#its more difficult to accept that your own people not only caused but continue to benefit from the genocide of my people

[whitehairedanimeboyfriend]

"If this sort of genocide happened in somewhere like America people wouldn't be ignoring it."

*stares at the camera in Native American*

this isn't to downsize the the slaughter of Palestinians but to point out that America is more than comfortable with slaughter not only overseas but on its own soil so long as it secures their efforts in colonization. If you call me a Zionist for this post I'm taking your bones.

#it just makes me wonder #who exactly do you think counts as a person #what is an acceptable tragedy to you #and i feel like its easy to blame Israel because of antisemitism and how deeply it runs #its more difficult to accept that your own people not only caused but continue to benefit from the genocide of my people

[cinnamonest]

Beleaguer

"Failed escape attempt" yandere series - Diluc

WARNINGS: dark content, fem reader, noncon, captivity, belting/spanking, manhandling, humiliation, darling has a somewhat defined personality, hair pulling, implied forced impregnation at the end, forced fem/housewifization + thinly veiled if not wholly unveiled misogyny, swearing, there's a lot going on here and none of it is holy

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‘Fill cap to line. Causes intense drowsiness and loss of motor function within 5-10 minutes. Soluble. Do not operate heavy machinery if taken within the last 24 hours.’

You blinked a few times, focusing your vision. Your mind could be deceiving you, after all. But when you looked again, the vial in your hand read the same words as it did moments before.

You'd merely gone to set the oil back into the cabinet when the force of pushing one knocked over another further within, coming across the bottle in the very back in the process of fixing the mishap.

You grasped it firmly in your hand, merely blinking in disbelief as you read over the words again and again.

“Oh my God.”

You spoke aloud to yourself, standing alone in the spacious kitchen, the words slipping out on their own in a low whisper.

Daily life as you now lived it brought a sort of mind-numbing stillness to it. Life was repetitive and uneventful. You woke at the same time, performed the same mindless tasks, the same chores, the same interactions. You said hello and good morning to the same maids every morning (you'd lost the willpower to continue being cold to the staff a long time ago), you came down and went through the same routine, wore the same clothes, had the same conversations.

The only thing that ever changed was a few different foods on rotation from week to week and the names and faces of the strangers that came in and out of the lower rooms - although they were all one and the same to you, their attitudes and the way they treated you and looked at you was as though each was the same individual with merely a different face.

And consequently, you'd reached a state of numbness, you went through the tasks mechanically, without thinking, perhaps intentionally shutting down your mind to make acceptance easier. Disconnected, unreal, everything melted together and the days and the people were all one long continuous sequence of occurrences.

It was easier that way. Resisting brought anger, frustration, tears, misery. Allowing the numbness to take over allowed some escape from the reality itself.

Which was likely why reading the words themselves felt like a shockwave through your body, as if suddenly the world regained its colors, you could feel your heart beating and your lungs fill with air. Like a sharp and sudden awakening from an endless, empty, dreamless sleep.

You felt a sudden wave of shame immediately following the shock, chastising yourself for even allowing that numbness to take over, like you might have felt angry with yourself in the past for oversleeping or spacing out and missing something important.

You recognized the handwritten label stuck to the bottle, having gone to the same place for something or another in the past — the alchemist’s lab in the city. That essentially meant it had to be highly effective.

Not only that — the fact that the seal was broken and about a third of the liquid gone, would mean it was very likely the same substance used on you more than once. If so, “drowsiness” was an understatement — it would knock you out cold for hours at a time.

You heard yourself breathing in ragged, quick breaths, you stumbled and steadied yourself against the counter, looking up and around you, suddenly aware of the world around you, everything felt real. The emotions came flooding back — humiliation, resentment, fury.

This was a way out. A miracle.

In your sudden awakening, your mind, sprung back to function, as if the wheels were once again turning, took only a mere minute to formulate a plan. It wasn't really difficult at all — in fact, there was perhaps not a single moment more perfect for you to have stumbled across this opportunity. You were, after all, just about to fill glasses, the final step in your meal preparation.

You set the vial down and ran over to the other cabinet — wiping your hands on your apron to rid them of any residue from cooking — and opened it up, swiping a bottle of juice and returning to the center of the kitchen. The corners of your mouth pulled upwards beyond your control into a grin as you went about the process.

Have a taste of your own medicine, bastard.

You smirked even wider, practically beaming as you popped a tablet out of the packaging, dropping it into one of the glasses. It made a fizzing sound as it grew smaller and smaller, and you watched with wide eyes as it disappeared. Just to be certain, you bent your head down and gave it a sniff, but there was no distinguishable smell or color that would give it away.

And you were certain that, if this was in fact the same drug that you'd consumed, there was nothing about it that tasted unusual.

And once it was complete, for yet another moment you merely stood, staring, grinning and trembling, processing this sudden turn of events. It would be easy, right? The sun was already about to set, the staff were no longer in the fields except for a few security guards that patrolled here or there. It would be easy to spot and avoid them.

You just had to get Diluc to drink this, wait for him to pass out, and run, right? Sure, traversing the road barefoot might be difficult, but that would probably be the extent of your hardships, provided you could get out.

Get out, get on the road, make a straight shot for Mondstadt, go straight to the knights and tell them everything that had happened to you. Maybe you could steal one of the horses they kept for plowing to make your getaway. Your chest burned at the thought of getting your revenge — no, your justice. You deserved this, you deserved freedom — and he deserved whatever consequences would come his way.

…No. You realized, albeit with frustration, that getting revenge wasn't really an option. He had power and money, and you knew all too well how good such people were at evading consequences.

You would just have to run. Staying in Mondstadt certainly wasn't an option. You'd just go… somewhere. Specifics didn't matter as long as you got away from here.

And sure, you'd made a few attempts to get out before, quickly foiled and harshly punished. But you'd never had an advantage like this before. He couldn't chase you down if he was out cold.

You took deep breaths, trying to calm down. It would all be over soon.

You finally managed to wipe the mischievous grin off your face. You knew you couldn't afford risking him getting suspicious if you were too outwardly giddy. Instead, you tried to maintain only a small smile, the numb, dopey smile you'd trained yourself to wear. Nonetheless, you shook your head and settled the plates and glasses onto a tray, carrying them out to the little table that sat tucked away in an alcove in the hallway connecting the main hall to the kitchen. He preferred to eat here when it was just the two of you, with plain cups and plates, rather than the massive dining room with all its ornate tableware — that was only for formal occasions, you'd discovered, whereas this was out of sight from the constantly-bustling staff.

You set the food and drink out — careful to be mindful of which cup was which — then stood, returned the tray to the kitchen, then the vial to the cabinet and, with a spring in your step, turned and made your way down the hall.

You were careful to make sure everything was as it was supposed to be. Straightened your posture, ran your hands down the front of the dress to smooth it out.

You began the short journey from the kitchen to the study, footsteps light and soft, short steps that slowed your pace. No heavy steps that thumped against the hardwood, no letting your weight fall onto each foot all at once, and no slouching. Nor any other such improper, inappropriate behaviors.

It really was a beautiful building, though, so you thought to yourself as you glanced up at the ornate windows. You'd been here before, on your own volition, back long ago, of your own volition. You'd walked by it plenty of times, and once or twice had taken a moment to stroll around the vineyard, figuring it would do no harm, as you were never noticed.

Now, it was a sort of beautiful prison, such an elegant architecture for such a suffocating place.

Upon reaching one particular door, you raised a hand up and gave a gentle knock. A voice came from behind the door.

"Mm?"

You took another deep breath, calming yourself down, trying to mentally switch the ‘on’ button for your sweet obedient wife act you hoped you had mastered well enough by now, complete with an upward shift in octave and sing-song-y touch to your voice. "It's me."

You heard a chair scoot backwards, heavy footsteps, and the door opened. "...Hey." A hand rested on your head. "Food ready?"

"Yes sir." You gave a soft smile.

"That's good... thanks." He patted your head, and seemed to stifle a yawn. His voice was drained, nearly a mumble.

"Are you ok?" You tried your best to make your voice sound soft and concerned, furrowing your eyebrows in a way you hoped looked worried, pushing your lower lip out a bit.

"Just tired. Lots of work today. I'll just eat and then we'll go to sleep."

Oh yes, you will.

Fighting the urge to grin, you slowly made your way back together down the hall — remembering to keep your footsteps light, forcing a sort of soft, feminine gracefulness to your manner of walking, lest you be reminded to do so.

Every little second, every step, every word was practiced and poised. Now, having reawakened to your resentment and defiance, just acting it out made you feel sick.

There was, nonetheless, a residual sense of dread, a nagging pit in your stomach that went deeper than the surface-level nervousness.

There was a major disadvantage — this would not be the first time you tried something like this. Granted, not with this particular substance, but you had once managed to make him horribly sick for well over a day with rat poison, and once again with liquid pesticide meant for the vineyard. Both incidents were purely for the purpose of amusement and spite, which you’d reveled in despite the unfortunate consequences you’d suffered.

The first time, he'd been totally unsuspecting, and the second time he'd been too distracted and busy to notice anything even if you had let something slip. You could curse yourself now in hindsight — if you hadn't committed those first two offenses out of sheer spite, you'd be able to pull this off much more easily. But now, he’d learned you would do something like that, and if the slightest thing was wrong in the taste or appearance of it, he'd get suspicious immediately. You weren't even sure if a single sip was enough to do anything, considering how diluted the substance now was. You’d just have to hope he’d drink the whole thing.

You did your best to make idle conversation as you walked, talking about whatever you did that day, as if it was ever any different from any other day. Your nerves felt electrified, your body tense and stiff as you sat back down and took a bite of this and that, trying to contain your anticipation, trying to look at him out of the corner of your eye rather than directly. He didn't say much, but that wasn't abnormal, only slowly taking in bites of this and that. It felt like an eternity of waiting.

Come on, get thirsty, drink it...

Finally, his hand reached out to the juice. You felt your breath hitch.

Come on, come on!

You stopped moving, anxiously waiting for him to drink.

So caught up in your excitement that you didn't realize you were letting it show on your face, that you had ceased your own motions to stop and stare intently.

It took him stopping and looking up at you with confusion in his expression, for you to feel a spike of panic as you realized the mistake.

"...Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Hm?" You immediately tried to correct the behavior, going back to cutting at something on your plate with a smile, hoping the way you stiffened wasn't visible. "Sorry, I just… I spaced out a second, what did you say?"

He was silent for a moment.

"...Nothing."

Ok. Good save.

You popped a bite of food into your mouth. Besides, despite being an overall intelligent man, he had a tendency to be rather dense sometimes, surely he wouldn't pick up on something like that.

You were fine for now— what is he doing.

You noticed an odd look spread across his features, eyebrows furrowed a bit, as if thinking something through.

Then, he stood up, glass in one hand, and grabbed yours with the other.  He swapped your drinks and sat back down, looking up at you with a neutral, cold stare.

Oh.

His gaze didn't falter. He set his elbows on the table, and rested his head on interlocked fingers. "Is there a problem?"

Oh no.

"N-no, I was just... why did you...?" You felt your body go cold, and try as you might not to, you knew panic must be showing on your face.

"It's the same thing, isn't it? So it's fine."

You couldn't miss the suspicious tone to his voice even if you'd tried to ignore it.

"...Right." You smiled, but you felt your lips tremble a bit. You could save this, for now, even if it didn't work out in your favor. You looked at the food, but you could still feel his gaze on you, so, hoping to pacify his suspicion, you brought the cup up to your mouth and tilted it as if you were drinking, closing your upper lip to the glass so that none of the juice actually got in your mouth. Then, after a moment, you pulled it away, swallowing to further the deceit.

He seemed satisfied by the action — right? It looked like he bought it, right? — and looked back down, resuming eating. There was a tense, awkward silence, so you attempted to fill in the empty space.

"D-did you, um, do anything fun today?"

"I wouldn't call anything I do 'fun,'" he muttered. "Just met with a bunch of people, one after the other... there's lots of business partnership contract renewals around this time of year, so they have to come here for that process."

"Mhm." You couldn't care less, but feigned interest. You knew Diluc well by this point, and knew how to appeal to the things that would soothe him the most. One of the most important factors in that was listening to whatever it was he had to say, no matter how boring (which, really, most things having to do with his work were). He liked to feel listened to, didn't have anyone else to go to, you supposed. Lots of stress, high expectations, and no solid support figure probably was the root of his psychological issues. — said issues were something you had spent a lot of time contemplating and trying to figure out in your spare time, given their now inherent effect on your own life.

But you presumed that most men without stress and some kind of serious issues generally did not go around abducting women they barely knew and forcing them to live in their homes. At least, not to your knowledge.

You had often wondered why someone like him wouldn't choose someone who was already that ideal, someone who already exemplified those traits… but as time went by you began to understand that that simply wasn't good enough.

That there was an allure to someone like you, to someone like him. That your very existence as you were on your own upset the man — you'd noticed that within the first few minutes of interacting with him, back when you first started coming to that damn bar you now wish you’d never set foot in. The displeased expression and dismissive tone at your vulgarity and defiance and aggression. You'd thought, back then, that the man disliked you —and he did, in a way.

But for someone who seemed to have such distaste for you, he sure did fail to ever leave you alone. There was some impulsive need to say something to you at some point in each encounter, as if he couldn't allow you to go about your night without at least one look of disdain or passive-aggressive comment. The only thing that seemed more irksome to him than your existence, was the fact that you always bit back, always said something in return, and thus your interactions had only fueled your and his disdain for each other further and further.

The mistake you'd made in your original assessment of him, that you’d slowly come to understand with time, was that he was not a person who simply avoided things he disliked, like most people — he was hellbent on fixing whatever irked him, remediating whatever was perceived as wrong.

You had not been an exception.

Now in the present, as you tried to focus on maintaining your calm act, he kept on talking about this or that. Some people who came by today, some guy who keeps trying to get him to sign some agreement he doesn't want to, this isn't a particularly good crop this season, but he's seen worse, blah blah, nothing you cared about.

You continued eating, which soon turned out to be a mistake — your throat was dry, food wasn't helping, and you desperately wanted something to drink, but you could do nothing but raise your glass up and pretend you were actually drinking your juice. You thought, for a moment, he seemed to look at the glass, and fear he realized the amount wasn't going down ran through your mind, but you tried to calm yourself. If you started imagining things in your paranoia, you'd only increase the chance of him noticing your panic.

There was obvious suspicion a few minutes ago, sure, but there had been plenty of times he had falsely suspected you of things in the past, and was generally willing to believe you once presented with contrary evidence, even once becoming, albeit reluctantly, apologetic when realizing you'd done nothing wrong.

Finally, although you were suppressing the urge to cough at the dry scratchiness of your throat, you finished eating, and, like you knew you were supposed to, stood with a forced little smile and grabbed your plate, extending a hand for him to give you his as well, and took them both back to the larger kitchen area through the open doorway, barely hearing his ‘thanks’ as you scurried off.

You set the plates down, immediately turning on a faucet and cupping water in your hand, before drinking it down to soothe your throat.

Alright, so things didn't turn out quite like you were hoping, but that was ok. There was plenty of the substance left. Just wait a few days, do it again, and control yourself better next time so as not to strike any suspicion. Easy.

The maids would take care of washing plates off, but you needed to dispose of the remainder of your drugging attempt just in case. There was only droplets of juice left in his, and, of course, yours was full. You washed his — well, originally yours — out first, running some water over it, thinking it would be odd if one was washed out and not the other, and you didn’t want to take any chances.

You heard him walk into the kitchen behind you, and unease creeped back up into your chest. But that wasn’t so bad, right? He’d think you were trying to help the staff out, and he’d think that was good, wouldn’t he?

You hummed a bit, and set his glass upside down in its proper place, reaching out to yours and preparing to pour it down the sink drain, when his hand latched around your wrist. You went stiff.

"You should finish it."

Any confidence that you had successfully eased his suspicions might as well have been poured down the drain as well.

"...Hm?" You forced a smile, albeit twitching. “O-oh, I just didn't... finish all of..." You were painfully aware that your voice trembled, and, in a last effort to appear like you weren't nervous, forced yourself to turn your head and look at him.

"You didn't drink it at all." His face was flat and cold, eyes ever so slightly narrowed, but his voice was dark, quiet, knowing. "It's good for you. Don't let it go to waste."

You couldn't argue that you didn't like it — it was the same thing you drank every single night. Nor could you confess why you didn't want to do so. Of course, drinking it was technically an option. You'd just pass out and be forced to deal with the consequences once you woke up — although the cynical part of your mind thought maybe passing out wouldn't be too bad right about now.

Now, the expression on his face grew darker, fully obvious as a look of accusation, and the tone that followed matched.

“Unless there's something wrong with it.”

Your mind scrambled, unable to think of a way out. Your smile widened and twitched, and your body shivered, trying and failing to force a look of happiness, but the crushing feeling of defeat was beginning to settle in. "I... ah, hah, I, um..."

His expression and voice didn't waver, in contrast to your cowering. Looking down on you with something like frustration, perhaps disappointment. There was the slightest edge of a quietness in it, as he continued, "If there is, then tell me."

The last two words came out firm. A command.

"I... I..." You swallowed, visibly shaking, no longer able to hide the fear on your features. You bit your lower lip, and, feeling your eyes burn, your resolve broke.

You hung your head, and replied in a quiet voice, wavering on the verge of tears.

"...I'm sorry."

He released your hand, but snatched the glass out from it, immediately dumping the mixture down the sink. You reached up, wiping away the watering in your eyes that were threatening to become tears.

"Where is it?"

You stiffened at the firmness in his voice. You tried your best to look up, questioning in a pathetic whimper. "...Hm?"

"The— I don't know, whatever you put in there. Where is it?" There was a rising frustration in his tone.

You hadn't thought about that part. Of course, how could you not realize he'd do that if he found out? There wouldn't be another opportunity to try again. That realization left a sting of despair in your chest, you chastised yourself for not saving a smaller portion hidden away. If you'd been smart, you would have prepared for this possible outcome, and saved some so that he would think he'd taken it all. Dammit.

For a moment, you were silent.

"Tell me."

You tensed up, biting your lip.

You were afraid, but it also made you angry. The commanding, authoritative tone, as if he owned you, as if he had any right to tell you what to do. There was a time where you would have responded to anyone who spoke in such a way to you with equal aggression, if not outright violence. Your pride swelled in your chest, digging its heels in at the thought of being obedient, sickened by the notion of giving in.

At your hesitation, he said your name.

It was a low tone, a clear warning in response to your defiant silence. You jolted, and scurried over to the other side of the kitchen, trying to bite your lip, hands trembling as you opened the cabinet and pulled out the container and turned around, hanging your head and standing stiff with fear and humiliation as he took it from your hand and read the front of the package.

He sighed, but as he did, some of the tension seemed to roll off his frame. "...Oh. That." He caught the confused expression you had at those words, and elaborated. "I thought it would be—” he cut off and took another heavy breath, whether out of exasperation or relief or both, you weren't sure. “I thought you were trying to poison me again… or kill me.”

"No," you shook your head rapidly. “I wouldn't… do that…” Granted, you may have very well have chosen take the chance if it was an option, but such honesty would be ill-advised when your current objective was to deescalate the situation you'd landed yourself in, and hopefully quell any further anger before it emerged.

Yes, this was practical, you told yourself — and more importantly, told your wounded sense of pride. You were just being practical, strategic.

Besides, the sedative was the only thing you had available, anyway… well, had had available, since it was now certainly going to be taken from you.

You stood perfectly still as he moved, pulling a key out of his pocket, mumbling something about how he had no idea how that even got there, as he unlocked what you had come to refer to in your mind as the "forbidden" cabinet  — where all the various dangerous things lay, such as knives, skewers, rat poison (moved there after the previous incident), bleach even.

You were aware that he and all the staff members possessed a key, as you'd sometimes catch maids or other workers accessing it for various purposes, so you assumed it was there solely to keep those things out of your reach. It had started out as a few knives, but the collection had slowly built over time due to your creativity with what remained at your disposal.

“And here you were actually starting to improve,” he mumbled. The words were heavily laden with exhaustion, frustration.

You clenched your fists. The words crawled under your skin, bothered you viscerally, knowing there was truth to them. Thinking back, over the past few weeks, you'd become more complacent and behaved than you'd ever been prior — part of it had been an act, sure, but a creeping dense of paranoia made you wonder if you’d been settling into it, if it had been starting to become natural. You rejected the thought, insisting otherwise to both him and yourself.

“That's— that's only because I've been here so long… you're wrong…”

Even though the words were spoken weakly, the mere act of disagreement was not within the boundaries of complacency and acceptable behavior. It was not normal for your good wife act. The defiance was slowly bubbling up to the surface, and you could tell from the way you say you saw his jaw visibly clench, that he noticed that as much as you did.

He narrowed his eyes as he turned his head towards you, before shaking his head and returning to putting the offending substance away. He was moving some of the things around to make space for the new object, placing it inside before locking the doors shut again, back turned to you.

But then, there was only more silence as he reached up to rub at the side of his temple with one of his hands.

You hoped for the best, that perhaps the lack of murderous intent on your part would serve to significantly lessen his anger, or that due to contrast, he would view trying to sedate him as a petty offense. Trivial. Overlookable.

“But why would you even want to knock me out…?” He trailed off, looking to the ground in pensiveness. And then, the worst thing you feared happened — the exact intent seemed to click with him.

Your gaze cast to the floor, you could just see him move out of the corner of your eye, walking back towards you, but in fear, you couldn't bring yourself to look up. You saw his feet facing yours as you looked down, and a shadow cast over your hanging head. He was standing right in front of you, and, perhaps out of pride, or perhaps accepting it was inevitable anyway, you forced yourself to look up, eye-to-eye, his own narrowed with disdain.

“…You were going to put me to sleep so you could run off again.”

You stiffened. “No,” you immediately rushed to your own defense. “I just—”

“Yes, you were. Don't—” he huffed, finishing his sentence with gritted teeth, “don't lie to me.”

“I'm not!” Your words that time came out more angry than fearful, your own frustration with everything beginning to balance our your fear.

“I just said—” he cut his words short and took a deep breath, reaching up to rest his face in his hand in a gesture of exasperation. His next words were not as intensely angered, more of a tired frustration laden in them. “You really never learn, do you.”

The words, simple as they were, had a strong effect.

Your fear and anger dwelled in your heart in a state of coexistence — you’d been tamed enough that avoiding pain and consequence was your usual priority, with the anger, the inherent defiance in your spirit, taking a secondary place. But with the right choice of words, the right circumstances, that same defiant spirit that he so very much hated, that he worked so hard to erase, would come bouncing back. A routine you’d been through more than once by now.

That same spirit of defiance had slowly been rising, had been your whole reason for your attempt, but with that, the switch flipped. Your hands balled into fists at your side.

“Learn what?!” Your voice came out louder than before. “Goddammit, I—”

The irritation on his features grew. “Don't raise your voice. And for the millionth time, watch your mouth.”

“I'll do what I want!” You leaned your upper body forward in exertion. “You’re the one that never lets me go anywhere! I wouldn't have done it if you didn't keep me locked up like an animal!”

His head snapped up fully at your voice, eyes narrowing into a glare.

“Don't get an attitude with me.”

Your eye twitched. That was one of your many rules that you so despised, the one you were most frequently found guilty of violating. Commands you were held to for no other reason than the desires of someone else, a projection of an ideal you were so brutally forced to conform to. Don't raise your voice, don't get a bad attitude, don't walk so loud, don't slouch, don't curse, don't make that face, don't talk back. The “don't” commands were bad enough, but the expectation of the inverse, the image you had to conform to, was even worse. To be nice, to sit there and smile and do whatever was instructed without so much as a complaint. Those were the good traits that you were supposed to have, that you were to be instilled with — as if a wild animal to be caught and domesticated.

A dam holding back your emotions seemed to break. You finally raised you voice fully, nearly yelling.

“It's your fault for making me stay in here in the first place, you bastard!” You snarled. “You keep acting like this is normal and it's not! You kidnapped me, dammit! You're mad at me for breaking your stupid rules when you're the one committing a fucking crime!”

You were speaking with such forceful anger you leaned forward with the exertion, panting heavy breaths, hands curled into fists. Your fury reached a peak, throwing aside all regard for whatever line your next words may cross.

"And you know what? I don't belong to you, I'm not your — I'm not anyone's goddamn dainty little fucking housewife! I don’t have to listen to a damn word you say, you bastard, you—”

You hesitated to finish your sentence, about to deliver another onslaught of curses, but stopped short when you tilted your gaze up, and your eyes met.

His eyes narrowed, staring at you with something like abject disgust, irritation, exasperation, but the silence was what amplified your dread the most. A single second of heavy, tense quiet passed, and then you saw him reach down to his waist, grasping at the front of his belt and unfastening it before pulling the other end, rapidly pulling the whole thing out of the loops.

“Come here.”

A very firmly-spoken command. Your stomach felt as if it flipped over on itself, a sudden cold feeling across your flesh, a learned response. You took a step back, drawing your hands up to your chest in a defensive reflex.

You hesitated, feet spread apart as if to move, but in what direction you weren't certain. Your eyes darted to the left and right, and froze as your gaze settled on the arch leading to the hallway.

Which he must have noticed, given the look he shot you. His voice grew quieter, more foreboding. “Don’t you dare run. Come here. Now.”

You had not yet fucked up quite this badly before, not done something to this magnitude — poisoned him, yes, and had outbursts, yes, but never back-to-back, the offenses stacking on top of each other. That outburst just then was the most vicious one you'd had since you woke up here, and you would be given far less lenience now than then. The thoughts of past punishments for even mild transgressions crossed through your mind. The blood drained from your face, your heartrate picked up faster.

It was stupid, really. So, so stupid, so futile, and had you really thought about it, you would know how pointless it was. But in the moment, you weren't operating so much on reason, so much as the dread in your gut and instinct.

For that reason, you turned in the opposite direction, bolted through the door to the hall, and took off running.

"Wh—” You heard the sound in his throat cut off as you bolted, clearly taken aback by the choice of action, but soon followed by a throaty groan of frustration you could hear all too well.

You didn't even really know where you were going. Nor what you planned to accomplish. The building was large, there were plenty of hallways to run down and turns to take — you turned left at the end of the room, then took and immediate right, unable to remember the structure enough to coordinate any plan of action as to where to run, just following the need to run away.

The doors were always locked from the inside and out now, one set of locks to keep intruders out and the other to keep you in. Breaking glass windows was a risk you didn't want to take, and it would alert anyone nearby to your location immediately and would only serve to greatly increase any potential consequence. Thus, for the time being, perhaps you were looking more for a place to hide. Maybe if you could just do that, find a place to cower and wait out the brunt of his anger, he would calm down by the time you came out.

Well, really, you knew that probably wasn’t doable, but it was nice to at least think for a moment.

And a moment was all you got.

You hesitated as you reached a spot where the hall split into two different corridors, and that one moment of hesitation was enough to close the gap between you. You squealed and flailed as a hand forcefully grabbed at your hair, pulling you back.

“Ow!” You squirmed, the balls of your bare feet thumping on the hardwood as they stumbled to regain your balance. “Let—let me go! Ow, ow, that hurts—”

“Hold still.” The command was firm, a foreboding voice that made your heart race.

The fabric around your torso pulled taut against your skin as he took a fistful of the back side of it, other arm harshly wrapping around your waist before you felt your weight lift upward, feet leaving the ground.

You thrashed, but even doing so to the best of your ability had no effect. His grip didn’t budge.

You grunted as you were effectively slung over his shoulder. He started moving forward, footsteps heavy and frustrated. “Gh!” You squirmed, flailed, all to no avail.

Your resistance began to falter in realization of the futility of fighting the now-inevitable, groaning in miserable anger and weakly bringing your clenched fists down on his back as you were, with seemingly little effort, carried down the hall, taking a turn and ascending up the staircase. It was only a short distance from the top to the bedroom door, which opened in a swift, furious motion, likewise slamming shut behind you.

You grunted as you were thrown down onto the mattress. You put your hands down and pushed yourself upward, beginning to try and crawl away, but a hand caught you by the back of your shirt again, pushing your upper body down. You made a rough, irritated noise in the back of your throat as you squirmed, but soon your hands were pinned behind your back, leaving you face down with your hips in the air.

You inhaled a sharp gasp of air and stiffened when you felt the skirt end if the dress hike up, the waistband beneath pulled down, cool air on your bare flesh.

“Wait wait, no, I'm sorry—”

You instinctively jerked forward, squirming, heart beginning to pound in your chest. You had had enough experience to know that this was far more painful on bare skin, as if the humiliation ritual of it all wasn't bad enough.

You felt like a petulant child, begging and whimpering. You tried to move, but the hand pushing down and your knees being positioned right on the edge of the bed effectively forced you into holding the position, with no way to move.

“Then you should have thought about that before you decided to do what you did.” There was no trace of mercy or empathy in his voice. “This is entirely your fault.”

“But I—”

You cut off with a squeal, body lurching forward as sharp pain came down on the sensitive skin on your ass, the smacking sound echoing in your ears. Your jaw clenched, muscles tensing. He wasn't holding back either, one strike was enough to make your eyes begin to water.

“This wouldn't have to keep happening—”

Another strike on the enunciated word. You hissed a sharp breath through clenched teeth and groaned, hips reflexively jerking forward in an attempt to pull away, to no avail.

“—if you could just—”

Another strike. You winced and stiffened, groaning and straining your muscles pulling against the firm hold forcing you in place.

“—give it up—”

And yet another.

“—and learn to behave.”

Another and another and another, three in quick succession. You yelped and jolted at each, a miserable sound coming out of your throat. Unable to maintain enough pride to hold them back, tears streamed down your face.

“Stop, stop…” you whimpered. “It hurts…”

But the only reply you got was calloused and merciless.

“It’s supposed to.”

The next strike was harder than the previous ones. You squealed, taking deep, gasping breaths. Your legs trembled.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, I won't do it again—”

“You said that last time.”

Your heart sank. You didn't have any reply other than to whimper in misery and anticipation, turning to a throaty cry of pain as you were struck again.

“It's for your own good. You would be happier if you just give in. But you insist—”

The leather came down hard. Your shoulders wracked with a sob, completely breaking the last of your resolve to hold back your reactions.

“—on being stubborn.”

The belt came down again, your body jolting and face contorting with the pain once more.

It was the final strike to drive you over the edge.

"I'm sorry!"

You couldn't speak further for a moment, having to take a few heaving gasps. Your shoulders jerked with a sob, sniffling, tears streaming down your face.

The only thing outweighing the stinging, striking pain itself was the tight feeling in your chest of humiliation and bitterness. It was intended as such, of course, to hurt not only your body, but your pride as well.

Your body trembled, heaving breaths and whimpers filling the following quiet. Perhaps your misery was finally deemed worthy of mercy, as despite your tensing in anticipation, no further sudden pain followed, only the lingering, hot sting on your bare flesh.

There was only a heavy sigh.

“Are you done being a brat?”

You sniffled, nodding your head against the sheets. “Mmhm…”

There was a momentary pause, perhaps giving you the opportunity to catch your mistake on your own. After you failed to do so within a few moments, the hand around your wrists tightened, a wordless threat. A brief panic surged through your mind, but you realized where you'd erred within a second.

Still, even though you opened your mouth, taking a breath to speak, some last little spark of stubborn pride flickered up, bitter and spiteful, and for a moment, you refused to give in to it, the one rule you so deeply resented more than any other.

And then he said your name — a foreboding, low tone, a warning.

Thus the brief moment of dignity was extinguished in a single word. You practically blubbered out the words, distorted by your sniffling and slurring.

“Y-yes sir…”

Finally, the grip on your wrists released.

“Good.”

You slumped forward, trembling hands reaching out to pull yourself further onto the bed before you went limp on your stomach and still, head spinning and exhaustion setting in as you came down from the high of the expense of so much energy and stress. As your head cleared, you became aware of the discomfort of wetness on your face, reaching up wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand. The sting was bad enough that you didn’t even bother pulling your clothes back into place to cover yourself, not wanting the fabric to brush against the now-sensitive skin.

There was a long moment of quiet. You weakly turned your head, seeing the pensive look on his face, eyebrows furrowed and looking at the ground. Something about it felt ominous, made your stomach shaft to churn.

“This keeps happening in a cycle,” he muttered, a low voice, almost as if speaking more to himself than you. “You start to improve, and then you regress again.”

Had you not been so utterly weary, not to mention bearing the lingering sting to your backside, you might have gotten defensive, snapped at him over referring to succumbing to the spiritual torment of your life as improvement. But now, spirit already broken as it could be for one day — at least, so you believed in that moment — you only closed your eyes, trying to ignore him. Maybe you could rest your body, at least a little, before the inevitable disturbance of a different form of exertion.

But when you squeezed your eyes shut, as always, the thoughts came rushing through your mind, emotions and recollections all at once, too intense for you to bear. Thinking through everything over again, your mistakes that led you to where you were now — not so much the events of the last hour, and more the grand scheme of things, how much you regretted ever making eye contact with him, or ever setting foot in that damn tavern.

Each and every day, you replayed the final conversation you two had had, sitting there in his own bar after everyone else had gone home, with you insisting on drinking more until you were content. After so much time — or perhaps due to the effect of the drugs, or the alcohol — you'd forgotten what the whole of the conversation was even about, only your response to one of those half-muttered comments about how this or that behavior of yours was unattractive, how you'd never get married if you kept it up, or any of the other things he said that irked you so.

You'd glared, snapping at him.

What makes you think you get to tell me what to do?

The only other thing you remembered — no, it was perfectly burned into your memory, crystal-clear despite your intoxication at the time — was the way he'd frozen, the look on his face when you'd said it, the glimpse you'd caught of it for a mere second. Slack-jawed, eyebrows furrowed, staring down at you with some amalgamation of disbelief, fury, and pure, unadulterated disgust.

Well, it wasn't the only thing you remembered — he'd walked away for a moment, you'd nearly drifted off in drunken haze, and something was shoved into your hands, you drank it without question (like an idiot, you often reprimanded yourself) and then, the next memory was waking up in his bed.

It played over, and over, and over, as you lay there shivering, cold and exhausted. As much as you resented him, you couldn’t help but feel enraged with yourself, each time you thought back to each interaction. That you didn’t recognize that something was wrong, that the degree of quiet malice he seemed to hold for you was unnatural, obsessive, dangerous. You’d just shrugged it off as just being his nature. Such an idiot, you thought to yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

A heavy sigh pulled you out of your thoughts.

“…”

Whatever he was actually now thinking, though, he didn’t say aloud.

Instead, predictably, his hands grabbed at your thighs, pulling you back across the bed. The same familiar knot of dread began to twist in your chest again.

You groaned, a sound of combined exasperation, pain and exhaustion. Your voice came out weak. “N-no, don’t… it’ll hurt too much…” Despite your verbal protest, you couldn’t actually summon the will to do much more than a weak squirming with your body as the dress was pulled up. Your attempts to hold your arms down proved futile as they were easily grabbed and maneuvered to allow him to pull the clothing off entirely, throwing it onto the mattress.

“It’s not going to hurt you,” was his only reply, an assured and matter-of-fact tone, like it was an objective, predetermined truth that you were foolish to contest. His hands moved to your hips, pulling on them to pull you back into your prior positioning. “It only hurts because you don’t relax enough.”

You might have remarked that the two back-to-back statements were quite the contradiction, but in the moment you were too lost in a combination of daze and panic to be too sarcastic. The pull jolted your mind back into full clarity. You tried to push yourself up on your hands, but his hand pressed to your back again, holding you in place.

“Wait, wait—”

You cut off in a shrill wail, toes curling and legs kicking out reflexively as the sting of the stretch set in. Your back arched in a reactive attempt to get away from the sudden intrusion that felt like it was splitting you apart, cleaving your body in half.

"Just—just hold still," his grip on your wrists tightened as your hands attempted to jerk back. He moved one hand to the other, taking both your wrists in one hand so he could reach down to your hips with the other, grabbing at one with a bruising grip and holding you still in place before sliding out, then back in, a second time, then a third.

You gritted your teeth, tears forming in your eyes anew as your body tensed up. The friction burned, the stretch ached. "It hurts," you whimpered, speaking through your teeth gritted in pain. "You-you're tearing me apart..."

"Just relax. You’re too tense.”

“I can’t just—gh!”

His arm shifted from pressing you down to wrapping around your torso, pulling your upper body back up from behind, while also preventing you from pulling yourself forward, and instead pulling your body closer against his, bouncing you back and forth on his cock. Each movement brought your ass bouncing back against his hips, a harsh sting on still-sensitive flesh.

"A-ah, ah…” you clamped down on reflex, trembling hands reaching behind you to push him back, but you were so weak it did nothing. “Wait, wait…” Your words came out slurred and strained.

Suddenly, to your surprise, the movement actually stopped. There was a moment of pause, and for that moment, you actually believed maybe you were receiving whatever semblance of mercy the man was capable of.

You heard his heavy breathing in your ear, felt him let his head fall downward for a moment, as if in thought.

Then, his hands moved once more — this time, one grasping at your waist, forcing your back into an arch, the other reaching up, palm against your throat and his fingers curling to grasp your jaw.

“Fight me off.”

With that, he pulled back, and slammed forward again. You squealed, every muscle tensing and spasming at the ripples of sensation it sent through your nerves.

“What? I don't— what are you—”

Another harsh, slamming thrust cut you off.

“Remember what you said before? When you first came here?” His words were spoken in a low, dark tone, dripping with vengeful spite. His fingernails dug into the flesh of your face. “You told me you didn't need anyone.”

The hand on your hip tightened its grip as you pulled your hips forward, jerking you back as his own hips snapped forward, the motion ramming into you in full all the way down to the base, the flesh of your ass pressed up against his hip bones.

“You said you were strong, that you didn't need protection.” The grip tightened, painfully pressing down. “You said you could take care of yourself.” His fingers curled further into your skin. “Remember that?”

Even in such a flat tone, his voice felt utterly mocking. The defiance you'd thought he'd already drained from your spirit began to surge back up in full force, a burning rage filling your chest.

“If you're so strong,” he continued, words muddled with heavy panting breaths, bouncing you back and forth with increasing pace, “then you should have no problem—” he took another heavy breath, next words coming out as half-spoken, half-hissed through clenched teeth, “fighting me off.”

You stiffened, eye twitching, a rough throaty sound of fury coming from your mouth as you began to squirm, to no avail.

“Come on. Prove it.” His voice grew more intense, lower, harsher. “Push me off. Do it.”

You practically growled, an animalistic sound, savagely reaching up to claw at the hand gripping your jaw, pulling your body forward with all the strength you could muster.

But it was nothing by comparison. As if fueled by your resistance, he only slammed into you faster and harder. At that point, the fluids leaking from your body lubricated the movements, the pain ebbing away, replaced by a warm, tight sensation, pressing against the spots in your body that made you melt, the sheer stretch becoming pleasurable.

“Or maybe you're wrong.” He jerked your head back to the point that the side of your face touched his, his heavy panting warm against your ear. “Maybe you should accept that you're weak.”

The grip on your jaw caused his palm to dig into your throat, not enough to choke you fully, but enough to cause discomfort.

“You need someone to— you need me.” His head titled ever so slightly downward, his hair brushing against the back of your neck.

Trying to turn your head away proved futile, the iron grip keeping it just as firmly locked in place as your body.

“You're so naive. The weak are supposed to be self-aware.” He spoke through clenched teeth, intense anger seeping into his voice. “But you had to go and act so tough—”

A harsher thrust than any of the ones preceding it, so hard you gagged on air, unable to even scream.

“—and be so goddamn mouthy all the time.”

Your strained, animalistic noises continued, pulling your body forward with every single ounce of strength you were physically capable of.

You didn't move. It felt as if you were trying to pull yourself out of steel chains, pure futility. Your arms trembled with the strain, and yet you didn't budge.

“As if I couldn't just reach over and break you any time I felt like it.”

Your toes curled, muscles tensing in pleasure-pain, each movement ramming into a spot that sent sparks of pleasure up your spine, whilst also causing the flesh of your backside to slap against his hips, sending jolts of pain through your body all at once.

“As if any of those guys you were such a little bitch to couldn’t have done the same.”

Sweat coated your skin, running down your back. The bed creaked, violently slamming against the frame. He pulled you so close that your shoulder blades pressed to his chest.

“Do you have any idea how easy this is? I'm not even trying.”

The words felt like a knife to your chest. In the past, you'd been irritated by you inferior physical strength, but admittedly you hadn't stopped to really think more deeply about the matter of your inability to free yourself, in the bigger picture of things.

A heavy, cold feeling began to seep out of your heart, through your chest, into your blood. A dawning realization of your total powerlessness, of your weakness. It was harrowing, brutal, and unforgiving.

You took heavy, gasping breaths. The intensity of every sensation was too much, driving you to a brink of what felt like madness. The ache in your body, the chill in your blood, the pleasure and the sting and the despair.

Your resolve broke. You went limp, panting, eyes watering with bitterness and fury, hot tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes, weak voice coming out as a blubbering whimper, broken up by the incessant thrusts jerking your body back and forth.

“I-I’m, I'm so, sorr-eee…”

The only reply you got was a single word.

“Good.”

You closed your watery, burning eyes. If you couldn't escape in reality, you could at least escape in your mind, desperately trying to block out the thoughts and the shame and the bitterness, trying to focus on sensation, feeling, the way you trembled at the pleasure. The way the sharp sting and the heat of the pleasure began to blur together, the pain itself only intensifying the rising tight, warm feeling inside.

You threw your head back to rest against his chest, whimpering like an animal. Your hands now only weakly reached behind you, grasping at his torso, neither pulling nor pushing. Each movement grew move intense, somehow even harder and harder still, inhumanly fast, flesh slapping against flesh, the sound amplified by the slick and sweat that coated the skin where your bodies conjoined. Your body began to quiver.

The climax that came over you was not the strongest you'd ever had — your body was far too exhausted and pained to even summon such a thing — but the high shot through your body nonetheless, waves of intensity rushing throughout. You let out a long, high-pitched sound as it peaked and ebbed away, mind slipping into a state of nothingness, a fog so thick you might as well have been unconscious.

You barely felt the motions stop, the way you were lowered down to rest on your stomach. Your attention was only briefly pulled to the surface of your consciousness with the sudden sensation of emptiness, the way your insides spasmed to clench on empty space, the chill that set in as the sweat began to cool over your body, and finally the shifting of the mattress as weight settled onto the other side, sitting beside your limp form.

And then, as your consciousness swayed, one faint little thought kept you from slipping away.

Something was different. You were limp and numb from the stupor, mind lost in a haze, but a faint sense of alarm slowly drug your consciousness back to alertness. Something was different, something was wrong.

You shifted, muscles reflexively clamping down on the now-empty space, and stiffened as you felt something fluid ooze out of your slit, drooling down your flesh and onto your thigh.

“Did… did you… cum… inside me…?”

You turned towards the figure blurred by the residual tears and dizziness. You could make out him sitting there, the bright red hair and the flesh tone of his unclothed upper body, see him running his hand over the top of his head, pushing sweat-drenched strands of hair back.

Your stupor had left your eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but they immediately snapped back fully open as the next words registered with your ears, spoken in a fully nonchalant, matter-of-fact tone.

“This will be good for you.”

You sat up — a movement that took effort, nearly falling back down on hands still trembling with aftershock, and looked up at him with panicked confusion plastered on your face. “…Huh… what?”

Now you could make out his eyes, looking into yours, continuing on in the same blunt voice, as if speaking of a trivial matter.

“…I was waiting. I thought it would be a bad idea to give you a kid before you showed some improvement.” After a moment of pause as he sat more upright, he continued, “But thinking about it, that could be part of the reason you're so badly behaved to begin with. You're… imbalanced or something.”

He held a hand out palm-up in a casual gesture.

“So, it will calm you down.”

You stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed in disbelief and horror.

“That's—” you twitched. Your voice was hoarse, each word hurt, as if dragging broken glass down your throat. “You're insane. You can't— you can't do this to me. I can't do that!”

“You're being overdramatic.”

“Overdramatic?!” You pushed the heels of your hands into the mattress to propel yourself backwards, crawling away from him as if it would do any good. “No, you don't understand, I… I can't…!”

Your breathing began to speed up, right alongside your heart rate. Panic consumed your train of thought. The implications of the very notion were, for you, world-ending — it would change everything, it would debilitate you and any hopes you had of ever leaving. Even beyond that, just the mere thought, the mental image the idea created, made you shudder.

You looked down. Between your legs, some of the cum had begun to ooze out onto the sheets.

Right, you could extract it all, to the best of your ability, and hope for the best. Your legs were trembling so badly you weren't certain if you could support your own weight, but nonetheless, you tried to make your way to the edge of the bed.

“No, no, I… I need to go wash off—”

“No, you're not.” His hand latched onto your arm, roughly pulling you back. You fell onto your side with a grunt.

You stiffened and whimpered as you felt two of his fingers wipe the inside of your thigh, collecting the semen that had slipped out with gravity and your movement, and pressed the fingers back inside of you, not wanting any to go to waste.

“Don't move around so much.”

Panic turned into aggression, like a cornered animal. Your nose wrinkled up with the furious expression that crossed your face.

“There is no way in hell I'm—”

Your words cut off once more as his hand latched onto your jaw, eyes narrowing.

“…Do you want to do this over again?” He tilted your head up, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Because I have no problem with that, if you keep mouthing off.”

You froze up again. The despair took hold. You didn't have any more fight left in you. It wasn't worth it, you couldn't handle another round with the belt.

You bit your lip, shaking your head. It wasn't until he sighed, and gave you an irritated look that you recognized your mistake once again.

“…No, sir…”

He closed his eyes, seemingly content with the rectification. “Good.” He pulled you down further, until you were lying on your side. “It's late enough to go to bed. You need sleep.”

You lay motionless, aside from the still-lingering shivering, watching as he shuffled off the remainder of his clothes and turned off the nearby lamp, plunging the room into near-darkness, before laying back down, turning back towards you, pulling you close.

His arm wrapped around your back, keeping your body pressed to his. Your face rested against his collarbones.

He shifted a bit, causing his hand to just barely brush over your backside — you stiffened, sucking a sharp breath in through your teeth.

“Mm, sorry.”

The half-hearted, sleepy mutter was all you got — an apology you knew was only for the momentary accidental touch and not the pain itself. That would be deemed deserved and justified, should you ever complain, and would probably earn you the same punishment again.

Your face scrunched up with misery, as if about to cry, but your body couldn't produce any more tears.

“Night.”

You felt the rumbling in his chest against yours. You swallowed the lump in your throat before you replied, voice barely more than a whisper.

“…Goodnight…”

There was still a little bit of light coming in through the window — it wasn't even really fully dark yet, the last few rays of purplish twilight visible in the sky.

You wondered if you'd ever see it from any other view than the estate ever again — but pushed the thought away, as you didn't like what you thought might be the answer, nor the way it made you think of the conversation that transpired moments prior.

You closed your eyes, shifted around a bit and — wincing at the fluid that drooled down your leg — tried your best to rest.

#bro really saw an autonomous female existing and said 'not on my watch' #genshin smut #diluc x reader #.dl

[292pantone]

Okay! Time for some Glass Onion analysis bc I'm already obsessed with this movie.

GLASS ONION SPOILERS AHEAD READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

I've seen people saying that it was unnecessary for the movie Glass Onion to be set in May 2020 during the height of the pandemic, and that it took away from the movie, but I disagree. The specific setting is relevant because of all the movie's subtext about the Black Lives Matter movement and its resurgence in May 2020. Hear me out- there are several parallels between Andi's death/Helen's avenging her death by wrecking the mansion, and the riots in 2020 following the unjust deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and many others.

To begin with, there's the power dynamic between Andi and Miles. A mediocre, unexceptional white man stole the contributions of a brilliant black woman and got away with it because his influential friends closed ranks around him in a system designed to benefit him. He got the benefit of the doubt and weaponized the legal system to financially ruin her. Even though she was telling the truth, no one believed her, and Miles fully expected this pattern to continue once her sister Helen took up the cause.

Miles burns the incriminating evidence of his lies and flat-out tells Helen that no one will ever believe her with only circumstantial evidence. Even Benoit Blanc acknowledges that his skill as a detective can only go so far without the police and courts on his side.

In the case of police brutality, cops similarly weaponize the legal system and avoid accountability for their murders by closing ranks through police unions that invoke "qualified immunity" (aka shielding the cops from legal liability). The privilege of white men, compounded by their wealth and connections, makes it difficult for them to face actual consequences for the harm they do.

We see the concept of avoiding consequences again with Miles' crew of "disruptors", all of whom rely on his money to bail them out of trouble. Birdie was implied to have done blackface, made tone-deaf comments comparing herself to Harriet Tubman, completely ignored all COVID restrictions, and tweeted ethnic slurs to the point where her assistant had to take away her phone, but her line of loungewear still takes off thanks to Miles' financial backing. In response to the latest scandal, personal assistant Peg says "We will do what we always do! Deny, half-apologize, then go silent awhile." Despite her litany of offenses and half-assed attempts at accountability, no consequences stick to the privileged Birdie either.

However, Helen refuses to accept this unfair state of things. In a situation where she appears powerless, with her sister gone and the valuable napkin burned, Helen essentially goes "fuck that" and makes Miles pay for what he did anyway. If the law won't take her side, she has to take it into her own hands. This is where the parallels to the 2020 riots come in.

We see her smashing the symbols of Miles' wealth, starting with his glass sculptures, and at first the other characters don't mind. They cheer her on from the couches, even though they all just refused to testify for her in court. This parallels the performative activism seen in many celebrities, who would rather watch from the sidelines and say vaguely supportive things rather than do any meaningful action to change the system. The other guests are happy to break the glass sculptures alongside her, saying how cathartic it feels, but they get antsy when she moves on to breaking more valuable things instead of giving up after a short while like they did. The camera shots of Helen smashing things and lighting a fire linger uncomfortably long as it starts to sink in that this isn't just a momentary temper tantrum. The so-called "disruptors" wince and gasp and exclaim how a piano belonged to Liberace and so on, completely ignoring how THE DESTRUCTION IS THE POINT, because if Helen only broke safe, acceptable targets, then it wouldn't actually mean anything. Similarly, when people rioted in 2020, there was a huge amount of pearl-clutching by people saying rioting is going too far, and can't we all just be nonviolent and have unity and forgive each other? In both cases, there's a veneer of support from people who just want the victims of injustice to "get their anger out of their systems" and move on without any serious changes being made.

I find it very fitting that Helen burns the Mona Lisa with Miles' own unregulated hydrogen fuel cell, using the override switch that he carelessly installed. She exploits the natural consequences of his self-centeredness so they all catch up to him at once. In the end, Helen's acts of protest do disrupt things and lead to change, even as people tell her she is going too far. Once Helen does the actual work of tanking Miles' reputation for good, only then do the "disruptors" jump ship and promise to back her up in court. They're willing to take the side of justice only when things have shifted to the point where it's the better act of self-preservation. If there was any chance of still hanging onto Miles' golden titty and making his reputation their hill to die on, they would've done it.

Blanc, the protagonist of the movie, gives Helen tacit permission to burn everything down by handing her the chunk of hydrogen fuel. He stands by her the whole movie and takes her seriously, demonstrating a path to better (non-performative) allyship.

Glass Onion shows that lasting change has to be demanded, not wheedled, and that sometimes things have to reach an undeniable crisis point to do so. In other words: protest is necessary.

#discussion #glass onion #knives out #glass onion analysis #black lives matter #knives out analysis #benoit blanc #miles bron

[k-s-morgan]

I heard news about a snowstorm in Ukraine that caused several deaths, and I was so worried for you. Are you okay, Morgan? Is your family safe? Are things calming down there? I keep checking for news that announces the end of this war, and it's disheartening to see that it never arrives. I can't imagine what it must be like to live through this. Is there anything we can do for you? Do you need somewhere to take refuge outside the country? Is the money you receive from your job sufficient for you and your family to live comfortably? I always check the updates you post, and it's admirable that these horrible events haven't changed the golden heart you have, you are a wonderful person and you don't deserve any of what is happening, I hate that I can't do anything to stop it this war, but whatever I can do for you I will.

please be safe, please keep fighting.

Another ask: Hey, I hope you're just busy but please give us some sign that you're okay, please. I'm worried

Another ask: Katrin, you are okay??

Another ask: You okay??

Another ask: How are you going?? Is everything already? Please asnwer 😭

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

Hi! Thank you all, you wonderful anons (and my lovely first anon, I'll respond to your questions further down in this reply). I'm so touched that you've been thinking about me! There was indeed a serious snowstorm that caused some deaths, but I'm fine: honestly, I'm such a hopeless stay-at-home introvert that I usually leave only for short trips to the shop and to feed pigeons & stray cats. So I meet most storms safely tucked in my bed))

It's all right now, though everything is still covered in snow. If there is snow where you are, too, and you see miserable pigeons or other birds around, please feed them if possible! They rely on us entirely during winters. Some grain would be ideal.

I was hoping to make a monthly post, but my tight work schedule + migraines ruined these plans, so I decided to give up on it. Russians haven't attacked my city again yet after that the most massive attack by drones. I'm pretty sure it is coming, though, especially on holidays. They tried to tun our last New Year into hell on purpose by sending missiles during the day, killing people, and then sending drones at night. I worry that this year might be even worse, but I've been teaching myself to live in the present and enjoy peace while I still have it, so I manage to keep my fears at bay.

First anon, thank you so much for your kindness! I have places where I could go and stay beyond Ukraine, but for the next year at the least, I intend to keep holding on because I can't leave without my family (and the bigger half of my family is not allowed to leave legally yet). If Russian attacks get completely unbearable, I might go to Poland to my relatives for a month or two just to unwind and to repair my sanity a bit.

As for the money, I'm doing more or less okay, and people who keep supporting me on Patreon help me to stay afloat. I have some debts, but they are under control - I owe the bank $300, which is 1/3 of my monthly salary, so I'm capable of paying it back little by little. The situation is not ideal, but nothing to worry about.

Like many Ukrainians at the moment, I feel burned out regarding the war. There are many amazing, kind people in this world, and our soldiers are absolute heroes who deserve all respect in the world, but those with power to make decisions like money way too much. It's an unfortunate fact that has been making people all over the world suffer generations after generations. Many US, European, and Chinese companies continue to help Russia manufacture its missiles and other things they use to kill us. The help Ukraine gets is enough to let us survive but not enough to let us win. Those who can make money on it eagerly grab the chance, including some members of our own government. I'd like to be optimistic, but I really don't see a scenario that would end with justice. It's very difficult to accept the fact that terrorists and murderers won't be punished - on the contrary, many of them will continue to live in luxury, unable to imagine what an explosion even sounds like, until the day they die. But like I said before, it is what it is. The world is full of bitter examples like this.

Thank you for being with me and supporting me, reading my stories and sending your asks. I hope to end this month with posting two chapters for my two stories. My second job comes to an end December 15, and hopefully, I'll get a chance to really dive into writing after this!

#personal #ukraine #russia is a terrorist state #kyiv #my fics

[silversiren1101]

Hope I'm not too late...△Mino, how do you feel about your ganzi traits? If you could get rid of them, would you? Alternatively, is there anything other ganzi have that you want?

Her eyes go wide, before they narrow into something keenly aware overtop a tight-lipped smirk.

"A bold question, and I'd be curious to know who put you up to asking it, even."

Her tail flicks the air, a rustle of feathers almost punctuating her next words.

"It's complicated. As a child, I hated them and what I was. How could I not? When my scales were peeled from my flesh so much each was surrounded by a bed of scarring and my feathers had been deemed so unsightly my spine was burned with hot wax to keep them from growing." The bitterness in her voice is scathing, but it's not at you. There's an anger there welling from a need for justice, you can tell. In a way that had never been fulfilled.

"Then... as a young adult and during the War, I did everything I could to ignore them, as if they were some unimportant part of me", she continues. "They started growing again then, the scar tissue healed from the restoration I received after my impromptu Trial with that osyluth... Back then it filled me with so much anxiety and fear that it would only cause more pain. Now, I see it for what it was. Me healing. Me... becoming myself, really."

A finger strokes the length of a feather where her tail has propped itself up upon itself, as if an eager assistant. She also traces a few scales as she's at it, speaking to them more than she does to you.

"These days... it's acceptance... and love... but it's also complicated."

Those violet irises flash your way. So much truth shines in them: it truly is complicated.

"I love them dearly. They are me, after all. I have jewels embedded in my flesh like noblewomen could only dream of and plumage like their prized peacocks. My tail has a mind of its own sometimes, yes--", it rattles and wiggles, almost as if stressing her point, "--and it's difficult to have your emotions on public display in the way it can, but it's also me. It's like a sliver of my soul everyone can see, for both good or ill..."

She pats the tail which retreats down to the floor again.

"It's just difficult, coming to terms with the fact that who I am and what I am are excuses to hurt me or wish me harm, to treat me like shit stuck to a boot or assume I am nothing but trouble. The Hellknights helped with that, at least", she chuckles. "People tend to take you far more seriously when wearing the armor, and the assumptions about being a chaotic miscreant kind of fall short when you've passed the Trial and have rank."

A cheeky grin reveals the hint of a fang--another one of her ganzi traits.

"As for you actual questions... would I get rid of them? A long time ago, I wanted nothing more than to be perfectly human. My answer then would have been pathetic begging. Now, though, no. They are me. I love them and thus I love me. I wished other people loved them as much, or that they even loved me as much back--they're a real pain in the ass to take care of--but no, I wouldn't trade them for the world."

The scales on her cheeks practically shine as they crinkled into the wide smile she gives. All four of her serpentine fangs glint in the light.

"As for other traits I don't have! Well, wings and natural talent for fighting are out of the question; I'm protean blooded, not valkyrie or einherjar. But! Some ganzi are... let's just say, bizarrely flexible. You ever see a cat fit through a hole half its body size? Now that would be a useful trait to have! Just thinking of all the times I've been grabbed and had a hell of a time breaking free... that giant lich wouldn't have crushed me during the war, I bet you that."

[Intrusiveness 6/10]

#oc: minovae arangeir #silversirenwrites #ask game #pwotr pals

[happyspookysteamer]

Letters to a Friend

Chapter 2

For months, nothing much changed in James’s life. Regular goods trains, the occasional passenger train and so on. No matter the weather, work went on, much to the red engine’s dismay. There is nothing much he can do about it though, he knows this, but he was always the type to make his discomfort known, except for this one day... Winter was rolling in, a layer of frost covered the land in the mornings and a light fog hung low over the fields. James was at the water tower filling his tender. He was told he had to take another goods train with Edward. The red engine took a deep breath not looking forward to the assignment, but he wasn’t as much in a bad mood as he thought he should be, he just looked off into the busy yard, Vance noticed the lack of grumbling, he knew James didn't always grumble or complain, but if he was this silent there was some cause for concern.

“Accepted your fate?” he teased his engine. James snorted, but there was a light smile on his face before returning to a neutral expression. “Very funny, No, I was just lost in thought for a minute”. Vance raised a brow at this. “Wanna talk about it, big guy?” James didn't say anything at first. Then he looked at his driver and spoke softly. “I was just thinking, It still seems kind of surreal to me how peaceful things are, a few years ago I was running trains to no end, maintenance low, scared out of my sleep because of air raid sirens, people hiding in their basements, looking for their belongings in the aftermath, leaving the island, you know… just the constant tension and the fear, the uncertainty, that was pretty much an everyday thing and I guess now I registered that everything is quieter, it's a bittersweet quiet though but its more quiet, more normal, if you know what I mean.”

Vance was in thought. “Well, I was only a boy during the war and I barely had any idea why suddenly these things were happening, But I get what you mean. Some still cant believe that it is over, and it has already been a few years, just ask Lawrence.” James's expression turned to one of sadness at the mention of his old driver. From what James has been told, the old man now sits in his family home alone, and James has not seen him since his retirement 2 years ago. Those difficult years took its toll on the man, James remembered the blank face Lawrence had the day he retired. He patted James on the buffer and left without looking back. He had a temporary driver back then for a while before Vance and Wallace came. James didn't have a lot of fond memories during that time, barely anybody had.

“It is strange to me, I’ve been through 2 world wars, you’d think I’d have hardened up a little, I mean look at Old Iron, after everything he just… seems fine...” James thought about Edward, kind, wise, brave, a little impatient at times, not the strongest or the fastest but even James knew, even though he would never say it out loud, the Edward is the most reliable and is a really useful engine. The old engine always put his duty first. Always finishing his jobs no matter the circumstance, getting multiple people and engines to safety without as much as a complaint, the old engine often neglected his own well-being in the process. This often made James angry, not at Edward but at himself, James could never be like him, he wanted to be kind and brave, reliable and of course really useful, but he didn't think he ever could, he is not Edward, he is the vain red engine called James.

“I wouldn't think that way, James.” Vance said sternly. “You don't know how this war has affected him, because trust me it did, it affected all of us, it's not something you can just walk off after it ends, especially this one.” James slightly flinched at his driver’s tone. Vance calmly continued. “Hey, I know what you are feeling, I know you feel like you could have done more, but we all did the best we could at the time, you did your work as Edward did his. Even in the aftermath we all did our work, sure you complained a lot, but you did your work nonetheless and that matters the most. You don't need to be like Edward, you can be you and still be a good engine, just don't assume Edward wasn't affected by any of this either, we all have our own ways of coping.” Vance patted James on the buffer. The red engine took in his driver’s words, he knew he was right. Vance smiled before going back to James’s cab. Wallace was shoveling coal as Vance jumped back in. Wallace smiled, “nice chat?” he asked. “Just needed to talk a little.” said Vance. “You or James?” said Wallace. Vance laughed, “I think we both needed it.”

James moved toward the station. There he met up with Edward, who smiled at him warmly. “Hello James, ready to take the train” asked the old engine. “Ready as I’ll ever be” sighed James. Edward just chuckled. The two engines went toward the station where their train was waiting. As they got there, James’s rather somber mood turned into annoyance and anger as he saw the train. Most of it was construction materials and coal trucks, but at the front were a few tankers filled with “Tar...” scowled the red engine.

As soon as he got arranged, Edward coupled in front. It is quite a large train, so he understood why the old blue engine needed some help. James, returned to his usual self and made a very vocal complaint. “What part of “Mixed” traffic engine does everybody seem to forget? I have been confined to goods trains for weeks now!” Edward, ever the patient engine, took no note of his tone and answered politely “There are bound to be many goods trains after a war James, repairs take a while, also as a “mixed” traffic engine you were always bound to mostly take goods trains.” James just let off steam. “This trip won't take too long, the trucks need to be dropped off at Elsbridge.” said Edward kindly. James muttered something that Edward couldn't understand. The old engine just chuckled, slightly amused, as the two Engines waited for the signal to give them the all clear.

Howard, Edward’s fireman, was talking to Wallace when the station master came up to them with an envelope in his hand. “Mr. Peterson, there is a letter for you.” said the station master. Wallace took the letter from his hand and looked at where it came from. Howard looked as well. “From France?” asked Howard surprised. Wallace flipped the letter around, thinking to himself who it could be from. After a hot second, a lightbulb went off and he grinned. He opened the letter and skimmed through it, after that he grinned even more and jumped into James’s cab with Vance.

Vance was looking at James’s gauges when a letter was slapped into his face. “Wallace...” Vance sighed. “Somebody actually wrote back!” Vance took the letter off of his face to examine it, Wallace meanwhile checked James’s boiler pressure and took a quick peek at his fire before joining Vance. Vance looked back at his fireman, “Well, that seems to be the case.” “You two going to let me in on the conversation?” James said. Wallace grabbed the letter from Vance. He just sighed again and looked after James’s fire.

Wallace ran up to the front of the red engine and held the letter in front of him. James just blinked. Wallace came closer with the letter. “Remember the letter we wrote on that stormy day a few months ago?” “Oh, I almost forgot about that, someone actually wrote to us?” asked James looking at the paper. “I made a few more copies of the letter and sent them to at least 5 different railways. Most came back, I assumed the rest were thrown out, but apparently somebody did get our letter.”

Edward overheard their conversation, he thought it quite sweet, James and his crew writing a Pen-pal. The thought made him chuckle a bit. James of course heard him. “What, what is it?” asked the red engine. “Oh nothing James” Edward smiled sweetly with a hint of mischief. James frowned, “Oh spit it out already, what are you laughing about Edward?” The old blue engine smiled. “I just think it's nice that you and your crew are writing letters and meeting new people, it's sweet.” James’s face turned as red as his paint, he tried putting on a displeased kind of scowl, but he wasn't succeeding as Edward just chuckled at his expression. “S-sweet? We just wrote this out of Boredom! We didn't expect anybody to write back!” “We didn't?” asked Wallace and Vance together. James whispered angrily to them “You’re not helping!” the Vance smirked while Wallace was actually confused at the assumption.

“I’m just teasing you James, but it's still nice to meet new people, make new friends, I’m happy for you James, genuinely.” James didn't respond, just looked away and pretended to be annoyed by muttering nonsense under his breath. “And don't worry, your secret is safe with me, I know Henry and Gordon would never let you hear the end of it.” James muttered a meek “thank you” to the old engine. Their signal finally went down and Edward whistled and hissed steam, slowly moving forward with James following suit. Wallace jumped back into James’s cab and the train slowly moved. Wallace secured the letter in his pocket for later, and the train left the station.

On the way to Elsbridge, James asked about the letter. Wallace pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to Vance, so he could continue shoveling coal. While Vance was busy himself, he was still able to take a glance or two at the letter. “From what I can tell at first glance, James, the letter was sent from the southern province of France.” “What else does it say?” asked James. “Now is hardly the time. I’ll read it to you once we have a few minutes to ourselves after this train.” said his driver. “Well, can I at least ask who sent it?” asked James. “Someone named Andreas Stark”.

#letters to a friend #thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine #ttte #ttte fanfic #ttte oc #ttte james #james the splendid engine #james the red engine #james makes a new friend #ttte edward #edward the blue engine

[viaetor]

#𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 and #𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄: some notes about who are the cosmic beings of 𝑐𝑎𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 as a species, i.e the ones born from the stars themselves, plus more information about the travellers’ (specifically 𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑’s) nature, discussing particular characteristics of his nature (personality and body-wise). this post was cut for better visualisation so as to not pollute the dash, but all topics discussed are sfw.  part  2 / ?   of caeling’s data-log. will be continued.   |   to understand it in depth, read the prologue here and part one here.

as specified in previous headcanons posts (see above), aether isn’t human nor a living being for that matter—he’s a caeling, a creature created by the cosmos itself, stardust embodied in one being to complement another and form a perfect weapon. originally created to be a soldier to follow every order of the universe to keep its essence in perfect balance, travelling through galaxies to fulfil their wishes, he slowly began to develop his own set of morals, ethics and personal thinking as he started to get to know more living beings, planets, cultures, histories, etc. however, such independence and sentience is fairly new to him, considering his many years of existence.

aether and lumine were created to act as an organism, with one complementing the other in battle techniques and personalities. regarding the latter, if you meet both twins, you can immediately draw out how much of an opposite pair they’re, even if they emanate a similar aura. lumine is suspicious of people, whereas aether is much more receptive to them. when they’re in a new world, lumine prefers to gather resources and trinkets, whereas aether prefers to explore and memorise what he sees and experiences. lumine tends to be more practical and goal-oriented, whereas aether tends to see the details and focus on subjective matters and “what ifs” when they run into a problem. now that she isn’t around, aether tries to think as lumine would when he encounters a situation he can’t figure out. considering that he never had to be so independent before when they travelled together, it’s a very difficult task for him, but he makes due thanks to paimon’s help and the influence he received from his friends in teyvat.

his greatest fear is to be completely alone, forever—no lumine, no paimon, none of his friends. the thought alone causes him great anxiety. is this because of his design as a caeling that depends on another in order to be “whole”, as the universe insists on suggesting him? or is this a phobia he acquired due to what happened with the unknown god?

that being said, he has great separation anxiety. don’t misunderstand, he can go days without anyone’s company, completely isolated and still remain relatively calm—but when those days turn into a week, he quickly starts falling into a panic mode and he’ll look for anyone close to fill in the void he feels. yes, even enemies. he just doesn’t want to feel like he’s the only being left in the emptiness of existence. that’s probably why he makes sure to pay all his friends in teyvat a visit—he never wants anyone to feel the same, either.

very few things make him flustered, but pointing out that he’s being clingy or more affectionate than usual (especially if your muse and aether develop something more than just a friendship), is certainly one of them and he will blush and probably get a bit conscious about it. he’ll apologise as soon as you finish your sentence—and it’ll probably take a while before he makes any kind of physical contact again. yes, this includes casual touches, too. he’d just be that embarrassed.

when blushing, aether’s face doesn’t get pink or red like a human would; instead, his cheeks get a rich purple colour, close to a dark blue, and little starry freckles can be seen “dancing” through his nose and cheekbones. he’s a lightweight, so you can also see that for yourself if you take him out for a drink. in the rare case he accepts your invite (he’s very self-aware of those features of his, hence his carefulness), it won’t take long before he starts purpling and burping little constellations out of his mouth.

aether’s limbs are naturally blackened like the void (direct visual reference is above in the drawing i sketched, but here’s another reference on pinterest). when rid of his usual gloves, chest piece and pants, you can see that his limbs are as dark as the abyss—save for some glowy points, ingrained “crystals” in his skin (chest, writs, knees), the same ones that reflect his elemental talents. said crystals are very sensitive to the touch and he doesn’t let everyone go around touching them, especially the ones on his wrists. 

he almost never takes off his gloves, be it with hand-holding, simple caresses; not even during more intimate moments. if he does take his gloves off to feel your muse’s skin directly for whatever reason or scenario, know for sure that he’s deeply, madly in love with your muse. caelings have the ability to memorise physical, emotional and elemental sensations through direct contact with their fingertips and hand crystals. it’s a very intimate type of contact, similar to feeling one’s soul—and allowing them to feel yours in turn, if they so desire.

#i wanted to finish that sketch but i probably never will but I rly liked the eyes uwahhh #❛ㅤ𓆩✦𓆪ㅤ:ㅤheadcanon﹔ㅤㅤ/ㅤㅤsecrets from the stars. #i promise i'll do replies tomorrow or so !! #i just had to take these headcanons out of my mind bc i was so excited to share asdkjsdkmkgj

[cosmic-walkers]

a snippet from my fic where dior and curufin meet one another in valinor. things aren't as planned!

___

“My brother and I came to this river when we were young. It is the most beautiful place in Valinor. At least to me.” Curufin said, his voice quiet. Yet, it was filled with anger. 

“I came here to find him, I did not expect to see the one who took him from me. Dior Eluchîl.”

Dior, seeming to understand the severity of the situation, spoke. “I mean no offense.” He responded, quietly. His voice was calm, unlike when last they had spoken. Back then, both elves were adorned in armor; Dior with his host behind him and Curufin with his. Dior’s face had been etched into Curufin’s mind; as that day he had walked down the steps of the halls of Menegroth, dragging a limp elven body with him by its silver hair.

The  body was that of Celegorm. 

Curufin never truly forgot it, he only pushed it to the back of his mind. Yet, seeing Dior here now in the flesh, made it difficult for him to bury that image.

“I am not so speak to any Sindar or Teleri elves.” Curufin stated blandly; it was the only thing that could keep him from lashing out , or breaking down (or both). “It is decree of the Valar–so unless you have urgent news from them, leave me be.”

Dior took a step forward , a frown on his face. “I–” He began, his gaze not faltering but his voice searching for the right words. “Have been looking for you, for months now.”

“Do your kins people know this?” Curufin asked, confused.

It seemed as if Dior’s calm expression changed, and contorted to one of anger and fury. “My kins people will not have me.” Dior said plainly. “Due to that, I’ve come searching for you.”

Curufin didn’t know what to make of this, and he supposed that if he held his sword with him , he would have struck. Well, in his younger days he would have. Now, he knew violence would end in more pain and suffering. But that did not mean he had to be welcoming to his unwanted guest.

“What business do you have with me?” He scoffed. “Did you forget you murdered me, and my brothers?”

Dior chuckled. “I could say the same for you.” He responded, dryly. “Was it not you who came into my lands? If I am not mistaken, I fell to the cold swords of you and your elder brother - Caranthir.”

Curufin narrowed his eyes. “Simply because you refused to surrender a jewel that belonged to us; that belonged to my father.”

Dior didn’t say a word at first, his eyes only drifted away toward the ground and then back at Curufin. “And for that, I forsook my whole kingdom.” He stated, plainly. “You are right in that.”

Now that was not something Curufin expected. His eyebrow rose in slight confusion, causing Dior to chuckle.

“As I said, you are not the only one hated by your kin. This is why I decided to seek you out.” Dior exhaled, and sat down upon the rivers edge. Reluctantly, Curufin joined him. “I’ve healed, in my time in Mandos and it seems as if you have done the same.”

“Learned,” Curufin began. “Not healed. The Valar are not kind to us Fëanorians, and we are not given the healing privilege that you and your kin are.”

Dior did not say anything, his blue, ethereal eyes only rested on the running river.

Curufin continued. “If the Valar deem you as a hero, for standing your ground against us–then why do your people distrust you? Are you not allowed in Sindarin lands?”

Dior shook his head. “I have dominion there as I please yet, unrest and distress erupt when I approach.” He responded. “It is funny; while you and your own are hated for pursuing the silmaril–I am detested by my kingdom for placing it above my people. It is also a fate my daughter faces as well, as she did the same in Sirion.” Dior frowned.

“I have now accepted that back then I was foolish. The Silmaril was our kingdom’s doom, and when you sent word requesting it back, perhaps I should have given it to you. When your brother came…offering peace and an end to violence I should have…”

He paused, feeling Curufin tense next to him.

“So it was true.” Curufin whispered, quietly. “Celegorm came as an emissary of peace? And you stabbed him through the heart for it.”

Dior narrowed his eyes. “You forget, your brother did attempt to marry my mother for a jewel, against her will.”

Curufin clenched his fists. As angry as he had grown at Dior, the young king was right. “Then his murder was just then? Is that what you mean to say? Are you here to gloat-”

“ That is not what I meant I apologize.” Dior shook his head. “I was not a timid man back then, I am not now. However, my kingdom had been through so much, the Silmaril seemed to be our guiding light. I was a fool, but I would not yield. I am forever shaken by what I did. It was, by all means, a kinslaying.” 

Curufin laughed, humorlessly. “No–a Kinslaying does not exist for elves who are not of Fëanor’s fire. Brother wanted peace and you gave him blood and no Silmaril, and for that Caranthir and I brought our forces. You may have refused us our birth right, you may’ve run my brother down when he wanted no bloodshed, and came to you unarmed–but for you loved by the Valar, there is no such thing as a kinslaying. You can truly, do no wrong.”

Dior exhaled. “I may have the Valar’s love, as the blood of Luthien runs through my veins. Yet, the Sindar of Doriath, who are here, will not have me, nor my daughter or grandfather. Perhaps the Valar praise us, for protecting a jewel over our own people. Perhaps we are seen as heroes and victims of the reckless kinslayings. But when those from Doriath or Sirion look at us in disgust…and hate us for hoarding a jewel then we are not  the heroes history has written us out to be. We are no more loved than you, the Fëanorians.”

Curufin clenched his fists. “I see your time in Mandos has made you more humble but, you will never know what it is like to be a Son of Fëanor. We were marked from the day we were born. Manwe frowned upon my father, our lives were never meant to be filled with joy.”

Dior looked toward Curufin, his eyes soft. “That as it may be, all we have now is one another.  Or more so, we are the only ones who could understand each other.” He shrugged. “I suppose I also decided to find you to apologize.” 

Curufin shook his head. “There’s no need to apologize -for either of us.” He stated, plainly. “We all acted in ways that were just in our own right when your kingdom was sacked. Perhaps the Valar or our people do not understand such plights, but we do. That is all that matters.”

if you want to read the full fic, you can read it here!

#curufin #curufinwe #dior eluchil #silmarillion

[stardew-atlantis]

Bad Day (Harvey/F!Farmer oneshot)

People seemed to like the last one I posted so here is another! First we had Harvey with a tired farmer, here is a farmer with a tired Harvey. (Repost from Ao3 this time)

Summary: After a very long day at the clinic, Harvey returns to the farm to see SJ.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: food mention, lmk

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

Harvey knew there would always be bad days, days when nothing went right, and it felt like the universe was doing its very best to make his life difficult. As a doctor, his bad days could involve any number of things. An overwhelming number of walk-ins from neighboring towns, patients who argued with him at every single step of their care, or even patients coming in that he was unable to help. Harvey had a limited range of treatment options in his tiny local clinic, he had to learn to accept the fact that sometimes there was nothing he could do aside from referring someone to a specialist in the city and hoping for the best.

As the sole healthcare provider for the entire town, plus a few additional towns within a certain radius, he felt a sense of responsibility towards his patients that often caused him a great deal of stress.

In previous years, Harvey would go up to his apartment, pour himself a glass of wine, and hope there wouldn't be any emergencies during the night. Now, knowing he had the farm, and more specifically SJ to go home to, made him feel a little better about his terrible day. 

The walk home took longer than usual. The once vibrant trees along the dirt road to Atlantis Farm had lost all their leaves to the changing seasons, rendering them bare and lifeless. Harvey walked a bit slower than he normally would, hoping to rid himself of his unpleasant mood before he got home. 

...

As he stepped into the warmth of the farmhouse, he found SJ lying on the couch, watching TV. She sat up as soon as she heard the front door click shut.

"Hey!" she called out.

"Hey. Where is everyone?" He asked.

"Saloon. It's date night. How was your day?" she asked excitedly, as she peered over the back of the couch with a smile on her face.

"It was fine," he said, as he shrugged off his coat and hung it up on the coat-rack. "How was yours?" He tried his best not to look her in the eye.

"Pretty good!" She hopped off the couch to meet him at the door. "I went out to the greenhouse today to harvest the pumpkins and there was this giant pumpkin in the middle of the..." she trailed off when she noticed the sad expression on his face. Suddenly, her cheery disposition was gone and replaced with immediate concern. Despite his efforts to be an active listener, SJ could always tell when something was off with him. "Are you okay?" she asked.

This was the only downside to living at the farm, he hated bringing his negativity home with him. Feeling tired and miserable on his own was one thing, but making SJ worry about him was far worse.

"I'm fine, just a little tired." He tried to steer the conversation back. "You were saying something about a giant pumpkin?"

While still hesitant, SJ seemed to take him at his word, and continued. "Y-yeah... it was huge, I had to get Zephyr and Elliott to help drag it out. We almost had to call Shane to help too because it-"

Harvey was already starting to feel a little better. SJ had that effect on him. He slipped off his shoes, pulled off his tie and made his way over to the couch as he listened to her harrowing tale about the giant pumpkin that wouldn't fit through the door of the greenhouse. When she moved to sit next to him on the couch, she cocked her head to the side, studying his face. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked again.

"Yes, I'm fine." He repeated, a little colder than he meant to. "Sorry... it's been a very long day."

"It's okay." She said, eyes darting around in thought. "Did you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "No, not really."

She paused for a moment, lips pressed together in a frown. "Did you want me to leave you alone?"

"Yoba, no." he said, taking her hand. "Part of what made today so awful is that I missed you. Please don't let me bring you down too, I want to hear about your good day." 

"I missed you too." she smiled. "In that case, did you want something to eat? Zephyr made some pumpkin soup... with the giant- there's a lot of leftovers, that's all. We may need to get a second fridge. If you don't want that, I could make you something else."

"Soup sounds wonderful." he nodded. "Thank you."

"No problem."

She continued to stare at him, deep in thought. He knew that look well.

"You don't have to do that." he assured her.

"Do what?"

"You're looking at me trying to figure out how you can fix this, but you don't have to. It's not exactly something that can be fixed anyway."

SJ squinted before leaning forward and slowly kissing his cheek. When she pulled away she caught him smiling a little bit.

"There's that smile." she teased, which only made him smile even more. "Thought that might help. I'll go get your soup."

SJ stood up from the couch to head to the kitchen. Harvey watched her prepare two bowls of leftover pumpkin soup and carry them back to the couch.

She handed him his meal, and sat back down next to him, crossing her legs, and placing her own bowl in her lap.

"You didn't eat yet?" he asked.

"Of course not," she chuckled. "I was waiting for you."    

"How did I get so lucky?" he asked.

While careful not to disturb her soup, she leaned in again for a proper kiss. "You'd do the same for me."

"I would." he agreed. "So how did you get the pumpkin out of the greenhouse?"

"We had no choice, we had to cut it up and bring it out piece by piece. It was that or have Robin come down and widen the door, but we didn't want to wreck the glass and-"

Her bright smile returned as she continued. Harvey couldn't help but smile as well as he enjoyed his delicious pumpkin soup, while listening to the story of how it came to be.

Harvey knew there would always be bad days, but now, there was always hope for the nights to be much better.

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

Also on Ao3

#sdv #stardew writing #sdv harvey #sdv farmer #farmer SJ

[system-of-a-feather]

More Practical DID notes from our life, but its really come to our realization that XIV and I basically live a double life that mainly operates in parallel to each other, but just in support of one another. We both have very different aspirations and goals in life and things we are working to achieve, and we have different hobbies that don't translate / don't entirely translate over dissociative barriers. On top of that in "XIV spaces" people don't really know that this entity also has the personality flexibility to be me, and in "Riku spaces" people don't really know there is such a chaotic piece of shit resting in the shadows.

And we didn't INTEND to do this. I think we used to be like this before we really knew about the DID but like, unknowingly and now that we've realized the DID and subsystem stuff, we just reinstated it consciously - but its something that just came from the fact that we would aggressively tear at each other for getting in the way of each others long term goals and the only way we actually stopped trying to murder eachother was to learn to respect and leave space for what the other wanted to do.

And over time we developed a key valuable principle "Do no harm to each other's lives and long term goals and if put in a position where you shouldn't be / where the other is struggling, do your best to support, maintain, and uphold it. If a conflict of interest arises, work together to make both co-exist and if co-existence is not possible, weigh out who it matters more to and if that is equal, make a compromise to get as much as you can from both."

And so XIV doesn't really look over at my long term goals and plans beyond looking over enough to get the idea of what I'm doing and to stay aware and up to date on my game plan. Likewise, I don't really fret the details of his shit beyond making sure that we are still both working in the general same direction and that anything he is adding to his list is not something that has any major and obvious conflicts with mine. We entirely respect and trust each other to lead and guide our individual goals and we support each other in our attempt to seek those goals out to the best of our ability with a strong trust and faith in the agreement to "do no harm" and to have the genuine best intent for the other even above our own goals.

And so this really has created a really positive and interesting living arrangement and way of life because we are simultaneously - to summarize and butcher - living and developing the life of a Anarcho-Communist Rockerboy with a penchant for Violence and Martial Arts while ALSO living and developing the life of "Buddhist" Bird and Animal Loving Reluctant Mangaka Dorky Princely Academia Aesthetic Research Nerd and we actually make it work

But even more so, we look over at each others shit and give constructive criticism at each other over how we are approaching and going about achieving our life goals.

Largely it usually involves me critiquing XIV's approach as reckless and short sighted and in the end not amounting to anything other than the short term brief high and that if he actually wants to instill his values to a larger scale he has to actually BE ALIVE and EATING FOOD to do that and helps redirect his very radical and extreme desires into a more socially functional way

And largely with him looking at me settling for anything because its "not practical" and "not a realistic goal in life" and telling me to stop being a coward pathetic uncreative bitch who just accepts defeat when things get off the beaten road.

Cause continuing with the avian research saga, we contacted 4 prominent professors in the field of Avian behavior and 3/4 said it was unrealistic / very difficult / not possible and the one that said it MIGHT be is the queer, really nice and kind ADHD professor I work directly under so as much as I LOVE him hes the one most likely to be biased and "nice" in a dishonest way that could fuck me over.

And so I was just sighing and was like "alright Ill adjust my goals" and XIV just furrows his brow at me and is like "the fuck? that easy to make you hop off of your goals??? fucking bitch no."

And so the past two days he's been occasionally asking me probing questions to help us know EXACTLY what I want and EXACTLY my priorities in the specific aspects on reaching the dream job of working with parrot rehabilitation and shit to help me brainstorm on the best way to get the closest to what I want in a system that absolutely has firmly stated I am Not Allowed to Do That

And like just now he was like "Nah, fuck them and the system. They're just not creative or dedicated enough to come up with a new way to do shit. That just means you gotta carve your own path to it and hack the system to get what you want anyways. People do it all the time and thats how you make a prescendent for long term change and avenues. They didn't say we couldn't they just said its not CURRENTLY practical. Nothing we do is currently practical. If we listened to people saying shit wasn't practical / easy / precedented, we wouldn't be alive. Okay so your ideal bucket list is working with traumatized / neglected / abused avian species right? Alternative angle, become a god in rehabilitation in animal behavioral research with a focus on sheltered and rehabilitated dogs / cats and then once established have a 'change in interest' with a PhD in animal behavior and suddenly find a passion and interest in parrot behavior easy lol. Play the system then make the system. Worst case scenario, you are doing what you want to do with animals you love just slightly less addressing an issue related but not the same as the one you care for, best case scenario it works, you get what you want, and set a precedent for any other avid bird lovers to still have an avenue to work with birds on a research standards cause thats a flawed system ngl"

And I'm just looking over at him like.... bro you are literally the best co-host the fuck. You literally can't take no for an answer and in this case I am fucking HERE for it cause that IS a viable plan.

Like shit man, I love living my double life over here because this guy over here who is fostering his 'fuck the system' life can very much work in tandem and advise my 'fix the system' life even though he himself doesn't have much of an innate predisposition to emotionally care about fixing a system that he feels needs to burn first XD In turn, I keep him from burning us in an attempt to burn a system that won't burn without MASSIVE loss and cost to ourselves and the majority of people.

And like it REALLY balances out plus we both really get to have STELLAR aesthetics and a wide variety of goals, skills, talents and hobbies in life between the two of us so....

Fuck people who say you can't live a double life. They're just not creative or dedicated enough to come up with a new way to do shit. That just means you gotta carve your own path to it and hack the system to get what you want anyways.

#alter: riku #alter: xiv #actuallydid #dissociative identity disorder #recovery #healing #research saga

[third-hermit]

MCYT fanfics

( more specifically empires, hermitcraft and life series )

Learn to love - pastel_sprout

By royal decree, it is declared and agreed upon by both Kings and Queen of Oceana and the Royal Council of Rivendell, that their youngest sons shall be wed under the eyes of Aeor and The sea after both their 18th name day. In this union, both princes bring together two empires in a permanent bond. Oceana is to lend support to Rivendell with food and construction. Rivendell is to lend its magic abilities to Oceana to help keep the sea sane. -or- due to the crisis on both ends of the continent, Rivendell and Oceana set up a marriage between their princes. It does not start well.

Learn To Love - Pastel_Sprout - Empires SMP [Archive of Our Own]

The ocean at your door - series - by Shinygaycomputer

you looked so good in green - scott has to solve martyn’s murder, while trying to heal from and forget why he believes he caused it.

i love a good place to hide in plain sight - bdubs solves martyn’s murder, and cleo and etho try to solve their relationship

i try to worry for soul but i forget to - jimmy’s perspective of you looked so good in green

i’ll figure out a way to get us out of here - lizzie loves her little brother a whole lot.

i’ll find a new place to be from - scar knows his partner loves his secrets, but he didn’t know grian would kill to keep them

you could hear the ocean in a seashell - martyn meets mumbo, who freaks out about literally everything that happens next

the ocean at your door - shinygaycomputer (medieval_bread) - 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series, Empires SMP [Archive of Our Own]

Of giving and receiving love - series - by CrazyFoxLady

flower husbands / rancher duo empires fic

part 1

Scott, prince of Rivendell, trys to court the Codfather. The blonde, on the other hand, is oblivious. He doesn't get it, to Scott's endless frustration. Then the emperor of the swamp meets the Grimland's newest alchemist, a guy that suddenly showed up and quickly worked his way up to the position of count fWhip's trusted adviser. Suddenly the Codfather has many excuses to visit the former enemy's empire.

Part 2

Jimmy and Tango sort out how they will be moving forward. But it seems like even the Codfather was not aware of all the customs. So he get's overwhelmed quickly after his sister lays down what their people expect of him now.

At Rivendell, the prince goes through a crisis. He trys not to drown in those deafening feelings that threaten to pull him under. Will he find the strengh to move on?

Of giving and reciving love - CrazyFoxLady - Empires SMP, Hermitcraft SMP [Archive of Our Own]

Where the ocean meets the sky - series - iceraptoress

Flower husbands / empires s1 fic

Part 1

Seven-year old Prince Scott of Rivendell is looking forward to attending House Blossom's Decade Flower Festival, where he hopes to meet Merfolk for the first time. He is disappointed that no other Elves seem to share that excitement, and his older brother Xornoth tries to discourage his interest. When he does finally meet the Merfolk, he discovers that they are not what he was told to expect.

Part 2

The young Prince of the Ocean Empire had a difficult and traumatic start to life, and survived only to be resented by his people and neglected by his mother. Determined to prove himself, Jimmy struggles to fit into a world where he doesn't seem to entirely belong.

Part 3

As they grow and the years pass, Prince Scott of Rivendell and Prince Jimmy of the Ocean Empire lead very different lives. Well loved, Scott begins the life of study and exploration he has always wanted, while Jimmy continues to struggle for acceptance.

( I haven’t finished it yet but it’s so fucking good im dying)( i will post fanart )

I will add more

please tell me your favorites and come with suggestions!

#i have a google doc full of fics i have found but i wont add them until i have read them

[impuretale]

So a health update. Also a general warning: if you have periods and they are painful, tell your doctor. We have a tendency to accept certain levels of discomfort as inevitable, something that is just part of life. This leads to missed diagnoses and actions that could save your life, if not just improve its quality. So just do it.

What has been going on with me:

Almost two years after having my stroke, I finally decided I wanted to get on an IUD. There were several reasons, other than, you know, wanting to get on birth control before Republican America tries to make it illegal: The first and most important is that with mobility issues and being on disability, handling a period every month is both physically very difficult and a financial burden I can no longer afford. Especially as cost of living continues to go up while benefits, meager as they are, do not.

The second is that my periods are painful. And because they became moreso after I had been in the hospital, I took it as a matter of adjustment and my course righting itself. I had undiagnosed diabetes for years, so my hormones did not start to balance themselves until after I was diagnosed and properly medicated. I was correct, but only partly. I arranged to get an IUD with the promise it would not just make my periods milder, but after some months make them stop altogether: it was also birth control I could safely take without having another stroke. (Permanent, surgical solutions all have a higher risk of this, and are also major surgery.)

I came to find out, because they make you have a transvaginal ultrasound before inserting an IUD, that there was another reason for my periods being irregularly painful. I had a growth on my cervix. One that, for all list of possible causes, I was only a candidate for one: a sudden influx of estrogen. Which would have happened when I was suddenly on correct medication for my diabetes and actually had my hormone levels balanced. These cause one to not only bleed more, because the growths themselves bleed, but also for cramps to be worse.

Now, most people will tell you that having an IUD inserted is painful. Like, second only perhaps to childbirth painful. It is true, it’s awful.

That pain, though? Has basically been day 3 of my period since I got out of the hospital. That is how bad my period pain has been, and because we do not take our own pain seriously, just as doctors do not sometimes, I had been living with it for more than a year. 1-2 days of constant, having an IUD inserted levels of pain. Every. Month. So bad that even having tampons in was impossible because the pain, already immobilizingly awful, would get worse from the pressure.

The IUD helps, though my periods are longer now. Very, shockingly light, but longer.

I have scheduled surgery to have the growth removed. Partly because while the risk of cancer is low -- so is the risk of having a stroke before 45, and guess what? But also because it is causing this problem to begin with, why wouldn’t I have it taken out?

There is of course a risk, because of the use of anesthesia, and I am nervous. But yes. That’s where we are. Talk to your doctors.

#medical #personal

[invictarre-archive]

@galarsnewchamp​  /  continued from here.

                     ❝  I suggest we try extending the season by eight days, giving Challengers an additional forty-eight hours to prepare for and challenge the leaders from Turffield to Stow-on-Side. I say only those four because, well, if a Challenger hasn’t got their act together by that point, I don’t think they’d be a good fit for that year’s Circuit anyway. There shouldn’t be a need to play catch-up in the first place unless you’ve got especially poor time management.  ❞

There’s a bite to that last remark. Much less prominent than it once might have been, but still there. He’d taken issue with Francis’ rush to stay on track ever since he’d first heard about it, something that he’d made no secret of, but now wasn’t the time to rehash that particular argument.

                     ❝  However, I recognise many of our Challengers are training novices, and so we should extend a little leniency. Those additional days will ease them into the pace we expect from our future professionals, as well as prepare them for the increased pace and difficulty of the later Gyms. Does that sound fair?  ❞

Leon typed as he spoke, Rotom dutifully creating a backup copy of these notes and drafting an League-wide email to later attach them to. He was, in all honestly, getting far more out of this conversation than he’d first anticipated. No one would have blamed him for refusing to talk business with Francis, given their less-than-pleasant history and tendency to butt heads, but he’d decided to throw out their past arguments and attempt to make Galar’s future a collaborative effort. 

( After all Rose had done to take control away from Leon and force him to follow his plans, offering up the opportunity for discussion seemed like the most basic decency he could offer. )

                     ❝  As expected, you’re correct about that second point. Galar is a competitive nation, and the very nature of competition demands that people have to learn to accept defeat when faced with an opponent beyond their skill level. I believe a rework of the system, despite its potential benefits, would still cause more problems than it’d solve, not to mention how difficult it would be to get the League to actually agree to any such plan.  ❞

                     ❝  What I can do, however, is try to make the following year’s readmission process easier for former Challengers, so that those who lost before still get their chance to rematch the Gyms and try to earn the badges. It’s not ideal, granted, but it’s a realistic compromise.  ❞

Though the reluctance and knowing looks getting shot his way didn’t go unnoticed, he made no attempt to acknowledge them. Talking about his Champion struggles was difficult even at the best of times, and there was nothing about this conversation that made him particularly eager to prod at that sore spot today. But, at the very least, to see such concern displayed was... surprisingly touching. 

Leon’s own past could never be rewritten, but maybe they could protect the future Champions from having to share such experiences.

                     ❝  …There’s no way to predict who your title will go to, but it’s good that you’re thinking that far ahead. What sort of ideas did you have?  ❞

#it's our time to shoot for the stars; and we're not gonna stop until the world is ours | in character. #and it feels like flying out of fool's paradise; I'll leave them in their cages and rise to shining heights | v: a new chapter #galarsnewchamp

[isbethknowsbetter]

Dear Isbeth,

What does one do if one falls in love with a ghost? I know there are perfectly nice mortals around, but I seem to have become attached to someone who lacks corporeality. Is there a good way to break off such spectral attachments, or is there a place for phantoms in one’s life?

Sincerely,

Haunted

Dear Haunted,

I have devoted my life to the study of the larger world and I have been pursuing this study for a long time. I have uncovered hidden knowledge (some of it best left where it was, I admit), found the mundane in the apparently supernatural, and the supernatural in the apparently mundane. I have turned over many stones and unearthed the strange and wonderful creatures that dwelt in darkness beneath them. I have seen them in the light. I know many things, which is why I consider myself– rightly or not– qualified to advise people such as yourself on what they should and should not do.

I have never solved the mystery of love. There have been a few times I thought I had come close, but they were fleeting. Such is the nature of the mystery. You love a ghost. The advice blogger would, I suppose, tell you that there is no harm in allowing a haunting of a benign nature to continue, provided the presence of the phantom is not causing distress or harm. She would probably give you advice on how to banish the uninvited occupant should conditions change. But you haven’t asked me about the practicalities of life with a spirit. You have asked me about love.

And I do not understand love, Haunted, any more than you do. I cannot tell you why, when–as you say– one does not lack for flesh-and-blood prospects with beating hearts, one’s heart may attach itself to something or someone that, simply by its nature and through no fault of its own, cannot be with you in a way anyone could consider substantial. I flatter myself enough to say I understand mystery and magic or at least speak that language to a degree, but I do not understand the heart. 

If you want advice on cleansings and exorcisms, I will give it to you, as I have to many before you and certainly will to many after you. If you want advice on how to do such things without hurting the phantom’s feelings, I will tell you that unfortunately there is probably no way to ensure that. A ghost is an echo, a memory of desire. It is not like you or me. Ghosts are driven by want, want for something they desired so strongly that even death couldn’t stop the wanting. Unfortunately for them, closure is for the living. There is a great deal of magic in the world but none that I or anyone else has found that can turn back time. Whether their desire causes them pain as it would a living person is difficult to say. We don’t know how they feel about it, only that they seek and they do not stop. 

But you have not asked me what your ghost wants or how it feels. You seem to be asking me what you should want, how you should feel. I can tell you how to make a clean break of it– and it must be clean. You cannot re-summon what you have banished. I can tell you not all hauntings are unbearable, and in fact there are plenty of cases where they’re welcome. 

I cannot tell you whether you can bear it. All I can tell you is that you must take this phantom as they are, with all their need, their limitations, all the things they cannot give you. You must know, in your mysterious heart, that they will not change. Change is for the living, and your ghost is not one of us. And when you truly know this and lay to rest any hope that your ghost and this love can be anything other than what it is, that is when you will be able to determine whether it is something you can bear. 

You asked me whether there’s a place for phantoms in one’s life. My answer is yes, provided you can understand and fully accept their nature. If the pain of being without the one you love is greater than the pain of keeping them near despite the knowledge that they can never love you the way the living could, you have your answer. If you look to the future and your heart tells you a life of yearning for a phantom’s love will make you yourself a ghost with a beating heart, you have your answer. 

I do not understand the heart. I cannot tell you what yours will say to you. All I can tell you is that the dead are not the living and no power in the larger world can make them so– not even the power of love.

As ever,

Isbeth

#ghosts #fantasy writing #advice blog #character blog #hauntings #love #ask #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #fantasy writer #writeblr

[carmenraasch]

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An essential substance called vitamin C is used to cure several disorders, including the herpes virus.

One of the most frequent inquiries everyone has after reading this review is where they can buy the Herpesyl Dietary supplement. Is a prescription required in order to purchase it from any neighbourhood pharmacy?

Obviously not. Herpesyl is only available on the official k dietary supplement website, making it straightforward for anyone looking for a therapy to find and purchase it. Also, the products you order from across the globe will be delivered to your home. Also, Herpesyl will send your order to you within a few business days if you're a US citizen.

The only reputable and authentic website that sells Herpesyl gives a 60-day, 100% money-back guarantee on all transactions. You wouldn't need to worry about your personal information going out of control either because the website has also been thoroughly reviewed.

The site's discounts and package offers, which are presently live for a limited time until the conclusion of the holiday shopping season, make things even more interesting. Also, if you purchase the dietary supplement for the full six-month period, you will save more money than you should. Your confidence in the product will grow as you read through all the on the website's triumph stories.

Obviously not. Herpesyl is only available for purchase from the official Herpesyl dietary supplement website, making it straightforward for anyone looking for a cure to find and purchase it. Also, the products you order from across the globe will be delivered to your home. Also, Herpesyl will send your order to you within a few business days if you're a US citizen.

The only reputable and authentic website that sells Herpesyl gives a 60-day, 100% money-back guarantee on all transactions. You wouldn't need to worry about your personal information going out of control either because the website has also been thoroughly reviewed.

The site's discounts and package offers, which are presently live for a limited time until the conclusion of the holiday shopping season, make things even more interesting. Also, if you purchase the dietary supplement for the full six-month period, you will save more money than you should. Your confidence in the product will grow as you read through all the on the website's triumph stories.

Herpesyl reviews: the verdict

After considering the aforementioned data, one may conclude that Herpesyl can effectively treat Herpes. Herpesyl's unique ability is to locate the herpes virus in the brain and eradicate it using only natural ingredients. It offers the greatest level of clinical support and has undergone independent clinical testing. The 28-ingredient combination's effects might last longer.

Herpes Simplex Virus can be successfully treated with the Herpesyl medication. Herpesyl contains a variety of herbal extracts, minerals, and vitamins that have a lot of beneficial benefits on the health of the body and mind and have no unfavourable side effects.

The immune system is fortified and the herpes virus is entirely eradicated from the affected area thanks to this exclusive Herpesyl component combination. Under the company's 60-day money-back guarantee window, you can ask for a return.

In reviews of Herpesyl, customers praised the pills and said they effectively treat herpes. The Herpesyl supplement is all-natural, devoid of chemicals, and has no adverse effects, in contrast to the numerous other medicines that are commonly available.

The production of this brand-name supplement is done in GMP and FDA-approved facilities, which ensures that the highest safety and hygienic standards are met. The Herpesyl components are free of allergies and GMOs. Together with all of these benefits, each purchase comes with a 100 percent risk-free money-back guarantee from the developers.

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T1-C2-11 Incorporating Immigration to our stories

The three pigs: Immigration Once upon a time, there were three little pigs that were relaxing in their house, but suddenly they heard a howl, they didn't pay attention to it and continued doing what they were doing. Then, they heard again the same howl, so they went to check it was all ok in the forest, when they arrived there, they seem a shadow and a dim light, it was a hunter and a wolf fighting with each other, they saw them and immediately got afraid. They didn't know that the hunters were invading the forest and it was only the beginning.

The next day, the little pigs were discussing what they had seen, to be sure they weren't hallucinating, so they call the rabbit, but he didn't answer. The hunters at that moment were in the rabbit's house and heard something making noise in the room, it was its phone, they took it and answered it saying "hello f*cking pigs, there are talking to the hunters, your friend rabbit is dead because of his disrespectful to us, if you don't want to have the same destiny, go out of the forest right now and never come back, from now on this is our forest". When the three pigs heard that, they took some clothes and things that probably they needed.

The pigs walked along for three days until they found a village, there were a lot of animals but their aspect was so different they seem like mutants and zombies, the three little pigs didn't know that they have arrived in a village near Chornobyl. So, they must adapt to difficult living conditions with time.

A year later, the three pigs already have a house in the village and the people there have accepted them as his own family. All of them were happy there but the place changed them, the radiation affected them a lot, so the three pigs wouldn't be little any more and their bright pink colour turned into a green colour, like the pollution. Their life never came before but they were happy and safe from the hunters there. So, they preferred to be satisfied there cause from now on there was going to be their family.