think that I'm being unreasonable. I think there should be standards.

But that was fine. Tipis cleaned up and they headed out just as my last group of the day showed up.

Am I supposed to do a really good job. It was really just a nice way to end the afternoon and end the week. I cannot say as much for their counselors. Who were mostly sitting inside and not engaging with the kids at all. But you know what I don't care. I was having fun and that's important as well. I did not have it in me to go and ask them to get there stuff together because at this point it's Friday and if you haven't figured it out that's not my problem. I'll talk to Ray about it maybe next week if it continues.

Once everything was cleaned up I said goodbye to Tatiana and everyone else and closed up the building. I walk down to the office to check in with Heather. I told her that I didn't feel great because I have a weird cough in the back of my throat and just like a little uncomfortable. And I really just wanted to go home. She said that was fine and I did not need to help with pick up if I did not want to. And so I said goodbye and I went home.

I did check in with Alexi right before I left. Reminded her that I had to leave at 2:00 on Monday.

And then I was on the road. I got back here around 5:00. I had a little trouble parking because I was crooked. And she had to get out and check and park again. But it was not that pic of a deal. I was really happy to come inside and see James and James made me leftover pizza while I took a shower. And it was very nice to wash my hair.

I kind of fell apart after that though. Eating the pizza was good. James also has put the air conditioner on. Sweetp was here and I love sweetp. And James would go and get ice cream and that was so kind. But I felt horrible for a couple hours there. I'm starting to feel a little bit better. I am almost sure it was dehydration but I was just really uncomfortable.

Now though it is time to go to bed. Tomorrow I have the market. And I might go to Canton crossing because I have some stuff I want to pick up and I think it's finally time to replace my flip-flops from high school. They have finally fall apart too much. I tried cleaning them this week and they just started to disintegrate. So that's pretty sad. But these things happen. It was time. I've had them since I was 17. Honestly they might be older than that I don't even know. But I hope tomorrow is a good day and I hope that the weather is nice. I hope it's not so humid anymore. I hope you all sleep well. Good night everybody.

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pasmy · 1 year

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joomma · 1 year

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darlingyanderes · 3 years

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Can you do one with Muzan and Kokushibo (bad at spelling 😂) With y/n. You can choose the content

Hi thank you for your request!! I might have gone a little ham on this one, I recently watched a movie called “Forgotten” on Netflix, and it inspired me to write this! I hope you like it (and that it’s not a straight up rip-off of the movie ooop)

Warnings: (fake) illness, drugs, explicit gore, murder, demons eating humans, manipulation/gaslighting, badly written amnesia

Word count: 1731

Take your pills - Yandere!Muzan Kibutsuju x Fem!Reader x Yandere!Kokushibo

Muzan and Kokushibo were always right. Or at least, Y/N had to trust they were always right, since her memory is so fuzzy. When the three first met, they told Y/N that she was ill and needed treatment. They claimed it was still in the first stages, so Y/N of course didn’t notice anything yet. But as they took her to the doctor and got her these pills, her whole head has just become so fuzzy. It was hard to stay in the real world and she could barely remember what she had been doing 5 minutes ago. Y/N wrote it off as the effects of the disease and that it was progressing despite all the medication.

But some things were so odd. That doctor they took her to, was that her usual doctor? Who was that person? When did she start living at Muzan and Kokushibo’s house, and since when did they call her ‘bunny and ‘darling’? The more she thought about her situation, the more questions popped up, and the harder it became to find answers. How could she, when her conscious felt like it was floating in an endless sea?

In the end, thinking became too tiresome. She decided to save herself the useless trouble of looking for answers she wasn’t going to get, and just trust Muzan and Kokushibo. She must be ill, that’s why they’re giving her these drugs. She can’t think straight, that’s why they’re taking care of her. That’s all she knew, and all she had to know.

Y/N stood at the sink in the bathroom, with a pill and a glass of water in her hand. She was about to pop the pill in her mouth, when Muzan suddenly opened the door, startling her and causing the pill to fell out of her hand and beneath the sink.

“You scared me half to death!”

Muzan shot her an apologetic look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, bunny. I just wanted to tell you breakfast is ready. Did you take your pill today?”

Y/N looked at her empty hand. She thought that she hadn’t taken it yet, but it wasn’t in her hand. She tried digging through her memory, but it was no use: she didn’t remember even that. Judging from the glass of water in her hand and the absence of a pill, she probably took one. Right?

She grinned at him and said: “Of course! What’s for breakfast?”

---

Y/N awoke in the middle of the night, her eyes drowsily looking around the room. Despite having just woken up, she felt her mind was a bit clearer than it usually was. Rolling over in bed, she realised she was more aware of the softness of the sheets, the faint smell of Muzan and Kokushibo clinging to the fabric, and the warmth radiating from the empty spots where they usually slept.

Wait, empty spots?

Y/N sat up, patting the rest of the bed to see if Muzan and Kokushibo had somehow been lying at the very edges of the matrass, but it was all empty. Why were they both gone?

A scream suddenly ruptured the house. Though it was dampened by the walls, Y/N could tell it was a guttural scream of pure fear. It made the very hairs on her neck stand up. She was frozen in her bed, horrified at the silence that followed. She could only hear her own heart beat frantically in her chest.

Only when the scream came for a second time, did Y/N quickly move from the bed. The scream must have been coming from inside the house. There must be an intruder. Was someone hurting Muzan or Kokushibo? Or even worse, both of them?

She had to help them. Even if her presence would just be a distraction to stop whatever attacker was in their house for only a split second, that would be good enough.

She inched her way through the darkness of their house, following the noise, until she was right around the corner of the bathroom. The light inside was on and the screams of agony kept ringing in her ears. She grabbed her slipper as a make-shift weapon and braced herself, before jumping in the opening of the door and yelling at the top of her lungs: “Stop!”

But what she saw made her drop the slipper in her hand.

The screams weren’t coming from either Muzan or Kokushibo, but rather a deadly pale looking man in the bathtub. His eyes were red and his face was dripping with tears, snot, and blood. He was partially submerged in his own blood and was most likely the cause for all the red smears and hand prints on the bathroom tiles behind him. Even if Y/N was able to perform surgery on him, she could never save him; half of his abdomen had been hollowed out, his intestines draped out for all to see. He was littered with claw marks, and an occasional bite was missing from his limbs.

Right as Y/N had entered the bathroom, a bloodied hand had dug its way into him, tearing his flesh out. The hand belonged to Muzan, the usually neat and tidy man who now had wild eyes and a face smeared red. Kokushibo was crouching next to him, licking the blood off his fingers with that same feral look in his eyes.

With a hopeless dread in her stomach, Y/N fell to her knees. They were demons. She had been living with demons this entire time. Monsters, vicious killers, who posed as loving humans so they could have a cover and continue eating humans in peace. With shallow breaths, Y/N couldn’t stop staring at the man in the bathtub, whose horrifying final moments she was witnessing.

“Y/N? Y/N, it’s not what it looks like.”

Y/N gaze shifted to Muzan, who now turned his whole body towards her. He looked like a tiger about to pounce its prey.

“Go back to bed, Y/N,” added Kokushibo, who tried to show her a calming smile. All Y/N could see were his bloodied fangs.

Y/N shook her head fervently and crawled backwards away from them, tears stinging in her eyes. “You are monsters. You- You killed that man!”

Muzan frowned, before looking at Kokushibo. “The pills should’ve prevented this, right?”

Kokushibo stalked towards Y/N, who couldn’t move away fast enough. “I suppose there’s something we could still do to make this right.”

---

When Y/N opened her eyes, she was back in the bed. Light was shining through the curtains, announcing the start of a new day. For a moment she was lost in the warm comfort of the bed and the two bodies surrounding hers, but then she suddenly remembered the events of last night.

Her eyes shot wide open and she gasped when she saw Muzan’s face right in front of hers. With his usual gentle smile, he whispered: “Good morning, darling.”

When he attempted to brush her hair out of her face, she flinched backwards, suddenly scared of the long claws on his hands. However, she didn’t get far: Kokushibo pressed himself against her back and wrapped his arms around her stomach. After he pressed a lazy kiss on her neck, he said: “What’s wrong, bunny?”

“You killed him.”

“What?”

“You killedhim. How could you do such a thing?”

Muzan once again moved his hand to caress her face, this time succeeding since Y/N didn’t have enough room to dodge him. With a carefully crafted worried look on his face, he said: “Sounds like you had an awful nightmare.”

Y/N frowned. “What? A nightmare?”

It was quiet for a while. Kokushibo propped himself up on his arm so he could look Y/N in the face. He looked grave as he asked: “Y/N, did you take your pill yesterday?”

Y/N opened her mouth to say yes, but stopped. She didn’t remember if she took one. Did she take one? No matter how much she dug in her memory, she just didn’t know.

Seeing the confusion on her face, Muzan sighed and shook his head. As he stroked her cheek with his thumb, he spoke: “You always had terrible nightmares before we took you to the doctor. You’d wake up and be so, so scared, just like you are now. The nightmares seemed so real to you, but they aren’t. They’re just nightmares.”

Kokushibo backed him up as he rubbed Y/N’s shoulder. “We were by your side the whole night, bunny. Right here in this bed.”

Something was wrong. She knew what she saw that night. But then again, why would they have any reason to lie? If they really were demons, they’d just eat her up if she witnessed them doing something like that, right? Demons wouldn’t care if they had to kill one more human, it’d just mean an extra meal for them. And they surely wouldn’t take care of someone like her like this. They must be right. They just have to be. Otherwise it just doesn’t make sense.

This illness really was messing with her head and her sense of reality. She felt like a fool. How could she possibly think that they’d do something like that, when they were always so kind and patient with her? She really was an idiot. In a small voice, Y/N said: “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, darling, we know it’s hard.”

Kokushibo reached over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and grabbed a pill and the glass of water on top of it. Meanwhile, Muzan sits Y/N up straight, keeping his arm around her shoulders and his hand resting in hers.

“Open wide,” Kokushibo said as he held the pill in front of her mouth. When Y/N opened it, she received a pat on her head. “Good girl.”

She couldn’t help but feel this nagging in the back of her head. Something wasn’t right here. The gentle smiles on their faces, and the way Muzan patiently held out the glass of water for her. There was something hidden behind her eyes, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. Was it really just the illness that was making her feel this way?

Finally, Muzan pressed the glass to her lips, forcing Y/N to take a sip and swallow the pill.

“From now on, we’ll make sure you take your pills, okay?”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere kimetsu no yaiba x reader #yandere kibutsuji #yandere muzan x reader #yandere muzan kibutsuji #yandere muzan kibutsuji x reader #yandere muzan #yandere kibutsuji muzan #yandere kokushibo #yandere kokushibo x reader #yandere demon slayer x reader #yandere demonslayer x reader #yandere demon slayer #yandere muzan x reader x kokushibo #yandere muzan kibutsuji x reader x kokushibo #yandere kokushibo x reader x muzan #yandere kokushibo x reader x muzan kibutsuji

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magic-missle-blog · 3 years

Text

Ghost division

approx 5k words

The teacher stood in front of her class, looking over the rows of teenagers. The red sun shone through the glass illuminating the brightly coloured room and the wooden desks. The youngsters were mostly green skinned mammalian Drek, like herself, although she did have two reptilian Gath, shorter and stockier than the Drek, they sat on specially made chairs to accommodate there long tails, Their parents had recently moved to this colony, the new mines and the wealth therein drew sentients from all over the galaxy. Most were dressed in a similar fashion, dark blue trousers and skin tight teeshirts with a Varity of symbols of cartoon characters. She inwardly shuddered at the fashion sense of the young,

:readmore:

Off to the side was a older Drek, he was an elder, over 70 years old and even though his once blue hair was now all grey, and his back had a slight stoop, he stood proud and his eyes were bright. He had on a dark green military uniform, a couple of shades darker than his skin. The rank badge on his chest showed he was a captain, the dagger with wings on his sleeve showed he was in the war fleet.

“Class” the teacher began “We have a special guest with us today. As you know tomorrow is 'Alliance day', the most important holiday we have, and it’s a very special one. Tomorrow marks fifty years since the alliance between Drek and Gath, fifty years since the foundation of the united galactic council, fifty years since the Canidations were defeated and peace was restored to the galaxy.”

She took a breath. “Please give a warm welcome to captain Furon.”

The teacher clapped her 6 fingered hands together and sat down behind desk.

Captain Furon walked smartly to stand in front of the class. He precisely placed a bottle of water down next to some paperwork on the crowded wooden desk. All eyes were on his uniform and side arm.

He looked at the teacher. “Thank you for the most gracious introduction.” He said with a smile.

“I want to tell you about the battle for this colony; it was the turning point in the great war, but ...before I begin, who can tell me how the alliance started?”

A forest of hands rose in the air. Furon pointed to one of the Gath students. The student stood up and said in a hissing voice. “Sixty or so years ago a race called the Canidations tried to conquer the galaxy, they invaded and destroyed many worlds. The Canidations attacked both the Gath and Drek our empires bordered one another. We stood together, and fought off attack after attack, eventually driving the Canidations back into their space. After the war ended, our peoples joined in the alliance and started the galactic council, over the years we invited four other species into The Alliance.”

The reptilian sat back down.

As the student spoke Furon nodded along. Once the Gath had returned to his seat, the captain said “That’s the official bare bones history, but it’s not the full truth.”

Captain Furon looked around the class. “It started with the Canidations, that right enough, but what you don’t realise is just how powerful they were. They had more ships, more weapons than any other species, several times over. In their home system there was a gas giant with many moons, these moons were the size of small planets and the Canidations built factories. Giant factories that could mass produce warships in great numbers. Their fleet had tens of thousands of fighters, thousands of cruisers and hundreds of capital ships. The Canidations were a strong warrior race, with a high birth rate. The soon outstripped the resources on their home worlds and wanted more.” his voice turns cold “They were a plague. They couldn’t be reasoned with or bargained with, they believed they were the only true form of intelligent life, everything else was simply an animal to be destroyed.”

He looks lost in memories for a moment, the room is silent, hanging on his every word, For the first time the students actually grasped that standing before them was a warrior, a man who had lived through the horror of the great war .A man who had stood toe to toe with the Arachnidiod Canidations, who had spat in there ruby coloured multifaceted eyes.

Furon continued “In ten years the Canidations invaded and slaughtered five species and with every conquest their blood-lust grew and grew, they gave no quarter, gave no mercy. The wounded, civilians, even children were all fair targets to them.

The seemed unstoppable, we knew it was coming of course. The Drek and Gath were next in line, as the Canidations territory expanded it was a matter of time until they were at our door. We tried to build up our fleets, improve our weapons and fortify out colonies but it was futile.”

He reached for the bottle of water on the teacher desk and took along slow sip, then continued.

“Around 7 years after the war started the Canidations attacked a Gath border post, a few months later they attacked one of our convoys. Normally only a fool starts a war on two fronts, but the Canidations were so powerful and so arrogant they didn’t care. Then they made a mistake. They opened up another front. They attacked The Terrain Empire.”

The class murmured and looked around. This was new information. The Terrans don’t have an empire, they are generally vagabonds or mercs, and they are rare. The population only a few hundred thousand individuals across know space, in fact, no one in the class had ever seen one.

Furon continued “The Terrans, or Humans and they were sometimes known, were a relatively young race. They only had interstellar travel for a few decades, but they quickly built up a small empire. As a young race no one really considered them a threat, including the Canidations, but they were wrong. You see humans had one great strength, adaptability. The Canidations became warriors, but Humans were born for war. In the 5000 years of recorded human history there was not one single day when some part of the planet was not at war. They could see as well as we could what was coming so they built up their fleets and dusted off ancient tactics renewed and improved for a new age. When the Canidations first attacked the Terran Empire, they terrans would lose three ships for every one Canidation vessel killed, but with every battle, every loss the humans learned. They studied the enemy, they adapted. After six months it was one to one, and after a further six it took five Canidation warships to kill a Terran vessel. The humans tech advanced at an unmatched pace. They created new and unique weapons and defences, but it was not enough. Even with losses of 5 to one the Canidations were so many that those loses was a victory, however it slowed the advance into Terran space, and forced then to pull resources from Gath and Drek space to fight the Terrans, giving us much needed breathing room. The advance slowed, but it did not stop,”

Furon took a breath

“I want to tell you about a battle, a very important battle that took place here, in orbit of this colony towards the end of the war. This was the most important battle in the history of the Drek, because it paved the way for the alliance.”

“Back then this colony had around ten million people, and it was an important supply and repair centre for the fleet. At first it was far inside Drek space but as the Canidations pushed onwards this world soon became a target. We tried to evacuate the civilian population but we didn’t have the ships or resources, our fleets were spread so thin as Canidation attacks hit all over the empire. Around seven million people were left when the Canidation death fleet arrived. I was a young officer stationed in the bridge of the Warship 'Firestorm', part of small defence force, all that high command could spare. Our orders were to defend the colony at all costs.”

************************************************

Ensign Furon looked up from his screen. The green and black display flashed in warning. “Captain....sensors have just picked up a large Canidation fleet heading this way. We have 30 minutes until they reach the system.”

The captain looked around his small bridge. The red emergency lights shrouded his crew in an eerie glow, various consoles beeped for attention, chair creaked as people shifted. His crew were at battle stations, ready to fight and die if needed. The Firestorm was destroyer class Warship, Small and fast yet it packed a punch. He was proud of his ship and knew it inside and out. “How large?”

Furon checked his screen, “six capital ships, thirty cruisers, five carriers....we're outnumbered six to one.”

The captain checked the status of the other ships in his fleet. A ragged assortment of cruisers and destroyers most damaged to some extent from the constant warfare, they were only here as this was the closest repair station to the front. There were various other civilian ships in orbit and a large ring of defensive satellites. The civilians he could discount as they were unarmed, but the satellites might be able to help...and then there was the repair station itself, upgraded with the latest weapons..... Captain Brekka shook his head, in his heart of hearts he knew it wasn’t enough, the firepower the Canidation fleet had would cut through the colonies defences like a hot knife through butter.

“Comms open a general distress call”

“Channel opens Captain”

The captain

“This is captain Brekka of the Drek warship Firestorm. We have incoming hostile craft; we are in orbit of Baldur colony. If anyone can help. Please come. We have transport full of children, please assist.”

The Comms office waited a few moments, “nothing captain, no reply”

The first officer, a tall Drek with long lanky limbs replied “all ships are battle ready and moving into formation, plasma cannons are charging. The colony rail guns are active and defensive satellites fully powered. We'll squash those fucking bugs like a spider under our boots'”

The captain smiled a rare smile. He appreciated Firsts attempt to raid the crew’s spirits but everyone knew they didn’t stand a chance.

“Furon. Status of the evacuation ships”

Furon checked his screen. “Three are fully loaded and taking off, the remaining ten will be airborne within twenty minutes. There have been delays, people are crowding on. Its chaos down there.” The main view screen showed various scenes of the plant below. Parents trying to push their children onto the waiting transports, civilian craft fleeing. People fighting each other and trying to flee.

“Cutting it close...” the captain said. He pressed a button on his command console, opening a channel to his fleet. “Prepare to break orbit, defend the transports at all costs.”

The bridge crew looked at the captain. The first office spoke up. “But captain...the planet....there are seven million people...”

The captain, his face drawn, heart heavy, looked at the sensor display. He knew what was going to happen. Those capital ships would smash the space dock as the cruisers destroyed the satellites and ground cannons. Once the defences were down they would bombard the colony with fusion bombs. A few might survive in outlying settlements, or if they managed to get to the bunkers....but by this time tomorrow most would be dead. “There’s nothing we can do for them, but if we defend the transports at least the children will survive.”

Minutes seemed like hours. Furon checked and rechecked the status of the Canidation fleet as they drew closer. The tension was unbearable. A trickle of sweat crawled like a spider down his spine.

CLICK CLACK.

CLICK CLACK

Someone was clicking a pen.

CLICK CLACK

CLICK ...

The first office strode across the bridge and plucked the pen from the officer at fire control. With a grunt the pen was crushed in the firsts strong hand.

Blue eyes glued to the screen, Furon was the first to see the Canidations dropped out of hyperspace just shy of the planets gravity well and began their approach at sub light.

Heavy cruisers bristling with weapons, smaller but faster destroyers, behind that the capital ships. Monsters made of titanium and horror, each one ten times the size of his own vessel. Last but certainly not least the carriers with their cargo of small deadly fighters.

“Five minutes until weapons range” Furon said. The captain sat in his chair, still as a rock watching the sensor display on the main screen. The transports had all reached orbit and were slowly moving out of the gravity well where they could safely activate hyper drive, but they were slow, far too slow.

“Captain” Furon said with alarm “Enemy fleet is breaking formation.”

On the screen the carriers offloaded their cargo of small sleek fighters. Fast and deadly shaped like locusts, they were moving around the Drek fleet to try to flank the transports, as the main body of cruisers attacked head on. The capital ships headed straight for the colony, where their large guns and mass drivers would rain death on the helpless people below.

The captain knew the colony was doomed; all he could do was try to save the transports. Save as many people as he could. He knew his duty, but hated himself for abandoning the colony.

The captain pressed a button on his command console “Sword, Wildcat, intercept those fighters, the rest of you, battle formation, buy those transports as much time as you can....it’s been an honour serving with you.” He cut the channel, nothing else needed to be said. He looked around the bridge crew, emotion plain on the green faces, anger, hatred, but no fear. They faced death but they wouldn’t go down easy and with luck their sacrifice would save thousands of Drek on those transports. The captain couldn’t have been prouder.

“Two minutes until weapons range” Furon said

The incoming ships slowly grew in size as they drew closer.

“Weapon range in 90 seconds, the first transport is 3 minutes from the minimum safe FTL jump point, the last transport is 10 minutes away. Fighters will intercept transports in 3 minutes” Furon said.

So, Captain Drek thought, it’s not all in vein, a few transports will be safe and we’ll buy the rest as much time as we can.

“Weapons range in one minute....wait...captain....I’m picking up something on Comms, its an audio . it sounds like a...a howl?” when the captain nodded furon opened the channel. An eerie moan, filled the bridge. Words, almost two low to catch were mixed in the scary sound, “we are the ghost division, we are your death...”

Furon had turned a sickly pale blue colour. He cut of the channel, and turned to the captain, he was about to speak when his station beeped. “Captain, its a distress call its...it’s from the Canidation capital ships... they want aid....the call has cut off”. Furon said confused.

The screen zoomed into capital ships closing in on the planet, but where the there should have been six monstrous death machine, only four could be seen. Two expanding clouds of debris still glowing, were the remains of the others. As they watched a bright red explosion blossomed from the main hull of another ship, it quickly consumed the huge vessel. As it died a bright yellow explosion from the rear of the ship, the fusion plant loosing containment no doubt, finished it off.

On the main screen an explosion destroyed an enemy destroyer, and then another destroyed a cruiser. Within a few second ten Canidation ships were no more than glowing space dust.

The line of incoming ships dissolved into chaos. They fired weapons all around. The Drek couldn’t see anything though, the Canidations seemed to have gone mad, firing at empty space.

The first office looked up “the cruisers and fighters are breaking off they’re heading to the capital ships...what the fuck is happening?”

The bridge was a jumble of activity. Sensor reports were coming in, the Comms system was going crazy as the other ships in the fleet reported the same thing, asking for orders.

Furon shouted over the noise on the bridge “something is attacking them, I’m reading...fuck I don’t know what I’m reading. I’ve never seen anything like this. Weird gravity spikes, then ships appearing then vanishing. If I didn’t know better I’d say the sensors were damaged.”

The screen showed the Canidation fleet in full retreat. Black ships around the size of destroyers appeared out of no where, fired a barrage of projectile and energy weapons then vanished again. It didn’t matter where the Canidations turned or how the dodged, a ship always appeared, fired and vanished. It made it impossible to target them, or get an accurate count of numbers. When the new sleek warhips were sure of a direct hit they would fire a large torpedo, the weapon didn’t seem to have any guidance, but it packed a punch. Any cruiser it hit was killed, and even the monstrous capital ships were destroyed. With one missile. Brekka had no idea what the warhead was, but it was immensely powerful. It seemed to vapourise anything it hit rather than exploding like a normal missiles

The Comms office piped up “incoming hail”

“On screen” Brekka said

The screen changed from the confusion of battle to a video call.

A tall dark skinned human in a dark grey uniform appeared on screen.

“I’m captain Conroy of the Terran warship Lucifer; we received your distress call. Your transports will be safe now, want to help us mop up the rest of these bastards?” he asked with a grin.

Brekka let out a Drek war cry and said to the crew.

“You heard the good captain. Give them Hell”

****************************************

“The battle lasted less than 30 minutes. We didn’t lose a single ship, neither did the humans. Only one Canidation ship survived, and that was because the humans let it go. ‘Teach them to fear the wrath of Earth’ Captain Conroy told us. We offered the humans shore leave but they declined, they had a mission. To spread fear among the Canidations, to hit hard without mercy and vanish like ghosts. That battle was a major victory, it inspired our people, and it showed that non Drek could help, would be willing to help so in turn we could help others. Due to the humans example the Firestorm was the first Drek ship on the scene when a small flotilla of Canidations attacked a Gath supply line, we helped save a half dozen Gath ships. The Gath returned the favour and soon we were fighting side by side. It was from these small actions the alliance was born. If it wasn’t for the Terran ghost division, the alliance would never have happened.”

Hands rose as Furon finished history. “What happened to the humans? How could they make their ships invisible, what kind of weapons did they use?” a jumble of voices asked various questions.

Furon smiled and raised his hands for silence.

“We don’t know what stealth tech the human ships used, we think they could manipulate artificial gravity in some way to bend light and sensor beams around the ships but we can’t replicate it yet. As for the weapons, well they used tungsten projectiles fired from rail guns and plasma based energy weapons for the most part...but those torpedoes... they were something else. We managed to recover a few that missed their targets. From what we gather they used some kind of exotic matter with negative mass to generate an antigravity wave, That wave was unstoppable, and any matter caught in it was destroyed and changed into energy. This caused a chain reaction, if effectively turned the ships own armour into an energy blast. “

Furon took another drink.

“As for what happened to them....they spread fear among the Canidations. For months Ghost division stuck Canidation ships. Burned colonies, wherever that eerie sound would play Canidations died by the hundreds and thousands. They spreads So much fear that the Canidations halted their advance into Gath and Drek space and committed almost everything to the destruction of Earth. The humans fought hard and made the Canidation bleed for every inch but eventually the humans were pushed back into their home system. tens of Thousands of Canidation ships dropped out of FTL into the Sol system, almost the entire Canidation fleet, almost every and solider so they could watch humanity die.

The terrans had pulled everything back into Earth orbit, every ship, and every colonist. Everything other than ghost division

It must have been an amazing sight, the two biggest fleets the galaxy has ever seen...ready to fight to the death.”

Furon looked around the class

“But the humans...they were vindictive bastards, and clever. From what we gather they built one last torpedo. It must have been huge, at least a mile long, and filled with millions of tonnes of exotic matter. They fired it directly into their own sun causing it to go supernova. The Gravity wave of the dying star made FTL impossible. The entire Canidation fleet was wiped out in one go, millions of Canidations, dead In a heartbeat, I sometimes wonder what when through their mind before they were blasted into ash. Then the alliance struck. Our ships, the combined might of the Gath and Drek empires attacked. We hunted down and wiped out every last Canidation ship, but when we arrived in the home system, we found it had already been killed. The ghost division had been there first...no Canidations survived the human’s wrath. The home world had been cracked open like an egg. Every planet and moon that had even a hint of canidation presence was sterilized.”

The Gath that had spoken earlier said with awe “the humans destroyed their own home world rather than let it fall...they must have been mighty warriors.”

Furon smiled

“Oh they were re than mighty warriors. They were inventors, thinker ands dreamers. After the supernova had passed and it was safe, mercy vessels from the alliance went into the remains of the sol system... we knew it was hopeless but we owed it to the terrans to look for survivors. We found the smashed remains of the two inner planets, and the irradiated husk of the fourth planet. We found a diamond thousands of miles wide, all that remained of the planet after the atmosphere had been blown away. But of earth there was nothing, no debris, no wreckage, nothing.”

“ Just before the supernova wave reached earth, our long range scopes picked up something odd, a massive energy spike. We think the humans somehow created an artificial wormhole, they used the power from the supernova to rip open time and space. They shifted their entire planet, their moon and the whole fleet and left the Canidations to die. They used their own planet as bait and their star as the biggest bomb the galaxy has ever seen. You might say its impossible, but Humans could dream the impossible and make it possible...I don’t know if it s true or not, but they might still out there somewhere and could come back one day., and if they do i hope to all the gods that they come in peace.

#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #hfy #ghostdivison #ghost division

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