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illegiblewords · 5 months

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SOME ILLEGIBLE RAMBLES AND REFLECTIONS: THE DEAD THREE

Finished my first/main playthrough of Baldur’s Gate 3, and it’s had me turning over all sorts of ideas tied to Dungeons and Dragons lore. A bunch happens to be about cosmology so I'm slapping together one post about the Dead Three and a follow-up about deities more generally. Buckle up if you decide to proceed dudes. This is chunky and opinion/interpretation heavy. CW for mention (not extensive) of graphic violence and sex crimes during discussion of Bhaal and Yeenoghu.

MYRKUL

I get that there are multiple death-affiliated deities in DnD. Our buddy Jergal is the end of all things and the original incarnation of the concept. Myrkul stands for the experience of dying, decay, necromancy, graves, bones, and the fear of mortality. Kelemvor rules over the dead. Orcus is a demon lord and quasi-deity of undeath. Could prob go on.

I've read many different incarnations of death over the years. To set the stage on my Myrkul read, it bears mentioning that Terry Pratchett's Death is probably my favorite. I don't have it in me to see death as something totally malicious. It's very natural, and I tend to imagine that if there were to be an incarnation embodying it this persona would have an intimate view of all the love and grief, vulnerability and intimacy, ugliness and solitude, etc. that mortals deal with. Death has witnessed the end every living being faces, from the dawn of creation until now. Even if it isn't consciously accessed at all moments, death is ancient and experienced and not likely to be shocked by what mortals are capable of anymore. Mortals are small. Uncountably numerous though we are we are far outnumbered by the unliving. What are lives next to planets, to stars? Here I'd argue against assigning value according to how big or small something is, how eternal or how brief, how simple or complex. Everything that is, is a universe unto itself and deserves the gravity of that. It is also very mundane at the same time. To me, death needs to be able to balance the preciousness and commonality of life, of existence, on the tip of its scythe. Death needs to be able to deal with the most depraved beings to exist, but also with every beloved pet put to sleep. Every lost child or parent. Everyone who dies surrounded by loved ones and everyone who dies alone.

Initially, even knowing Myrkul in particular had been a mortal necromancer and not of particular moral standing--I had mixed feelings about him being the evilest of evil skeletons. He worked it well, but the idea of any aspect of death (or any character tbh) being flat evil felt off to me. Especially with 'we're all the protagonists of our own stories' being at work. People don't often look at what actions they'd consider to be evil then go 'I'm going to make myself that on purpose'. Disregarding morality maybe, but being evil on purpose is weird.

So I looked into further lore about Myrkul. One spot that gave me pause was that Myrkul as death (rather than the adventurer Myrkul Bey al-Kursi he’d once been) revels in inspiring fear of death and driving home experiences of loss. From what I found he isn't focused on the name of the individual holding the office of death, but for the force itself being feared. He can be bribed, and he will allow for necromancy/resurrections--but the fear and gravity of death is a sacred thing to him. Disregarding that is a pretty good way to get onto Myrkul's shitlist. I want to take a moment to emphasize the importance of Myrkul focusing on his portfolio over his own ego. That is far from a given in the DnD pantheon, and like I said he's a former mortal himself. It wouldn't be out of the question for him to be a petty and insecure deity. He could have been the sort of guy where becoming a god of death by itself wasn't enough power. If Myrkul was a different person, he might have wanted people to stroke his ego and say how strong he is. He might have been someone who felt inadequate as a god without that affirmation. He could have (as a character) been unsatisfied and forever wanting/dependent upon the views of others to define himself. The fact that he DOES focus on death and decay as forces rather than himself is a big deal in reading him imo.

Anyway. Myrkul's emphasis on death as something feared got me thinking about what would cause a person to put such weight on death being understood in its negative aspect. It struck me that this is actually a very common and even important thing. You don't need to demonize death to see it, either. If you value life as sacred, the idea of life being treated as cheap or disposable is horrifying. When you love something dearly, the idea of that beloved thing being defaced is beyond outrage. It's a kind of sacrilege. People who kill as casually as breathing, who revel in the permanent destruction of someone else, become a source of horror. The absence of love creates a sort of cruelty that can't even perceive itself. And it's not uncommon for human beings in particular to partake in this. Humans dance on the graves of those they deem enemies not because they're relieved to be safe, but because they glory in the end of other lives. They don't recognize that anything of value was lost. There is no tragedy in death anymore. Every gentle moment, every vulnerability, every tragedy in their opponent's life is something to be crapped on and gloated over. There is no greater insult to life itself. Myrkul stands as a reminder that such behavior cannot stand. You can't treat life or death as cheap. To see something horrific and fail to realize the weight of its horror is itself a form of horror. The idea of a death that demands to be acknowledged for what it is, particularly by the living, imo actually denotes a level of care for life too. It might be harsh or ugly, but I don't know about evil. So while Myrkul is certainly flawed and often serves as an antagonist, I’d argue the function he performs is not only important but necessary.

And while it might vary between players, I found Aylin's enthusiastic executions and body defiling pretty uncomfortable. I understand she went through a lot and am fine with her as a character. But I think Myrkul's point stands if the audience feels even a moment of disquiet seeing her celebrate over the corpse of a broken person.

Some things are meant to be ugly.

BANE

Of the Dead Three I find Bane the most disturbing and dangerous tbh—but not for how Gortash invokes him. Way I see it, the other word for tyranny is authoritarianism on a macro-level, abuse on an individual level.

I’d argue that in life, we can only healthily control ourselves and our own individual actions/choices. We can try to persuade others or appeal to their judgment, but we can’t MAKE another person think or act how we wish. When folks attempt otherwise (individually or more broadly) it involves fear, force, deceit, or other forms of pressure. Coercion, enslavement. These fall under the umbrella of tyrannical practice to me. You treat another person as subhuman and strip them of agency.

We don’t live in a pure and ideal world. If a tyrannical person is committing crimes and denying others their free will through force, I wouldn’t call defense through force tyrannical as long as it wasn’t needlessly excessive. Power struggles exist. But the whole practice of using fear, force, deceit, or pressure to control another person is dangerous imo. They're to be utilized as little as possible.

In DnD I don’t think the fringe evil cults would be the ones most at risk for corruption by Bane. I don't think individuals or groups who prioritize self-indulgence would be most at risk, either. The most dangerous and frequent disciples of Bane imo would be within good alignment. This means followers of benevolent gods as well as the nations or groups that consider themselves to have righteous causes. ESPECIALLY those with chips on their shoulders.

When someone assumes they have and always will have the moral high ground, that they are incapable of committing injustice, that their end justifies whatever means, that it doesn’t count as abuse with the 'correct' target… that, to me, is where tyranny festers. The person convinced of their own moral infallibility is the one who sees no need for brakes and so cuts them without concern.

I’d argue everybody has a seed of tyranny in them that can be fed or starved. We feed that seed with our own indignation to become a tyrant victimizing others while still seeing ourselves as powerless. The person who first victimized you can still also be victimized by you. There isn’t a target that exists where finding joy in cruelty gets a pass.

Bane, I think, thrives on the idea that it's no problem if you're enforcing your will. Especially on people contemptible to you.

For DnD purposes, imagine you have zealous followers of idk Tyr. They are willing to do whatever it takes to enforce and spread their definition of justice. They believe in making examples of people at every opportunity. They torture, isolate, rob, and shame those they consider to be unjust or dangerous. If their victims are falsely accused—well. It’s for a noble purpose so the sacrifice is not in vain. And imagine Tyr abandons these followers as hypocrites. He no longer empowers clerics or paladins no matter how they cite scripture or brand ‘heretics’ with his symbols.

Bane doesn’t enter calling himself Bane, god of tyranny. Bane claims to follow a higher justice. Maybe he uses an avatar, maybe he chooses a Banite disciple, maybe he finds a true believer. But he argues that Tyr as an individual was never ultimately what those zealots stood for—it was justice itself. And if Tyr has turned traitor to his own portfolio, mortals need to go over his head to the core concept and implement that. Bane offers a name that suits his purposes and begins sourcing power to clerics and paladins instead. And throughout, as the zealots commit increased atrocities against those they deem dangerous or evil they fail to realize they’ve spiraled into evil alignment after all. They’d think they were either just as good as they’d always been OR BETTER. The compassion of Ilmater is spent on the depraved and corrupt as far as they’re concerned.

I think the real threat of Bane is that he should be 100% capable of corrupting an otherwise heroic party member if they aren’t wary of that capacity in themself. You suddenly find your friend who listened to your problems and supported you through awful shit mocking a person sobbing on the ground as they kick them. And that friend looks betrayed and hurt (or outraged) if you challenge their actions, because they think you should know exactly how disgusting this piece of shit is and how much they deserve the abuse. And even if you concede that individual case—it’s not the only one. The slights worthy of torment become smaller and smaller. A thought or word out of line betrays the ideology of an evil alignment, with the only solution being to beat thoughts and words out of the target until they can only repeat approved ideas back. And even then, it may not be enough.

If it was explicitly confirmed that the deity the zealot followed was Bane all along, the zealot might genuinely not believe it. They might get pissed at the very suggestion. What they do against the wicked isn’t tyranny after all. They’re righteous.

Denial doesn’t serve to disempower Bane in the least if tactics remain unchanged.

BHAAL

I’m holding off on more detailed Bhaal thoughts until I complete a dark urge run, but I’ve listened to lore on both him and the demon lord Yeenoghu recently—and I think there’s room for a really cool potential contrast.

Yeenoghu Lore

Providing this particular video link for the curious, as a way to help illustrate what I’m drawing from.

Yeenoghu holds the title as demon lord of slaughter. He glories in filth, rape, excessively graphic murder, torture, violence, and playing with corpses along the way. He’s meant to come across as a bestial, self-absorbed, remorseless desecrater. And when I say bestial, I want to draw attention to a particular IRL factoid that might be worth considering.

I love animals to bits. I don’t think animals generally contemplate morality the way humans do just due to cognitive differences and limitations. I also think it’s important to remember that humans are ALSO animals, so certain things umbrella’d under ‘human experience’ would probably apply to at least some animals too. If there are human altruists and human serial killers, we should be able to expect that animals likewise have some altruists and some serial killers within the scope of individual variation.

Cruelty is not exclusive to humans. Orcas will essentially torture smaller animals to death by flinging them into the air with their tails repeatedly like balls until repeated beatings and suffocation kill them. Dolphins commit rape and chew on live puffer fish to get high off the toxins. Chimpanzees are a horror unto themselves with cannibalism and mutilation and basically whatever atrocity they can commit. Wolves and cats sometimes hunt to excess just for the joy of it and don’t eat all they kill. Hannibal the swan (as a specific and notably homicidal individual) beat and drowned any other swans visiting his pond and showed his signet how to do it. I could go on. Some cases it might be a matter of the animal not having theory of mind to recognize that they are inflicting pain on another conscious creature. Other times, like with pissed off chimpanzees, they know EXACTLY what they’re doing and it’s on purpose to cause maximum suffering.

I think Yeenoghu should embody a little bit of both propensities. He’s just utterly self-absorbed and doesn’t give a fuck about the experiences or perspectives of other living things except insofar as they impact him.

Bhaal I want to research more like I said, but one thing I remember from my initial play through was finding a note from the Dark Urge to Orin.

Little sister, whatever in the Gray Wastes are we going to do with you? Bhaal will never care that you waste your time, posing your corpse-dollies. Bhaal doesn’t care whether you give him the corpse of a pauper or a king. At the end of the day, all Father wants is death in droves, death in numbers. To sap away the life of this dull world as swiftly and widely as we can. You plan, you plot, you prevaricate, and you waste his time. Bhaal doesn’t need us to think. He needs us to kill. You kill beautifully, and have talents in your shapes’ magics that I never will. But you do not understand Lord Bhaal. Perhaps it is a failing of your diluted blood, as a mere grandchild. I am his sole living pureblood. I will accept no challenge from you, until you show some damned respect.

To be honest this is interesting af to me because it positions Orin a bit more in-line with Yeenoghu’s modus operandi in some ways. But what sets apart the principles of Bhaal from Yeenoghu or Myrkul?

The Dark Urge suggests the goal of Bhaal is the extinction of all life, but to be honest I’m a bit skeptical. Seems like short term thinking. Even if Bhaal pulled that off, once it’s done there is no more murder or god of murder for that matter. If Bhaal is aiming for a cessation of existence and wants everyone else along for the ride maybe that’s what he’s after, but I dunno. That seems like something fans/players/loremasters would have touched on before.

I’d like to invite this possibility for foiling instead:

Life consumes other life by nature. Animals, plants, fungi, bacteria, so forth—it isn’t just a matter of philosophy. One life cannot exist without destroying another. We need to eat. If we don’t, we die well before reproduction enters the picture. But it’s more than that… you take a step, you kill countless tiny organisms you aren’t even aware of. You swat a fly. You hit something with your car. You move gracelessly or touch carelessly, and catastrophe ensues. Etcetera.

It is inevitable that your existence will mean the end for the life of another living thing. That’s just how it goes.

It could be interesting on a LOT of fronts (both as members of the dead three and as former adventuring companions) if Bhaal acted as a kind of philosophical opposite to Myrkul the way I previously described.

If the Dark Urge’s note is to be trusted, Bhaal has no interest in ritual or glorified death per se. Bhaal would be more about the mundanity that comes through the act of killing. Life is fragile as-is and often ended by accident. Killing in its most common form is thoughtless and unconscious. To Bhaal, if every life is a universe then the universe looks meaningless. There is no importance or fanfare to any of it. If one side is ‘everything matters, give weight to life and death’, Bhaal would be ‘nothing matters, we are not capable of affording reverence to every single life and death we encounter’. More specifically, the mass deaths Bhaal favors would be a kind of illustration of the uncaring and casual relationship living things have with killing other living things. The more casual and effortless it is, the more I’d imagine it serves Bhaal. Sadism and revelry miss the point—there is no hierarchy. Suffering is inconsequential. Fear is inconsequential. Instinct is inconsequential. To live is to kill by Bhaal’s logic.

It isn’t limited to murder in the sense of a member of one species killing a member of the same species. It’s more Bhaal is the god of killing. He’d gain power from murder too sure, but also hunting, harvesting, and butchering. With these interpretations in-mind, we can actually figure out how the Dead Three might have answered Jergal's question about what worth a mortal life holds. With the disclaimer this is very much conjecture. I think Myrkul would likely be "Each life is of infinite value and merits sacrificing everything for." That lends life a heavy weight and makes death a fearful force for all. It would also mesh with Ketheric as his chosen. Bane would lean into "That depends on a person's deeds", "The only life that matters is mine", or "Depends on the mortal". From those positions, the speaker argues for a hierarchy of life where some is more expendable than the rest. It's easier from that position to slide into adopting a role as judge and executioner, and from elevating yourself into a role of authority where other voices and experiences count less than your own. Bhaal I think is reflected in "Life’s only value is as currency. Doesn’t matter to me otherwise", "The only life that matters is mine", or "No one life is worth more than any other. We are equal." Bhaal has the implicit question in-turn: what is the blood-price of your own life? How much have you claimed in your own name to keep moving? It's kind of the belief that while "The only life that matters is mine" is Bhaal's answer, every other living thing should be answering the same way. There's more nuance than that of course, and likely truth falls somewhere in the middle. We aren't mentally capable of giving reverence to every death, but we can recognize in general terms and do our best case-by-case. We have a right to protect ourselves and what we love, but others share that right.

Feel free to offer different stances or thoughts though, and if you made it this far goddamn thank you for reading this monster.

#the dead three #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #myrkul #bhaal #bane #bg3 #bgiii #yeenoghu

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

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Never Forgotten

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count:

Summary: The reader left behind a friendship with Sam because of an abusive boyfriend. When they are reunited, will their true feelings for eachother be revealed?

Trigger Warnings: Domestic abuse, violence, injuries, mentions of death.

Requested: Yes, by anon. Not sharing the anon message here, spoilers.

A/N: Please mind the trigger warnings on this one. <3

Masterlist

It was a rare occasion that Sam Winchester was not on my mind, his face, his kind touch and the way he would always listen to me. I miss him, terribly. We had been friends for close to two decades, our fathers were friends long before we even came to be. My father and his had a falling out, but Sam and I remained friends. The time we spent together as children resulted in some of my favorite memories, times that I still look back on fondly. We both left for college, our schools a few hours from each other. We stayed in touch, even when he dropped out. Our communication faltered, until I had cornered him and asked him what he was doing and why he was avoiding me.

This was when I learned about the supernatural world, something I could have gone my entire life not knowing about. I stayed in college, graduating a short time later. I had met my boyfriend in college, that was when everything changed. At first everything seemed normal, he was a jealous guy, but I found it endearing. Slowly, ever so slowly it got worse and he made me cut people out of my life. He would get angry when I would talk to friends, especially other men. So as much as it killed me, I cut Sam off. For a long time, Sam would still reach out. He would call and text me, checking on me, but I would ignore him. Out of all my friends, he tried the longest to get in touch with me.

Then the verbal abuse turned into physical, it started out with him shoving me when we would fight. Then it turned to slaps, slaps turned to fists, fists turned to kicks. It all snowballed, at first the marks he would leave on my skin I could hide with clothing. The first time he gave me a black eye, I had to learn how to cover bruises with makeup. Once he saw that I could cover the injuries, he no longer cared about hiding it. His violence led to my loss of hearing, one ear now completely useless. There was nothing I could do now, everyone had left me and I was stuck. If I tried to leave, he would kill me. I had enough, I was giving up hope on ever leaving. Until tonight, we had come back to Kansas to visit some of my boyfriends friends. He had accused me of flirting with one of them, something I would never do. Once we got back to the motel, he took that as a good enough reason to beat me, my head still throbbing from the last punch he had thrown, a hard blow to my jaw. The second he shut the bathroom door, I had ran. Out the door to the room and down the familiar dark streets. My heart and lungs screaming with every step, but I didn’t care. The chill of the rain, not a concern. My feet knew where I was going before my brain did. I only realized when I turned the corner and was face to face with the bunker. I stop in my tracks, the sight of the run down concrete building and the impala parked outside almost enough to bring me to my knees. I steel my nerves, my chest heaving from exertion and anxiety, the only sound in my ears the rush of my own blood. I cover the distance to the door, my knuckles rapping against the door before I can think twice. I almost lose hope when no one answers, a minute passes and then two. Before the door slowly opens, a crack forming, the barrel of a gun poking through. I wait, unmoving, frozen from fear of the person on the other side of the door not being a Winchester. The door is thrown open, the gun lowered and its, Dean. His face twisted in utter confusion as he says my name, his eyes glancing over my disheveled appearance.

“Sam! Get out here!” He yells, his voice loud enough to make me jump. He steps to the side and gestures for me to come inside. The warmth of the bunker, is barely enough to take the edge off. My clothing is soaked and chills are emanating through my entire body. His eyes don’t leave me for a second, the gun that had been pointed at me moments earlier, tucked safely into the waistband of his pants. My gaze is drawn to the hallway as I hear footsteps approaching and Sam comes into view, but he doesn’t see me right away. His attention focused on his brother.

“Dean, what’s the ma-“ He stops, his eyes finally landing on me. His face is mixture of multiple emotions. Shock, concern, anger and utter confusion.

“Y/N.” My name falls from his lips, a whisper, barely traveling the distance to my ears. I hug my arms to my body, a shiver making its way through once again.

“Hi, Sammy.” I give him a small smile, my voice tiny and shaky. It takes him two full strides to cross the room, his arms coming to wrap tightly around me. I am caught off guard by his actions, fully expecting the third degree before he even acknowledged the past friendship that we shared. It takes me a full five seconds before I hug him back, relief flooding through me. God, how I had missed this man. His embrace bringing back a rush of nostalgia that I had done my best to forget, I never thought I would see him again. He pulls away, holding me at an arms length and looking me over from head to toe. I watch the creases deepen on his forehead when he sees the gash on my cheek and the bruise slowly forming on my jaw. His fingertips brush over the marks, questions forming in his eyes.

“Where have you been? I went looking for you, I tried to find you. I knew something had to be wrong when you stopped responding to me.” He says, his eyes searching my own for any explanation.

“It’s a long story Sam.” I say, my body continuing to punish me for remaining in my drenched clothes. He notices, gesturing for me to take my jacket off. While I do that, he grabs a blanket from the shelf nearby and wraps it around my shoulders. The warmth it provides a slight comfort in this moment.

“I’ll let the two of you catch up, I’ll be in my room if you need me.” Dean says, leaving us alone. Sam takes my hand, pulling me gently behind him. He leads me to the kitchen, my eyes taking in every part of my surroundings. Not much had changed since the last time I was here, everything still in the same place.

“Sit on the counter, I’ll get you cleaned up.” Sam says, his voice gentle but firm all the same. I comply, resting my hands on the counter and lifting myself up onto the cold surface. He is silent as he pulls the first aid kit out of the cabinet, I watch his every movement, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the anger he must be holding at, waiting for the dam to break and his surprise to turn to violence. But that doesn’t happen, his touch is gentle as he gingerly cleans the cut on my cheek. His fingers gently move across my skin, cleaning and then bandaging my face. Only after he is done and satisfied with his work, does he speak.

“Coffee?” He asks, and I nod, eager for any source of warmth. The bone chilling cold still settled deep within me, the blanket helping but not fully relieving it.

“Sam?” I say, watching him move efficiently around the small kitchen, grabbing all of the things he needs to make a coffee. He hums in response, his eyes meeting mine momentarily before focusing on the task before him.

“I owe you an apology, I didn’t want to shut you out. I missed you every single day.” I say, my voice breaking towards the end. I clear it, pushing away the tears that are threatening to form in the corners of my eyes. He is silent, he finishes making my coffee and hands me the mug. I gratefully take the mug from him, holding it up to my face and letting the warm steam wash over me.

“Where were you, Y/N?”

“Tennessee, then Nevada, then Maine. We moved around a lot, avoided too many questions.” I say, taking a sip from the steaming liquid, I am pleasantly surprised when it is made exactly how I like it. He hadn’t forgotten.

“Who is we? What questions?” He asks, his arms coming to rest across his chest. I hesitate, unsure how to explain everything that had happened over the two years since we had spoken last.

“Do you remember the guy you met when you came to visit me last? The one from my Biology lab?” He nods and I continue, “Well we started dating shortly after you met him. I moved in with him, and-“ I hesitate, memories flooding through me from the times before things got bad. I shake my head and glance up at him. He is waiting, his eyes trained on me. Listening, just like he always did. “Well. He wasn’t the guy I thought he was. He would get angry over the smallest things, it started out as really bad arguments. Which turned into him verbally abusing me. He couldn’t stand it when I talked to anyone other than him. So I stopped talking to everyone, I had to. Even that wasn’t enough for him. He moved from berating me, to beating me.” My eyes fall to the floor, shame washing over me as I continue to explain where I had been. I couldn’t hold his gaze, I felt weak reliving all of the moments that I had kept hidden from everyone. He stays silent, letting me get it all out. I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I take another sip of my coffee. Dreading the complete silence that has settled between us. “I could kill him. I should kill him. I thought you were dead, I searched the obituaries for your name every day, for months.” Sam finally says, crossing the room to stand directly in front of me. His hands land on my knees, his thumbs rubbing circles on my skin through the thick fabric of my jeans. I look up at him, his words catching me completely off guard. My lip trembles and before I can stop them, tears are falling quickly. He frowns, and pulls my head into his chest. His arms coming to wrap around me again as I slide down from the counter, allowing myself to be swallowed in his embrace. “I am so sorry, I missed you, Sam. Every day.” I exhale, a sob following shortly behind. He strokes my back, his touch and smell something that I never fully comprehended how much I had missed them.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you now and nothing will change that.” He says, pressing a kiss to the top of my hair.

The few hours are spent together, he gives me dry clothes to change into and leaves me to take a shower. He sits outside the bathroom door, giving me my privacy but he is close enough for me to know he is still there. I take my time in the shower, enjoying the warmth that it brings. After my shower I join him in his room and we spend hours catching up, taking turns listening intently to the other. Even though so much time had passed, it felt like nothing when we started thinking back to our many shared adventures. It had been a long time coming, this reunion I had dreamed of but never thought would happen. That night we share a bed, not the first time it had happened and I’m sure it won’t be the last. We doze off between conversation, exhaustion taking over shortly after the blankets come to rest covering our bodies. Sam is there when I wake, sweat soaked and screaming. He is quick to pull me into his embrace and remind me that I’m safe. His arms are wrapped tightly around me, lips pressed to my forehead as he murmurs comforting words against my skin. The sense of safety lulls me back to sleep and just before I’m swallowed up by the darkness it brings I hear him whisper four words that will change the rest of our lives for the better.

“I love you, Y/N.”

tag list: @roseblue373

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euphoniumpets · 1 year

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THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM | EPILOGUE

Prompt: ''As long as I can rememer, I've been protecting Alina, it's always Alina who I will protect,'' You told him, looking at Nikolai. ''But who will protect you?''

Warnings: Violence, blood and gore.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that.

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x Starkov! Reader

Tag list: @lyria-skyfall@khaleesihavilliard@shine101 @waddlingwanderer @clqudias @ducks118 @xceafh@peakyispunk @wilmasvensson @parbatai-winchester @priincehoseok@riot-in-my-soulsoul @feyredarling92 @vendy021 @ssprayberrythings @goldenpoison @shine101 @lili-of-the-dream @xushisuxi @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @jennylil @themermaidscales82

Tag list are closed!

A/N: we're at the end!!! i'm sad that this series is about to end and i hope that they got to be renewed for a third season since i'm so excited to know more about Nikolai being the Nichevo'ya and his connection with Y/N, i know that Nina left to Ketterdam after the war since she wasn't during the coronation, but let's just say that she is in this story and that she left to ketterdam after the coronation, all my series masterlist is down below.

old masterlist | navi | new masterlist

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - epilogue

The first thing you felt was nothing before you could feel the breeze on your skin. You opened your eyes and the first thing you saw was that you were in a meadow - The soft grass on your skin and the sun on your skin.

You felt that you were at peace before it felt that you got sucked into the darkness.

Just nothingness and fear coursed through your body and the loneliness. You didn’t have the time to process everything before you heard voices. You couldn’t register their words or who they were before you heard a familiar voice.

‘’Y/N, please come back to me…’’ The voice felt so familiar and it felt like home. Home.

You woke up startled and saw a bright light surrounding your eyes. You blinked rapidly with a gasp that left your mouth. Panic began to surface and you looked around, trying to register what was happening.

‘’It’s okay, it’s okay,’’ You heard a voice. Your heart pounded heavily and it felt like you were going to burst. A pair of arms wrapped you and it seemed that you calmed down before you realized that the Fold was gone.

You saw the desert and all its remains that were long forgotten before the Fold took over. ‘’Nik,’’ You spoke, relief washing over you when you remembered what had happened. ‘’What happened?’’ You asked, confused, how you were back alive. ‘’You can take Nina for bringing you back alive,’’ You heard him cup your cheek before kissing you.

You sighed into the kiss, feeling the familiar feeling comforting you. You breathed heavily after you let go and placed your forehead against his before trailing your eyes to the heartrender. You met her eyes, signaling thanks in return.

You tried to stand up from the ground as Nikolai helped you carefully as Alina and Mal approached you. The three of you looked at each other before giving each other a group hug.

You all walked back to the camp, and you could feel that you were different. It was hard to explain, but you couldn’t feel your powers anymore. The feeling of protecting Alina wasn’t there anymore and the connection with Mal had disappeared. You wondered what happened back there at the Fold when Nina brought you back from the dead because you felt different.

Nobody had said a word before returning to the camp, some of them were mourning in silence for the people they lost during the war.

Tamar placed Nikolai down on the barrels as he winced in pain. ‘’Are you okay?’’ She asked him carefully as Tolya looked at him. ‘’A moment of sun before we deal with our losses, Dominik,’’ He replied and looked at you.

You looked at him with sadness. You never wanted Dominik to sacrifice himself to protect Nikolai. ‘’He did exactly what any of us would have done for each other,’’ Tamar responded and looked at him, giving him a knowing look. ‘’For you,’’ She added. You turned around and saw Mal, Alina, Nina, Inej, and Zoya walk toward you.

You didn’t speak a word before walking away, an eerie feeling coursing through your body.

You stared at the view in front of you in silence before your heart's footsteps approached you. You turned around and saw Nikolai standing next to you. ‘’Are you all right?’’ You heard him ask and look at you with a concerned expression. You stared off the distance. ‘’Something’s different,’’ You spoke, staring off into the distance.

‘’How different?’’ Nikolai asked. ‘’My powers,’’ You replied. ‘’They’re weak, and I don’t know if I still have them,’’ You spoke and looked at him. ‘’Powers or not, my feelings haven’t changed,’’ Nikolai said and faced you. You watched him grab the ring out of his pocket. ‘’Are you gonna change your mind?’’

‘’About marrying you?’’ You questioned. ‘’Of course not,’’ You replied and looked at him with a small smile. ‘’I thought you would say so,’’ He replied before placing the ring back on your finger. ‘’I never asked him to sacrifice his life for you,’’ You spoke and looked at Nikolai.

‘’I know,’’ Nikolai replied and released a heavy sigh. ‘’He knew what he was doing,’’ He murmured before he looked at you. You approached him carefully, cupping your hands against his cheek, and stared into his eyes. Something about your feelings changed when you got back to life.

Your feelings were stronger for him, the need for him was growing stronger in a way you couldn’t describe. You looked at him before placing your lips against his.

All of you gathered from back where you started, and you could see Kirigan’s deceased body in front of you. You could feel your heart shatter when you saw the state, and Alina had explained what had happened before he died. Sure, he was a complicated man who only cared about power, but in the end, he was the only person left of your bloodline.

You wondered what would happen if he didn’t were the villain of the story and if he would accept you as a family. Nobody dared to speak before you heard Alina’s voice. ‘’You go,’’ She replied and looked at you. ‘’You have every right,’’ She responded and you shook your head. ‘’I can’t,’’ You whispered as Alina nodded before she looked at Genya and Zoya.

They nodded and you felt her grab your hand in reassurance. You all watched as Zoya and Genya grabbed the torches before tossing them onto Kirigan’s body. Genya handed Alina a torch as she approached the body before tossing it.

‘’Today is a new beginning, for all Ravka, hell, for our whole world,’’ Nikolai spoke as you met his gaze. ‘’It’s a bit daunting, isn’t it? Knowing where to go from here, we’ve had a singular focus for so long, so much blood has been shed after hundreds of years separated by the Fold, and we can celebrate a unified Ravka, our neighbors to the North will see us united, and will aim to strike, but often it’s not the battle that takes the most from us, it’s the aftermath, the chance to put the pieces of our lives back together,’’

‘’When a Firebird rises from the ashes, it is not the same,’’ Nikolai spoke and looked at you. ‘’But in that rebirth, is potential, potential for a new purpose, thanks to what Alina has done for us, we all have a chance to better the world now the Fold is gone, and above all, you must trust, trust in each other, in yourselves, trust in the fact that this is the start of better days to come, and it will be easy, of course, nothing is, I had hoped to end that on a more uplifting note, but here we are,’’

You smiled and let go of Alina’s hand before you approached Nikolai. ‘’Well, I was about to say that your speech was hideous,’’ You spoke as you heard him chuckle before you felt him wrap his hands around your waist. ‘’Don’t flatter yourself, I know that you love my speeches,’’ He responded and looked at you with a cheeky smile. ‘’That’s why I let you do all the talking,’’ You told him before placing a small kiss on his lips.

‘’Well, I guess I owe you 20 Kruges,’’ You both heard Tamar murmur as you looked at her with a confused expression. Tolya smirked as Mal and Alina approached you. ‘’Tell me you weren’t involved with this,’’ You responded and looked at Mal. ‘’How could I not? I lost all my money,’’ Mal grumbled with annoyance and looked at Tolya.

‘’Didn’t I tell all of you: I told you so,’’ Tolya spoke with a grin.

Back at the Chapel, you saw Alina approach you. ‘’How do you feel?’’ She asked and you looked at her. ‘’Different,’’ You spoke. ‘’My powers…’’ You began to say. ‘’They are there, but I can’t feel it strongly,’’ You said. ‘’Like I don’t feel the need of protecting you, at least not anymore,’’ You told her and approached her, held her hands, and looked at her with a smile. ‘’And Mal?’’ She asked.

‘’I have no longer the same connection,’’ You spoke. ‘’You are a hero, now, you know that?’’ Alina questioned. ‘’I don’t want to be a hero,’’ You responded and gave her a look. ‘’Eventually, they’ll have to celebrate the fact that you are, and a Queen of Ravka,’’ Alina spoke.

‘’This is your victory, your chance to rebuild Ravka,’’

‘’Together, with you, and Mal,’’ Alina said. ‘’You do deserve a life of your own, you know,’’ Alina said and looked at you. ‘’You don’t have to do this,’’ You looked at her. ‘’I know, but I can’t leave him alone now, can we?’’ You replied before you looked at her. ‘’He was the one who suggested this, wasn’t he?’’

‘’He had a feeling that you probably didn’t want this life, even after everything,’’ Alina admitted, and you nodded in understanding. ‘’But Mal, had he made his decision?’’ You asked, and she nodded. ‘’He will leave,’’ She replied, and you could hear the sadness in her voice. You looked at her with sympathy before you embraced her tightly for comfort.

‘’Are you gonna leave without saying goodbye?’’ You spoke as soon you approached the ship and saw Mal talking with Nikolai. ‘’It is very rude of you, you know? Maybe I will have the stand watch to capture you instead,’’ You spoke as Nikolai looked at Mal, giving him a nod before walking away. ‘’Well, maybe I was going to,’’ You heard him speak and saw him approach you. ‘’Alina told you, didn’t she?’’ He asked and you nodded. ‘’Very much so,’’ You spoke and looked at him for a moment before the two of you embraced each other. ‘’Good to have you alive,’’ Mal muttered and looked at you.

‘’Well, again,’’ He added as you slapped him lightly on his arm. ‘’Too bad that we can’t be there on the coronation to see you with the dress,’’ Mal retorted and hid a smile, making you grumble with annoyance. ‘’Believe me, If I could choose, I would choose to wear a kefta, but since I know that Zoya and Genya will have my head before the coronation,’’ You spoke as Mal chuckled.

‘’Take care of yourself,’’ You replied and looked at him. ‘’You too,’’ Mal responded before giving you a long last hug before departing.

‘’Do you think she’s still in there?’’

‘’I don’t know, maybe she has escaped through the window,’’

‘’Or escaped through the chimney,’’

‘’She wouldn’t do that, would she?’’ Genya asked and narrowed her eyes as she looked at Nina with concerned eyes. ‘’I mean, to leave Nikolai behind?’’

‘’Who knows? We all know how much she despised the dress,’’ Nina retorted and let out a laugh as Zoya rolled her eyes and sighed with annoyance before walking to the door. ‘’Y/N! Stop being such a baby and walk out of the room!’’ Zoya shouted and knocked on the door again.

The four of them exchanged a look when they heard your noises and footsteps. ‘’What’s taking so long?’’ They all heard Nikolai’s voice from behind. The four women glanced at him. ‘’Your soon-to-be wife refuses to show herself,’’ Zoya explained and gestured to the door with annoyance.

‘’Oh, saints, how bad is it?’’ Nikolai asked and glanced back at the door. ‘’Very bad,’’ Nina responded. ‘’Nina!’’ Alina exclaimed, giving her a look as Nina looked at her. ‘’What?’’ She asked and looked at the sun summoner with an offended expression. ‘’We all saw her expression as soon she saw the dress, she freaked out, honestly, I wouldn’t blame her,’’ NIna retorted and shook her head with a smile.

‘’Shh, I hear something,’’ Zoya hissed toward them to be quiet as they all leaned slightly forward.

They all didn’t say anything when they heard the doorknob rustle and the door open in front of them. You couldn’t breathe since the corset was suffocating your lungs and you felt uncomfortable.

You looked at them and saw their surprised expression. ‘’If anyone utters a single word,’’ You began to say as they looked at you. ‘’Let’s get this over with,’’ You responded.

Your nerves were on the edge and you kept fussing with your dress as Nikolai stood next to you with his crown. He knew how much you hated the dress. ‘’Stop fussing around,’’ You heard him whisper and looked at you. ‘’I can’t breathe,’’ You retorted and gave him a look. ‘’You look lovely, can’t wait to tear that dress apart later,’’ You heard him comment, and you looked at him blankly as you could feel your cheeks warming.

‘’Charming, aren’t you?’’ You spoke as he looked at you with a grin. ‘’I’m always charming,’’ Nikolai retorted as the door opened in front of you. The two of you began to walk forward to the aisle you saw Alina standing with her dress to the side as she looked at you with a comforting smile.

Turning around, you were met with Genya, Nina, and Zoya’s proud expressions in the front row as you stood next to Nikolai before bending your knee. You felt the apparat place your crown on your head as you stood up. The people in the room began to stand up and clap their hands to the newly wedded couple.

Then suddenly, a woman began to stand up, and you looked in concern. You heard her shout in Fjerdan before you felt your lungs were on fire. Everybody began to collapse on the ground when she raised her hands, and people began to scream. You saw that Nikolai and Alina were on the ground and all you could see was red.

You collapsed on the ground and saw Nikolai on the floor. ‘’Nik,’’ You gasped and looked at him with terror. You tried to crawl toward him, but the pain was too much. You glanced back at the woman when you felt anger rising through you.

The same anger and the same power flowing through your veins. You thought of all the times when Kirigan had manipulated you, and you felt the familiar pulse of anger inside. The thirst for revenge, to make someone hurt the way the woman in front of you.

Standing up from the ground, you used the power inside of you as a bright, orange, yellow color radiated from your body and saw the familiar cut forming before pushing the power toward the woman. The woman was sliced in half and the body fell on the floor and you felt the power rise inside of you and you realized that you enjoyed it, the darkness that came along with it.

You once had played the calm, but now, you were going to become the child of the storm.

villain y/n in her era >>>

please comment what you thought of this chapter and remember, reblog always helps!

#shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov x reader #alina starkov #aleksander morovoza #inej gafha #jesper fahey #six of crows #kaz brekker #wylan van eck #nikolai lantsov #nina zenik #zoya nazyalensky #genya safin

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matan4il · 2 months

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Thank you for your daily posts. And for keeping up the updates. I'm exhausted by the war and the hatred and the gaslighting and I appreciate you so much.

מקווה להיפגש על אמת יום אחד, בזמנים טובים יותר. יישר כוח. שולחת המון אהבה.

(I hope it's okay, because of my health, I've been falling behind on replying to asks, so I wanna respond to a bunch of lovely ones here...)

Awwww, hi lovely! :D It's so wonderful to get this message from you! Thank you SO MUCH! I appreciate you as well, and I am sending you the biggest of hugs!

I think we're all emotionally drained by what has been going on, not just Hamas' brutal massacre, or the war it forced us into and the pain and loss it is causing us continuously, or the terrorist attacks that keep on killing us and hurt even more after the massacre, or having to deal with the impossible choices Hamas has forced on us, but also the wave of hatred towards us that started on Oct 7, while our people were still being massacred.

It's even worse when we remember that this wave was enabled by antisemitic propaganda, which has been spread for so much longer, way before they could have used the current war as justification. But it really shows how Jews are treated worse doesn't it? All land back movements should be supported, but Jews returning to their native land is evil and racist, all violence and killing is bad, but killing Jews for living in their native land is "resistance," rape is bad and victims should always be listened to, but Jewish victims of rape are to be doubted and ignored if they're living in the Jewish ancestral land, colonialism is horrible and practically any act is justified in resisting it, but Arab colonialism can be easily ignored and even denied, at the same time as Jewish people being native to Israel will be erased, so that the anti-colonial narrative can be comfortably misapplied to Israel and justify the crimes perpetrated against Jews in and outside our homeland, genocide is the worst of crimes, making it incredibly serious, but when it can be used against Jews, suddenly every keyboard warrior is an expert on it and does not hesitate to falsely apply it to Israel in a manner that minimizes and disrespects actual genocides and their victims (including Jewish ones), intentionally targeting civilians is a war crime, but it's fine if Hamas declares its intent to kill every Jew in the world, most of whom are civilians, because *throws out another false slogan, but hey, it rhymes*...

אני גם מקוה להיפגש יום אחד, כך שאם את מתישהו בירושלים אנא אל תהססי ליצור איתי קשר, ואני שולחת מלא אהבה בחזרה!

Hey, I want to thank you for everything you've been doing. I'm not Jewish, but I have been trying to be as supportive as I currently can be, and I feel it helps me do that to actually know what's happening. I hope you haven't been being sent a bunch of horrible things because of the war, even though I know you probably have. Thank you again.

Thank YOU so much for this kindness, both your message and your support for Jewish people! I know it's probably the worst time to be an ally to Jews, which is why I appreciate each and every single one of you even more than I usually already do. I'll do my best to keep updating, and I also now have, in addition to my general Israel tag, a resources tag which I tried to fill with some of the more important subjects I've covered, and for which I provided links to reliable sources. I hope this is also something that's useful to you! As for hate, I've gotten a lot of it. But if those people think they're doing anything other than exposing themselves as cruel, and not caring about humaneness at all, and if they think I'm more scared of their nasty messages than I care about the well being of my own people, they obviously have no idea about who I am as a human being (which I guess is not surprising, if they don't really acknowledge me as one).

Thank you again, I'm sending you love and nothing but the best wishes, always!

next time Im at Yad Vashem Im gonna ask every staff member if they are you it would be an honor to meet you in person

That's so very kind, Nonnie! But I'm honestly nothing special. Yad Vashem itself is an incredibly powerful place to visit, anyone who would guide you through it will give you a prfound experience, I have no doubt of it. But if you ever are there, and you tell the guards you're looking for me (the head of security is actually one of my best friends, so I know he always keeps an eye on me and my whereabouts), it would be nice to say hi! :D

thank you for all your daily updates

No, Nonnie, thank YOU! I seriously appreciate the kindness of your message and encouragement!

From @blu-eyed-demon -

Thank you so much, my lovely Jace! This is so kind and sweet, and you have been an amazing, continued source of comfort. You have so much kindness at a time when that's so scarcely found, I just with you that will always be met and wrapped with just as much kindness in return, everywhere you turn! *sends so much love*

From @yelenasbuddie -

Hey.. I'm just passing by to give you 💐💐💐 so you can have a much more wonderful day. Even if we don't talk much, I'd like to say that you are loved and mattered. I believe in you and you got this 🩷🩷🩷

and also -

Hope you are loved 🩷🩷🩷🧡💜🥰

Sweet Yelena! Thank you so much for all of your messages, I can't tell you how much I treasure them. I'm sure you feel like you're caught up in the middle of a storm, and I know it's not easy remaining strong in the middle of that, but you have, and I hope you give yourself a lot of credit for that, I def do. I'm also hopeful that you always see the measure of your own kindness reflected back to you! Sending lots of hugs and kisses and all the cutesy emojis in the world, to make you feel loved! (sorry, as a Jew I don't celebrate Valentine's Day, but I hope you had a lovely one...)

Been following you since the Robron days. Proud to still be following you now 🦾

Nonnie, this is so lovely! I can't believe you're still here since then! I'm the one who's proud to have such a wonderful follower. IDK if we've ever talked, but I hope I always made you feel appreciated if we did, and welcome and enriched even if we didn't. Thank you for sticking it out with me through the best and worst of times, it means so much! Sending you love!

From @dominikadecember -

sending you lots and lots and lots of love

Thank you so much, my lovely Dom! I hope you know you've been a real help throughout all of this, and that I manage to show you how much I appreciate you. I'm sending you tons of love back!

here to put some jewish love and kindness in ur inbox 💗✡️🇮🇱

Thank you so much, Nonnie! This is so gorgeous, I love it, and I appreciate you for the beautiful human you are. I'm assuming you're Jewish as well, so I hope it's okay if I send Jewish love, pride in the way we're standing up to all this hatred, and kindness right back to you, and I hope you're doing well throughout all this!

hey just wanted to say i really appreciate you and your blog.

Thank you wholeheartedly, Nonnie! I really appreciate this kindness, and I hope you know that you put a smile on my face, and that you really help and make a difference! Sending hugs and hope you're well!

To the Nonnie who doesn't know or follow me, but still had a look at my blog instead of just blindly accpeting the notion that I'm a bad person, and then added -

You're not a terrible person. My sympathy and support. It's awful how tumblr is suddenly full of antisemitic sheep.

Thank you so very much! I seriously don't know how to express to you how much it means to me, to know that there are people out there, who don't automatically participate in judging and silencing others, when it has become the more popular thing to do. IDK if you'll see this, since you're not following me, but I hope you do, because to me, you're the person who refuses to do the antisemitic salute just because everyone else is, and knowing that people can still have that strength, integrity and kindness really matters to me, and to other Jews who watch with horror the ease with which we're being vilified and de-humanized. So, thank you from the bottom of my heart for that, I seriously can't wish you enough good things...

Thank you to everyone who says, does, supports Jewish people, no matter how much you think it might be a small gesture. It all matters, you make the world a better place, and you give Jews hope! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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mariacallous · 2 months

Text

When Russia first invaded Ukraine in 2014, annexing the Crimean Peninsula and bringing turmoil and destruction to Ukraine’s eastern regions, many people—both outside Ukraine and inside it—found it easier to ignore the violence unfolding in the country’s east than admit that war had returned to Europe. This included creative artists, who rarely mentioned the war in their works, not least because they feared scaring off the Russian fans who constituted much of their audience.

As Ukrainians all over the country woke up to explosions on Feb. 24, 2022, the truth could no longer be ignored: The “big war” had truly begun. Today, the country’s art is catching up to the truth of war.

Before 2022, few Ukrainian artists and entertainers openly mentioned the ongoing war in their works. In fact, many pop stars like Ivan Dorn or Luna continued to perform in Russia and created works aimed, first and foremost, at the Russian market and in the Russian language. When criticized for this by their Ukrainian fans, many dodged the subject, claimed to be “apolitical,” or explained their actions as “trying to build a bridge” between Russia and Ukraine.

“My music isn’t about politics, it’s about healing souls,” Luna said in a lengthy interview with Russian opposition journalist Xenia Sobchak in 2021. “That’s why I don’t pay attention to the critics back home trying to make me feel guilty for giving concerts in Russia.” Similarly, Dorn claimed that by interacting with Russian listeners he was “trying to capture as many people as possible with my music so that they would never attack my own country.”

But the main reasons were pragmatic ones: The large and relatively rich Russian market has long been attractive to Ukrainian performers, much like the American market for the English-speaking world. Making films or music built around a Ukrainian context could scare off Russian fans, so the overwhelming majority of content made in the 2000s and 2010s was tailored to sound and look as neutral as possible, devoid of any references to local events or personalities. There were, of course, notable exceptions.

Musicians, such as singer and veteran military paramedic Anastasiia Shevchenko, better known by her pseudonym СТАСІK, wrote songs openly referencing the war in their lyrics and music videos. Indie rapper Stas Koroliov released an entire album in 2021 of tracks inspired by the war and society’s apathy toward it. It contained lyrics like “I now understand that to become a messiah you just need to state the obvious: My homeland is at war with Russia.”

While mainstream comedies that wanted both Ukrainian and Russian box office sales steered clear of any references to recent domestic events, independent movies were more willing to process the violence taking place in Ukraine’s eastern regions and the loss of Crimea. Wartime dramas such as Tymur Yashchenko’s U311 Cherkasy (named after the naval mine sweeper blocked by Russian forces during the capture of Crimea) and Maryna Er Gorbach’s Klondike addressed specific events of the Russo-Ukrainian war, while Nariman Aliev’s 2019 drama Homeward was a meditation on what the loss of Crimea meant for its indigenous Tatar population. Other films, such as Volodymyr Tykhyi’s dramedy Our Kitties, tried to find humor amid the heartbreak and horrors faced by the Ukrainian soldiers stationed on the frontlines.

Everything changed in early 2022, when war—previously treated as a niche subject that was likely to scare off people looking for light entertainment—quickly became the only topic most Ukrainians were interested in. As missiles rained down, entertainers suddenly realized that they could not remain apolitical bystanders any longer.

Almost every popular musician spoke out against the invasion, with several (such as Dasha Astafieva and Vitaly Kozlovskiy) apologizing for performing in Russia and platforming their Russian colleagues in recent years. “I felt like a zombie while performing in Russia. I’d arrive, smile mechanically at everyone, do the set and return home. Russia has a lot of money but it’s a soulless place,” Astafieva wrote in a social media post shortly after the start of the full-scale invasion. Many artists—such as Antytila leader Taras Tolopya, singer Yarmak, and most of the lineup of cult Kharkiv-based hip-hop group TNMK—took up arms and joined the Armed Forces of Ukraine, while others took to volunteering by raising funds and sourcing equipment for Ukrainian soldiers, performing on the frontlines, or training as medics.

Some of their personal stories exemplified Ukraine’s modern civic identity, which has little to do with ethnicity or where you were born. Instead, for many, it’s a choice. Take Yulia Yurina: The Russian-born musician first came to Ukraine as a 18-year-old student in 2012 and soon joined forces with Ukrainian-born Stas Koroliov to form critically acclaimed pop-folk duo Yuko. Today, Yurina—still formally a Russian citizen despite publicly renouncing her citizenship and applying for a Ukrainian passport—is not only a beloved performer, whose recent album encapsulates much of the anger and grief felt by the average Ukrainian, but also a volunteer working tirelessly to provide the Ukrainian Armed Forces with weapons and equipment. “I dance through the bullets as air raid sirens sing to me,” Yurina sings on one of the album’s tracks. “I am disgusted by what you’ve done here, you’re killing souls but you won’t be able to kill our dreams. We are not your friends, your family, or your lovers.”

During the first months of the war, a new subgenre of locally produced music arose. “Bayraktar-core” (the semi-ironic name came from how often these songs mentioned the Turkish drones used to great effect by Ukrainian forces in the early stages of the war) songs were simple, composed over a mere few weeks, catchy, and characterized by their aggressive optimism, constant references to recent events, local politicians, wartime memes, and foreign allies (Boris Johnson, then British prime minister, was mentioned often).

What these songs lacked in lyrical nuance and musical innovation they more than made up for by giving millions of Ukrainians a sense of unity and community amid the chaos and horror. “Occupiers came to Ukraine, wearing new uniforms and driving military vehicles,” go the lyrics of one of the most popular “Bayraktar-core” songs. “But their equipment was soon ruined by the Bayraktar!” Some, such as a viral mashup sampling a folk tune and a phrase spoken by Johnson, made the leap over to English-language social media.

While simple war-themed entertainment (or even anything vaguely patriotic and uplifting) might have been enough for listeners and viewers in the early months of the war, the artistic questions got sharper as the fight went on.

Did performers who left the country soon after the full-scale invasion have a right to make money off of songs mentioning the horrors others faced while staying in Ukraine? Could writers who hadn’t personally experienced life under Russian occupation use the devastation in say, Bucha or Mariupol, in their stories? And what if they conducted interviews with the people who had? Many of these questions lack definite answers, but the public response to various works inspired by the war have been noticeably different.

When writer Daria Gnatko announced in late 2022 that she would be publishing a novel set in Russian-occupied Bucha, many pointed out that not enough time had passed to properly process the events that had transpired in the town, and wondered whether writing a story like this without conducting in-depth interviews with the survivors of the occupation was a form of exploitation. The book, along with another upcoming work by Gnatko, a novel inspired by the destruction and occupation of Mariupol, was postponed indefinitely by the publisher after a wave of public criticism.

Likewise, popular writer Kateryna Babkina’s latest novel Mom, Do You Remember? was met with controversy after the author, who had spent much of the war abroad, announced that the plot would be inspired by the occupation of Bucha. Some reviewers were concerned that not enough time had passed since the liberation of Kyiv Oblast and that the subject was still too triggering for most readers, while others darkly suspected Babkina had only mentioned the tragically famous town when announcing the book to draw more attention to her work.

However, most of this criticism was limited to social media, while the reviews in local publications were much more enthusiastic about the novel—which is told from the perspective of a teenage girl narrowly escaping from Russian occupation with her infant half-sister and trying to build a life for them both abroad—and described it as a touching and delicate work full of compassion.

“If for some Ukrainians the book is therapeutic, for foreigners, in particular for Poles, who can already read Babkina’s story, it gives a more internal context about what war victims experience—who walk the same streets and visit the same shops as they do—actually go through. What challenges and problems they face, what they feel, why some do not learn the language and choose to return home despite the missile attacks, and what is happening in the hearts of millions of children who were forced to grow up one day when their world was destroyed by Russia,” wrote a reviewer for the Polish-Ukrainian outlet Sestry.

The truth is that when it comes to describing experiences as traumatic as an ongoing war, there isn’t going to be a one-size-fits-all perspective or approach. Some readers find works written about or vaguely inspired by something they or their loved ones went through therapeutic, while others find them triggering or even offensive.

When it comes to film, meanwhile, the pre-2022 offerings were earnest but often unwatched. Reviewers treated these movies as important pieces of cinema, but ones that described horrors most Ukrainians preferred not to dwell on for too long. After the full-scale invasion, however, a dark realization dawned: The wartime dramas were now reflections of our own collective experience, and no romantic comedy or workplace drama was going to stop you from thinking about shrapnel and blood.

That was supplemented by the belief that Ukrainians had to bear witness. At a time when many civilians felt abandoned by human rights organizations’ failure to document Russian war crimes (Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy personally called out the International Red Cross over its inaction after the destruction of the Nova Kakhovka dam, while Amnesty International found itself in hot water after publishing a much-criticized report accusing Ukraine of endangering its own civilians), filmmakers took this challenge upon themselves. Documentaries shot during the siege of Mariupol, after the liberation of Bucha, and during the near-constant shelling of Kharkiv became a powerful tool for cultural diplomacy, encouraging non-Ukrainians to support Ukraine, and an instrument to counter Russian propaganda and war fatigue in the West. Perhaps the best-known example is the Oscar-nominated documentary film 20 Days in Mariupol, which garnered universally positive reviews at home and abroad and offered viewers a unique glimpse into the horrors faced by the residents and defenders of the besieged city.

One unexpected wartime challenge is creating entertainment aimed at children. How do you keep kids of vastly different ages entertained while sitting in cold, poorly-lit bomb shelters for hours on end? How do you teach them the rules of wartime safety in an accessible and easy-to-remember format? How do you help them process the heartbreak of losing loved ones, having parents on the frontlines, or living in constant fear of missiles and drones? And perhaps most importantly, how do you begin to broach the topic that there are people who want these kids and their entire families dead? This is when Patron—a real-life sapper dog who became an unexpected celebrity among both kids and adults alike—came in handy.

The wildly popular Jack Russell Terrier, who works as a detection dog and mascot for the State Emergency Service of Ukraine first caught the public’s eye in early 2022, when the dog was awarded a medal for locating and helping defuse unexploded mines left behind by Russian forces after they were driven out of Chernihiv. A video of the bulletproof vest-wearing puppy went viral, and the newly famous dog was soon making charity appearances, visiting kids harmed by the war in hospitals across the country, and even got his own animated web show and book series. Content starring Patron is produced in partnership with UNICEF and aims to teach Ukrainian kids the importance of staying away from abandoned landmines, avoiding suspicious objects left behind by the invading army, and staying brave under difficult circumstances.

Undoubtedly, the full-scale invasion of Ukraine has led to a heightened interest toward local art both among Ukrainians and foreigners, as well as provided an entire generation of artists with stories of sacrifice, courage, and defiance—stories that, despite their complexity, simply must be told, and that may well become modern classics at an international scale. When Penguin Press bought the rights to Ukrainian writer and soldier Oleksandr Mykhed’s autobiographical novel The Language of War, publishing director Casiana Ionita described the book as “a war book that will be read 10, 20, 50 years from now.” But it’s unclear if enough foreign publishers are ready to break their long-standing tradition of viewing events in Ukraine solely through the eyes of their Moscow-educated authors and allow Ukrainians on the frontlines to speak for themselves, like Mykhed, before the war claims them too.

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feminismisstillahatemovement · 24 days

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isn't it crazy how feminism was basically the open door for gender ideologies and now women are waking up for the bullshit, and going rad fem, without realizing the core issues all over again? i mean i follow some rad fems just to see what they are up to, and also because they are speaking violently against this madness, but its just so sad that we keep missing the point people

idk sorry for venting but i would love to read your thoughts on it because usually im just trying to be "sober" against all this, but sometimes its like the whole world went nuts and it feels awful

The weirdest thing, and the biggest issue, is that pretty much everyone you know is 'waking up' to some aspect of the madness of our present age, whether it's because of the transgender insanity, or the targeted hatred of white people, the demonization of men, or being afraid of speaking out against the spread of Islamism, or the overt one-sided political bias of the corporate media, education system and entertainment world.

The big issue is that most people pick just one of these to fixate and obsess upon, while they still carry on supporting and defending all the others, and attacking anyone who tries to stand up against them. It's only when you acknowledge that the same far-left agenda that supports and aggressively promotes one of them also aggressively supports and promotes all the others that you can start to make any sense as to why any of it is happening.

There are two particular groups of feminist friends I used to hang out with: one of them would rage against Islamism, and the treatment of women in Islamic countries, and were furious that speaking out on behalf of those women would get them silenced or even arrested. The other group is furious against the biological males taking over women's spaces, and the state violence greeting any women speaking out against it.

But both groups will still loudly vote Labour, still read the Guardian, and still believe everything else they hear coming out of the BBC or CNN or Disney or Facebook or fill in the blank. And of course they'll still call themselves feminists. It's just that one little thing they have a problem with, that they view as an entirely separate and disconnected issue from all the other madness, and so are completely at a loss when it comes to trying to explain why the world is seemingly making no sense anymore.

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coltermorning · 7 months

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Of Love and Loss Ch. 3 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You and Arthur are both faced with decisions that will change your lives.

Author’s Notes: Chapter three of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

Of Love and Loss

Three: Hunger and Desperation

Word count: 2307

You awoke like it was your first breath, startled into your body, taken back by the feeling of being alive. You sucked down air and felt before you saw. But seeing came on quickly, and with it brought panic.

You were laid in someone’s wagon.

Everything came flooding back to you. It took you a moment of lying there before you could find the strength to move, to lift yourself, to escape. Only you couldn’t. You looked down at the immense pressure at your side to see that your torso had been wrapped in bandages. They delayed your movement enough that the pain wasn’t unbearable. But it was close.

“Welcome back, miss.” A rough, gravelly voice. A gray and red haired head sticking up and obscuring the light pouring into the wagon. A stranger. Was there no shortage of them?

It took all you had, but you pushed up onto your hands. You meant to get up but couldn’t before needing a break. A breath.

“Arthur got you stitched up well enough. He’s not exactly our finest, but you should live to see another day.”

Arthur. The name rattled around your brain a moment before landing on the man who had brought you here—under the watchful eye of all these people. The thought made your skin crawl. Just like that, you found your strength.

You got up and worked through the pain, ignoring the protests of the man and pushing past him. The drop down from the wagon seemed a mile, but you did it anyway and allowed a small cry to escape before you were shuffling away—your best attempt at a run.

“Miss! I really don’t encourage-”

“What the hell’s going on?” The lone voice you knew, the one you didn’t want to hear. Because it was the only one that could stop you.

You continued on, blindly running into the trees, trying not to trip when your vision blurred.

The men behind you squabbled before you heard footsteps. They gained on you so fast you almost laughed in pity for yourself, unbelieving you had ever let yourself get so weak.

There was a hand on your shoulder in seconds. You shook it off and kept going. Even when its owner said, “Hey, I’d stop if I was you, lest you hurt yourself worse.”

You could only feel panic rising in your throat at where you had woken up. Around all those people, inside a wagon. How dare he bring you there. The feeling of the wagon wood digging into your back, your side, the world coming down around you—you tripped up and crashed to the ground without warning, the woods rushing up to meet you.

“What did I say?”

You felt hands hook under your arms, drag you back to a sitting position. You couldn’t do a thing to stop them. You felt like you would be sick again but knew you were beyond the capability. Too empty.

Rough hands steadied you, bringing into focus the same man you wished more than anything you had turned down. You could be lying dead with them now if you had.

“You okay?” he asked. “Are you in pain?”

Always. Your blank stare must have given you away. “Lie back then, let me have a look at you. Make sure you didn’t pull your stitches.”

You did as he said, the soft, enveloping ground like a final resting place. You wished it were.

The pressure in your side heightened as the man pulled at your bandages. You couldn’t make out what he was doing when he got them undone, too busy being accosted by memory to care. You wanted to crawl out of your skin so as not to feel that wagon against your back again.

“Looks fine. You’re lucky. Really could have hurt yourself.”

Lucky. What was the opposite of luck? What was this feeling clawing to be free from your chest? It gripped you like a vise when he spoke. “Let’s get you back-”

“Don’t touch me.”

He paused, one hand hovering over your still-open bandage cloth.

“How could you.” It was a breath, all the energy you had left poured into the hurt of those words. Not a question but a declaration.

“What, save your life? Ride you all this way, keep you from getting yourself killed?” The anger in his voice made you want to melt away into nothingness. You shut your eyes. He sighed like he always did, like he didn’t have the patience for this. “Look, I know you don’t like it here with these folk, but they’ll help keep you alive. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Did you? Truly? The fact was you were too hurt to cling onto life for your parents’ sake. Too broken. You hadn’t factored that into your decision to come here.

You must have been quiet too long for the man’s liking. He scoffed, making you look at him as he stood. “Stay here then, see if I care. Ain’t my job to make you see sense.”

He was right in that at least. You watched him walk away, back toward all those wagons. Each step of distance made your chest well up with sadness. It wasn’t that you were ungrateful. You just couldn’t do this. He was pushing you to live too hard and too fast.

You laid there contemplating what to do. If you truly wanted to live, there wasn’t anything he or any one of the people in that caravan could do for you. It would have to be your decision, your strength. But it was a difficult task when you had such little strength left. Like hanging off a cliff, holding on with two fingers while the world urged, up.

Would you climb or let go?

You looked down at the cloth wrapped around your middle. The fall could have killed you, but it didn’t. The wound could have too. All manner of things—the wrong man finding you under that bridge, an animal sniffing out the carnage. The ride here, these people. You could be dead ten times over. But you weren’t, and your parents were, and there had to be a reason for that. They wanted better for you. You wouldn’t have gotten here if that wasn’t true.

You recalled the last conversation you had with them and felt guilt creep in and make a home within you. You had been arguing over the trip’s outcome, what happened once you reached Nebraska. They were trying their best not to admit it, but they wanted you to stay there without them when they went back home to Montana. They insisted the new place would grow on you, that you wouldn’t want to leave when the time came. You were trying to spell it out for them—you wanted to die on the land you were raised on, keep the homestead running after they were long gone. Had that been too much to ask?

The conversation was cut short when your father had mentioned dinner. Then darkness fell, and with it, the whole world.

You shut your eyes tight against the memory. It had felt like being ten years old again. The whole trip had with all the decisions being made for you. But this was your decision now. The first time out from under their heavy-handed guidance, would you trust their judgment or spite them?

As eager as you were to do what you wanted, you knew your answer. Owing it to them wasn’t enough anymore—you had to want it for yourself. You had to want to live, because doing them the favor didn’t give you the strength to stand up, walk back into that camp of people and prove it. It was all in your hands now. And your parents didn’t raise you to quit when things got hard.

You were a living legacy. What would the world see when it saw you?

You opened your eyes. You were defiant at your core, stubborn and true to your word. You had taken the stranger’s hand, you had held onto the edge of the world. You would not falter now.

Through gritted teeth, you sat up. You swallowed your fear and tightened your bandages. You rose to your feet. The world swayed, but you stood firm. All thought of obligation behind you, you took the first step.

You would live.

“She’s your responsibility now, Arthur.”

“In case you ain’t noticed, she don’t want me around. Any of us for that matter, and I ain’t forcing her to act otherwise.”

Hosea leveled Arthur with the same knowing look that never failed to rile him. Like he knew better. And maybe he did, but that didn’t make the situation any less impossible.

“So what, you’re gonna leave her out there? Let her die?”

“I’ll help,” Arthur shot back. “But I ain’t convincing the woman to live.”

“Arthur,” Hosea chided. “It ain’t about-”

“Leave it, you two,” Dutch said, ambling over. Arthur was ready to argue with him too, his anger having nowhere to go until Dutch nodded his head toward an approaching figure. You. You looked miserable, curled in on yourself whether from pain or embarrassment Arthur couldn’t tell. He was willing to bet on the latter given that you wouldn’t meet anyone’s eye.

“She ain’t talking. To me at least,” Dutch said.

Hosea looked to Arthur, though he wouldn’t meet his gaze. He didn’t have to look to feel that knowing attention. Instead he watched you shuffle over with your hand over your bandaged side. When you were finally close enough, you stopped and stared at him like no one else was there.

“Take me to Nebraska.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up at your nerve.

“Please,” you added.

He had already considered it when you asked the first time and had already thought better of it. Colorado was easier.

“Why there? Why not just-”

“Family’s there,” you interrupted.

Tired of talking in circles, Arthur looked to Hosea for help. He shrugged.

Dutch spoke. “I thought you said you didn’t have family.” You flinched at his voice but otherwise ignored him wholly, eyes planted on Arthur. Why he had had the fine idea of rescuing you in the first place when this was what it landed him…

“Just come with us. It’s a hell of a lot quicker, and we won’t starve to death in the meantime. Or I can let you off at the next town.”

You shook your head as soon as he got the words out. He felt his patience nearing its end.

“Forget it. Stay here or find someone else to take you then, cause I done more than enough already.”

“Arthur,” Hosea chided.

“What?”

“He’s got a point, Hosea,” Dutch said. “We need him here.”

Hosea studied you long enough that silence took over. It seemed to make you uneasy—you finally met the old man’s eye.

“Why don’t you take her?” Arthur muttered to him.

“Now, hold on. I ain’t having him going out and getting killed on account of-” Dutch started before Hosea held up a hand, silencing him.

“I can take her. What do you say?” This to you. Whatever hopes Arthur had of you accepting plummeted when you met his gaze again. You were afraid, eyes wide like an animal’s, pleading.

“You should go with him,” he assured you. “He’s a whole hell of a lot easier to get along with than I am.”

You shook your head and whispered, “Please.” And damn you for looking so helpless—it tugged on something deep within Arthur he normally had a better hold on.

“If I say no…” he started, wondering how desperate you really were. “What’s your plan? Running off on your own?”

Tears started to form in your eyes. And again he had that nagging feeling—the want to help where help was needed. The same feeling that had made him take you all this way.

“Please,” you said again, this time with the hint of a sob in your voice. Begging him.

Arthur tore his gaze away. He couldn’t stand that.

“Take her, Arthur,” Hosea urged.

“We can’t spare him,” Dutch replied. “We need him here.”

“John can scout,” he shot back. “And anyone can hunt as well as he can.”

“Hosea…” Arthur met his eye, unspoken words passing between them. He was tired of being pushed to do these things, to do the right thing. At the end of the day, none of it would matter. They were still a bunch of no-good outlaws. But Hosea didn’t budge. And Dutch didn’t argue. And you were starting to cry.

He took a long breath. “Fine.” The way your eyes lit up made him add, “But I got preparations to make before we start off.”

For the first time, a smile crossed your face. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” You turned to walk away, and Arthur was left feeling like an idiot. “Goddamn Nebraska,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You know it’s the right thing,” Hosea said.

“I know it is, and I also know it’ll take me months to get back to you lot. Not to mention the trip she and I could both die on in the meantime.”

“You’re savvy enough,” Hosea said. “Your hunting could use a little work, but that’s nothing a little hunger and desperation can’t fix.” He slapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and smiled. “It’ll be good for you.” Before Arthur could argue that particular nonsense, Hosea left him standing there. He rounded on Dutch for help.

“He’s right, you know. Infuriating as always, but right.”

Arthur brooded as Dutch walked away too. He wondered for the first time in his life what those two fools would do without him. But, it seemed, he was about to find out.

_________

Chapter four is here.

tag list: @tommys0not0beloved @ultraporcelainpig

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

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sparring-spirals · 1 year

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oh. so. this dream and this vision and this exchange after and everything that has been building to here.

All that rage, all that desperation, Imogen's knowledge that Liliana's judgement is flawed and searching for any reason to understand, searching for a way to bring her out of it. Bring her back.

"Show me" and she does and.

Its- beautiful, its wonderful. Its the unmaking of the world and of history and it feels- so good. For a moment Imogen feels something she hasn't for YEARS. A life and a possibility and a future full of peace she hasnt had for ages, hasnt even bothered hoping for. For a moment, Imogen sees it, but more importantly- she feels it- the freedom, the peace, the dream. Stronger than any vision. She sees it. She feels it.

And she wakes up, and she- unknowingly, perfectly, mirrors her own mothers words, looks around, asks- did you see it? Did you all see that? (I wish you all could see what I could see-)

They didn't- of course they didn't. They saw Liliana, too far gone, spouting nonsense, they saw her reach out, they saw the refusal to listen to reason. They did not see the vision. (They couldn't have. Even if they'd seen it- would they have understood? How could they? No beautiful vision would have captured the thing that left the awe in Imogen's lungs- the peace. The freedom. The finality of, finally, finally, being free of this gift that has only been a curse.)

They didn't see the vision. They saw their friend, tapped on the forehead after hopeless pleas. They've been seeing their friend make further and further excuses for someone they know is a danger, someone siding with people they are working so hard against. That has hurt them. They've seen the way she can't quite denounce Liliana. They've hedged around it: If she's not on our side, will you be okay- You know if she's not on our side, we'll have to-

They've been watching. They're seeing plenty. They did not see the vision. They couldn't have.

They saw a fruitless conversation. They saw their friend rebuffed by someone she loves. They saw her wake up with a strange kind of light in her eyes and- say.

What if its not so bad? (The world ending. Half of the world being eaten. Innocent lives lost. Our loved ones cut down for a fever dream and delusions of power and grandeur. Us, cut down, for some stupid plot for a moon and petty revenge against the gods and a desire to end the world.) They've been watching her, make halfhearted arguments, sidle away. Make increasingly desperate excuses. Ask: What if.

(Its so easy to ask, what if. Its so dangerous. Sometimes the if is used to hide away lives and lives of collateral, of blood red loss. Sometimes the if has already been answered and paid for, and the act of asking is its own form of violence, all over again.)

"Well Imogen, I wish my family didn't have to die for her brighter tomorrow."

And the way Imogen collapses, a little- presses her face into her hands and crumples under the weight of the reminder, like voices piling in after weeks of being in blissful quiet in a forest. Like reality breaking in after a beautiful dream. "You're right. I'm sorry. You're right."

"I swear, I wanna see this through, I do."

"She just presented this vision of- it didn't seem so bad."

And the Bells try to help, to be kind. They say: We understand why this must be hard for you. She's someone you love, its hard to deal with them thinking a different way. What did you see?

They are trying so hard, to reason through it, to balance their own hurt with kindness and sound arguments to lead her back. They want so badly, to lead her back. Have her back.

The problem however, is not the soundness of the argument, is not the reason or the logic- but the overwhelming allure of that sensation- of that promise- of the hope- of the ideal. Of a mirage that already drew Liliana in. That is pulling Imogen's gaze, despite. Despite, despite, despite.

Hope is such a tricky thing to kill.

#okay theres like three metas here i kind of wanted to write but it turned into one frankenstein one bc i need to sleep #critical role #c3e49 #cr liveblogging #character meta #imogen temult #bell's hells #liliana temult #the three things here are something like: imigen is compromised in the way the trope of duty bound people going 'im compromised' when they #love someone- THIS is that THIS is the compromise in judgement #2 is that all discussion about flawed reasoning is- not the point. so wholly not the point. imogen is not chasing the reasoning. neither is #liliana. imogen and liliana and probably others have the sensation- have the hope- have the mirage- have a promise (they cant have)#the reasoning twists itself from there. this is how cults work! this is how like! irl dangerous idealogies work! this is why something #technically making sense CANNOT BE ENOUGH FOR A PERSON TO FALL IN LINE bc humans can reason /anything/ if the purpose is strong enough #imogen KNOWS the reasoning isnt sound. shes not convinced by the reasoning. shes hoping and her reasoning is being swayed bc of it.#she apologizes to orym. shes caught up in a sensation #3 is that the bells are so worried and i havw so many feelings about it bc they want to help her they want her to see reason #but theyre so short on time. and this hurts /them/ too. to need to defend this. explain this. at a point they need to prioritize themselves #the mission. their own emotional comfort. they need to know when- when is a lost cause and when isnt. theyve already been worried. at a #certain point- what can you do? this has nothing to do with reason. if emotional appeals wont work- what can you do.#uagahaguagahaghghgg #okay i need to sleep #im going to continue yelling tomorrow and then finish watching this convo and watch the ashton laud convo and YELL MORE #imogen meta #my meta #speculation

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ch4singchase · 3 months

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The Ballad of Moths | LUKE CASTELLAN

Summary: Eurydice grapples with the recent death of her mother and the haunting memories of Viola's tragic passing. Viola's mother, Nicole, reveals a hidden world of mythical creatures and urges Eurydice to seek refuge at Camp Half-Blood.

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Violence, tragedy, emotional distress, parental loss and the death of a child.

chapter one, chapter two | series masterlist

chapter 01: The Day I Talked To A Moth

The memory of Viola's passing remains etched in the corridors of my mind, an indelible mark that time has failed to erase.

My mother, a sage of life's transience, had often forewarned me about death's omnipresence, its silent footsteps trailing each of us, patiently awaiting the opportune moment to guide us into its realm. Yet, she spared me the knowledge that age was no shield against its grasp.

In my youthful naivety, I believed Viola and I, being so young, were exempt from such somber realities. However, reality had a way of shattering illusions, and ours came crashing down during our brief sojourn in Northern California.

My mother and I were perpetual wanderers, rarely settling in one city for long. Our nomadic lifestyle changed momentarily when we found a charming neighborhood that beckoned us to linger a little while longer. Perhaps my mother yearned for companionship beyond my six-year-old self, and I, too, longed for friendships with children of similar age and energy.

In that Californian neighborhood, we discovered a temporary haven, filled with laughter and camaraderie. Viola, a kindred spirit, stood out among my newfound friends. Her mother and mine formed an easy bond, sharing the same wanderlust that defined our nomadic existence. Viola, having lost her father like me, seemed like a twist of destiny, signaling an end to our perpetual wandering.

For a fleeting moment, it felt like we had found our home.

Until we hadn't.

A seemingly innocuous day at the park, filled with laughter and games, took a nightmarish turn. Engrossed in a competitive game of tag, Viola and I reveled in the illusion of safety, oblivious to the impending tragedy. In the blink of an eye, a surreal scorpion's tail pierced Viola's chest, shattering our sense of security.

The ensuing chaos blurred the lines between reality and nightmare. I remember screams and tears, the tight embrace of my mother as she swiftly led us away from the park, leaving California behind. Our return to the road, to the nomadic rhythm of our lives, marked the end of our brief illusion of home.

Viola's mother became a distant enigma, her name slipping away like an elusive echo—Nancy? Nora? Pansy? Patricia? Time had rendered it a mere whisper from the distant past. Yet, fate had a peculiar way of weaving connections, and I encountered her once more, at my mother’s funeral.

It all was still too recent. I could still feel her blood soaking my clothes and how my hands had become red in seconds.

The wounds were still fresh. I could still feel her blood staining my clothes, my hands turning crimson in seconds. Unceasing tears bore witness to the haunting memory, the giant one-eyed man.

Yet, this time, a revelation emerged—it wasn't a man but a Cyclops.

I didn’t know how or why, there was no room for explanations. It simply was.

There were not many people at the funeral.

My mother never talked to me about her parents, so when I tried to reach for them, I didn't have a clue where to start. She also didn’t have any friends, only people she met briefly, some of them were there more for respect than anything else. Since my mom was always the kind of woman that did favors without asking anything in return.

Besides me, there wasn't anyone else that knew her who knew her besides the kind and selfless woman that she was.

No one except Viola’s mother.

I sought refuge beneath my umbrella, a futile attempt to hide the evidence of my tears and the redness of my eyes, which had been incessantly shedding tears since the moment I felt my mom's absence.

“I’m sorry about your mother, dear,” a voice sounded behind me, nearly catching me by surprise.

But I recognized that voice anywhere. When I raised my head and looked into her eyes, I wasn’t startled. Viola’s mom had always been a quiet and astute woman.

I wasn't surprised that she was there; I could wager she had been trying to reach out to me and my mother since Viola's death.

“Thank you,” I uttered, the phrase having become a constant refrain throughout the morning. Everyone present was expressing their condolences.

“I know it sounds redundant when everyone says it to you, but I truly am,” she continued. “Your mom was a fighter. I have no doubt that she didn’t give up for a moment. She always said she would do anything to keep you alive.”

There was a bitterness in her voice, as she bit something back. Every day, I remember the day Viola died. And every day, I remember how her mother could move when her eyes stopped on the motionless body of her daughter, her eyes no longer full of life.

“We couldn’t have done anything to help Viola,” I bit my lips, playing with the nails of my fingers, “That thing- Everything was too fast.”

“Chimera,” she said, her voice low as her eyes darkened in a void. I gave her a puzzled look, “The thing. It was a Chimera.”

“No,” I shook my head, “Chimeras are from fairy tales, they are made up. They don’t exist.”

“Just like Cyclopes?”

I swallowed, feeling something heavy in my chest just from thinking about yesterday. The rain, the car in full speed, the accident, the man… That eye. That one single and creepy eye.

What had he said? That we had been running for a long time? He also had called me by a name, something that I would often be called from time to time again.

Half-blood.

“Your mother never told you for the same reason I never told Viola,” Viola’s mother continued, coming closer to me until her umbrella bumped into mine, “It only makes it easier for them. If we had ever told you, it would mean we would have to accept the idea of keeping you away from us.”

None of her words made sense to me. I tried to pay attention, but each time I felt myself drifting away.

“Them? Who are they? I don’t know what you are talking about.” My grip on my umbrella became stronger.

Viola’s mother wore a strange expression, a kind of fear. Every second, she glanced around before meeting my eyes, as if ensuring that no one was eavesdropping on our conversation.

But there was no one else there, only us. Everyone else had already left after an hour.

“The monsters,” she whispered, gripping at her own umbrella, “They always find you, just like they always found Viola. I could take care of you but I can’t, not since what happened to Viola, I can’t keep you safe”

I frowned, take care of me? I would end up going to a foster house or something like that; the policeman I met that morning was just waiting for me outside. Had Viola’s mother thought of adopting me?

I almost felt outraged at the idea that the only person I had known that was close to my family had given up on me.

But… Keep me safe? Those were her words, what did she mean?

“Safe from the monsters? What are you talking about? There are no monsters, that one eyed guy probably suffered from an accident or I don’t know and that said Chimera for sure could be a giant scorpion.”

I tried to find justifications, answers for everything I had been seeing since I was born. Monsters and creatures no one else seemed to acknowledge. Things that followed me everywhere, no matter where I and my mother went, even in my dreams.

But nothing made sense.

Since my mother left, none of her justifications for what had been happening to our lives made sense anymore.

Those creatures looked too real to simply be my imagination.

I was already fourteen; I didn’t feel that creative anymore.

“You understand now, don’t you?” Viola’s mother sighed, “No matter where you go, they will hunt you down; there’s only one place where you will be safe.”

“Where? I can’t simply go somewhere now; tonight I will go to the foster system,” I glanced at the policeman in the distance, with his umbrella waiting for me.

“The Camp Half-Blood, it’s the safest place for kids like you,” Viola’s mother said, biting the tip of her fingers out of nervousness, “I can help you to get out of this town but after you’re on your own, you are better if you go alone or find others like you in the way.”

Camp Half-Blood… That, for sure, wasn’t a joke; there wasn’t any way that Viola’s mother knew what the Cyclops said to me.

I tried to focus on her face and her words, feeling the reality shift around us. Everything felt real. Too real.

I glanced at the policeman again; I didn’t want to go to a stranger’s family. I wanted to go… Anywhere, a place where I could feel home again, just like I felt when I lived side by side with my mom, Viola, and Viola’s mother.

And if that camp had people like me… People like Viola, I would take a risk. I didn’t have any hope anymore, or direction.

“Okay,” I said, for the more impossible it can sound, “Okay, what’s your idea?”

The idea involved nothing astute or well-planned for a woman like Viola’s mother; she simply grabbed me and ran away to her car, not caring about my fallen umbrella and the rain crashing into my head. She also didn’t give a damn about the policeman screaming at her and chasing us until we got into her car and she hit the car accelerator.

She kept everything that she had said. Viola’s mother drove us to the exit of the city and stopped at a random convenience store near a bus station.

She fished for her wallet in her pockets, getting twenty bucks out of it before handing it to me.

I looked at her with my mouth shut; I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t uttered a word the whole ride.

Perhaps, I was in shock at the time. Deep down, I had hoped she would change her mind and decide to help me find the place or decide to take me with her.

Which wasn’t the case.

I had lied when I said I didn’t have any hope anymore. I think there’s no such thing as a person without hope.

We can’t live without it, even when we know it’s a false hope.

“Now you're on your own,” she took a deep breath, opening the doors of her car, but not daring to look into my eyes.

As if she did so, she would change her mind and decide not to let me go away. The daughter of a mom that had gone through the same things as her, someone that could have been her best friend and now was gone.

The little girl beside her was her daughter, someone that once played with her own daughter.

And now, was a teenager.

How things could have been if anything in that day at that park went differently?

“Thank you, Mrs…” I couldn’t recall her name; I always used to call her Viola’s mother when I was younger.

“Nicole.” Nicole smiled, pressing her lips in a thin line as she glanced at me, “You can call me Nicole, dear.”

“Thank you, Nicole” I smiled back, holding back my tears and taking the twenty bucks before getting out of the car.

Before Nicole drove away from me, she rolled down the window’s car.

“Good luck, Eury” and there she went, into a journey far too different I would take.

How long had it been since someone had called me Eury? I really couldn’t remember.

I looked around, trying to trace a plan. Buy resources and a ticket for the bus, but where should I go?

Viola’s mother didn’t tell me or didn’t know where the camp was, and little I knew where it could be. I walked to the front of the convenience store, staring at the map of the USA that covered the wall on the outside. It could be anywhere.

I was at Massachusetts, Springfield. Once I found the state on the map, I looked up and sighed, where I could go from there? I tried to run my fingers through the dotted lines and the names of the most distant states to the closest ones, thinking about routes and paths that I would have taken before with my mother. Trying to remember the buses and prices, even though I still didn't know exactly where I was going.

Until a moth landed next to my finger, resting from its arduous flight just above Riverhead on Long Island, Baiting Hollow. Its wings were dark with brown details, with no trace of the rain outside.

I looked at the road behind me confused, I was in a more convenient area because of the convenience store, but still the rain outside was heavy. How was that moth so... Intact?

Again, I turned to the moth, observing it cautiously.

"Long Island" A deep voice resonated in my mind, as low as a whisper, almost making me question whether it really was my conscience or the voice of someone I had met before.

But I would definitely remember a voice as serene as that.

Looking at the letters beneath the moth, I swallowed hard. Baiting Hollow, Long Island, right? Would this be the place?

I looked around me, seeing if all this was the sign of a monster, whatever it was. Even though I didn't remember any monster that carried moths, not at that moment.

“I’m trusting you, buddy” I said to the moth, which I know, crazy. It was a moth after all, but at this point, what in my life didn’t sound crazy?

Next thing, I’m buying some snacks, bottles of water and a ticket to New Haven, Connecticut. From there, I would have to figure out what to do next.

At least, now I knew where I should go.

#pjo tv show #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #thalia grace #luke castellan #chiron #dionysus pjo #pjo series #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson and the olympians

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xxoxobree · 11 months

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Viral PT.1- Avatar Apocalypse AU

Fem!Omaticaya!Reader x OC ,Reader x Neteyam

This will be a Neteyam story

Word count- 3.5k

Warnings. - Violence,Mentions of blood , cursing , mentions of blood, mentions of sickness.

Inspo- @xkv go and read theirs ❤️

I remember my home, a place of peace and harmony. A bustling clan where the sounds of Ikrans screeching in the distance were ever-present. The sweet songs of children as they played together, and Kenten flying gracefully at the mere shake of a blade of grass. There was beauty at every turn on Pandora. The trees were glowing, the flora danced in the wind, and the oceans were absolutely beautiful with their glowing waters. One of the things I used to love was picking up gems at the pond adding them to my ever-growing collection. The memories of flying my Ikran, feeling the wind on my skin, and the coolness of the clouds seemed distant. Things were different now, for me and for everyone on Pandora.

✨The Sky People✨

It started with whispers in the wind, but then the sky turned red, and the land began to shake. For some, it was a familiar feeling - they had already faced this enemy once before. The sky people were back, 15 years after their defeat a year before my birth, and their quest to exploit our planet was still their focus.

They rebuilt and established a headquarters, wiping out any signs of life in the surrounding areas. Fortunately for us or perhaps them, they built far away from our clan. Our Olo'eyktan Jake Sully decided to not engage at first. He had been a part of this conflict once before and knew how deadly their weapons and technology could be.

But as the sky people continued to wreak havoc, Jake knew he couldn't stand idly by. Reluctantly but nobly, he led the people in strategic and clever ways against the humans. Ambushes and stealth operations became our forte, and we devastated the sky people.

As the war raged on throughout my childhood, I found myself drawn into the conflict. I, too, joined the war party and fought alongside my fellow Na'vi.

But the battle was not without its losses. I watched as friends and family fell in battle - their cries still echoing in my mind to this day. My own father one of the casualties.

His death was just the tip of the iceberg of the tragedies that was to come ,as the humans did the unthinkable to us , to Pandora.

✨2174-The Raid✨

The day was perfect, or so I thought as I sat sharpening my arrows. I was preparing for the raid that was near, giving myself a chance to think and reflect. I watched my knife slide over the beast bone bringing it to a dangerous point. "Eywa bless this arrow and help me defeat my enemies." I readied my bow and quiver, took a deep breath, and got into the headspace to fight.

But before I could fully immerse myself, there was a soft knock on my door post. It was my mother, and I smiled at her. She led me to the common room of our home where she began painting my face and body with war paint. The bowls filled with purple and white paint sat on the leather carpet that my father had made. I sat still as she painted the intricate patterns that had been passed down through generations.

I watched as her lips curled up into a smile. It was a smile that I had seen many times before, but it still managed to warm my heart. "You're so much like him Ma'ite," she said, her voice tinged with pride. "So strong, so wise for your years. He would be so proud of you."

I felt tears prick my eyes at the words she spoke. I had heard them many times before from members of the clan, comparing me to my father who had died years ago. But hearing it from my mother was special, the one person who knew him the best.

"Thank you Mama," I said, a single tear dropping from my eyes. She wiped it away, replacing the paint that was mixed up with the tear. She gave me another smile, love and adoration in her eyes as she looked at me.

I pulled her in, our foreheads connecting. "I see you Mama," I whispered.

"And I see you my daughter," she replied. "May Eywa keep you safe on your mission."

I hugged her tightly again before standing, making my way out of our home. The sun had just begun its ascent, casting long shadows as I walked with purpose to the rendezvous point.

As I walked, I heard footsteps getting closer to me, and then eventually my name. I turned to look at the culprit, and it was none other than K'amran. I slowed my pace, allowing him to catch up with me. I watched as he strode towards me, his muscles glistening in the sun that peeked over the horizon, his cumberbund drawing attention to his perfectly toned chest and abs.

I continued to study his features, noticing that his hair was braided back into his Kuru, two short braids to the side, a new look for him that definitely showed off just how beautiful he is. "Hello sunshine," K'amran said, flashing me with his gorgeous smile.

I rolled my eyes, a small smile on my face from the silly pet name he loved to call me. "Good morning K'amran, focus," I said as we continued to walk.

"Whatever you want beautiful," he said, grabbing my hand and giving it a quick kiss. I felt my stomach flip at his gesture, but quickly composed myself.

As a young warrior, I vowed to never fall in love after witnessing the devastating effects it had on my mother and me when my father died.

K'amran and I couldn't deny the strong attraction we shared. Despite knowing my beliefs, K'amran expressed his affection and courted me many times, but I always turned him down.

Despite my reservations about love, I couldn't resist the attention and love he showed me. We found ourselves stealing moments together, showering each other with kisses and basking in the pure ecstasy of exploring each-others bodies.

I was snapped out of my thoughts as we reached the rendezvous point, the bustle and urgency of my fellow warriors giving me the adrenaline I needed for our mission. I yipped, calling for my Ikran, watching as she glided and landed in front of me. As I saddled her, preparing for our flight, I comforted her with a gentle pet.

"Hello Y/n." I heard softly to my right. I turned around to see the son of the Olo'eyktan Neteyam, a soft smile on his face. I smiled back, making the "I see you" gesture. "How are you?" I asked, continuing to saddle up my Ikran.

"I'm okay... I love your war paint," he said awkwardly.

"Thank you, Neteyam. My mother painted me today," I smiled.

Neteyam and I were cordial, not spending much time together or speaking much since childhood. As I was about to speak again, I felt two strong arms wrap around me and a kiss to my temple. I knew immediately it was K'amran. Neteyam's face instantly filled with embarrassment. I gave him an apologetic look, mouthing sorry before he told both of us bye and walked away.

I got out of K'amran's grip, turning to face him. "You're so fucking embarrassing," I said, giving him a small shove.

"Come on, Sunshine. It's so obvious he's in love with you. I can't let him have my girl," he said with a smirk.

I gave K'amran a confused look. "In love? What are you talking about, K'amran?" I said, genuinely shocked.

"You're so oblivious, sunshine, he's been in love with you since we were kids." I shook my head, dismissing it as one of his occasional dumb moments. My focus was on the task ahead.

The Olo'eyktan gathered us and went over the mission details. I was paired with Neytiri, and any RDA member was to be executed on sight. Adrenaline coursed through my body as the Olo'eyktan announced it was go time. I ran to my Ikran and made Tsaheylu, letting out a fierce war cry as my mount and took off with the rest of the war party.

We arrived at the site quickly, and the fast-moving train came into view. "Ground team, go," I heard Jake through my comm. A few seconds later, there was a massive explosion, derailing the train.

Neytiri gave me a nod, and we charged in for the attack.

In a flash of movement, I spurred my Ikran forward and darted over one of the enemy's aircraft. With a bow in hand, I pulled back the string and released an arrow, sending it hurtling towards the pilot. My arrow struck true, finding its mark in the pilot's heart. The enemy craft plummeted to the ground and exploded in a fiery blaze. As I landed, I let out a victorious war cry, quickly assuming my position to scan for any further threats.

My elation was short-lived as I noticed something alarming on the ground - Lo'ak and Neteyam, exposed and vulnerable. It was far too dangerous for them to be on the ground in the midst of a battle.

As if on cue, a voice crackled through my earpiece, "Gunship inbound." My heart raced, knowing that they were in imminent danger. I cursed myself for getting distracted and tried to move quickly to take down the ship .

I was too late. I watched the enemy fire two missiles our way. The explosion was deafening, and the sheer force of it sent my Ikran and me hurtling backwards. In the chaos, I lost my grip on the animal and was thrown off, landing hard on my side. The impact was brutal, knocking the wind out of my lungs.

For a few agonizing moments, I lay there, gasping for air and trying to regain my bearings. After a brief moment to compose myself, I reached for the button on my throat comm and pleaded for help. "I need urgent assistance. I'm grounded."

Silence was my only response, and my heart sank with the weight of dread. I repeated my call for help, this time addressing a specific person. "K'amran, I need help, what's your pos?"

When I received no answer, desperation crept in, and I muttered a prayer to Eywa before pressing the button again. "I'm located one click away from the raid. Please."

As I waited anxiously for help to arrive, I took a moment to check myself for any injuries. Fortunately, I only found a few minor scratches here and there, nothing too serious.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar sound, and my ears perked up at the screeching and fluttering of wings. The beautiful creature landed just a few feet away from me, with its rider being Tseni - another warrior with whom I had spent a considerable amount of time.

Despite the pain I was feeling as my adrenaline began to wear off, Tseni quickly dismounted from his Ikran to come to my aid. "Thank you, Tseni," I said, trying to suppress the pain as we began to take off into the air.

After dismounting from Tseni’s Ikran at camp, I clutched my side tightly as the pain intensified. He noticed my discomfort and offered to examine me for injuries, but I slapped his hand away, unwilling to show any sign of weakness.

"I'm fine, Skxawng," I snapped, gritting my teeth against the pain.

Despite being a bit of a pain in the ass at times, Tseni was one of my closest friends. He always had my back and knew just how to make me feel better when I was down. His confusion was evident as he threw his hands up in exasperation.

"You need to go to the Med tent, Y/n," he insisted.

I brushed him off slightly, Limping my way back home but my attention was caught by the sound of the Olo'eyktan scolding his sons as I passed by. From what I could hear, he was lecturing them about the situation they had gotten themselves into.

Exhausted and in pain, I sighed and shook my head at the situation as I finally stumbled back home and crashed. Although I tried to ignore the pain, I knew deep down it wouldn't just disappear overnight. Regardless, I told myself that I would be fine by tomorrow. I called out for my mom but there was no answer. I assumed she must have been busy helping in the med tent. As I lay down, a wave of tiredness immediately washed over me, consuming me.

✨2174-The Outbreak✨

I only know what I was told of that day before the chaos, from my mother; from K’amran. The raid was a success, we had casualties, but they were minimal. We thought we had succeeded, we as a people were not to be underestimated. But what we didn’t know is that the humans had caught onto our tactics, our way of fighting back. They were angry at our resistance, angry that we wouldn’t let them be.

So they created something. Something that they knew we couldn’t fight. Soldiers that were assumed dead but simply unconscious injected with a deadly virus dropped near high camp to be found and brought in. It was a trap, and we had walked right into it.

The soldiers were brought in, Some were whisked to the med tent while others were taken to their homes to be cared for by their wives. Little did we know that bringing them in would be a vital mistake.

As the night fell, a silent invader crept in, spreading its infection rapidly. It sneaked up on us without warning. By the time we realized what was happening, half of the clan was already infected.

I was abruptly awakened by a series of loud crashes echoing through the house. My heart was racing as I quickly leaped out of bed and reached for my bow. I cautiously made my way towards the source of the noises, trying my best to remain quiet. To my surprise, I discovered my mother frantically grabbing as many things as she could.

"Mama, what's happening?" I anxiously inquired, feeling a knot form in my stomach.

"Y/n, there's no time to explain. We need to leave right away," my mother urgently replied.

“Mama, you need to tell me what's happening," I pleaded with a trembling voice.

"Ma'ite, please," my mother repeated, her eyes filled with desperation.

I nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of the situation. I quickly gathered all the things I deemed necessary and joined my mother back in the family room. She looked at me with a serious expression before finally speaking.

"My daughter, listen to me carefully. When we get outside, you need to run and don't stop," she said firmly.

I felt a sense of horror wash over me as I realized just how dangerous our situation was.

Tears welled in my eyes. I whispered, "What's happening?" but her response was stern. "My daughter, now is not the time to cry. I need you to be strong. There's been a terrible infection, and it's spreading wildly." As I was about to speak again, K'amran burst through the doors, visibly shaken and anxious. Tseni followed closely behind him.

"TIME TO GO , RIGHT NOW!" he shouted as he ran out the door. I gave my mom a quick nod before following him.

As soon as I stepped outside, I was hit by a sudden wave of chaos that was beyond anything I could have ever imagined. The air was filled with the sounds of crying children and the haunting screams of people calling out for their loved ones. Everywhere I looked, there were Na'vi bodies lying lifeless, covered in blood. Some were being consumed by others, adding to the gruesome scene.

I let out a blood-curdling scream at the sight before me, momentarily frozen in shock as I tried to process everything. My mind was racing with questions, wondering how this could happen and why it was happening to us. In that instant, my entire world fell apart. Everything I had ever known was snatched away from me in an instant, leaving me reeling and lost. I felt a sudden tug on my arm, and Tseni's voice pulled me back to reality. We needed to keep moving, no matter how hopeless everything seemed.

I gathered my courage and started to run again, my heart pounding in my chest. But suddenly, another Na'vi sprang out in front of us, bringing us to a sudden halt. Its appearance was barely recognizable, its deep blue skin disfigured by black patches that covered almost its entire body. Its eyes were soulless, and it seemed to thirst for blood.

I felt my breath catch in my throat at the sight, and my entire body froze in terror.

"LET’S GO, LET’S GO !" I heard K'amran shout, taking charge of the situation. We ran in the opposite direction, toward the deep forest, but of course, the infected wouldn't let us go without a fight. It chased after us relentlessly, determined to catch us and do us harm, devour us.

As I ran, I couldn't help but look back in horror as one of the infected closed in on my mother. "Mama, come on! You have to come on!" I screamed, reaching out to grab her hand. She was so close, just out of reach, when the infected jumped on her back, tackling her to the ground.

"MAMA!" I screamed, quickly scrambling to take my bow off my shoulder so that I could defend her. I drew the arrow back with all my might, aiming it straight at the infected as it loomed over my mother.

My arrow struck true, hitting the infected directly in the head. I ran towards my mother, falling to my knees at her side to help her.

"Are you okay, Mama? Come on, we need to keep moving," I said urgently, trying to help her stand. But as she leaned her head to the side, I saw the bite mark on her neck, and my heart sank.

"Ma'ite, you have to go. You only have a few minutes," she said tearfully, her voice shaking with emotion.

I felt tears rolling down my own cheeks as I realized the gravity of the situation. "No, Mama, I can't leave you," I said, clutching her hands tightly. But deep down, I knew that I had no choice.

"It's okay, my daughter. You must go. I love you," my mother said softly, trying to comfort me.

But I couldn't bring myself to leave her behind. "I can't, Mama. I won't leave you," I replied, my voice shaking with emotion.

Tseni's voice suddenly rang in my ears, urging me to move. "Y/n, there's more coming. We have to go now," he urged me urgently. But I ignored him, still clutching tightly onto my mother's hand.

However, my resistance was short-lived, as K’amran suddenly hoisted me up onto his shoulder and started running. "NO! NO! K’AMRAN , PLEASE!" I screamed, watching in horror as my mother's figure grew smaller and smaller in the distance, lying motionless on the grass.

Tears flowed freely down my face as I realized that my mother was gone. The same overwhelming emotions I had felt when my father died kicked in instantly. I knew that my life would never be the same again.

After we had run far enough, K'amran gently set me back down on my feet. His eyes were bloodshot and red, and I could tell that he was on the verge of breaking down. I had never seen him so distressed before, and I knew that he had good reason to be.

"I'm sorry, my love," he whispered, pulling me into a tight embrace and placing a gentle kiss on my temple. I melted into him, grateful for the comfort he provided, as wrapped his arms around me. Our moment of peace was interrupted by Tseni's low voice, urging us to keep moving. He sounded upset as well.

Despite my uncertainty about our destination, we walked for what felt like hours, with K'amran's hand providing a much-needed source of comfort. Suddenly, my ears picked up on the sound of rustling in the distance. I quickly let go of K'amran's hand and whispered, "Something's coming."

As I prepared my bow, Tseni pointed towards a nearby tree, gesturing for us to take cover. Without hesitation, we followed his lead and positioned ourselves behind the tree, bows at the ready.

Peeking out from behind the tree, we waited until it was close enough to strike. Suddenly, we jumped out from behind the tree, screams filling the air.

But then, to my horror, I saw who we had attacked: the Olo'eyktan's children - Neteyam, Lo'ak, and little Tuk. My bow fell from my grasp as I realized what had just happened.

"Neteyam," I called out to the boy, filled with regret and sorrow.

Part 2

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stuckybingo · 2 months

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It is time to Resurrect Stucky!

Reclists Part 4

Back in December, the call was put out for fans to create a Stucky Renaissance on Tumblr. We at Stucky Bingo are all about our two favorite centenarians and participants for this event helped to create a series of reclists for all of our fellow Stucky enthusiasts to enjoy.

This reclist is dedicated to Fanfics to the One-Shots. The Fics that give up a great, quick(ish) hit of Stucky. And they are safe to read at work!

#BeGayDoCrime by Peredur (Teen, 548) Steve's getting out of the Army... And out of the closet too

Saké It To Me by Kalee60 (Teen, 8.2k) Being roped into speed dating was not how Bucky imagined spending his Friday night, especially when he realises some of these people might just be a little bit over his pay grade. But then Steve sits down, gorgeous, friendly and full of genuine warmth. Within mere minutes he manages to completely charm the pants off Bucky (or so his future self hopes). So why then, after such a strong connection, didn't Steve call him? Cue some self indulgent pining, a meddling housemate and his redhead accomplice, unintentional saké misuse and a surprise revelation of super proportions.

The Sunrises in Wakanda by Girl_Back_There (General, 2.8k) The sunsets in Wakanda are unrivaled if you ask anyone lucky enough to see them and Bucky agrees. They are truly spectacular, but Bucky prefers the sunrises. The start of a new day in this life he managed to carve for himself since the fall of Hydra.

That time Steve kissed every single Avenger (and also Bucky) by SquaresAreNotCircles (Teen, 9.4k) It’s Clint who bravely breaks the silence by clearing his throat. “So, uh,” he says, “did all of you just get kissed by Captain America, or did I totally hallucinate that because I haven’t had my caffeine shot yet?”

Kiss the cold, white envelope, press my lips against his name by Girl_Back_There (Teen, 2.6k, Warnings: Minor Homophobia) Sitting in a room at the Wakandan Palace King T’Challa graciously put him in, Steve stares at a box. Its contents untouched for over 70 years now. ‘Sargent James Buchanan Barnes’ is all that is on the label. Steve sits and stares at the box of Bucky’s things trying to find the courage to open it. He couldn’t after waking up five years ago. 67 years had passed since Bucky died and it felt like he watched Bucky fall only a few weeks before. He still couldn’t open it even after SHIELD’s collapse into HYDRA two years ago. When Steve found out Bucky was still alive. But he needed to open it now to help his best friend.

Steve's Special Day by endlesstwanted (Teen, 1.8k) How Steve used to celebrate his birthday is very different to how he celebrates it now. The only thing that keeps the same is Bucky right by his side.

I'm Gonna Go, No Matter The Outcome by endlesstwanted (Teen, 2.9k, Warnings: Mild Blood) When Bucky comes back home after getting in a fight, Steve's of course fuming, but it gives them a chance to talk and get closer than they've been before. Every cloud has a silver lining after all.

Waking Next To Him by endlesstwanetd (Teen, 2,2k, Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence) As far as he can remember, Bucky has always hugged Steve searching for warmth and having his own feelings reciprocated. Sometimes they would cuddle to sleep, but Steve rarely woke up next to him. Until he did.

Stucky At Six by Andrea1717 (Teen, 7k) Steve and Bucky are best friends and for their new live show they have to pretend to date. Easy, right?

I'm not Me when You're Away by Tator (Teen, 8k, Warnings: AU: Mafia, offensive language, limb loss from mafia violence) “Didn’t know the Russians took in fags,” Abba sneered as he was drug up from the table. Ivan elbowed him in the back of the head. “You’re lucky he came. Barnes might not have been so merciful otherwise.” or the 5 times Steve kept Bucky from doing his own dirty work and the 1 time he did it for him

Point and Click by Girl_Back_There (Teen, 823) It's James-Freaking-“Bucky”-Barnes and Steve may actually faint when the object of his affection seeks him out.

Spice, spice, baby by nicoline1998enilocin (Teen, 1.2K) It is the first day of the fall season, which is officially Steve's favorite time of the year. From the leaves changing color to getting to wear warm, cozy sweaters, and from the rainy days inside to strolling through New York with Bucky after said rain, he will never get enough of this time of the year.

Perfectly imperfect by nicoline1998enilocin (Teen, 1.4K) Bucky has been stressed from his missions lately, so Steve surprises him with a romantic night at home. Just the two of them and a candle-lit dinner, a massage, and some soft music. That's all Bucky could ever want, and he's very thankful to have someone as sweet and caring as Steve as his husband.

Five Times Steve Ruined My Life + One Time He Was Deemed Acceptable: a memoir by Alpine Barnes (Rogers) by Becassine, britbrit99 (General, 2.6k) I didn’t have the most auspicious start in life. Quickly abandoned by my mother—though who could blame her with five mouths to feed, and barely a dumpster to raid—I had resigned myself to death. My cruel fate. (Or, I would have done, had I had the brains to. I can be forgiven: I was, after all, only two weeks old.) But fate was foiled! My salvation came in the shape of an ex-soldier with a kind smile and blue eyes, with tousled brown hair. Bucky. My Bucky. Otherwise known as a 5+1 from Alpine's POV on Steve and Bucky's dating life. Spoiler alert: she is not impressed.

#stucky #resurrect stucky day #stucky bingo #stucky fanfic #fanfic #sfw fanfic #one shot fanfic

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lazyyogi · 2 months

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Hi Lazy Yogi, I've followed you for many years. but I changed accounts so it looks like I'm new. For the first time ever, I have a question.

For context, I live in Israel. You may have heard about this place on the news, we're insanely small but somehow get a lot of attention on the world stage. If you have negative feelings towards us I totally understand, we tend to be portrayed badly by mainstream media. I won't go into defending any side here because everyone is at fault. But the main background for my question is that in October, unprovoked, thousands of terrorists forced their way into our homes to murder, rape, and kill thousands of innocent men, women, and children. And kidnapped hundreds more. For months now we have been at war with these terrorists.

Now, I've casually followed Buddhist texts and ideologies for over a decade and very much relate to the spirituality. However, I'm struggling to understand or find support in Buddhism for such extreme times and sufferings. How does Buddhism look at war? What if sometimes it's necessary? How do you process that? What do you do in times of such extreme societal trauma? Where do you even begin?

Anyways, I don't expect you to have the answers, but if you do happen to have any suggestions for readings, quotes, or anything at all to help, it would be much appreciated.

Wishing for peace,

Spiritually-caffeinated

There are many different buddhist traditions and they each may say something different on these matters.

Overall, war is bad. Violence is bad. It should be avoided in all its forms, as it causes harm and spreads ignorance. That said, war is not always avoidable.

There are contexts in which you see Buddhism and the martial arts blended together. Whether we are talking about Shaolin kung fu or Buddhist samurai, the martial arts were regarded as a way to deepen our self-discipline and bring our minds and bodies into harmony. In terms of combat, there were elements of self-defense, overwhelming offensive attacks, and engaging in warfare.

It is difficult, however, to draw direct parallels from those examples to the present day. The form that warfare has taken is drastically different. From terrorists embedding themselves in civilian infrastructure to military use of drones, weapons of mass destruction, and cyberwarfare.

You ask where to begin when living in such times of extreme societal trauma. I would say you begin with yourself. Seek out the violence within your own mind and heart. Resolve to free yourself from it. And then do the work to do so. Daily meditation and mindfulness practice is a good way to start.

The vow to "Free all beings," begins with freeing them from you.

With regard to the current bloodshed around Gaza, the spread of violence has gone far beyond the battlefield. It is in the minds and attitudes of the people who identify with either side. The spread of division is the spread of ignorance.

Generally the spiritual approach to the disputes of humanity is this:

"You cannot solve a problem with the same level of thinking that created the problem."

That said, I certainly have no solutions for any of this.

I am from a Jewish family, was raised Jewish, and I've been to Israel a few times, although I do not practice Judaism. It is because of my Jewish heritage and upbringing that I was taught to be especially mindful of those who are enslaved, oppressed, discriminated against, and made victim of genocide. Because I know the stories and histories in which the Jewish people were subject to all of that.

And its for those reasons that I cannot rationalize the dramatic loss of civilian lives due to Israel's military strikes in Gaza. The numbers are staggering and the conditions are gruesome.

At the same time, Gaza's government is a literal terrorist organization that, as you've stated, conducted a raid in which thousands of Israeli civilians were raped and murdered, while several hundred were kidnapped. It is an action that would have seen intense military response by any capable nation. I don't know what Hamas expected their horrific raid to accomplish and I am surprised that I don't see more condemnation of Hamas from those who support Palestine.

It is this terrorist organization that should be eradicated and yet due to the way terrorist groups embed themselves in civilian populations, it is nearly impossible to do so without incurring substantial losses to civilians. We have seen this time and again in varying circumstances all over the world.

I pray for a safe and peaceful Gaza living alongside a safe a peaceful Israel. How do we get from here to there? I don't know. But I can tell you it won't come from more civilian deaths, more hate, and more division.

A book I have always found helpful for meeting the most challenging aspects of human life is The Places That Scare You by Pema Chodron. Give it a read; I hope it helps you, my friend.

May all beings be free.

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seal-berry · 7 months

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sooo

-jay and little destiny left behind bonnie and jays siblings right after their father possibly died

-golbetty couldve eaten simon and he wouldve thanked her and had his wish to be with her forever granted but nope he gets to be PATHOLOGIZED! dont worry simon, your problem has a NAME and its CODEPENDENCY. phew, sure am glad that thorny, complicated topic gets wrapped up nice and neat! be sure to pick up a copy of "the body keeps the score" on the way out, simon. (no shame against that book but the things people assume after reading it are wild and labelling a relationship that has some small flaws as toxically codependent to the point of breakup is one of them)

-fionna gets to get told WHATS WHAT about how STUPID she is for wishing magic was real. just picket and play roller derby like a normal girl, its not like the world needs to REALLY change... changing it might risk what you have! and you APPRECIATE what you have, right fionna? need to watch your friends die some more so that you accept wage slavery america as the pinnacle of existence? you should be sorry for thinking it was so boring, thats not very self care of you fionna

-oh but cake gets to stay. because uhhh. idk. it would be fucked up to have a detransition narrative, i guess? and shes not a 20-something who needs to grow up. i guess we cant accidentally teach our audience to become stretchy cats, so its fine, its not teaching them anything bad! but fionna being magical, now THAT would send the wrong message

- every other couple gets to have romantic/imperfect/codependent moments-- gary sacrifices his WHOLE DREAM for marshall. but the writers know its not very 2023 of them to make the gays more problematic than just. having some psychosexual violence thrown in there for spice. but simon and betty? sorry you werent perfect and she dont want you no more

-any romance that ends with "i am willingly breaking it off with you even though we could be together" needs to work HARD for that to satisfy. golbetty couldve eaten simon and he wouldve thanked her. blowing him off into the world IS DISREGARDING HIS WISHES! it just feels like they imposed Recovery Aesthetic onto simon and fionna and were like see :) Happee Ending! dont look at all the loose threads, simon went to THERAPY! zoomers love when old men go to therapy, right?? simon and betty's issues werent wrestled hard, long, and to the ground enough on-screen to sell that she doesnt want him anymore and that that truly is the best ending she can bring with her ultimate power, it reads that golbetty truly did override betty's self and changed her into an unrecognizeable figure. its so stupid that adding a little bit of pathologizing therapy talk can make people say this was good.

and codependency IS pathologizing. how much dependency is healthy, at what point does it tip into being too toxic to save? that depends on which therapist youre talking to. humans are wired for connection, no amount of CBT and DBT will make you not mourn losing a connection, and the pain of that loss shouldnt be used as evidence that you should just be less attached. simon isnt a mind reader, and betty made her choices. you can call it a "fawn response" but that still implies that you think she was unfit for autonomy. if she really doesnt regret those choices, why doesnt she want to be with simon? that question is not answered well enough to leave it not feeling like a swerve for audience members who arent projecting their own codependent experiences onto betty. the text alone doesnt support it enough for that to ring true, not when they only actually delved into the topic for about 5-10 onscreen minutes. Not to mention the fact that the ending ends with a fucking montage where it looks like simon just turned happy and is living his dream of cheers sitcom life. is that really better than becoming one with your beloved crazy wife forever? is that actually more realistic, in the visceral emotional language that stories speak? is it a more satisfying ending, getting 80% there and then saying "actually this dramatic cool story has some Problematic Elements, I'm going home"?

i wish they gave her more lines. they couldve given her more lines, made simon talking at the audience into a real conversation, and they didnt. there were so many things they couldve done and it ended up at something just as toxic as whatever codependency they were railing against, the idea that the relationship we were shown was too toxic and flawed and that betty was clearly fawning for simon and not capable of making her own decisions while simon shouldve stepped up and fixed that for her. they want to play it like "we must go our separate ways" but there's no must. this is still a choice betty is making, to break up with simon for good, and that choice was always gonna be a hard sell but not even letting betty have more than a few lines about it? how do you expect to sell such a big emotional shift? therapy speak, apparently.

and they seriously played the "simon goes back to his life" card WITHOUT a marcy scene??? lazy heroes journey shit.

#fionna and cake

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glitchdollmemoria · 8 months

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content warning, talk of severe ableism against people on schizospectrum / experience psychosis.

worst thing about people who try triggering schizospec/psychosis on purpose is - can try explaining to them, its dangerous, can lead to injury or death, suicide, accidents, violence from others, even murder. or hospitalization and psychiatric abuse, or loss of job, failing school, loss of relationships, friendships, ability to care for family. or just, overall horrifying distress regardless of other consequence. can explain as politely possible, can plead, can beg to be understood. can beg to understand that no, not a fucking joke, is painful and hurts and so fucking dangerous. and some will understand, some wont have known, will feel bad and stop once explained - but some wont. MANY wont.

these are people refuse to be reasoned with. refuse to see personhood. see us as toys, entertainment, up to our death. dolls to throw away. animals, or lesser. inhuman. would not be surprised if some, many, the type to commit the violence themselves, to kill us themselves. see us as a blight on humanity. unworthy of safety, happiness, life, comfort, joy. hate us. truly, truly hate us. and trying to reason with will only bring more danger.

fragility of symptoms means dangerous to defend ourselves. i myself, im lucky, have enough lucidity (at least have for a while) to know these people are just childish. have support system even in my isolation, have beliefs which protect my connection to reality, partly, or at least protect ability to reduce risks. not everyone does. not all can afford to defend, must only hope for best and stay quiet. i must be loud for my siblings who cant be, but even so, must be so cautious. because am still disadvantaged. and cannot reason with those who laugh at my my suffering, my death.

(a note: PLEASE do not refer to these assholes as "unempathetic", "narcissistic", "sociopaths", "antisocial". am low empathy person with NPD. do not need empathy to value others safety. empathy does not prevent this behavior, empaths commit violence and unkindness as well, so so frequently. cannot truly advocate for some mental illnesses while throwing others under the bus. just say "cruel", "hateful", "disgusting" etc.)

#ableism cw #psychiatric abuse cw #suicide cw #murder cw #abuse cw #actually schizospec #actually psychotic #mental health awareness #mental health advocacy #mental health advocate #want this to be seen! want people to understand! very ok to rb!

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mosquito-queen · 10 months

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“And then?”

“And then there was a great earthquake that sank Atlantis and no one ever saw her again.”

“No, dad! You’re mixing up the stories again!”

“Oh? Am I? Do you think you could tell it then?”

“Yes, of course. Lay your head down,” She pats the purple pillow at the head of her bed and hands him her stuffed dog, “and here’s Hawkeye. Get tucked in, and it works best if your eyes are closed so you can see the story.”

“Right, thank you, Katie.” He plays along, pulling the extra blanket from the foot of the bed over his torso and settles into the pillows. His daughter sits criss-crossed next to him, her back against the wall as she holds open a book.

She clears her throat before beginning, “Dad, your eyes are still open.”

“Sorry, ok,” He squishes them shut, “I’m ready now.”

Kate adjusts so her knees are pulled up and she can rest the book against the tops of her legs. She turns the page, which is just a formality because she does not plan on reading from the children’s book.

Her father never does - only pretends while he makes up his daring tales of adventure. Kate is seven now and knows there isn’t a character named Pigsy Pie in the Magic Treehouse, but it’s too funny when her dad speaks his lines in a high pitched voice to tell him otherwise. It’s become their inside joke. Now it’s her turn.

She slides her finger down the page of Peter Pan, clicking her tongue like she’s just found where she had left off from the previous day, “Ah, yes, here we are. Our brave goddess isn’t in Atlantis, but she’s stuck in the Underworld!”

Kate frowns. The word ‘stuck’ doesn’t fit quite right. Feels funny in her mouth. “No, wait, dad. We have to start over and go back.”

“Just erase the page, Kate, and you can change the story.”

She nods very seriously, checks to make sure her dad’s eyes are still closed, and takes her hand to lightly swipe over the pages. Once satisfied with the course correction, she continues:

“A long time ago, before you and mom, and grandma, and the dinosaurs,” Her dad chuckles, “There were super powerful people, like Hawkeye, but not really people. They were made from the stars and outer space stuff probably, and it went something like this…”

***

The thundercloud over Olympus has not budged for forty nights. It had clawed its way from the underbelly of a rather calm sky until it made a black eye of Zeus’s realm. It was festering now like a rotted wound.

It started with a question, seemingly mild on the surface: “What do you mean she isn’t here?”

“I-I’m terribly sorry my lord, but no one has seen her.” And his servant had looked to the other, the smallest glance, and the sky had split open with a crack. The glance said: I know we have not yet discussed how we will speak our way out of this ordeal, but go along with this story for now.

And before Zeus seized Violence by the throat, he looked to Force and asked: “Is the other one still here?”

Force had her gaze lowered to the floor, “Yes. Yes, she remains.”

And then Zeus unleashed his wrath with a flash of red and the anger seemed to have turned into an overcast sky that every so often spit fire like venom.

He had lost one of his assets. He had lost. If Zeus was anything, it was a sore-loser. Demeter had fled and left her sister behind. Not a total loss. Still a loss.

The sisters had been captured as soon as Zeus defeated his father. They were born of something older, almost peers of Kronos, and Zeus feared them for it. He had to destroy them and remake them in his image. He had to.

Except Demeter escaped and now there was this obscene weather phenomenon seeping acid rain on his beautiful city. His subjects and lovers thought the powerful storm came from his own doing. They thought his mood so sour that it could conjure such a rage.

They were wrong. It was the abandoned sister’s anguish that drove the unrelenting storm. She mourned with the intensity of a thousand dying suns, and it was ruining Olympus.

So Zeus had done the next best thing: he had involved the Fates. Now he stalks towards the cell holding the remaining sister, his plan unfolding as Force and Violence follow in his shadow.

He opens the door that only responds to his electricity, and it reveals the thing he is most fearful of: a goddess born of death and life. She bares her teeth like a hound, but her hands and feet have been anchored together with old magic. She howls. He knows she would rip open his flesh and eat his heart. He worries she still might be able to.

That’s why he takes something wrapped in golden fleece from Force. That’s why Violence holds down the cursing goddess. She is too powerful to completely eradicate. He must recreate her in his image.

Zeus says to the goddess: “With these scissors forged from the flesh and bone of Kronos, I will cut you in two halves and you will never know your whole self.”

Her screams shake the room, rattle the entirety of Olympus.

And when he is done, and her new souls are wading away from the waters of the River Styx, he says: “From this time forth, you will be known as Persephone, the Goddess of Spring, and your shadow shall be Hades, King of the Underworld.”

***

“Hey kid, your nose is bleeding.” Derek Bishop had opened his eyes part way through his kid’s story. He had double checked the title on the upside down book in her hands, but it gave no insight to where his daughter was going with her tale. And now her nose was bleeding. She wasn’t moving though, just staring blankly at the pages of the book. The blood slowly spreading down her face.

“Kate?” Nothing. He reached out to squeeze her knee, “Hey, let’s go get that cleaned up before it gets on the blankets.”

Her eyes focused, “What?”

He’s frowning, rolling out of the bed and motioning for Kate to follow him, “Your nose. It’s bleeding. Come on, let’s get a move on.”

“Oh yeah, mom wouldn’t like it if it stains.”

“Yeah, don’t wanna make her mad, huh? You feeling okay?”

She shrugs in response and follows him to the bathroom just a little down the hall from her room. He says over his shoulder, “Put your head back, Kate, and pinch your nose.”

Now, in the bathroom her dad is tilting her head back to sneak a wad of tissue into her nose, “That was a heck of a story, kid. Where’d you hear it from?”

She waits for him to stop messing with the tissue, before answering: “I don’t know.”

“Was it your mom?”

“Mom doesn’t tell stories.”

“Something on TV?”

She tries to think, swings her legs from her perch on the toilet seat, but something hurts in the middle of her brain, so she stops trying to remember: “No, I don’t know.”

“Katie, the other side of your nose is bleeding.”

#bishova hades au #bishova #kate x yelena #katelena #bishlova #kate bishop #yelena belova

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