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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 3 years

Note

You said in another post you don’t believe the Knights of Walpurgis (aka Death Eaters 1.0) were all that plausible. Why is that?

Oof, this is a larger ask than I think you intend that gets into a lot of controversial things. Though, I suppose that’s what this blog has become.

Remember when I just talked about my weird fanfiction? Remember those days? I remember those days.

I guess to start out we need to go at a high level and acknowledge a few things.

For all we know about Tom Riddle’s life we know very little that came from himself. Most of what we know came to us via The Halfblood Prince, in Dumbledore’s lessons to Harry.

Think what you will about Dumbledore, benign or evil, but we can all acknowledge that the man had a clear goal and agenda in Halfblood Prince. Dumbledore was facing his imminent death, suddenly he no longer was looking at years but a few months to accomplish everything he needed to. He knows Harry is a horcrux, knows he himself no longer has time to hunt down Tom’s horcruxes himself, and instead must leave all his work to Severus and, partly, to Harry Potter.

Specifically, he has to groom Harry for suicide.

By the time Severus relays the truth to Harry (never mind that this very nearly didn’t happen in canon and what would Dumbledore do then) Harry must be prepared to sacrifice his own life to stop Voldemort. That, or Severus will have to murder the shit out of him, and that was probably plan B but Dumbledore would prefer it if Harry went along willingly so that the whole thing’s a little less shady. Dumbledore’s not murdering children if the children murder themselves!

This means, in part, convincing Harry that Voldemort is such a monstrous evil that his presence on this earth cannot be tolerated. Voldemort cannot be allowed to survive, even if Harry’s death does not guarantee Voldemort’s destruction, Harry must do it because Voldemort is that bad. There must be no hope, no recourse, and the only action Harry can take is martyrdom.

And so, that is essentially what Dumbledore does.

He gives Harry a series of lessons, hand selecting memories of Tom Riddle’s past (often shockingly innocuous), and then narrates them to tell Harry exactly why Tom Riddle is so evil today. The flimsy excuse of Harry wheedling information out of Slughorn is nice, but not necessary, as Dumbledore has no reason to believe this memory contains information he himself doesn’t already know (indeed, that Tom actually did make six horcruxes as he told Slughorn is a very strange coincidence as we rarely end up doing what we thought or being where we thought we would when we were sixteen).

Per Dumbledore, Tom Riddle was born evil by his very conception, is doomed to be a lowly miserable creature, and that murdering him is effectively putting him out of his misery.

Right, how does this relate to this post?

Well, neverminding what JKR says outside of canon, we learn about the Knights of Walpurgis/Tom’s schoolboy syncophants from Dumbledore. Per Dumbledore, Tom Riddle, while a highly respected and charming student was Evil McEvil who had junior cultists galore. So, you see Harry, the man must die (ergo you must kill yourself).

However, this is frankly ridiculous and not in any way believable.

First, the Hogwarts era when Tom’s in school.

Personally, I believe Tom was regarded 100% as muggleborn. Tom went into Hogwarts with the last name Riddle coming from the muggle world. When he gets sorted into Slytherin he can point to know family members at all (and even if he could would, at best, be considered a low class halfblood). Tom doesn’t know the significance of parseltongue and likely tells no one (I’ll get into this in a few paragraphs). Tom may insist that he could be a halfblood, he knows nothing of his father, but given his origins he himself probably believes he’s muggleborn until he stumbles across the hereditary nature of parseltongue.

Regardless, Tom is impoverished, comes from lower class muggle London, has the last name Riddle, no relatives to vouch for him, and you want me to think that the purebloods sign up to be his cult members?

Even though Tom is terrifyingly talented and brilliant, he will be fighting for respect every inch of the way. At best, I see the Slytherin’s tolerating his presence. Riddle’s tolerable, for a muggleborn, it’s a shame that he has such dirty blood but they’ll admit he’s a talented sort.

However, as soon as he’s out of Hogwarts they’ll drop him like it’s hot.

This is evidenced by a few things. Upon graduation, Tom Riddle struggles to secure employment. He tries for the Defense position but is unvested and a recent graduate, and so is rejected (and when he later tries again Dumbledore laughs in his place and says, “Bitch please, I will never hire you, I just accepted your application so I could spend this interview laughing in your face!”) He does not enter the ministry, which would likely have been far more beneficial to getting him a leg up in society.

No, Tom instead secures employment as a clerk and purchaser at Borgin and Burke’s the wizarding world’s shadiest pawn shop equivalent where he spends his time miserably wooing older women so they’ll sell him their fine goods. Dumbledore tries to convince us this was Tom’s plan, that he somehow knew about the locket beforehand, but this is bullshit. How the hell would Tom know that the heirloom undoubtedly locked away under safe and key had been sold to Borgin and Burkes? And even if he did, why would Tom take up this miserable position doing nothing he wanted to do?

Whatever minions Tom is supposed to have, whatever friends, they dropped him completely, pretended they never knew him, and did nothing to secure Tom’s future.

Now, back to the parseltongue bit since I made a promise. I believe Tom told no one. Had Tom told the Slytherins he was the Heir of Slytherin, this would have spread like wild fire not only across the house but the school. All the staff would remember Tom as Tom Slytherin, Tom would likely have changed his name, and frankly Tom probably would have been able to get into the ministry with a name like that. Tom Riddle’s life would have looked very different.

More, had the Chamber of Secrets episode happened in a world where Tom proves his heritage, he would have immediately been caught. Someone in Slytherin, even if only a few dormmates knew, would have narked on him. Someone would have been jealous, scared, etc. and would have turned him easily over to the authorities. A secret like that simply cannot be kept, it would spread, and there would be no needing to frame Hagrid and none of Tom getting off.

More, I always got the feeling very few knew that Voldemort had once been Tom Riddle. First, it would make recruiting very difficult. Voldemort is the mysterious, beautiful, heir of Slytherin who has come back from abroad to save their country. Tom Riddle is a dirt poor mudblood who comes from decades of incest and squalor.

Given the wizarding world at large does not know who Tom Riddle is (proved by The Chamber of Secrets) I would suspect the vast majority of Death Eaters and Order members didn’t either. Dumbledore was the one who pieced it together thanks, in part, to a ten-year-old Tom Riddle confessing his parseltongue abilities.

If Tom Riddle had told most people he was a parseltongue, far more would have made the connection, it would be common knowledge. Which means, of course, Tom Riddle has no ability to prove his heritage and is thus muggleborn swine.

More, I think Tom wouldn’t want Tom Riddle to be associated with Voldemort. When he becomes Voldemort, he will transcend his lackluster origins and become far more than an ordinary, mortal, man. He will leave the name Riddle behind and no one will remember that boy. He will eclipse his past.

Not to mention, that if Tom gave them the excuse of his heritage, it means giving himself the easy way out in Hogwarts. They won’t be forced to acknowledge him, acknowledge that he’s better than them despite his roots, but instead given the easy excuse of “oh, it’s because he’s the heir of Slytherin, duh”. And I think Tom would loathe the idea of that.

Tom wanting to eradicate the memory of Tom Riddle is especially why I think Voldemort came out of nowhere in the 70′s.

Tom doesn’t want to be recognized as Tom, he wants to be mysterious and originless, to give the purebloods everything they want to believe in. If it’s people he went to school with, they’ll recognize him, he’ll be just an ordinary mortal to them. If it’s their young, stupid, children well then he has a real chance.

Voldemort is a figure of myth, something that appears to come out of legend itself, the savior of his country.

He cannot have origin let alone Tom Riddle’s.

Not to mention the idea that multiple people waited on Tom Riddle for generations, even for decades where we know he went abroad and travelled the world, is utterly ridiculous. Why would they ever do this? What do they even gain from this? And why would it take so long to take over this ridiculously incompetent country THAT ALL OF TOM’S RECRUITS ARE PRACTICALLY SET TO CONTROL (the beauty of the Death Eaters is that they form a good chunk of the Wizengamot, and in using them, Tom Riddle effectively destroys the country from the inside out, which I believe was his true goal the entire time).

If Tom Riddle is so terrible, so horrifyingly competent, then it can’t have taken him fifty years of constant work to topple the country.

So, yeah, there were no Death Eaters 1.0.

#ask #anon #tom riddle #voldemort #the death eaters #the knights of walpurgis

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eyayah-oya · 3 years

Text

I never knew what I was missing

Cloneship Week Day 2 - Soulmates - @cloneshipweek

Jesse/Kix

Rating: T

Canon typical violence, major character injury (I don’t go into graphic detail of the injury, though)

Ao3 link

Since the moment Jesse was decanted, there was an ache in the back of his mind, as though he was missing something important, but could function without it. He’d heard whispers from other cadets that they felt the same. They all had to be careful to not let the Kaminoans or the Cuy’val Dar know about this strange emptiness in the back of their minds for fear of what would happen to them. Surely, this deep-seated need for something was some kind of defect the longnecks hadn’t expected.

As Jesse got older, he began to hear even quieter rumors, basically legends, that said some of the clones found something to fill that aching emptiness. According to those rumors, it wasn’t something that helped, but someone. But it wasn’t until Jesse was eight that he learned about soulmates.

The Alpha class somehow managed to get access to the holonet, and they found the information on soulmates and what it means to have one. The Alphas then passed that information down to the CCs, who passed it down to the CTs, always careful to not let any of the trainers or Kaminoans come across the information.

A soulmate is the term used for someone that they couldn’t live without, who, once they met, would complete each other in a way that no one else was able to. Soulmates could be platonic, familial, or romantic, but they were supposed to be the one a being could always rely on. There weren’t any particular abilities or tactical advantages that came from finding and connecting to your soulmate, but Jesse found he rather liked the idea of having someone that was meant for him specifically. Clones weren’t allowed much in the universe. They weren’t even allowed to have names, though most clones gave themselves one just to prove that they were people, too. But Jesse’s soulmate was his, whoever they were. And that meant everything.

Jesse first watched a brother find a soulmate just before all the battle-ready clones were sent out to Geonosis with General Yoda, Grandmaster of the Jedi Order. He’d stepped foot inside a gunship along with his squad and a squad of brothers he didn’t know. His batchmate was pulled across the gunship until they were standing face to face with another clone, helmets off so they could see each other. The pure joy radiating from them bolstered everyone’s spirits even higher than they already were. After all, the Jedi had finally come, and they would be able to finally fulfill their purpose.

Two hours later, he watched his batchmate get shot in the face by a Geonosian and the newly found soulmate nearly break down from grief and pain. Less than a minute later, and the other clone met his own end.

So many clones died on Geonosis. So many who had never found their soulmates. So many that had, and were now separated by death itself. And there were many who followed their soulmates quickly into death, rather than survive and live a life without the other.

Following that battle, Jesse found himself fearing that void in the back of his mind where his soulmate was supposed to be. Had they died before they’d even met? How did he know that his soulmate was gone if they’d never found each other? Was it an awful pain like he’d seen with his new squad in the 501st? Would he ever be able to find out, or would Jesse be stuck in an endless ignorance?

There were no answers. Fellow clones, vod’e, couldn’t answer him, and nat-borns had rarely had to worry about that kind of thing until the war broke out. Sure, there was probably someone, somewhere who might know the answer, but there was no way to scientifically prove anything as no one knew their soulmate until they met.

As the war progressed, Jesse did his best to ignore everything about soulmates. As soldiers, they were supposed to be the best fighters, defending the Republic against the Separatist droid armies. Worrying about his soulmate would only distract him and put everyone else in danger. He’d seen vod’e self-destruct after their batchmate or cyare were killed, and Jesse could admit that he never wanted to deal with anything like that.

It wasn’t until a difficult battle on some Outer Rim planet that was mostly marshes that he was abruptly confronted with the idea of soulmates again.

“Get down! Get down!” Jesse shouted at the group of shinies he had been put in charge of. The blast of a cannon from one of those octo-droids nearly blew the head off of a kid who was cackling madly as he shot the incoming droids with his Z6. Jesse managed to pull him behind shelter just in time, practically flattening the kid to keep him safe.

“What the kark do you think you were doing?” Jesse ground out. He pulled the shiny up enough for them to crawl away from their current position to try to find someplace a bit more defensible. He’d already lost two members of his squad in this skirmish and he didn’t want to lose any more. The shiny just scrambled after his squadmates, pausing every few feet to take out the droids that were getting too close to their position.

Christophsis was a nightmare. They’d taken the city easily enough the first time, but with the spy that had taken out their weapons depot, the Separatists were winning against both General Skywalker and General Kenobi. Too many men in both companies were dying, and from what Jesse understood, no one was answering their plea for reinforcements.

New orders came through over Jesse’s HUD, and he quickly turned to gather the eight shinies he had left. “Retreat and regroup with the main army. Keep your heads down and blasters up.”

“Yes, sir!” they chorused.

The extra shooty shiny cackled wildly. “Let’s get these clankers!” he shouted and popped up to mow down a row of clankers with his Z6, completely disregarding the blaster bolts headed his way.

Jesse tugged the shiny back down and glared extra hard at him, hoping that he would be able to feel the glare despite the bucket. “Keep your damn head down or you’re going to get it blown off. Stick with your squad and head back to the base,” Jesse ordered angrily.

With a sheepish salute, the shiny turned and followed his squadmates as they ran back to the base. Jesse covered their flanks as they ran, taking out as many B-1s and SBDs as he could as he followed a minute later. The whine of a cannon sent Jesse diving into cover. He gulped in lungfuls of air as desperately as he could while he had a second of respite until the droids would reach his position and he’d be forced to move again. At least his shinies made it back to base safely.

The giant crystal Jesse hid behind glowed a brilliant blue-green and he had only a second to think “Oh shit,” before the world around him exploded.

He lost time, though he wasn’t sure how much. There was a sharp pain in his chest that hurt with every breath he took, but especially when he coughed. Something metallic lingered in his mouth, making him gag from the awful flavor, but there was nowhere to spit it out. Protocol had been drilled into his head from the time he was decanted: Never remove your helmet in an active battle. The last thing he wanted was to have nasty tasting spit inside his bucket.

Blaster bolts flashed overhead, blue and red striking against the green crystal the city was built of. It was strangely beautiful, the danger adding to the beauty in a way that Jesse couldn’t describe. Soothing. Reality warped a little, and Jesse began to drift. Drift far away, following his brothers who had marched on.

Something deep in the back of his mind snapped into place, filling the empty space that had always existed. Jesse jolted as if he had been shocked, and let out an awful sob at the pain coursing through his chest. His immediate instinct was to curl in away from the pain, but something was holding him down, keeping him from moving. Somehow, that was more terrifying than anything else he had experienced since he’d first been deployed to Geonosis.

“Stop moving! I need a stretcher, stat! Massive bleeding from the chest cavity, but I have a pulse and I plan to make sure he has a pulse by the end of the day.”

Jesse relaxed as he recognized a brother’s voice. A helmet appeared in his visual range as something pressed against his chest. A scream wrenched from the depths of his chest in response, heaving sobs making the pain worse with every breath and every slight shift in movement. It was worse than anything else he had ever experienced in his life.

And yet . . .

The hole in his mind had been filled. Jesse, sometime between long moments lost to agony, realized that meant he had met his soulmate. It took long minutes later, when the medic managed to get him onto a makeshift stretcher for transport back to the base, that he realized the medic was his soulmate. His other half. The one that was supposed to complete him in every way.

A feeling pulsed from the area that Jesse knew his soulmate now occupied, though it was barely noticeable with all the pain signals firing in his brain. It was a warm, soothing feeling, almost like a hug, or praise from the Captain or the Commander. Warm like the rare sunny day on Kamino and warm like the jungle sims they trained on. Warm like batchmates piling together in the same tube for comfort. It was as comforting as a hug from his batchmates, though all of them had been killed on Geonosis. In the middle of treating his life-threatening wounds, his soulmate was making sure Jesse felt safe and cared for. Whoever this medic was, Jesse thought that maybe, just maybe, he could fall in love with them.

Well, at least I know I’m in good hands, Jesse thought deliriously. The medic would do everything he could to make sure Jesse lived to see the end of the day.

Every step of the way back to base jolted his injury further, and distantly, Jesse wondered what, exactly, had put him in this condition. Blaster wounds didn’t usually bleed since they instantly cauterized the wound. Maybe shrapnel? Definitely something sharp and definitely something poking his lungs. Jesse did not recommend lungs being poked. Universe, kindly kark off and never let something like that happen to him again, please and thank you.

“Move! Out of the way, soldier!” the medic snapped and Jesse could hear a mad scramble as whichever brothers were in his way scampered off to the side.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Jesse recognized the voice of his shooty shiny, though how he managed to do that while delirious with pain escaped him. Maybe it was the number of times the shiny seemed to put himself in danger during the last few days.

“I will do everything I can to make sure he is,” the medic responded, very carefully not promising anything. Good vod. It’s a bad idea to give false hope, just as it’s a bad idea to promise something he wouldn’t have much control over. Jesse would die when his time was up, and until then, he would fight to stay alive every second.

-------

“You’re lucky you survived,” the medic said later, after the battle was saved and both the Resolute and the Negotiator were headed to their next mission. Jesse didn’t know the details, and he didn’t care to, either. What he did care about was the fact that his soulmate was sitting beside his bed and had saved his life and Jesse still didn’t know his name.

“I had a good medic,” Jesse quipped. He groaned as he began to test the mobility of his extremities. Chest wounds were awful, and he desperately hoped he would never have to live through one again.

“It was a close thing. You had to be put in a bacta tank for two days before you were healed enough to be put in a bed. A few more minutes out there and you would have bled out.”

From what Jesse remembered, that made sense. “What impaled me?” he decided to ask.

The medic grabbed something from the tray beside his bed. A green crystal shard from Christophsis the size of his thumb lay innocently on the medic’s palm. It glinted innocently in the harsh lights of the medbay, ethereal and stunning. And yet, that thing had nearly killed him on the battlefield of Christophsis.

“Guess the most beautiful things really are the most dangerous,” Jesse said.

The medic snorted and turned to fill out some forms on his datapad. Jesse shamelessly used this opportunity to study his soulmate. The vod had intricate designs cut into his hair, which was cut down to a buzz. He had sharper cheekbones and a thinner face than most other clones, though for any nat-born the difference wouldn’t be noticeable. There was also a tattoo on the side of his head that read “The only good droid is a dead one.” Jesse agreed completely. Mostly. The mousedroids and the General’s R2 unit weren’t bad. Any Seppie droid though? Yeah, they were only good when they were reduced to scrap. The medic’s hands were slimmer than Jesse’s, the way most medics’ hands were. It was easier to treat delicate injuries if you didn’t have to worry about thick fingers getting in the way. Some brothers called medics delicate, but Jesse had never thought that way. Medics were stronger than the average clone, simply because they had to pick up and haul brothers far from the battle while they were in their armor. Plus, they had to deal with the deaths of thousands of brothers without breaking themselves. Medics were the strongest vod’e.

“Have you finished your staring?”

Jesse smirked. “Nope. But I would like your name.”

The medic answered with a sharp grin. He leaned forward, his elbow on Jesse’s bed and his chin propped up on his fist. “What makes you think you should have it?”

“I’d like to know who my savior is,” Jesse answered. He felt a flicker of amusement coming from the space in his mind where the medic had taken root. “You and I are gonna be close, I can tell.”

“Those lines don’t work on me,” the medic said, his smile still razor-sharp. “I only give my name to a di’kutla runi that doesn’t end up in my medbay bleeding from their chest.”

Jesse’s heart fluttered in his chest, broadcasted to the whole medbay by the karking machine monitoring his vitals. The medic had called him “runi”. Soul. The Alphas had overheard that word from some of the trainers on Kamino when they talked about families left behind or marching ahead. The medic really was his soulmate.

Said medic was a karking bastard though and should definitely stop smirking like that every time Jesse’s heart literally skipped a beat. That smirk was doing dangerous things to his mind, and he hated that he was stuck in a bed in the medbay for the foreseeable future. At least he’d be able to talk to his soulmate and get to know him. If said soulmate would karking cooperate.

“Kix,” the medic said after a few minutes of Jesse trying to tamp down his blush and get his wayward heart to stop betraying him.

“Huh?” Jesse said intelligently.

“My name. Kix. With an x.”

Kix. Jesse rolled the name around in his head for a few seconds before he decided that the name suited his soulmate. “I’m Jesse. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too.” The smirk shifted into a softer smile. One that reminded Jesse of the warmth he had felt when their connection had snapped into place and Kix tried to comfort him while treating his shrapnel wound. The warmth that delirious Jesse had decided he could easily fall in love with.

With a clap of his hands, Kix turned away from Jesse’s bed, who immediately ached to reach out and keep. He didn’t want to be alone and he certainly didn’t want his soulmate to leave.

“Now that you’re awake, I have a pack of shinies that I am officially making your problem.” Kix opened the medbay doors and waved to someone down the hall. He turned and flashed that same dangerous smile. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

Jesse decided that he would deal with a hundred shooty shinies if it meant he could hear Kix’s laugh again when the reckless one (who promptly declared that his name was Hardcase, given to him by Captain Rex himself) started talking a minute at Jesse without getting a single breath between sentences.

It would definitely be worth it. After all, the Mandalorian wedding vows (stolen off the holonet in a Mando’a learning module) mention raising warriors together. Who better than the shinies of the 501st?

#clone/clone #jessix #jesse/kix #clone trooper kix #clone trooper jesse #clone trooper hardcase #look a wild hardcase appeared #haha how did he get there #soulmate au #cloneshipweek2021 #day 2 | soulmates #cloneshipping

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morceid · 3 years

Text

Beating the Dead Swan

Chapter 2: lonely angels wrapped in silk

read on ao3

<- chapter one

Summary: Penelope gives the profiles of Camille and other victims like her to the team.

Word Count: 1928

Category: angst

Content Warnings: general criminal minds murder stuff

A/N: noting here that this fic takes place in 2005 when criminal minds starts and spencer is 24

It started out a simple equivocal death investigation. Seven women had been found in their apartments, dead with their wrists slashed. Unfortunately not an unusual occurrence, Detective Conner thought nothing of it. Upon trying to contact the employers of each victim, Conner found they all worked for the same people, and decided to mark them down for further investigation just in case. When the fourth victim was found in her father’s beach house just outside of Virginia, the case became federal and handed to the FBI.

The case, being low priority, was given to Derek Morgan to monitor the progress of.

“You’re completely sure there’s nothing about the bodies that connect these victims?”

“Agent Morgan, if there was anything I would tell you. I think it’s time you tell Detective Conner to rule these deaths a suicide.”

“Alright, will do.” Derek hung up with the coroner. Just then his mobile phone rang with the number of the detective displayed on the top of the screen. Derek sighed.

“Agent Morgan.” He answered.

“Agent, there’s another victim-”

“Conner, listen, they aren’t connected, there is no signature unless you can consider the suicide, I think you oughtta-”

“She was called in by a friend. Not a family member, not an apartment manager, not a coworker, a real friend. Derek, he’s devolving.”

Derek sighed, “Detective, I’ll let you send her body over to the coroner but I doubt there will be anything remarkable.”

There was some mumbling on the other end of the line before Detective Conner gave a response.

“That’s the thing, Agent Morgan, this victim is remarkable. She had piercing holes in her ears just like the others.”

“And how is that remarkable?”

“Her ears weren’t pierced.”

“And you’re sure about that, Detective?”

“Her best friend swears it. Do you think they could be puncture marks?”

“I’m not sure, let me tell Doctor Phyllis.”

Derek set down his mobile phone and dialed the coroner on his office phone.

“Doctor Phyllis?”

“You back again so soon, Agent?”

“Look, we got a new victim, she's got puncture marks on her ears. Not piercings, puncture marks. Can you check the other victims to make sure they’re not puncture marks?”

“Okay, give me a minute.”

Derek heard the sound of doors opening.

“Well, shit, they are puncture marks. On every single ear.”

“Thanks, Doctor Phyllis.”

Derek hung up on the office phone.

“Do I still have you here, Detective?”

“Yep. Were they piercings?”

“Nope. Bring in the girl’s friend and call in the family members of the other victims. We’re gonna need to talk to them.”

Derek hung up the phone and ran up to Hotch’s office.

“Something up, Morgan?” Hotch asked.

“You know that case Detective Conner asked me to look into?”

“The one with the suicides?”

“Yeah, well they might not be suicides. I’m having Conner bring in some people to ask them some questions. You mind if I ask Rossi and Prentiss to help?”

“Of course not, but if we get another case then leave the questioning for Detective Conner, alright?”

“Gotcha, boss.”

Derek gathered Rossi, Prentiss, and Penelope in the break room to discuss the case.

“Babygirl, you want to read out the profiles of our victims?”

“Reluctantly,” Penelope pulled up each of the files onto her laptop. “Danica Wilson, a 45 year old woman, was found by her landlord. She grew up in Victoria, Canada, but when she was 12, her parents got a divorce. Her mother moved her and her three siblings to North Dakota shortly after. All throughout highschool she seemed immensely interested in biology and chemistry. She was really good at it too, she took AP classes and she was a promising student. Unfortunately, her mom didn’t want her to do anything of the sort, and set her up for ballet classes her junior year. To appease her mom she studied the history of dance during college and ended up climbing up from an intern at a dance company all the way to a choreographer. Her love for science was still there the whole way through though, she’s been taking free college courses online for biology for about a year. She was found with her wrists slashed and spread out in a star shape on the middle of her bed. There were no fingerprints anywhere in her home and the slashes appeared to be self inflicted. Her mom died a week before she was found, all of her siblings live in other states, and she didn't have any close friends. She never dated, even though she had perfect brown eyes and blonde hair. According to her siblings she had all of the boys at her school after her. Despite there being no evidence of depression or other mental illness officers deemed her mothers death as a stressor and marked her death a suicide.”

“Then we have Maya Peto, 22 years old, found by her sister.”

“So there’s no age preference?” Rossi asked.

“Precisely,” Penelope continued, “She grew up in Detroit. Her parents raised her in a Christian household and shes been openly gay since she was 18. Her dad died when she was 14, leaving Maya and one sister to be raised by their mother. She did exceptionally well in math, but seemed to have no interest in pursuing it as a career. Instead, she became captain of her dance team in highschool and went to Wirtson’s Dance Academy for college. Her last year there, she was picked by Next Star Theatre Company, the same one as all of the other victims, to be on their ballet team. She was found just like Danica, and would be just like the rest of the victims. Her now ex-girlfriend and her had a kid, his name is Gene, he’s a year old, and Maya had full custody of him because Khloe, the girlfriend, had begun doing drugs about a week after Gene was born. How could lesbians have a child? Khloe was cheating. Maya gained full custody of Gene after a year long legal battle, and she had left him with her sister for a weekend while she baby proofed her house. Unfortunately, when she went to Maya’s apartment to return Gene, she found her dead. It was the anniversary of her father’s death when she was found, so the ever so ignorant officers deemed it another suicide.

“Then we have Annie Carr, 24. A coworker found her. Born here in Virginia, Annie was raised by her dad after her mom died when she was about one. She seemed to have a pretty awesome life. Her dad worked two jobs and she’s never had all that much money, but she was a happy kid. She went to a community college and ended up taking the same internship that Danica Wilson took, but she has stayed in that internship for years, mooching money off of her dad and siblings. Mabel Golden, the coworker that found her, claims that there’s no way Annie could’ve killed herself. She didn’t show any signs of depression or mental illness, though she could be pessimistic at times. Mabel said their boss was threatening to let her go, seeing as she hasn’t improved her work ethic in the last five years. Deemed another suicide.

“The fourth victim was Valentine Orange, 36, found by her father. She grew up in Maryland, started acting and dancing at six, her family was pretty wealthy, and she got accepted into the same dance academy and theatre company as Maya Peto. She also danced on the same ballet team. She told her team leader she was going away for a week to her father’s beach house, and when her father came to get her on the day she was supposed to leave, he found her in the guest bedroom, just like the other victims. The beach house was located in Maryland, and due to Detective Cooper’s hunch, the case got handed to us for an equivocal death investigation.

“Francis Falstaff, our fifth victim, was found by her adoptive mother. She was 22. Both of her parents died in a car crash a month after she was born, so she grew up in a multitude of foster homes. When she was ten her and her sister were adopted by Baron Falstaff and Maggie Falstaff. They seemed to be good parents. They went to all of their school events and paid for both of the girls’ college tuition. Francis was trying to make it into the same theatre company that employed the rest of the victims, specifically to work as a jazz dancer. She seemed to have killed herself, just like the rest of the victims, but her mom insists that she couldn’t have. She had a very promising life ahead of her. When they dissected her room they found an evidence board in the back of her closet. Her sister, Yvette, was stabbed to death a couple years back on the way to a party, and Francis was obsessed with finding the killer. Which is why she didn’t have many friends. When it was all processed, they found that the evidence led to Yvette’s boyfriend at the time. It was assumed that this weighed heavily enough on Francis that she ended up, well you know, on the same day she found out.

“Jane Sweeney, the second to last victim who worked on the Next Star Theatre Company ballet team, was 29. She’s been with the company since she was 20, and unfortunately her private teacher was the one who found her. Her father left when she was young. She liked expressing all of her success, almost narcissistically so. According to some other people on the dance team she was the best dancer and loved flaunting it. She was a kind of queen bee and seemed to value herself more than others most of the time. It just doesn’t make sense for her to kill herself.

“Lillian Bonner was the next victim. She was 54. She taught modern dance at the company. She lived with and was found by her only son, Tyrell, who she had with her husband Ivan. Though they were still legally married, the two were separated. Tyrell, who’s 16, said she was a fantastic mom. She always made sure he was fed and had someone to talk to. He told her practically everything about his life and he is having a really difficult time without her. He doesn’t believe that she would do that to herself.

“Our last victim was Camille Price. She was 25. Her best friend, Spencer Reid, who was on the same ballet team, found her. She was the only one who really had people around her. She grew up in Virginia with her parents and two brothers, one older, one younger. She visited them whenever she could. Everyone in her apartment building loved her, she even made dinner for one of the elderly occupants every Friday. Spencer doubts there is anything that would want to make her commit suicide, and to put the icing on the cake, there were puncture marks on her ears that police mistook for piercings. ‘What were they?’ you ask? Injection sites. How do we know this? Spencer swore that there was no way they could be piercings because Camille never wore earrings the entire 8 years he knew her because the Next Star Theatre Company does not allow their dancers to wear piercings or jewelry.”

“Alright, let’s go see if these people got any info for us.” Rossi got out of his seat and headed towards the interview rooms.

TAGLIST: @hotchrocket @hotpotatowoman @thisdeathtollbringsnopeace @endingsbeginnings @d3pr3ss3d-w33d-wh0re @nonbinary-spencie @moss0ntherocks @scandinavian-punk @drinkingcroissants @penemily @izzyl13 @leomo0n @tiedyedrose1705 @natclis

#moreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #original female character #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #tw murder #tw death #tw bruises #emily prentiss #david rossi #penelope garcia #angst #criminal minds angst

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sluttyten · 4 years

Text

whiplash

summary: you and mark hate each other, but that line between hate and love is really so very thin

words: 4,394

tags: knifeplay, blood play, dry humping, penetration

When SM decides that there should be a female subunit of NCT, you’re one of the members. At first the guys hate the idea of there being female members, but it doesn’t even really matter because your subunit operates almost independently from the rest of NCT. Until one day your manager tells you that NCT U is having a comeback and they want you to be in it.

You’ve met the guys before of course, but you’ve never really practiced with them or even had like a full conversation with any of them. Until now.

The unit is made up of you, Mark, Yuta, Doyoung, Renjun, and Hendery, and one other girl from the female subunit. And instantly, you and Mark don’t get along. Maybe it’s due to a bad first impression or something, but you just grate on each other’s nerves, but it seems that Mark really can’t stand you at all.

Before you met him, before you were in the group, you knew who Mark Lee was. You’d seen videos and stuff of him and he always seemed so nice and sweet and friendly. But now you definitely see that he’s not like that at all. You can’t believe that you were lowkey biasing him before you were actually in the group. Like he’s still very visually attractive but everything else about him…

At some point you’re doing a little bit of overseas promotion for the group, so you’re all staying in a hotel. It’s fun to get to travel overseas with the group and it’s your first time doing so, therefore when you’re talking with the other girl in the group you’re both being loud and laughing, enjoying yourselves on this trip. You’re talking with Hendery and Yuta as well since they’re friendly, but Mark just glared at you, not even a part of this conversation, and he tells you to shut the fuck up. Specifically you. Not your other girl group member, not Yuta, not Hendery. You.

You do shut up, but you sit there internally seething, arms folded as you glare at the back of his head, and just radiate all of your anger, hoping Mark feels it. You can’t stand him, he makes you furious, and it just races through you, violent urges appearing in your mind like pushing Mark up against a wall or maybe having him push you against a wall, hands rough on him or maybe him being rough back with you, and then your imagination shifts and suddenly it’s not just pure anger—the urges in your mind shift the visualization to Mark’s bare shoulders under your hands, his hips against yours.

It’s fucking stupid. Hate and lust are so easily tangled together for you.

Just a few days later, you’re just generally pissed off. You didn’t sleep well the night before because the other girl was talking in her sleep, plus you’re just still mad at Mark for telling you to shut the fuck up, and you just feel angry and frustrated at yourself for your mind creating scenarios that turn sexual every time you want to be mad at Mark.

So, when you’re coming back to the hotel from a performance, neither one of you is actually in a good mood at all. Everyone’s keeping their distance, and as you walk toward the bank of elevators in the hotel lobby, the rest of your group members hurry ahead and the staff members drag behind, but you notice none of this until you’re already in the elevator with the doors closed behind you.

It’s just you and Mark.

“What the fuck.” You groan, turning your back on him.

Mark makes an equally dissatisfied noise as the elevator shudders to life and begins rising. It shudders again and stops. You wait for the doors to open, for some poor hotel guest to step into the hostile air of this elevator, but nothing happens.

The doors stay closed.

And then the lights flicker.

“What did you do?” Mark asks, moving over toward you to move you out of the way so he can look at the panel of buttons you were standing in front of.

You frown at him, wrinkling your nose at his close proximity. “I didn’t do anything. Why would I? You think I want to be stuck in here with you of all people?”

Mark snarks back, and you are just not in the mood at all to deal with him, especially not in light of this new situation.

You shove him.

Mark stumbles backwards until his shoulders hit the opposite wall of the elevator. For just a second his eyes are wide and confused, but then that look disappears and he’s sneering at you, like a challenge.

You close the distance between you, press your hands to his shoulders to keep him pinned like that, but Mark just keeps staring right back at you without any shame or fear or anything more than like this look of satisfaction. As if he’s been waiting for you to snap like this.

And that infuriates you.

“I fucking hate you.” You spit the words, but Mark just smirks.

When you first moved to Seoul, when you left your family behind in pursuit of your career, your father slipped you a gift before you got in the car to leave. “Don’t tell your mother,” he’d whispered. “I just want you to be safe. It’s a big city and there are dangerous people.” He’d pressed the gift into your hands, hugged you tight, and let you climb into the car that would take you away from them.

It was a while later when you finally looked at the gift and found that it was a switchblade he’d slipped you. At first it seemed over dramatic. You would just carry like pepper spray or something. But within your first week in the city, as you walked home alone from the convenience store one night, you wished you had the blade, so you began carrying it.

And even now, a few years later, with bodyguards who protected you, you still carried the switchblade.

You leave one hand on Mark’s shoulder, pinning him to the elevator’s wall, and your other you dip to your waist.

Mark hisses in surprise when you press the cold metal of the blade against his throat. Not hard enough to do any damage, just enough that he feels it’s presence, the sharpness, the threat.

It’s a risky move and you realize it the next second. Mark could freak the fuck out, report you to your managers for threatening him with a weapon. You could be terminated for this.

Luckily, Mark just swears under his breath, and you feel his fingers curl over your hip as he tilts his chin up to expose more of his throat.

Heat unfurls in your belly. The whole atmosphere in the elevator changes. Your pressed against every inch of Mark, your blade grazes his throat when he swallows. When he moans and shifts his hips forward, just enough that you can feel something hard against you, you drop everything, step back.

“Are you turned on, you sick fuck?” You stow the switchblade back in your waistband, noticing the way Mark’s eyes follow it. And though your tone is accusatory, you push away the voice in the back of your mind that reminds you that you’re turned on too. That heat is just pooling inside you; you can still feel the ghostly warmth and weight of Mark’s body against yours, feel the thrill that zipped through you as you held a knife to his throat and he liked it.

The elevator shudders again and moves, smoothly this time until it stops on the floor where your rooms are. You leave the elevator, slipping out before the doors are even all the way open.

You hear Mark leaving behind you, and then you hear the beep of his hotel room unlocking and the soft sound as he falls shut behind him. You shape your head, trying to clear your thoughts that invade, telling you to walk back to his door, to knock and go inside, to just let the list consume you and be fired by that hatred.

Your roommate is sitting on her bed when you come inside your room, and she glances at you sneakily a few times before saying, “What took you so long? We were making bets in our elevator on if you or Mark was going to kill the other first. I don’t see any blood or anything, so I’m only assuming that he’s alive too?”

“Yeah. Our elevator stopped for a couple minutes.” You dig into your suitcase. “I’m going to shower.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just watches you gather your clothes and go. And you’re grateful for the silence because it lets you run things back in your mind, repeating every encounter you’ve had with Mark to date. Is there something you’ve missed? Some detail that showed to you that he would like you holding a knife to his throat like that?

You think about it in the shower until your roommate knocks on the door and says she has to pee. You think about it more as you lay in bed in the dark, your roommate’s sleep-talking making you incapable of falling asleep. Though the thoughts running through your mind could also be to blame for that—how could you sleep when you’re thinking again of Mark’s moan, his hips rolling forward to grind his erection against you.

It’s after one in the morning when you decide you can’t stand it anymore. You pull on a sweatshirt, slip on some shoes, and you tuck your blade into your waistband again.

Mark’s rooming alone. You know that because everyone had made a fuss about it. The other guys hadn’t wanted solo rooms, but Mark won the draw. So you know there’s no one else there to disturb when you walk over to the door. You consider knocking, but it’s late and the noise will echo, it could wake someone else up.

As you stand there contemplating what to do next, your hand raised as if to knock, someone walks up beside you.

“What are you doing?” Your manager asks.

You jump, drop your hand down to your side. “Oh God, you scared me. I’m just—I was coming over to apologize to him. We were arguing in the elevator earlier, and I’ve been thinking about it instead of sleeping, and I just want to apologize. But if I knock it could wake up everyone.”

Your manager, who you know hates that you and Mark don’t get along, smiles. “I think apologizing is a great idea.” He reaches into his pocket, sorts through a few room cards, and then hands one over. “Don’t take too long apologizing, okay? And please don’t make it into a bigger argument. We have a schedule tomorrow that you need to be well rested and on your best mood for, okay?”

You nod, swipe the keycard, and then open the door before handing back the card and watching your manager walk away.

The room is completely dark once the door closes softly. But you stand there for a moment and let your eyes adjust to light offered by the city, shining in through the window since Mark had barely drawn the curtains.

He’s in bed, asleep on his back, so you move carefully as you crawl onto the bed, straddle his waist, and then pull out your switchblade and press the button on the side of it.

Mark’s eyes fly open when he hears the snick of the blade opening. You put the blade to his throat in the same move, quickly quieting him, though he still whispers your name, his voice raspy, surprised and turned on. His hands are on your thighs, his eyes are wide and shimmer in the faint light.

Slowly his lips form into a smile. “Did you come to hurt me?”

You don’t answer him, just carefully draw the tip of the blade over his throat, over the soft skin under his jaw, right to his chin so he angles his face up. You reach with your free hand to touch his hair, brush your fingers through the gentle curls on the top of his head. Your heart pounds in your chest, this close and this intimate with Mark.

“You know, before we were in the same group, I used to really think you were hot. You were my favorite in NCT.” You explain softly. “But then the first time we met, god, it was nothing like I expected. You were totally different than your image, and then the next time was worse. You weren’t nice to me, and I didn’t know what I did wrong. Since then it’s only gotten worse for the two of us, but, shit, you’re still very, very attractive, Mark Lee.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, and say nothing, just slowly roll your hips down over his dick. His fingertips skin up your thigh, dipping under the edge of the shorts you’d worn to sleep in. Your pussy tingles with desire, but you’re in charge here and you want him to feel that.

You sit up, moving your hand with the blade away as you drag Mark upright as well with your hand in his hair. You keep that hand in his hair, but your other goes to his shoulder, and in the moment before you kiss him, you hear Mark’s breath catch and then pick up, and he lurches forward to press your mouths together, a moan slipping from his lips.

You slide the blade over to press against the base of his neck, and Mark groans, his hands on your skin twitch as if to draw your down against him. You sink down against his cock growing hard in his shorts, circle your hips and bite his bottom lip.

“You’re so weird, Mark. Does this turn you on?” You drag the blade down over his collarbones to the neck of his tshirt. “A sharp blade against your throat, a girl who you hate sitting in your lap and wielding it?”

He hums. “Love it. I think I’ve—“ Whatever else he was going to say fades away as you kiss him again.

The tip of the blade snags against the neck of his shirt, and the fire ignited in your belly tells you that maybe it’s time that you just get rid of the shirt all together. You’re pleased at the east slide as your switchblade cuts just right through the fabric. Mark makes a startled sound, but you shush him and kiss him some more until the blade slides sideways and refuses to cut anymore of the shirt.

You sit back on your heels, drop the knife to the side, and grab his shirt instead. Mark watches you with his bottom lip caught beneath his teeth, and you tear his shirt the rest of the way apart. It falls down from his shoulders, leaving Mark’s bare chest in front of you.

When you lips touch his collarbone, Mark makes another quiet contented sound, but the farther down his chest you kiss and lick, the less quiet he gets. When you reach the base of his sternum, he tries to rock his hips up against you, so you press a hand to his shoulder, and push to get him to lay flat again.

You pick up the blade once more, slide it down the center of his chest as you sit up on his hips. Mark watches you closely, try not to breathe too hard when you skim the blade close to his nipples, and when you have it near his abs, he flexes them.

It’s when you start to slide back from his hips, bringing the knife closer to his waistband, that Mark squirms.

“Relax.” You palm his dick. “I’m not going to cut this off or anything.” He pulses in your hand, and you give a gentle squeeze that has Mark closing his eyes and biting back a sound. “Unless you want me to really cut you? The thrill of the knife itself isn’t enough for you, is it, Mark?”

He shakes his head.

You move the knife back up his chest. You hesitate, not wanting to do it in the wrong spot or too deep or anything actually dangerous to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re pussying out now?” Mark asks.

“Of course not.” You touch the tip of the knife to a spot on the right side of his chest. “I’m just building the tension. I know you like it.” You pump your hand over his clothed dick again.

“Then why don’t you just—“

For a moment you think maybe you didn’t actually cut him at all, then a fine line of blood wells up on his chest. Mark hisses, his dick moves in your hand. You drag your thumb through his blood, smearing it over his chest, and you realize your pussy is dripping wet. You didn’t know that you were really and truly into this knifeplay or the blood until right this second.

Mark almost whimpers when you press your thumb against the cut again. “Fuck, fuck. This is hot.” He rocks his hips up into your hand.

It’s a shallow cut, already it’s stopped bleeding.

Mark rolls his hips, trying to get more friction than your hand is offering. When you bring the knife down to his abdomen again, he goes still, but you can almost feel him quivering with the need to move, held back by the thin sliver of the knife’s edge.

Quickly you drop the blade, put both hands to the waistband of his shorts and his underwear and bring them down. His cock springs up, wet and hard, shiny with precum. Mark kicks his shorts off to the foot of the bed, his hand flies to touch himself.

You take up the switchblade again, and gently tap it against the back of his hand, slide it along this forearm and then toward his palm. Mark lets go of his hold on his dick before the blade gets too close to that sensitive part of him.

With nothing touching him, no knife or hands or anything, just you staring down at him, his cock bobs in the cool air, dripping a clear drop of precum to his belly.

You skim the blade through it scooping some up, and you bring it up to Mark’s mouth. His breath clouds the metal, and he looks into your eyes as he holds out his tongue.

You’re very careful as you wipe his wetness off on his tongue. Mark’s cock twitches as he tastes it, the taste of his precum and the cold bite of the metal. You feel powerful like that, fully dressed over his nude body, making him clean his precum off your knife.

And the power feels nice, but as you watch his cock so hard against his abdomen, you’re pretty sure that having him inside you just might feel nicer.

You slip your sweatshirt over your head, and you hear Mark’s gasp as your tight tank top has your tits on full display for him, your nipples stretch against the fabric, and he moans again. You see him lift his hands before he second-guesses himself and drops them to his sides again. You want to feel him touching you, palming your tits while you’re seated on his cock.

You move forward, properly straddling him again, rubbing your still clothed pussy over his bare cock. Mark moans, and you muffle the sounds with your lips on his.

He touches you then, his hands dive into your hair, his hips rock up against you, dry humping you, and making such lovely noises that you swallow down.

You sit up, breaking the kiss, and holding your hands to his shoulders so he can’t follow you (as he tries to do). You glide your hips forward and back, savoring the feel. “Fuck, Mark. Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want to be inside me?”

“Yes, I always have. First time we met,” Mark’s nearly panting as you keep humping him. “That first day, do you remember? You were fresh from practicing your debut? You were wearing a tight top and short shorts, and you looked so fucking pretty, dewy from exertion, and I just looked at you and thought about how good you would look like that but from my cock.”

He’s saying all the right things right now. You’re soaking wet, and you stop to just grind your clit in little circles against the head of his dick.

“I want to make you cum on my cock, so just stop with this fucking teasing.” Mark groans, bucking his hips up.

You rise up on your knees, reach back to pull aside your shorts and panties, and then you sink back down, rubbing your bare wet pussy over his erection. Mark nearly whimpers, but he covers his mouth with his hand, just watching you tease.

When you sink down on him at last, his cockhead dips inside you, and you just keep going, sinking down down down until Mark’s cock is fully inside you. You sit on him for a minute, savoring the feeling of being full. He hits all the right spots just like this, and you wonder how angry it would make him if you just stayed like this, cockwarming him. Would it make him angry enough to take control?

You couldn’t have that. So you move.

You keep it slow at first. Still teasing, loving the way that Mark bites his lip to try to keep quiet, how his eyes flutter shut when you pull up to just the tip and clench around him. You love seeing him like this, totally under your control.

The switchblade lays forgotten in the sheets beside Mark, so you pick it up, close the blade and toss it onto the bedside table. Enough of that, you got what you came here for, though there is one other thing you want to try.

You sink all the way down on his cock, circling your hips, and you moan his name. Mark hums in response, his hands come up to grasp at your hips, helping you in the way you move. You trail a hand up his chest, and when your fingertips touch his throat, Mark opens his eyes to watch you warily.

You press your thumb in, applying light pressure. You just think Mark would look so pretty with your hand on his throat, and if he likes the threat of a knife, maybe he’ll like being choked too.

Mark’s face shutters, closed and cold suddenly.

“No,” he says, batting your hand away. His tone goes so serious that you fully back off, sitting totally upright. At least now you know not to test it again. So instead you reach for his hands, bring them up from your hips to your chest.

His hands are warm and good, massaging your tits, but then also pinching your nipples, rolling them between his fingers. You drop down hard on his cock. Heat blossoms inside you, hungry and seeking all the pleasure you can get.

Mark sits up as if he needs the same thing. He kisses you again, a clash of lips and teeth and tongues. You swear you catch the metallic tang of blood, but then it’s just the taste of Mark’s kiss, a hint of mint and something else, and you fuck yourself down on his cock, harder and faster, no longer trying to tease him because you just want an orgasm, want to feel yourself unraveling with Mark inside you.

He gets there before you. Your fingers move over his chest, one of them dragging over the cut you gave him, and that’s what finally sets him off.

Mark moans out a series of swears, his hands fall to your hip, pulling you down on him as he rocks up into you, and cums. Shooting his load inside your pussy.

You fall complete into him. Chest to chest. You grasp at his back and his shoulder, your nails scrape his skin, and Mark groans, pulsing the last of his cum inside you. You moan his name, whimpering as your orgasm finally hits you, buzzing to life and burning through you. You shake and clench, and you bite down on Mark’s shoulder as his hands press you down on his cock, still grinding you against him.

After the last of your orgasmic bliss fades and the uncomfortable over sensitivity sets in, you put a hand to his arm, and Mark stops moving your hips in those slow circles. You don’t move, not more than detaching your mouth from his shoulder. You just rest your head there instead, breathing slowly and just settled in to this feeling of being wrapped up in Mark.

Everything is quiet. Maybe somewhere outside the room in the city you hear sounds, distant sirens or road noise. But inside it’s nothing more than quiet breathing and heartbeats, the rustling of sheets when you finally move off of him to lie down beside him instead.

In this quiet it seems okay to touch and be touched by each other. Mark’s fingers are light on your skin, tracing your curves, the shapes of shadows, just touching you to touch you.

“How did you get in here anyway?” Mark asks after an eternity, his fingers stop moving over your body and instead curl against your inner thigh.

You take a moment to answer, to finally find your voice again. “I told our manager I was coming in here to apologize to you. He let me in without another question.” You take his hand away from down there.

Mark smiles and twists his hand around so he can play with your fingers. “Apology accepted, I think. And if this is how you always apologize, I don’t see any reason that we should stop doing what we do outside of this room.”

“I still hate you.” You tell him. “You just happen to also really turn me on while annoying the shit out of me.”

“Good,” Mark guides your joined hands to his chest, brings them down to rest over his steadily beating heart. “I still hate you too.”

based off this message: masochist/sadist mark? You're in a co-ed group, you see eachother everyday and for some reason he fucking hates you?? The longest conversation you had was him telling you to shut the hell up because you were laughing (not even that loud)? The nice christian boy is for press? One day you're not in the mood and you snap on him and threaten to come to his room when he's sleeping with a knife(it gets graphic) and he thinks it's hot?So you grab that knife and hold it to his neck and he smiles?

a/n: this was a message that at first I wasn’t too sure about, but god then I started thinking about it and I had to write this

#mark smut #nct smut #nct mark #nct 127 #mark lee

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evienyx · 4 years

Note

How did the staff in the palace feel about zuko ‘s Agni Kai?

The Staff of the Fire Nation Royal Palace had seen a lot in a short amount of time.

It was always interesting to work in the palace, of course. Being up close with the people who ran their glorious nation was something that people yearned for. Everyone knew it was better to work in the Fire Nation royal palace that as a laborer down by the docks, or a farmer out in the fields, or even, sometimes, a merchant in the streets. The royal palace was the most air-conditioned place, it had the easiest access to medical care, and the streets surrounding it were the most guarded ones in the whole country.

What those who worked outside of the palace didn’t know was that working in the Fire Nation royal palace was one of the most dangerous jobs one could get in the homeland (no one would ever dare say that the troops didn’t have the most dangerous jobs).

It was a thing that fresh blood in the palace learned rather quickly. It was necessary. Older members of the staff would teach them. Servants would bring in their children when they were young and impressionable to make sure that they understood. Guards would send carefully-worded letters to people they knew who were still in the Academy or at other posts that were assigned to arrive at the palace soon. Older chefs would only let the newer ones touch the food after six months of just shadowing. Everyone in the staff was at an understanding about these things.

It was just the way that things were.

A surprisingly small amount of the staff actually interacted with the royal family. The royals had their small amount of personal staff, the best of the best, and anyone else who worked in the palace just made sure that things ran smoothly. The bath staff would interact with the royals when they visited the bathhouse. The chefs would interact indirectly whenever they got specific orders for meals. Guards of certain parts of the palace would interact occasionally when a royal passed through there. Other than that, though, nothing. Younger servants who joined the palace staff with delusions of being noticed and swept off their feet by whatever royal was closest to them in age had their dreams swiftly and mercilessly crushed when they went their first half-year working without seeing hide nor hair of a single royal.

There were few exceptions.

Everyone on the palace staff knew of the odd friendship between Prince Lu Ten and Keeli, one of the girls who’d been groomed from a young age by her mother to join the palace staff. Still, though, outside of his friendship (if you could call it that, considering multiple girls on Keeli’s rotation had glimpsed the two stealing kisses in abandoned corridors) with her, the prince didn’t interact with any of the staff more than the rest of his family did. At least he smiled at a few of them if he passed them. That was far greater than most of the other royals.

Prince (General) Iroh would do the same as his son (which must have been where Lu Ten got it from). He never snapped at the staff. That automatically made him a favorite of many.

Princess Azula was on the opposite end of the spectrum, having taken very much after her own father. She barked orders and paraded around with an air of intense superiority and she burned things that were really just a hassle to clean up and replace.

Prince (Fire Lord) Ozai was worse than his daughter was, because while she was always on the brink of losing her sanity, he was completely and utterly in his right mind, and it made him even more terrifying.

(Everyone knew he was the one who killed young Chiaki and then blamed the child for destroying the painting, too).

(Chiaki had been thirteen).

(Prince Ozai had been eleven).

Princess Ursa was a bit of an odd case, as she hadn’t been born or grown up royal. She had even been born and raised in a village. Still, she had been a descendant of Avatar Roku, and that did not come with monetary perks. She was kind to the servants, thanked them more than other royals did, but she didn’t do anything more. If she saw someone being punished unjustly, she wouldn’t step in to help. As a result, no one was inclined to step in and help her.

Never let it be said that the staff of the Fire Nation royal palace weren’t petty as hell when they wanted to be.

All of the Fire Nation royals were relatively what could be expected. There was nothing strange about them, really. Some were cruel, some were kind but distant, some had their favorites, that was it. That was all.

Prince Zuko, though, was the outlier.

He skipped through the corridors, free from pressure that settled onto the shoulders of other royals in the palace, as he was fourth in line for the throne. His grandfather was alive, and his uncle was the heir, then his cousin, then his father, and then him. He didn’t have to worry about a future ruling, and he didn’t have to worry about anything that the staff did. He was in that beautiful little niche of contentment.

That should have been a recipe for disaster. A royal without any pressure to one day rule the country? He should have been arrogant, unforgiving, completely above consequence and completely above those around him.

Yet, he wasn’t.

It took a while, but word and rumors spread quickly through the staff of the Fire Nation royal palace.

Prince Zuko skipped with a heaviness to his step, but not the same kind as that of his family. It was not the kind of heaviness that came with the pressure of what was to come, the pressure to succeed.

Prince Zuko skipped with a heaviness that was foreign to the Fire Nation royal family. It was a heaviness that showed everyone that he wasn’t good enough and he knew it and he knew he couldn’t change it.

The realization first spread after a guard near the training yard let slip during a graveyard shift that Prince Ozai had burned his seven-and-a-half-year-old son across the arm and told him to sit through the pain if he wanted to prove himself as a true firebender. The story spread through the palace staff like wildfire, and they all began to take note of Prince Zuko more than they had before.

The boy moved through the halls of the palace with a sadness that no one had thought to take notice of before. One of the servants to Princess Ursa told the others when the Princess found out about her son’s injury she had him rushed off to the medical wing to be wrapped immediately. The healer who helped Prince Zuko said that any longer and a horrible infection would likely have grabbed hold. The boy walked around with his arm wrapped close to his chest for the next month, and could be heard complaining about not being allowed to train until he was fully healed.

For the first time, it occurred to the staff of the Fire Nation royal palace that maybe he wasn’t upset because he was bored, but because he was falling behind even more, and he wanted to get better and prove to his father that he could.

Despite everything, Prince Zuko continued to be strange. Though he nearly fell apart after the death of his beloved cousin, he somehow managed to still be nice. It was... odd.

Once he was the Crown Prince, that heaviness he had always walked the corridors with seemed to double down on itself. Without his mother and cousin, the two people he always seemed closest with, it seemed as if the boy had nowhere to turn. Guards from the hallways reported to the other members of the staff that the prince tried to talk to his Uncle, General Iroh, but the former crown prince was so lost in his grief that it was as if the boy was talking to a brick wall.

Still, Prince Zuko would talk to his uncle, and bring him tea, and he would tell him about his day. General Iroh would watch Zuko with an odd glimmer of pain in his eye, as if he was trying to see the boy for who he was, yet his grief-addled mind would only allow him to see Zuko for who he was not.

Then, a year after the death of his son, General Iroh left, and despite the fact that he still had a sister and a father, the staff saw the way that Prince Zuko was suddenly alone.

He should have been withdrawn. He should have lashed out at people and gotten more aggressive and he should have gotten closer with his remaining (crazy violent) family members.

Instead, he seemed to try and live as if nothing had happened.

Prince Zuko started talking to the staff more.

He would ask for the names of people. He tried to memorize them. He sent a jolt of shock through every person he asked the name of. It was surprising. He knew the names of a few guards that were frequently assigned to him. He knew the name of the seventeen-year-old girl who woke him every morning to get ready for the day.

He would sit in the courtyards and talk to the turtleducks about everything he wanted to do to make the Fire Nation better when he became Fire Lord.

He would hide out in his chambers and pluck the strings on the pipa that he had hidden in a closet near his bed.

He pushed himself in his firebending training harder than ever.

(Not that it was ever enough for his father).

He was sent off to Master Piandao one summer to learn to use the dual dao (while Fire Lord Ozai trained his daughter even harder back home), and he came back and practiced that, too.

He would pay extra attention in his lessons. He would ask more questions, and he would put that fake smile on his face, and he would pretend that everything was all right.

Then, one day, he sneaked into a war meeting.

To this day, the guards on duty that day won’t give a straight answer to anyone about whether or not they saw the young prince slipping into the room and hiding behind a curtain.

The guards outside the room, though, will give you a full version about what happened after. They will tell you about how one general proposed a plan to sacrifice new, young recruits just for glory, and how Prince Zuko jumped out from behind a curtain and proclaimed that he couldn’t do that. They will tell you how Fire Lord Ozai rose on his throne and declared that the prince must fight an Agni Kai to regain his honor, and how the prince said confidently that he would.

Then the guards who watched the prince over the next week as the duel approached would tell you about how they overheard him telling the turtleducks that he could easily beat the old general.

Then everyone would tell you about how very wrong the boy was.

It was a painful day for the staff of the Fire Nation royal palace when Prince Zuko was burned by his own father and told that to learn he would have to suffer.

The healers helped him, and about a month later he was finally, fully awake.

The messenger who had to tell the prince that he was to be banished will never speak of that day. No one else on the staff besides that lone messenger knows, to this day, that the prince was even meant to be banished.

Members of the staff recall vividly how they saw the boy race through the halls, past servants and guards, for once not greeting any of them or even smiling as he stormed to the throne room.

The guards to the throne room were shocked enough to let him through.

They were the last to see him for over three years.

The staff mourned the loss, quietly. In the daylight, Prince Zuko was nothing more than a faded memory. In the shadows, he was a name that the palace staff would drink to, together. Some were more attached to the memory of the prince than others, so no one noticed much when, during these drinks, Keeli, that old friend of Prince Lu Ten’s, would cry. No one noticed much when the stoic guard Ming or the guard that always tagged along with her, Lee, would exchange an oddly hard glance. No one noticed much when another guard, Tyne, would grip the hand of her husband, Anzo, and down her glass in one go.

The staff wondered when he would return from wherever the Fire Lord had taken him. They wondered how he would have changed.

But no one said anything, because the Staff of the Fire Nation Royal Palace had seen many, many things, and they knew that that was just the way things were. It was dangerous to be a member of the staff. They all knew that.

But the feeling that everyone got the day that the prince returned, emerging from a random door in a random corridor looking one step from keeling over, the feeling that started in their chests and warmed their whole bodies in a rush of glee, made the staff feel like, sometimes, it was worth it.

#fractures atla #ask #ask away #it got away from me again #ok so i take liberties with zukos childhood when it comes to this fic #ignore it #still this is very long #i dont know how but anyway i love the staff #like as a whole i mean #if you couldnt tell #in other news this is the 500th post on this tumblr #thats kinda nuts kinda funky kinda fresh ngl

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 3 years

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M*A*S*H: The Characters, Part 3: Frank Burns, Radar O’Reilly, Maxwell Klinger, and Father Francis Mulcahy

While characters like Hawkeye and Margaret grew and changed, and other characters, like Trapper and Henry, moved on (in one way or another), some characters found themselves doing neither: rather, stagnating, before in a way, moving backwards.

Such is the unlucky fate of Major Frank (Ferret Face) Burns (Larry Linville).

Frank was everything unlikeable about humanity without going quite so far as to be evil. Hailing from Fort Wayne, Indiana, Frank had a wife and kids back home that he didn’t seem to care much for, choosing instead to have an affair with Major Margaret Houlihan, the only other person who could stand his company. A Dr. Jerk if there ever was one, Frank’s lack of bedside manner (and even lack of surgical expertise) could make him a liability, not to mention his incredibly strict sense of military discipline, even when it didn’t make any sense. Definitely The Friend No One Likes, Frank originated as a Foil for Hawkeye, another Gung Holier Than Thou type who put all his faith and trust in the army. Greedy and self serving, and always seeking to climb the ranks, Frank was The Neidermeyer, a huge stickler for army rules and constantly trying to enforce them, but not possessing any of the guts to go with the army worship

And we’re not even close to done with his problems.

Frank’s job was to represent the dangers of blind patriotism and military fervor. A Leader Wannabe on top of being a Lawfully Stupid Hate-Sink, Frank existed to make mistakes, act childishly, and overall be a thorn in the side of the 4077th. In early seasons, he would often pair with Margaret in order to ‘take down’ whatever operation Hawkeye and Trapper had going, but as time went on, and Margaret left him for her fiancé, Frank became more and more pathetic, and by the time B.J. came aboard to replace Trapper, Frank had lost all weight and depth as a character entirely. His racism and sexism were getting played so ridiculously exaggeratedly, as well as his numerous other flaws, that he was quickly losing any threat as an antagonist, and even his Freudian Excuse of a miserable childhood wasn’t lending him much sympathy.

Without Margaret to back him up, Frank became more ineffective as an ‘antagonist’ character, or even a foil, quickly turning into a universal Butt Monkey and the show’s Chew Toy. With scarce a victory to his name, and quickly turning into a caricature of his own, already exaggerated, character, Frank had nowhere to go but down, devolved to a point of cartoonish buffoonery that there was no bouncing back from. To make things worse, the show was maturing, without him, with more nuanced characters like B.J. Hunnicutt replacing Trapper, and Reasonable Authority Figure Colonel Sherman Potter taking the place of the incompetent pushover Henry Blake, Frank was rapidly becoming lost in a show that was becoming more serious and realistic. As a result, at the end of season five, after Margaret’s marriage, Frank Burns went the way of Trapper and Henry, and left the show: albeit in a completely different way.

In the pilot two-part episode of season six, Frank Burns goes on leave in Tokyo, and (over the telephone, as Larry Linville doesn’t appear at all in the episode) the audience, and the 4077th, are treated to hearing Frank’s mental breakdown following Margaret’s marriage. After attacking a general and his wife (who resembled Margaret), he’s apprehended, and placed under psychiatric observation, following which he was cleared of all charges, promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, and sent home to serve stateside.

In a way, it was almost a level of gut-punch as Henry’s departure, and a bitter taste of irony. Men like Frank made it home, and were rewarded for their behavior, while men like Henry never got the chance.

It wasn’t fair, sure. But such is life.

Like Henry and Trapper, Major Frank Burns was never forgotten by the show, or the characters, remembered all the way to the end of season eleven, his absence felt, if not missed, for the remainder of the series.

Which is a distinct dishonor not shared by the last member of the cast to depart before the series ended: Corporal Walter Eugene “Radar” O’Reilly. (Gary Burghoff)

Radar was the company clerk in position, but so much more in practice. The embodiment of the Hyper-Competent Sidekick, Radar was the ‘baby of the bunch’, a naïve Country Mouse from Ottumwa, Iowa with a sneaky streak that showed itself when least expected. The character with the most obvious reason for their nickname, “Radar” had a habit of being able to sense what was about to happen, or what someone was going to say before they knew themselves. Whether he just had exceptionally good senses and reflexes or was mildly psychic, the show never said, but it’s hard to say that the 4077th didn’t benefit from his ability to anticipate the helicopters arriving with the wounded.

Radar started the show as a kid with a worldly streak and a devious side, before slowly losing these traits as the series went on, becoming more innocent and child-like by the time season four rolled around. One thing remained the same though: no matter what, Radar practically ran the 4077th by himself.

The person in charge of the paperwork, and chiefly the cog in the machine that made stuff happen, Radar’s position as the Scrounger often meant he was responsible for the critical elements in Hawkeye’s madcap schemes (in early seasons especially). Radar was always the centerpoint of competency, (the sole one until Colonel Potter showed up) despite his own quirks: sleeping with a teddy-bear and abstaining from alcohol (mostly), preferring grape Nehis, and caring for every animal that happened to cross his path. In fact, Radar’s chief Berserk Button (besides his height) was anybody harming any animals, to the point where he ended up rescuing the lamb meant for Easter dinner and shipping it stateside, not to mention his explosions of temper at the thought of Hawkeye killing his rabbit to perform a pregnancy test.

Radar tended to follow along with whatever Hawkeye and company were up to, sometimes begrudgingly and sometimes willingly, depending on the situation, always relied upon to make necessary calls and deals, file necessary paperwork, and fill in wherever necessary. In return, the rest of the unit filled in as ‘family’ for Radar, though never replacing his mother and uncle.

Despite his varying levels of immaturity throughout the seasons, Radar did grow up, and out from under his 4077th family (especially father figures Henry Blake and Sherman Potter). Early in season eight, Radar got the news of his uncle’s death, leaving only his mother to take care of the family farm, and received a Hardship Discharge. He got to go home.

And go home he did, although with mixed feelings about how the 4077th would get on without him. Behind him, he left the symbol of his immaturity: his teddy bear, which would later be buried by Hawkeye in a time capsule in “As Time Goes By”.

“This is my contribution. Radar left me this. Let it stand for all the soldiers who came over here as boys and went home as men.”

Like with Henry (also honored in “As Time Goes By” with his fishing lure), Trapper and Frank, Radar’s departure was felt by the characters, and referenced often. Unlike Henry, Trapper, and Frank, however, Radar wasn’t replaced in the cast. At least, not by a new cast member.

Instead, he was replaced by a fellow corporal, Maxwell Klinger (Jamie Farr).

Klinger was a bit of an anomaly in the M*A*S*H cast in that he had no book counterpart from which he sprang: he was all new, added entirely for the television show. Hailing from Toledo, Ohio, Max Klinger’s primary character trait was a loathing for the army that manifested itself somewhat differently than it did in the rest of the camp.

Whereas Radar was content to complain, and B.J. and Trapper fine with moderate actions of rebellion, or even Hawkeye settling for vocal disapproval and the occasional mental breakdown, Maxwell Klinger chose to express his displeasure with the draft by doing everything humanly possible in order to get out of the army: specifically by being declared clinically insane.

Throughout the eleven years he spent on the show, Klinger tried everything from wearing women’s clothing to pole sitting in an attempt to get a Section 8 discharge, a pass out of the army. Medical conditions, family emergencies, wearing heavy coats in a heatwave, sneaking out in a raft, hang glider, or a hearse, Klinger’s schemes regularly made up the subplot of a typical episode of M*A*S*H as he attempted to find a way to escape the military. (Oddly enough though, his schemes never got in the way of his duties.)

Klinger started out as a one-off joke character early in the first season, played deliberately in a stereotypically effeminate way. Originally meant to appear in only one episode, reception to the character was incredibly favorable, and Klinger was added to the recurring main cast, going through a little bit of a change. Actor Jamie Farr suggested that Klinger be a straight man who was just wearing dresses as though they were his uniform, and the matter-of-fact use of his unconventional wardrobe quickly became part of the character’s normal routine, looked on as perfectly normal by all except the antagonistic characters.

Despite starting as a one-note joke, throughout his time on the show, Klinger grew, just like the rest of them.

While never losing his intense hatred for the military and desire to get out, as time went on, Klinger became more rounded, expanding from just his ‘joke’ personality to having a larger one, demonstrating a deeply caring streak multiple times, notably when he gave Margaret his wedding dress for her marriage to Donald Penobscott. Throughout the show’s run, more time was given to develop his other attributes: his hard-luck background, his long-distance wedding and divorce, get rich quick schemes, a feud with supply Sergeant Elmo Zale, and his fears that he may actually be going crazy, explored in “War of Nerves”.

In season eight, right after Radar O’Reilly left the show, Klinger found another place on the show: replacement clerk and Scrounger.

At this point, Max’s character shifted slightly, away from the zany schemes and Obfuscating Insanity. He quit most of the section-8 schemes, notably the women’s dresses, entirely, but remaining a Guile Hero with Hidden Depths, without rescinding into the background. Initially finding it very hard to take over for the seemingly-psychic Radar, eventually Klinger settled into his new role, even getting promoted to Sergeant, before the end of the show.

And what an end.

In “Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen”, after the war has ended, as everyone packs up to go home and says their goodbyes, Klinger makes a completely astonishing announcement: he’s staying in Korea, with his new wife, Soon-Lee. After all of that effort, all of the crazy things he’s done, from trying to eat a jeep to trying to get into West Point, when he finally gets to go home, he chooses, instead, to stay.

Over eleven years of show, Klinger went from a Fashionista Determinator set on getting out of the army to a clerk and sergeant, who made the decision to stay in Korea to help his wife find her family. Now that’s what I call growth, especially being one of the only characters who was there from start to finish.

In fact, there’s only one more of those we have left to discuss:

First Lieutenant Father Francis John Patrick Mulcahy (William Christopher).

Father Mulcahy is the 4077th’s chaplain, a dedicated and devout Catholic priest, and the unit’s moral compass. Although a pacifist by nature, Mulcahy was an amatuer boxer, and occasionally demonstrated flashes of righteous fury paired with Good Old Fisticuffs.

“He’s shy, and studious, and yet he has a right hook that could stop a truck.”

The show’s quintessential case of Beware the Nice Ones, and another Deadpan Snarker to round out the cast, Mulcahy tried to make himself useful wherever he could, often struggling with feeling like he barely contributed to the assistance offered by the 4077th.

Mulcahy and Radar often occupied the same position as the Only Sane Man in the camp, but while Radar would typically crumble under pressure to participate in whatever chaos was going on, Mulcahy tended to be aware of it, but not exactly involved in it. He was the Heart, the McCoy, a Determinator who wanted to do the right thing, at all times, focusing on his job and trying to make a difference for the better in the camp, and the war at large.

“When you lose a patient, he’s out of his misery. When I lose a patient, he’s lost his soul.”

Oddly enough, for an irreverent comedy show, Mulchay was portrayed as a good man of the cloth, a genuine person who was deeply faithful and religious, without any ‘parody’ elements or ‘joking’ instances of corruption. Mulcahy practiced what he preached, constantly trying to help those around him, notably the nearby orphanage (with the winnings of the poker games that he always seemed to win). He was no Load, and no ‘stick in the mud’, by any means, being a moral character who tolerated Hawkeye and company’s shenanigans in good humor, but had no qualms about calling the rest of the camp out when it was needed. Overall, although not developing too much throughout the show, Mulcahy was a steady constant with Hidden Depths, a much-needed upstanding character who openly displayed the courage and kindness that other characters often hid with jokes.

And in the end, Mulcahy got to go home too.

Like with the others, Mulcahy left Korea a changed man, visibly shaken by the horrors of war, and physically changed as well. During the finale episode, “Goodbye, Farewell and Amen”, while rescuing prisoners-of-war in the path of an artillery barrage, a shell explodes very close to him. Although Mulcahy survived the incident, he did so at the loss of most of his hearing, something that only B.J. finds out about. Mulcahy returns to the states, intending to work with the deaf, but not before saying goodbye to his 4077th flock:

“I’ll miss hearing confession, but after listening to you people for so long, I think I’ve just about heard it all.”

Mulcahy was the last of the main cast of characters to have begun appearances in season one, and one of only four main characters to last throughout the entire show (Hawkeye, Margaret, and Klinger being the other three), but by no means was he the last character we have to discuss. After all, for all the characters who faded out, new characters faded in to take their place, bringing their own unique color and personality to the positions they now filled.

(Join us next time, where we’ll discuss Sherman Potter, B.J. Hunnicutt, and Charles Emerson Winchester III!)

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some-jw-things · 4 years

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if you dont mind explaining, what did the organisation do that it gives you such reaction? im not jw/exjw myself, im just following this blog because i wanna keep myself educated on all sorts of issues, but if you dont want to its absolutely fine

I mean Jehovahs Witnesses are blatantly a cult. That’s been explained pretty thoroughly by a lot of people.

I guess “this organization is a cult” can be hard to understand what that actually means. On a personal level, it defined my entire life. When I introduced myself to new people, the first thing I said was that I was one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. It was my entire identity. I actually think of myself back when I still believed in it as a completely different person than who I am now. I consider my old self to be dead, and so does my family.

When I told them I wanted to leave the cult, they mourned me. They cried for months. They raged and got angry. My sister refused to even look at me for days. In the span of one sentence, I lost my whole family, all of my friends, and my entire community. I was shunned, and they blamed me for abandoning them.

And I knew that would happen. They had always made it perfectly clear that love was conditional. I was told flat out— multiple times— that I would get kicked out of the house if I got disfellowshipped. My dad told me as a child that he would stop supporting me if I ever went to college, because every Witness he knows who’s ever gone has left the Truth. He also told me that the day I turned eighteen he would make me pay rent to keep living in his house unless I was preaching full time. All of that later turned out to be empty threats and a doctor told me that last part was actually illegal, but my family made sure I grew up believing it.

I was only loved so long as I followed the rules. This is standard practice for Jehovah’s Witnesses. I am lucky I got off as light as I did and wasn’t kicked out on the street. Even that only happened due to a technicality and how obviously mentally ill I was at that point.

Jehovah’s Witnesses’ theology is the reason I started self-harming. I was afab and when I was fifteen I spent a month asking why God thought women were innately lesser than men. That culminated in a big family discussion where I got anxious enough to start scratching at my lip over and over until I had a massive gash. My family watched. My mother made a token protest that I listened to for about three seconds. I walked away from that conversation with the knowledge that I needed to keep my mouth shut because certain questions were actually not allowed and a brand new bad habit.

I created an entire system for myself based on rigid discipline and punishment and the idea that any mistake meant I didn’t deserve to feel un-miserable, which is exactly the sort of mentality that this all-or-nothing religious purism breeds.

I was institutionalized in hospital psychiatric wards four times in the year after I left, and one more time about a year after that. The high school attempted to put me in foster care then, out of concern for my safety if I continued living in that environment. My mother supported the idea

The first time I remember sincerely contemplating suicide was when I was thirteen. My thoughts then were just that I figured I would never be able to hold off killing myself long enough to live to be eighteen. I felt trapped. I was specifically thinking I would never have the guts to be able to pry myself out of the Org and so I would be stuck in it forever. The JW lifestyle is miserable in a way I can’t express

I have comforted my little sister while she’s had a break down crying in the bathroom during meeting because the talk was about Armageddon and she didn’t think our dad would make it into Paradise. She had to stop attending public school because of panic attacks. She was suicidal too at one point, but our mom thought she wasn’t as bad as me and therefore was making it up for attention

Jehovah’s Witnesses by and large treat mental illness with prayer and talking to the elders. The majority of teenage girls in my congregation had severe unaddressed issues. The Society has whole articles on how sometimes the answer IS demonic possession. Their version of Paradise is a eugenics fantasy

At one point an elder comforted my family by telling them that Jehovah likely didn’t view my choice to leave as legitimate due to my mental issues. They have official articles calling all apostates “mentally diseased,” and how am I supposed to argue why that’s wrong?

The majority of Jehovah’s Witnesses’ teachings are bigoted and hateful. They have a cute little kids cartoon that compares the evil gays to terrorists. I was taught the mark of Cain and curse of Esau were responsible for the existence of other races. JW women are required to submit to their husbands and fathers no matter what, and divorce is a sin that will get you shunned. Trans people are forced to live as their agab, gay people have to remain celibate and never date. The elders reserve the right to out you to whoever they want, whenever they want.

There have been so many talks that have sent me running off somewhere private to cry and panic

There’s this little girl in the hall who was friends with my sister. She had needed a blood transfusion when she was a baby. Her parents had been willing to let her die, but the courts stepped in and took her away for a few days. She was given the blood transfusion, lived, and at thirteen had a crying breakdown in the middle of the hall because the talk had just said she would never make it into Paradise now. Usually though, if you’re old enough to speak for yourself, they let you die

My parents have had three bankruptcies and they mock me for saving money. They live as if the world is going to end at any moment. There’s no such thing as a future

The world has been about to end since my grandma was little. That’s a running joke. She’s lived through more changes to the Org than I’ll ever know about. My family has been ruthlessly controlled by this organization for generations. My family aren’t allowed to accept me even if they wanted to. I’ve seen this Org ruin so many people’s lives in a whole variety of ways. Three other kids I grew up with have been disfellowshipped since becoming adults. There are others who I don’t think could leave unless they literally ran away in secret

JW ideology loans itself to a certain style of parenting and that has consequences. They control every aspect of members’ lives. Behavior, dress, speech, career, free time, friends, which family you’re allowed to see, what media you can consume. The thoughts you are allowed to have. I’ve been sent into a spiraling panic before over the idea that “I shouldn’t be thinking that”

The Org barred outside ideas and all criticism. They forcibly kept me in the dark. Members are intentionally isolated from not just all outsiders, but also all outside opinions. I was raised in a way intended to make me an outcast everywhere but within the Org. I was told never to read about Jehovah’s Witnesses from any writer other than the Society itself. I was told never to listen to its critics. I was told that reading forbidden books would get me possessed by demons

The Society controlled and defined my entire life and somehow still manages to do so even after I’ve left. Every member I know has been hurt by it. I’m just the one who won’t forgive

#i feel like this doesnt explain anytthing but whatever #tw #suicide ideation #self harm #ask #ex jw #ex cult #apostate #ex jehovah’s witness #christianity #religion #exjw

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years

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Being the Captain of the Cheer Death Squad would include:

Prompt: “hey, idk if u do theses type of HCs but i was wondering if you could write some headcanons for being the captain of the cheer squad from deadly class please?”

(AN: This one was kind of tough ‘cause we don’t see the Cheer Death Squad a lot in the series so some facts I have, like them always wearing rollerskates, comes from the comics. Let me know if you wanted something different/more specific)

Being Captain of the Cheer Death Squad would include:

Being one of the most skilled assassins in your year and that’s how you became Team Captain

Being a legacy from a pretty prominent crime family

Leading your crew from the sidelines

You’re not the official leader, because you’ve got too many responsibilities with the cheer squad already, but your whole crew listens to you anyway.

Spending time trying to incorporate dance and cheer moves into your fighting

And vice versa.

Wearing your skates all day

You say it’s part of the uniform but really it’s just cause they’re super fun, they mean you’re never late for anything and people get out of your way in the hallways quicker.

Having multiple pairs of customized roller skates made specially for you to use in different situations

You have ones for each day of the week as well as stealth skates, holiday skates and skates you customized yourself for specific moods and social causes you believe in

Yes, you have anti-racism skates

Yes you’ve got a few pairs with retractable knives hidden in the toes (partially concealed in the brake) and razors on the axles.

Practicing skate tricks with your fellow cheer squad members in the courtyard

Perfecting stealth formations and ambush attacks where you and the rest of the team work together

Cheering for your classmates as they try to get through pop quizzes and practical assignments.

Sharpening the knives in your pom-poms every few days

Holding auditions every year to find new talent

Giving equal opportunities to everyone who auditions, regardless of affiliation

Making the squad a neutral zone for gang conflicts.

Mediating conflicts between your squad members yourself.

Having skating races down any empty hallways you can find

Having your whole squad become like a family

You may compete with each other but, at the end of the day, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to protect them

The whole squad calling you “mom/dad” or “mama/papa”

It starts off as a joke but after a while the name just sticks

Acting like a stereotypical cheerleader outside of school to lure in creepy pedophiles or rapists and then kill them

Having more scrunchies and hair ties than notebooks

ALWAYS keeping a few spare hair ties around your wrist for your teammates, or anyone else who needs one throughout the day.

Spending way too much time on your makeup and hair every morning because you like to feel like you’re presenting a good front to the school.

Death glaring anyone who sexualizes or harasses one of your young girls until they get scared and leave them alone

Hosting sleepovers at your parents’ house during the school holidays

Often being so tired from school and practice that you fall asleep in the library

Flirting with people like Viktor, Marcus, Maria and Lex and then skating away before they figure out how to react.

People always thinking of you as Super Tall because you’re always on your skates and then being shocked as hell when you take them off.

Spending hours coming up with new cheers.

People thinking you’re weak just because you’re a cheerleader.

Those people going missing, or showing up with mysterious injuries a few days later.

Just generally being a badass who doesn’t take shit and knows what they’re worth.

Being well-known throughout the school as someone who sticks up for girls and who girls can come to if they’ve been messed with or hurt in any way.

#jordsie #jordsie writes #deadly class #deadly class syfy #deadly class aesthetic #deadly class imagine #deadly class fanfiction #deadly class comics #cheer squad #cheer death squad #cheer squad aesthetic #deadly class headcanon #cheer squad headcanon #cheer death squad headcanon #cheer squad imagine #cheer death squad imagine

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houseguest · 4 years

Text

FE3H ATLA au

Okay, so this is going to be entirely self indulgent and probably really wordy but I really love atla and just started re-watching it for the umpteenth time so here we go! (BIG SPOILERS FOR FE3H AND ATLA!!! also if anyone wants to know more or if there are any specific questions about the plot changes or my interpretation of this au then please feel free to ask)

So first off, I just want to say that I’m basing everyone’s bending on where they were born, where their house name was established, their story-line and/or whether they have a crest, so some of their bending types may not match their personality or “style” but I feel like it’s a little more realistic

I’m gonna start with Byleth, the Avatar themself!

Jeralt is a non-bender so this was a surprise to him, he was a little overwhelmed... he had a little experience with Airbending because he used to work at the Church but the other elements were a lost cause to him, he doesn’t get the whole “spirituality” thing

Byleth is not a master of all the elements by the time they get to the church, but they do know some very specialized moves they learned from wandering teachers and benders that were part of the mercenary group

They didn’t necessarily “start” as any particular bender since they aren’t really part of the other nations/territories, but Sothis is the Avatar spirit (this world’s version of Raava)

Their bending style is very rough, and usually involve other weapons, so they are very skilled in non-bender fighting techniques and hardly uses their bending during mercenary work so most people don’t even know they are the Avatar

On to the Fire Empire!

Edelgard is a Firebender naturally, but due to the experiments, she became an artificial combustion-bender (with eye markings on hands not forehead, just to hide them) The stress of this new power turned her hair white

Hubert is a non-bender, but is trained in all manor of Firebending fighting styles and techniques. He fights with long-distance weapons like throwing knives and kusarigama (chain scythe)

Dorothea is a non-bender and still wants to be a singer, BUT she is a chi blocker too, and learned the technique in order to defend herself from stalkers and aggressive fans

Ferdinand is a Firebender and tries to compete with Edelgard in Agni Kai all the time. He’s actually a really good bender, but has trouble adjusting to other bending styles because he doesn’t want to stray from his family’s noble bending techniques

Bernadetta is a Firebender and she hates it. She is terrified of fire, and usually sticks strictly to bows. Her backstory is the same, but now we have the added trauma of her father being a Firebender too...

Caspar is a non-bender that is good at close-combat. He finds bending really cool and loves learning the movements, but is very dedicated to showing everyone how powerful non-benders can be

Petra is also a non-bender, but she was taught extremely specialized moves from her country, she’s a lot like the Kyoshi warriors in the atla series, but she is also an experienced chi-blocker and teaches Dorothea a lot of moves

Linhardt is, sadly, a Firebender. He doesn’t really like it, because he sees it as very violent and he hates blood and I would also assume burning flesh. He loves studying bending variations though! He’s one of the first to figure out lightning redirection

The Water Kingdom!

Dimitri is a Waterbender but he has a very aggressive, Firebender-like fighting style when let loose due to practicing in that way with Edelgard as kids. He tries to suppress it with calmer movements. He is good at finding water in tough environments and knows how to take it from the air

Dedue is a non-bender and specializes in brawling and close-combat. Bending is just a normal part of his day, so he doesn’t really care much about it and actually knows a lot of moves to counter other’s bending

Felix is a Waterbender and was taught much of what he knows from Glenn. After his brother’s death, he became closed off from everyone and trained his Waterbending all the time to catch up to his late brother. He is the best Ice-bender among them

Mercedes is, surprisingly, a Firebender. Since she was born in empire territory but fled to the kingdom, she had a hard time finding someone to teach her. She resorted to having lessons from Waterbenders, which developed a very unique Firebending style

Ashe is a non-bender. He always wanted to be a knight, but worried they wouldn’t accept him due to being a non-bender and his criminal past. He was even more passionate when he discovered an official kingdom group of non-bender warriors established by one of previous Avatars, Loog

Annette is a Waterbender and is extremely clumsy with bending ice. She is determined to perfect her bending, and attended the same bending school as Mercedes, so she learned some Firebender moves too

Sylvain is a Waterbender, but is just terrible at it. He usually sticks to weapons like spears, but still uses it sometimes for tricks. He thinks people only care about how he is a bender, so he hates bending in general. Miklan was a non-bender and was replaced as heir because of that

Ingrid is an Earthbender. Since house Galatea was split from house Daphnel which is in the Earth Alliance, Ingrid inherited Earthbending after years of non-benders in the family. She is very good at keeping Sylvain’s flirtations at bay with her powerful attacks. The betrothal necklace Glenn gave her is very special to her

The Earth Alliance!

Claude, despite being the leader of the Earth Alliance, is an Airbender. This makes many people suspicious, but he dismisses it as much as possible, saying that one of his parents was a wandering Air Nomad or sometimes saying they were a member of the Air Churches

Lorenz is an Earthbender despite how strange that sounds. He is very formal about it, and argues why an Airbender is the leader of the Earth Alliance in order to raise his position. He later becomes a Metal-bender

Hilda is an Earthbender along with her brother Holst. She doesn’t like to Earthbend though because she thinks it’s too much work and too dirty. She is very good at it though, super skilled

Raphael is a non-bender that uses a lot of close-combat weapons. He doesn’t care too much about bending in general, but he thinks Earthbenders are pretty cool, mostly just because a lot are strong

Lysithea is a natural Earthbender, but due to the experiments she became an artificial Lava-bender. Because only certain Earthbenders can Lava-bend, Lysithea’s body was not made to bend it, often burning her skin without even touching the lava. The stress and experiments shortened her lifespan and whitened her hair

Ignatz is a non-bender and is a talented bowman. He finds bending to be beautiful and he loves to paint benders doing their thing. He doesn’t have much experience with benders, so he is very interested in what they do

Marianne is a Waterbender; a descendant of Maurice who was an infamous Waterbender that discovered and mastered Blood-bending. She can blood-bend as well, but never does as she sees the ability to do so as a curse. She hides her ancestry because of this

Leonie is a non-bender and looks up to powerful non-benders like Jeralt. She takes every opportunity she can to one up benders with her non-bending skills; she thinks a lot of benders feel entitled just because they can bend so she wants to prove that non-benders are just as powerful

The Air Churches!

Rhea is the high priestess of the Air Churches, and is a master Airbender. She is the daughter of the Avatar spirit, Sothis. Sothis was a spirit so she conceived immortal half-spirits. Nemesis (who is like Vaatu here) had killed Sothis’s physical form so Sothis kept jumping to different people, thus beginning the Avatar cycle.

Rhea encouraged bending to be the highest social standing in Fodlan as she wanted to create an Avatar to carry on Sothis, so many houses tried forceful infusions of bending in order to gain status. There are only two living examples of this forceful infusion: Edelgard and Lysithea

Seteth and Flayn are both Airbenders and are also immortal half-spirits. They both take to hiding and reinventing themselves after every one hundred years or so to not gain suspicion

The only other benders in the Church are Catherine, who is an Earthbender, and Hanneman who is a Firebender. Catherine is the inventor of Metal-bending, and very well known and praised for discovering it

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th3atr3phant0m · 4 years

Text

Math Cadets: Chapter Two - Flimsy Deal

“Come on , Keef! You know that Zim is an alien! It’s so obvious!” Dib’s tutoring session with Keef was coming to a close and they were, as per the usual, discussing methods of “payment” for this weeks’ particular session. Considering Keef worked on the school paper and had a bit of power when it came to what did and didn’t get into specific sections, Dib thought he was the perfect target to speak to about this. Since the majority of the students there did nearly anything he asked them to if he helped them enough, he had been positive that Keef would help him out here. He was the only person- aside from Gaz- that he had spoken to about what Zim was.

“Look, Dib, I hate doing this, but Zim is really nice!” Keef insisted, “Besides, we don’t have enough evidence to put this in the school paper in the first place- and it’s not just me you have to convince. It’s everyone on the paper who has to agree, plus Mrs. Valentine since she’s the one who proofreads all of our papers.”

“Okay , then I’ll just get them all on my side. I help almost every student in this school, I’m sure I can get everyone on the paper to agree with me,” Dib leaned back in his chair, frowning, “And the teachers love me. Mrs. Valentine can’t be too hard to convince.”

“You would think that, but she’s really against us writing anything too negative or expository about other students, here…”

“Okay, then we’ll work around that.”

“Dib, I just don’t think it’s possible!” Keef persisted, “Besides, Zim is nice to me! I don’t want to do anything that could upset him.”

Dib was practically seething. He and Keef weren’t exactly close in any capacity- they weren’t friends and the only times that they saw one another outside of school was when they met for Dib to tutor and cheat for Keef. Their relationship was purely professional and didn’t even kind of dip into the territory about them being friends for one another. Despite this, Dib had a very stable “I-scratch-your-back-you-scratch-mine” kind of deal with all of his clients; he helped them with their schoolwork or gave them answers to the homework or helped them cheat on tests and they did whatever he wanted from them in return. He had always relied on this system for what he needed within the school. It was the source of all of his power. His intellect and him helping people was the only thing that really kept him afloat in their school. If he weren’t doing this little business on the side, he wouldn’t be anywhere near as successful and respected as he currently was. Considering how heavily so many of the others he tutored relied upon him, he had never had any of them blatantly go against or ignore his requests. Despite their lack of closeness, he certainly didn’t expect Keef- the sweet, happy-go-lucky, easily manipulated Keef- to be the first one to break the cycle.

What irritated him more than that was the fact that Keef didn’t seem to believe him despite the evidence that was clearly given to them and completely on display. The fact that Keef seemed to trust Zim of all people more than he trusted Dib irritated him to no end. He had helped Keef get through school for so many years and now, all of a sudden, when one new student showed up and spoke to him for no more five minutes, Keef was willing and ready to just… stop believing and helping Dib?

Dib clenched his jaw bitterly, “If I find more evidence, will you put me in the paper?”

“Well…”

“ Keef ,” Dib sighed insistently, “I just need you to help me here. If I can find good, accurate, obvious evidence that Zim is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, an alien, will you include it in the paper.”

Dib help Keef’s gaze intensely, refusing to look away or even blink as he stared into the other’s soul, watching as he shifted nervously.

“...I’ll do what I can.”

Dib sighed and nodded, “Good.” With that, Dib scooped up his backpack to leave the classroom that they had been using to study after school hours, “I’ll see you next Thursday.”

Keef being resistant to Dib’s requests and him not only trusting but liking Zim certainly made things more complicated. Without the undivided help from Keef that he had been anticipating, he would need to put forth more effort- especially if he was going to convince the rest of the kids on the school paper as well as the teacher editor of it. The added obstacle was irritating only because he hadn’t expected it- especially not it stemming from Keef of all people.

Nonetheless, Dib knew that he could do this. He was nothing if not a resilient problem-solver, and he had plenty of other things on his side to assist him in proving what Zim really was. He just had to wait for the right moment and collect enough data.

~~~

Dib wasn’t convinced that finding evidence to help prove his point would be any difficult feat- Zim wasn’t exactly stealthy by any means. His disguise was horrible and easy to see through and his mannerisms were very telling of what he truly was. Not only that, but Zim was clearly not yet used to acting like a human and being part of their world. Dib was certain that it was only a matter of time before Zim slipped up and gave him the evidence he would need to support his “theory”.

Until then, though, he wasn’t just going to wait. Dib knew war strategy and he understood psychological warfare enough to know that waiting for Zim to make the first move and mess up was stupid- especially considering the fact that it was incredibly likely that Zim had more training in that area than Dib did and had far more advanced technology on his side.

No, Dib would have to find the evidence on his own, whether or not Zim slipped up. He didn’t need the alien to mess up to give him an opportunity. He had plenty of ways to crack through Zim’s shell and see what was going on. Even just finding Zim’s base would likely be enough for Dib- allowing him to figure out ways to infiltrate it and gather evidence.

He was confident that it wouldn’t take him long to expose Zim and that it would be far from the most difficult thing he would ever have to do.

For now, though, he just had to suffer through chemical engineering alongside the idiotic alien.

The assignment that they were working on at the moment was a research paper in which they were tasked to find inventive and creative solutions to whatever problem they were given regarding the more molecular biology sides of chemical engineering. For them at the moment, it meant proposing ideas for how to resolve the issues regarding there being a lack of organs and tissue combine with the issue of many people’s bodies refusing to accept new organs introduced to their bodies.

As expected, Zim had some unorthodox suggestions for how to avoid these two problems.

“Why not just kill people off for the organs and tissue?”

Dib couldn’t help but facepalm, “That’s unethical , Zim, and will definitely get us kicked out of school or reported to psychologists if we suggest that.”

“It’s a simple fix!” Zim defended, crossing his arms.

“It doesn’t even address the other problem we were assigned to answer- how to reduce the issue of people not being able to accept everyone’s organs.”

“Ah, another simple fix,” Zim proclaimed, raising up one finger as though to make his point, “Kill off their family members!”

Dib deadpanned, “You have got to be kidding me.”

“It solves both problems with very little effort! It provides the necessary organs and such for the people and, due to their aligning DNA, they will have no problem accepting the new organs.”

“You are an idiot ,” Dib groaned, “How are you still passing as a human when you suggest shit like that in public ?”

Zim’s eyes darted across the classroom nervously as Dib mentioned the fact that they were, indeed, in a public place of sorts. He raised his voice slightly as he spoke, “ Pass as human? I am human- a filth worm just like all of you.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I could say the same to you, Dib-Stink.”

Dbi shook his head, ignoring the alien in favour of beginning to write an actual proposition down on their paper, outlining the benefits of 3D printing to provide the organs required and combining those new organs with the patient’s own DNA to ensure that it wasn’t rejected.

“Eh? What are you writing, worm?” Zim tilted his head to get a better look over Dib’s shoulder.

“Unlike you , I’m actually doing our work and writing a reasonable suggestion that a sane human being could actually think of and accept.”

Once more, Zim crossed his arms, closing his eyes as he spoke, “Zim sees no problem with his suggestion.”

“Killing people is illegal and would in no way be considered an ethical way to solve either of these problems. You may be alright with sabotaging yourself considering your shitty disguise, but I , on the other hand, am not going to let that happen to myself. I’m not going to get kicked out of school just because you want to turn in some wacky shit for our project.”

Zim rolled his eyes, the human expression of irritation looking strange on the alien, pupils not moving perfectly as though they weren’t used to making such movements just yet. “Very well, just hurry up and complete the work.”

Dib glared and pointed his pencil at the alien threateningly, though he knew that his weapon of choice was a rather weak one, even if he was to disregard the fact that he was up against a creature that was far more powerful than he was.

Infuriatingly, Zim just laughed.

Dib almost throttled him on the spot.

~~~

It was a wonder that Dib got through the rest of the day without killing Zim. Aside from him being a hindrance in their little project for their bioengineering class and the general irritation that Dib felt towards him anytime he did or said something obviously inhuman that was met with no response from anyone else, he had just been an absolute bitch all day. Dib supposed that that was just the nature of the alien- obnoxious and loud. He seemed to have one volume and that volume was far louder than any human had the right to be.

The absolute fury that Zim inspired in Dib, though, did little more than fuel him and he fully welcomed the stupid outbursts that Zim occasionally had since they all had the possibility of garnering someone else’s attention.

Dib knew that he couldn’t rely on that, though, and the strange things that Zim had openly said and done throughout the day to no avail confirmed that to Dib. What would help him in this situation, though- at least in Dib’s opinion- was keeping a journal regarding the alien. It would allow him to take physical notes rather than just mental notes that could easily be forgotten and would make it easier for him to organize his thoughts regarding the situation. Plus, on the off chance that Zim became violent to the point of killing Dib off (which, considering the fact that he was an alien attempting to enslave the human race, didn’t seem impossible), leaving behind a physical copy of his findings would allow others to pick up where he left off.

Besides, Dib liked the drama of it.

As soon as school was over, he headed to the nearby store to purchase the thickest college-ruled notebook that he could find and slip it into his backpack, hiding it among his other things. It may have been a simple, small thing, but it would allow him to create a “scrapbook” of evidence against Zim. It was small, but it was a decent “secret weapon” and Dib was certain that it would come in handy.

Upon returning to his home, he went upstairs, locking himself into his bedroom as per the usual to begin his work. Instead of focusing on his homework and studying as he typically did when he first got home, he cracked open his Zim notebook and began recording the things that he already knew about the alien, citing strange things the creature had said and done since arriving at Astra Academy.

While Dib hadn’t anticipated spending much time on it before getting back to his classwork, he only stopped working on the notebook when he heard Gaz bang on his bedroom door, telling him to come down for dinner.

Dib blinked in surprise glancing from his notebook where he was in the midst of writing one of his theories about the alien up to his clock which displayed the time. It was nearly six-thirty- not too late, but he had definitely gotten far too wrapped up in his Zim research and recording than he had meant to.

He shook his head, setting his journal down so he could head downstairs to eat before returning. He may have spent more time on it than he had anticipated, but, at the very least, he knew that his research and recording would eventually come in handy if he wanted to ever prove what Zim was. So what if it took a lot of effort- that was life and Dib was far from unfamiliar with putting forth ridiculous amounts of work to get even simpler things in life done. Going to school where he had and having Professor Membrane as a dad taught him that from a young age. Dib wasn’t scared of needing to put forth his all to take down the alien and, if it meant saving the world and gaining the respect from those around him as well, he would do anything to take Zim down.

For this chapter, I just made a shitty mood board for the “cover”. Suffer.

I originally posted this fic HERE and you can read the rest of the chapters on the same page, if you are interested. :)

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weggocs · 3 years

Text

Game of Thrones

Name: Talison, no surname

Age: 31

Gender: Female

Sexual Orientation: Anyone, she’s not particular

Status: Single

Religion (i’m sorry, i fully made one up but it’s hype i swear): The Iron Pommel

Physical:

Height: 5’8”

Weight: 135

Physique: She’s toned and muscular, especially in her arms. I actively love women a lot and made her buff by design. She’s not, like, scary, but she’s definitely quite impressive, especially at a time when women were meant to be delicate. She’s average height, the product of protein and exercise, and holds herself with the confidence of a person who’s taken a lot of lives. Not threatening, per se, but certainly able.

Face: She’s been hit in the face more than a couple times and it shows. There’s a small bump in her nose from when she was struck in the face with a sparring sword, as well as a scar under her chin from a rock she tripped into. She’s on the laid-back end of confident, and a lot of her thoughts speak through her eyebrows. Her lips are fairly thin and her face overall is an odd mix of softened angles. Her hair, which began dark brown but gradually lightened after two decades of sunlight, is typically pulled back from her face in a ponytail but if it were down it would fall beyond her shoulders. She keeps it long against her better judgement because hey, she’s survived this long.

Clothes: The most notable article of clothing she uses is a length of cloth she uses to bind her chest. (NEVER do this, by the way, it’s super bad for you--it just helps me relate more to her at a time when binders didn’t exist.) It’s a practicle measure to allow for more unhindered movement but binding her chest down every single day has damaged her ribs and she can experience negative affects from that, which is why she tends to leave it off when she knows she’s not likely to encounter anyone. Beyond that she wears very little armor, as she’s generally surpassed the need for it. Her wardrobe is entirely brown, with a leather breastplace over a thin cotton shirt and loose leather pants that allow for better movement. There are a few tight belts around her waste, one slung over her hip to hold her longsword while the others support her axe, knife, and waterskin. Her shoes aren’t fashionable and an immediate goal for her is to find new ones; they’re worn down in the soles and the fur casing is falling apart. She doesn’t carry a heavy coat when she can avoid it which is most of the summer, and tends to travel north when the summer is at its climax.

Personality: Talison is generally very reasonable. She knows her strength to a degree, though there is an element of cockiness to her, and generally avoids pissing off the wrong people but doesn’t take insults lightly. As she tends to travel alone, her social skills aren’t very refined, and she tends to be quite blunt when she thinks someone’s trying to verbally outwit her. It’s an area of insecurity for her. Overall she’s quite confident and very dedicated to her religion. She refuses to be separated from her blades. She’s a decent judge of character but airs on the side of caution nonetheless, and prefers fighters to diplomats. She’s also a bit of a flirt, especially with women.

House: None

Occupation: She belongs to the Iron Pommel (it’s a religion I made up, very much swords based, there’s an explanation at the bottom!) which would make her an Iron Ward. She’s nomadic and primarily provides for herself but is always willing to do some menial tasks in exchange for a warm bed and a bowl of stew.

History/Family Relations: Nothing here is incredibly relevant. She was a lowborn child of a cobbler in King’s Landing. Her mother died during the winter of Talison’s birth and her father wasn’t a good enough cobbler to warrant a business. It’s not a notable story and it has very little sway on Talison now, though the early need to fend for herself contributed heavily to her independence in her early life and even now.

Strengths (I bunched it in with weaponry):

Talison is pretty much equally skilled in both hands. This is a popular trait amongst Wardens and part of the reason they’re so dangerous in combat. She has three swords and a handful of knives for battle. The swords and general weaponry are as follows because I’m so into this stuff that I had to look up specific types of swords and now you get to reap that reward:

Two sabers, very slight curve in the blades. Their sheethes are strapped to her back so she has to reach over her shoulders to bring them out. She favors these as she can easily use both simultaneously; they’re both balanced for one-handed use.

A large longsword, built for two-handed combat. She picked this one up by accident the last time she was caught in combat without her favored weapons. It’s quite heavy, inconvenient, and generally a nuisance. She would use it to chop wood if she weren’t afraid of spurning her god in the process. It sits on her left side and tends to swing around and bruise her thigh while she walks.

A small axe hangs at her other side. It’s not for killing but would do the job. She uses it for wood because she relies on fire for food and warmth.

She also has a decent amount of knives. Her first was actually a small knife, more for the purpose of eating, that she shoved through an assailant’s eye when she was twelve and new to the Pommel. She carries it with her because it comes in handy and because if she didn’t she believes her god would kill her. She also carries a thick-bladed dagger at her back and a couple smaller knives strapped to her thigh for the purpose of throwing. That’s the most long-range she gets and retrieving them can still be a hassle.

Weaknesses: Talison’s practically useless at long-range. She can throw a knife at a decent distance but she only carries two and after that she’s a sitting duck. No armor makes her a great target for arrows and she adamantly refuses to pick up a bow. She tends not to associate with archers as a result.

Fears: HORSES. She absolutely LOATHES horses to the point of genuine fear. They’re unnatural. They’re ghastly, unnatural beasts with huge eyes and a disgusting, mishapen skeleton and being around them makes her antsy. She has never mounted one and doesn’t intend to change that, in fact she’s repulsed by the thought. It would make her life much easier but she has nowhere to be and walking for hours on end beats a single minute on a horse.

Beyond that she’s a decently confident person, but does have reasonable fears like being caught in an early winter or her god foresaking her in combat.

Extras! (Romantic Stuff, Goals, Religion Explanation):

Personal Goals: Her primary goal is to introduce people to the Iron Pommel, which she tends to do by traveling to the most impoverished areas of large cities and speaking with the people with the least to lose. The threat of losing familial ties isn’t as significant there. Her secondary goal is to, ahem, encounter members of the nine great houses of Westeros. It’s a fun game for her and gives her an incentive to travel beyond the South. It’s like a more ambitious version of “making the eight.”

Potential Romantic...Folks: Petyr Baelish, Ramsay Bolton, Sandor Clegane, I Could Go On

Additional: The only reason she hasn’t contracted skin cancer from the amount of sun exposure she gets is because I don’t want her to die. On particularly hot days she sometimes forgos her leather armor and shirt entirely purely for the sake of Big Gay, and she has a brand on her mid-torso from first joining the Iron Pommel. It’s small and decently healed now but burn-damage that severe is typically visible for a long time after it’s done. It’s in the shape of the tip of a sword, nothing fancy. Beyond that she has scars all over her body - anyone who fights as much as she does would - but they’re mostly old as she’s good enough at anticipating blows by now to deflect or get out of the way.

Religious Explanation (Still workshopping! If any parts seem overpowered PLEASE don’t hesitate to let me know!):

Name/Deity: The Iron Pommel; The High Warden of Steel

Followers: Iron Wards

Lifestyle: They’re a nomadic people who tend to travel alone. Upon converting to the Pommel, one relinquishes all familial ties. No surname, no banners, no home - they must instead strike out on their own to better their skills relentlessly and collect stained souls for their God. They don’t actively kill people for the sake of it, but they are honor-bound to accept a challenge.

They are nomadic during the Summers but must settle during the Winter or else sail as far south as they can reach to wait it out. They can’t always rely on the dwindling respect for their people to secure them a place in a known house and, especially recently, have been forced to stay in the shadows of southern cities like King’s Landing, Highgarden, and Sunspear.

The religion’s forces rely exclusively on recruitment. Members cannot have children and every winter brings the death of droves of Wards who lost the race against the cold. Their numbers dwindle as a result, and the urgency to convert has risen dramatically since the past couple winters, especially with the fabled ferocity of the oncoming season.

Beliefs: They believe that upon killing a person, that person’s essence becomes imprisoned in whatever weapon was used to end their life. Because of that, they carry with them every weapon they have ever used to kill a person. The process of blessing a weapon to be fit to house the souls is incredibly ritualistic, as is the process of maintaining them. They have to be cleaned and sharpened every single day. Otherwise, the protection they believe they receive from their God will be rescinded as punishment. Because of the strict rules about bringing every weapon with them coupled with their nomadic lifestyle, Wards often restrict their weapon use to the blades already at their disposal. Talison herself has three swords, which isn’t unusual for her people but can make her cleaning routine tedious.

Status/Common Knowledge: They were once vastly respected and commonly known but as their numbers have dwindled, the Iron Pommel’s name has shrunk with them. The more educated and wealthier tend to have a grasp of them but the youth of the common people either don’t grasp the gravity of their position or have no knowledge of them entirely. Among soldiers the mindset varies: either they’re looked up to as loan warriors or regarded as pretentious scum. There’s also their more progressive policy of inviting women into the order which clashes with norms on a number of levels--the sworn lack of childbearing and skilled wielding of weapons to name a few.

Identifiable Traits: There is no particular form of dress for Wards but they do receive a brand when they first join. It’s a clumsy business as there isn’t any particular place for Wards to go to get their mark. Typically the converter holds one of their blades over the fire until it’s red and presses it to the newcomer as an act of spreading the High Warden of Steel’s blessing and the transaction ends. Talison’s is on her torso, above her gut, and it’s quite small now.

As they don’t typically walk around naked, the best way to identify a Ward is by the ridiculous amount of weaponry they’ll be carrying combined with some form of lightweight armor, if any. They can’t afford to be weighed down by plate- or chainmail and tend to gravitate towards leather instead.

Statistics: As previously mentioned, numbers have been dwindling at an alarming rate. The Long Summer brought some relief for the trend, but the past couple decades haven’t been kind. Where there used to be hundreds in Westeros, dozens in every large city, now one would be hardpressed to find more than one even in the Capitol. It’s rumored that a steady number has been moving down south to settle in Dorne but the truth of the matter is unknown.

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gmfgravitymayfall · 3 years

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I know it’s a few days late for Halloween, but let’s talk about witches for a minute

The Baba Yaga is the oldest and well known witch on the planet. She is immensely powerful, but her life is by and large shrouded in mystery. Some even say she is the first witch ever born. There are multiple stories about the Baba Yaga, ranging from her being a malevolent child eating ghoul, to simply being an odd, but otherwise matronly figure. The only thing that is specifically known about the Baba Yaga is that she is very old, very wise, very powerful, and generally does whatever she wants as long as it suits her disposition.

In one such story, the Baba Yaga helped a young girl known as Vasilisa the Beautiful. Vasilisa was sent to the Baba Yaga by her cruel step-mother and step-sisters to retrieve fire from the witch. Baba Yaga agreed to give Vasilisa the light if she was able to complete three tasks, and if she isn't, she will kill Vasilisa. After completing the tasks, Baba Yaga delivers good on her part and gives Vasilisa a skull lantern filled with burning coals. When Vasilisa returned home, the lantern burned her step-family alive. Since then, the Lantern will incinerate anything that threatens it's holder.

Mabel broke into a Moscow museum and stole the Skull Lantern as an engagement present for Wendy. She was simultaneously infuriated and touched that Mabel would do something like that, Wendy completely wore Mabel out that night and then spent three days not talking to her.

Ame no Uzume was a Japanese dancer and witch who could enrapture an entire audience with her performance. Uzume is widely considered one of the grand masters of Bardic magic. Many of her dances have been passed down throughout history and are still taught to young bards today. However, her most famed accomplishment is causing the sun to rise with her dance.

After being personally offended by her brother, the Sun Goddess Amaterasu refused to leave a cave she had secluded herself in. Other mortals and gods attempted to coax Ameterasu out, but it was Uzume dancing completely naked and rausing the spirits of god and mortal alike that finally got Amaterasu to peak out of her cave, and the Sun to finally rise again. The Sun Goddess was so entranced by the witch's dance that Amerterasu took Uzume as a lover, effectively making Uzume the goddess of the Dawn. One of the many gifts Ameterasu presented to Uzume during their courtship was a mageficent golden mirror that will reflect light even in the blackest darkness.

Eda stole the Mirror (No one, not even Luz or Lilith, knows how she managed to do it) to pay off some outstanding debts after "The Greatest night of her life" in Vagas. It's one of the things Eda is most proud of.

Aglaonice is a Greek astronomer and one of the first witches to use star and planet alignments to predict the future. Prior to Aglaonice innovations, the most reliable way to foretell the future was inhaling hallucinogenic vapors to send Oracles into trances. But even that was a wildly inefficient method; since the oracles would often be incoherent or slur their words, and would need interpreters who would regularly mistranslate or purposefully change the oracles predictions. And unfortunately, the oracles would rarely remember their own predictions.

Aglaonice's method of fortune telling was proven to be more accurate, reliable, and safer than previous methods. Aglaonice's powers were said to be especially potent during the full moon. Her teachings spread quickly to many other women of her home, leading to many scholars referring to Aglaonice and her disciples as the Witches of Thessaly. A number of artifacts have surfaced over the centuries that are said to be tools Aglaonince used to tell fortunes, but so far almost all of them have been fake. Wendy has, unfortunately, been duped multiple times over the years.

Makeda, better known as the Queen of Sheba, was a Ethiopian queen that traveled to Jerusilum to trade with King Solomon and test his intellect. After being satisfied with Solomon's show of wisdom, Makeda decided to form an alliance with Jerusilum and shared various mystical secrets.

Together, Makeda and Solomon created multiple magical rites, tombs, and compendiums that are still used today. After Many years together, Makeda returned to her home with a son born from Solomon.

Elizabeth Bathory a 16th century witch and murderer who used her position as a countess to lure virgin girls to her palace and kill them. She, and four of her servants, tortues and drains them of all their blood, and uses the blood as the central ingredient of a potion to retain her youth and beauty; which she shares with her collaborators as long as they help her and keep their mouths shut. Bathory’s favorite tool of torture is the Iron Maiden, and rather just drink a potion, she would occasionally even bathe in the blood of her victims.

Countess Bathory supposedly claimed over 600 victims during her killing spree. Despite being over 60 years old, she still appeared to be in her mid-twenties. The Bathory palace was eventually stormed by an angry mob led by a Lutherian minister when her unnaturally long youth and the rumors of her crimes became too much to ignore. Elizabeth was arrested, tried, and convicted for being a mass murderer. However, The Bathory family used their power in the region to keep her from being executed, and instead she was to be imprisoned inside her palace for the rest of her life.

A servant of the Bathory’s, whose sister was one of Elizabeth’s victims, succeeded in sneaking into her room while she was asleep and slit her throat. Unfortunately, the Elizabeth that was killed was actually yet another servant who had taken a transfiguration potion to make them look like Elizabeth. Bathory herself had managed to sneak out of her palace and was never seen again.

In addition to the youth potion, Bathory was an expert alchemist and used blood to perform various other spells. One of her most well known spells Bathory employed was mind control through the use of the victim's blood. The servant who was disguised as Bathory, as well as the ones who helped her escape from her ancestral home were all under her mystical control. After the disguised dead body was found, blood samples for literally every servant, and even a few of her own family members, were found under her bed. Bathory’s diary, that contains all the secrets to her blood magic, disappeared the same day as she did. Wendy and Mabel eventually manage to track down the diary, and while Mabel suggest they just torch the damn thing, Wendy insists they just lock it away.

It is nearly universally agreed on by witches all over the world that Elizabeth Bathory is still alive, still killing, and has only gotten better at it.

Circe, the Greek sorceress known for transforming men into animals. She aided the hero Odysseus on his journey home (After trying, and failing, to turn him into an animal) by leading him to a way into the land of the dead. While spending most of history in seclusion, within the last few decades she had opened up her island to the women of the world. But only the women. Circe began taking in women who had suffered and been abused by men, but also allowed women, mostly other witches, to visit her island as a vacation spot. However, an enchantment had been placed on Circe’s island that would transform any man who set foot on it’s shore into an animal. Circe would then kill the man, cook him and serve him to her guests. Obviously, once people figured that out they stopped eating the meat dishes Circe served.

Circe has since stopped this practice and instead just handed the transformed men to any guest who happens to be leaving to just get rid of them.

Eda once took Luz to Circe’s island during a short-lived break up with Amity to get her laid and take her mind off the whole thing. Luz wasn’t particularly interested in a meaningless fling, and instead spent the whole trip reading, swimming, and taking advantage of the free buffet. Eda, on the hand, spent every night with a different woman, one of which was Circe herself. They left the island with a goat that turned into a blonde jock dude named Dash. Luz made up with Amity shortly after returning to Fortuna.

Maman Brigitte is a runaway slave, witch, and voodoo priestess. She was originally a simple slave who retained many old stories from Africa and told them to slave children to keep their heritage alive in America. However, she also had the ability to communicate with various spirits and, after running away from her master, began practicing voodoo in order to facilitate more slaves' freedom.

Brigitte became a master of harnessing the powers of various spiritual entities (Be they the human dead, nature spirits, gods, angels, and ever the occasional demon) and used the knowledge and power they give her to help many slaves to escape their bondage. She would even give the freed slaves fetishes (Look it up, it’s not what you think), and charms to protect them from being found while they tried to get to the north to safety. Wendy had managed acquire many of the fetishes Brigitte handed out during this time.

Maman Brigitte continued to free slaves for decades, and even though she was captured multiple times, her mystical knowledge always allowed her to escape.

Unfortunately, Brigitte wasn’t always successful in getting slaves out alive. When a charge died, she would perform rituals to insure their spirit found rest in the afterlife. As she got older, Maman Brigitte became a spiritual leader and started to teach young freed slaves the ways of voodoo. Continuing to keep their heritage alive and also give the younger generation a way to defend themselves.

Psyche...Was not a witch. She was a mortal woman who caught the eye of Eros, the God of Love and eventually ascended to godhood to be with him. However, because Eros initially claimed to be an invisible monster and Psyche still agreed to court and sleep with him, she is to some degree idolized but many young witches who are attracted to the idea of having a monster boyfriend...including Luz.

#Witches #Gravity Falls #The Owl House #folklore #mythology

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scionofchaos · 3 years

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A Series on Witches - Part 2

This is the second in a series of posts on the nature of witches and magic practitioners as I have witnessed, as well as some notes on common spiritual practice, and the nature of humanity. Lots of broad material to cover, so I'm going to go ahead and get started. If you get to the end of this post, and you find you have things to say, I welcome you to please comment, reblog, however you feel appropriate, or private message me if you'd prefer, and let's get the discussions started!

Last time, we covered the basics about human boundaries and why we experience frustration when those boundaries are unknowingly breached. I also gave some of my educated opinions on ways to adapt, given the covered material. Today, I would like to assert that this concept of boundaries also extends to mystical practice. In the animist cultures of Native America, Russia, Japan, and similar places, the general understanding is "Spirits exist, and can affect this world anywhere you go." There is no concept among shamans of "a place where there are no spirits" or "a place where spirits do not go." There are some protective measures: talismans restricting spiritual activity, blessings and prayers to call on a powerful spirit's protection, curses to call on specific spiritual activity, and so on. There are trees with ribbons tied to them, and holes with coins buried in them, etc. But these are not sanitary; they do not have a claim to working 99.99% of the time. Nor would circling your bed with Purel be a good replacement. These naturalistic peoples understood that the spirits are everywhere, and to an extent, spirits will do whatever they want. What they attempted was to beg and beseech for the spirits to hear them, and to accept their desperate pleading and sacrifices and appeasements as payment for not causing harm. This is no different than paying tithe to a feuding warlord, or offering one's family members to a rampaging force of humans for protection from harm that rampaging force would cause. Payment to a lord or to the mafia is only slightly distinct from this.

There are subcultures within the magical community that have beliefs different than this. Beliefs like "Evil spirits fear the name of my God, and if I speak it, they will cower." Beliefs like "If I draw a circle in chalk, with these symbols in it, and perform the necessary rituals, then the spirits will have to respect that space/cannot violate that space." Many believe these things because a recognized magical authority told them to. Just like paying the Lord taxes because he says he is the Lord, and your neighbors do it, and they say he is the Lord. But what if we go with a different example? What if you told the mafia "no," and they burned down your shop? Maybe now you'll be more willing to pay them, if you're still alive or in the same city. What if you didn't bag up and hang your food when camping, and a bear came into your camp? Maybe now you'll camp responsibly. Just the same, there are practitioners who played with fire, and the spirits caused them problems. They tried something to protect themselves against the spirits, and it worked, so they've done it ever since. Not all threats are equal. You might pay the mafia dues, but then some punk off the street breaks into your house. You offer to pay him. He shoots you, takes your stuff, and leaves. You might put your food up in bear bags, but a new bear "comes to town." This one has killed before, and has a taste for human blood (as well as a mind-debilitating infection, we'll say). When this one comes to your camp, he's not looking for cans of Spam, he's looking for tasty humans in a flimsy tent. Your bear bags do nothing.

What is all that rambling meant to say? If a circle worked for you before, don't be deluded into thinking it works on all spirits. If an incantation worked before, don't think it works for every spirit. I have met spirits who have been confronted with tens of names for the Christian god, for the Jewish god, for the Muslim god. Whether or not these are the same being is not important in this example. Faithful servants, deacons, priests, Imams of such religions have confronted these spirits in the name of their god, and it did nothing. The spirits laughed. Some have told me they played nice anyway, then attacked when a later offense provoked them. Some told me of their deliberate breach of that confrontation, immediately and without mercy. When you invoke a god like that, you are telling the spirit in front of you two things:

a) "This is the name of a spirit who is bigger and stronger than you, meaning that both you and I are smaller and weaker than they." and b) "I am calling on assistance from this powerful spirit, so you had better attack quickly before their intervention takes place."

You better be sure that your god is not only stronger, but is ready and willing to act quickly enough that the offending spirit will not harm you. Because if your god arrives five months later and says, "You called for help? Where is the enemy?" then that is a problem. That is why I swear by having the power and the skill, by yourself, to handle anything that comes your way. If you are prepared, the only other thing you can do is choose not to provoke a spirit. Stay clear, give them space, convey your intent not to involve yourself in their affairs. If you choose to engage with an unknown spiritual power, as I often do, then you are willingly putting yourself in a position to be attacked by something you are not prepared to handle. Because I have made that conscious choice for myself, my preference is to deal with all spirits openly and honestly, to observe them carefully, and to make it clear immediately what I deem to be a threat, and how I deal with threats. Even so, I have been attacked. Even so, I have encountered beings I could not handle, and I paid the price. It is much safer to show deference and back off.

That being said, how do I relate magical boundaries to physical ones? I apply a "natural lawn" approach to my environment. When living with others, I have asked them if there are any wards they wanted me to put up. I put up nothing else. Now that I live alone, I have my own personal defenses and nothing further. I have standing rules that any spirit which enters my home must not be seen. If it is seen, it will be confronted. If it remains unseen, but chooses to sneak-attack me, it will pay the price for this subterfuge. These rules are clearly written external to my wards, and my intentions are projected into my home at all times, like a warning alarm. I make no attempt to construct wards or defenses around my yard, or around my street, or around my town. Natural lawn. If the spirits lived here before I arrived, if they migrate here on occasion, then they have as much right to be here as I do, and will not be challenged unless they make themselves known to me (intentionally or not) or invade my personal space (intentionally or not).

I am not recommending my way as "The Way." It is a spiritual practice developed for my personal abilities and needs, and I am not acting as safe as possible, due to a level of confidence in my ability to communicate and defend myself as needed.

#warding #spirituality #spiritwork #energywork #witchcraft #witches #mysticism #morality #belief

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aki-draws-things · 3 years

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NaNoWriMo 2020 #04

Shorter that what I wanted and with a really open ending, not currently planning on a sequel but the possibility is there. The main problem with this one (beside me being tired at the moment) is that I don’t have the full picture for it played out like for other fics, I’m not sure who’s the one behind everything.

(but ehy, please... Between the still pretty light angst, enjoy the really sweet, married nie leaders 💖)

I still hope someone will like it.

Day: 04/11/2020

Prompt: Poisoned

Ship: Mingjue/Zonghui (and background XiYao)

Word Count: 1724

To no one's surprise Jin GuangShan had many enemies, even within his household. One would consider every illegitimate son and daughter he had as enemy, nephews and nieces too, some would even dare to say that his own heir, Jin ZiXuan, hated him the same way as everyone else and it would, once again, not be a real surprise. What most people didn't know was how far hate could stretch and what a single person was capable of doing in the name of said hate. Killing a man, for example. Oh, sure, killing was easy, but too mainstream, perhaps too easy. Framing on the other hand…

Nie MingJue stared at the cup Jin GuangYao presented him, then stared back at him, the cup again, its clear liquid and the strong smell, and Jin GuangYao.

"I don't drink. - he looked straight at his younger sworn brother. - you've lived in Qinghe long enough to know I despise drinking."

"it's a celebration… - Yao said. - it's only a small cup. Please Da-ge…"

"I can toast with some tea like I've always done."

"MingJue-xiong…" he turned to Lan XiChen, a couple of seats on his right, his cup in hands. "just for this once?" he asked, almost pleading. They both knew Jin GuangYao wouldn't stop pestering him until he drank, they probably wouldn't start eating until that.

With a long, suffering sigh he grabbed the cup and drowned fighting his best not to pull a face as the wine went down his throat.

"there. Happy now?" he wanted to spit what remained on his tongue but refrained himself, it wasn't proper in a public meeting, and he wasn't a kid tasting alcohol for the first time. Still he hated the taste, he hated seeing all those persons drinking and drinking and losing control. Mostly the taste. And usually his brother drank enough for both of them.

A cup moved in his line of view, a pale liquid inside, familiar hands holding it, cautious of the heat.

"there, this should clean the taste." there was intimacy in the way their fingers touched and intertwined as Nie MingJue took the cup from his hands, an intimacy he knew was making the Jin sect embarrassed, even more after Nie MingJue walked in the room and found the second small table a couple of steps behind his. He pointed it at Jin guangyao and decided to look confused instead of the usual stern look.

"they should be closer. In the same line. Touching." he said, and Jin guangyao looked between him and the tables.

"Da-ge… That's reserved to… Married couples." maybe, he thought, on Qinghe it was different, though he didn't remember it. Touching tables were for couples. Everywhere.

"are you trying to disrespect my spouse?"At that Nie HuaiSang finally gave in and started laughing. Of all the ways his brother could have dropped the latest news, the one he even forbid him for saying in advance in his latest letter, that wasn't what he expected. Nor he expected the smug grin on ZongHui's face at being called so. - even less since he knew all too well who had control in their relationship. And it wasn't his older brother. -

The table had been moved fast and Nie ZongHui decided he wanted to sit even closer just to annoy them leaving the other disciples hiding laughter. - they acted like that only in the privacy and safety of the unclean realm, but if their general suddenly wanted more attention they all knew their sect leader would never deny him. Nie ZongHui casually leaned over his shoulder, his chopsticks finding their way in Nie MingJue's plate, stealing part of his lunch and leaving his almost untouched. The Nie disciples were used to it, Nie HuaiSang knew even more. -

It was late into the lunch that things changed. At first it was a vague sense of nausea and vertigo, it could easily be the heat in the room, the food they weren't used to, then the vision blurred, breath got caught in their throat. With a moan a young disciple fell on the side, hands clawing at his throat as he tired to breath and failed, legs kicking and sending his plates on the floor. Another coughed painfully, tears welling up in his eyes, blood coughed up.

Nie HuaiSang turned with wide eyes, he felt fine, absolutely fine, and yet the rest of the Nie disciples were fast falling sick. - the first one who fell and attracted their attention laid now motionless on the ground. - he turned to his brother and worry became fear.

Nie MingJue had his hands over ZongHui's face, fingers brushing his hair back, then he let go suddenly, so uncharacteristic of him, he would never, not in a moment like that, he let ZongHui fall back and he looked over at HuaiSang, a wave of relief at seeing him unharmed by whatever attacked them. Only them. The rest of the room was talking, loudly, Jin GuangShan giving orders to send for healers, demanding to know what was happening.

He fell too, his body quickly caught in his little brother's arms, it was strange, a choking feeling he never experienced before, not first handily. He saw it happen before. He— that was a painful death, he knew it, he used it too. And now someone used it against him. Against them. His family. His disciples, his husband!

"Da-ge! Da-ge calm down… You need to… Da-ge!"

He stretched a hand out, trying to reach for ZongHui's one, he saw his blurred face, his mouth saying his name, the blood dripping from his lips, his eyes closing, breath caught in his throat. Nie MingJue wanted to scream, to curse whoever did that to them, he moaned, he trembled in the safe, stronger than what would appear, hold of his brother, his hands brushing over his forehead trying to dry off the sweat.

Why? Why them? Why his disciples? They did nothing wrong, it had even been months since the last time he had an actual fight with Jin GuangYao, there was no reason for wanting to kill them, and for doing in such a public place and moment like a meal with many other sects and leaders. Why?

Nie HuaiSang was scary. Jin GuangYao had once been really close to him, he was his friend, his confident, he knew every secret, every little scheme he ever made to get away from saber practice, he knew where he hid his new fans, the paintings he made and some of the brushes. Nie HuaiSang, in his mind, was an easy boy, with a liking for art and not too much for studying a proper cultivation. He saw him worried, he saw him scared, but never scary. Scary HuaiSang was… Well, he was a Nie, showing his true colors, showing rage and strength, and Nie HuaiSang was stronger than what he looked like.

“Who did it? Who gave the order and why?”

At least, Jin GuangYao thought, he seemed to believe he wasn’t behind that. At least.

“I don’t know.”

“Why them? Why not me? If you wanted to get rid of the Nie Sect you should have counted its members better.” Well, maybe he did believe him.

“They all drank…” Lan XiChen said, it wasn’t exactly a way to defend Jin GuangYao, he was trying to recall what disciples and their sworn brother all did.

“I drank definitely more than Da-ge.” Nie HuaiSang pointed out. “And yet I’m here, alive and well.” And pissed. But he didn't say it aloud, his look spoke loudly enough already.

“HuaiSang I really don’t know… why would I want their death?”

“I can count some reasons.” He snarled. “I will only leave out of them your jealousy about the wedding because you didn’t know before a couple of hours ago. But I still have a list.”

A scary Nie HuaiSang, he realized, was a dangerous one, perhaps even more dangerous than his brother, he would become a problem one day. But they had a bigger problem now.

“I really don’t know what happened, I swear.”

“Leave.” Nie HuaiSang let his eyes fall on the room next to where they were, the sick Nies were there, surrounded by healers trying to save them from the mysterious poison.

“HuaiSang I…” I can help you find out who did it.

“LEAVE!” Jin Guangyao never arrived to finish his sentence, Nie HuaiSang pushed him outside before pacing around the room.

“Perhaps it wasn’t the wine. Perhaps it was the food.” Lan XiChen said, only earning a little hum in answer.

“We all ate the same things, more or less. It must be something more specific, something they did and no one else, not even me, did.”

He looked over the room once more, his eyes softened, losing part of the anger he had until that moment, his lower lip trembling slightly.

“Do you think they will…”

“They’re all in good hands.”

“The hands of the same people who just tried to kill them.”

“Maybe not.”

Nie HuaiSang turned and stared at the older Lan and XiChen seemed to read his silent, dubious question.

“It’s just an idea, but the Jins are more subtle, especially in killing, they plan, and they do it carefully.” Nie HuaiSang wanted to laugh, he seemed to be really familiar with their ways, maybe too much familiar. “That doesn’t look planned in the Jin style.”

“It’s still planned well enough for us not to find any proof.” Lan XiChen nodded.

“Exactly.”

“I… Don’t follow…”

“Whoever did it wants us to believe the Jin Sect is behind that. They know A-Yao and MingJue-xiong dint always see eye to eye. - “ZongHui would make a joke out of that. And Da-ge would laugh…” He thought before trying not to think of the worst outcome. He had to have hope. - They must know the relationship between Nie and Jin Sects is not the best kind.”

Nie HuaiSang took a shuddering breath and looked over at Lan XiChen.

“Everyone will believe the Jins did it, no matter what they will say, no matter the proofs or the lack of them. And two of the four main Sects will fall in one single day.”

Behind a dark curtain in the room nearby a hand switched two bottles.

#nie mingjue #nie zonghui #mingjue/zonghui #background xiyao #poisoned #wide open ending #the untamed #cql #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mdzs fic #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #founder of diabolism #fanfic #nanowrimo 2020 #angst collection in cultivation #aki writes

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 5 years

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What Time Forgot Chapter 1

Aaravos x reader

Summary: Viren is being suspicious with all those books he just ruined, and someone recalls a tale of a spell that would cause that damage. Could it be the clue she’s been looking for to track down her love?

Word Count: 1844

Viren wanted to scream when he saw that every text he’d found that referenced Aaravos turned black. “Is nothing safe?!”

“Issues?” a female voice asked.

He whipped around to see a woman standing there in armor similar to his least favorite general’s. “That is none of your concern.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose skeptically. “Because it looks like you’ve poured ink on those books, and I know the keeper of this fine library won’t be happy about it.”

“And yet that is still not your business.”

“Whatever you say . . .” Y/E/C eyes rolled as she wandered off.

Leery of being caught by guards, Viren slunk back to his secret chambers to think. Little did he know that the woman, Y/N, moved to look at those ruined texts as soon as the dark mage was gone. That particular style of page-ruining magic struck a nerve with her; it seemed incredibly familiar.

“Aaravos . . .” she breathed thoughtfully. “Why would Viren be looking up a Startouch elf?” Eyes widened. “Unless . . .” She closed her eyes, digging deep into her memory to try and recall what was there scratching at the surface of her mind, begging to be remembered.

It was long before the current generation, during the war of removing humans from all that was magical. And the humans were losing. Badly. Honestly, it had been reluctantly expected given that Xadia had practically all the power with their magic, dragons, and overall experience. In truth, it was a miracle and a testament to how truly conniving the high mage was that they hadn’t lost yet.

He had known they needed help in order to continue holding out, much less to have a prayer of winning. For years, he had heard stories of an elf. A Startouch elf that was able to use all primal sources. And he was supposed to be neutral thus far in the struggle. Finding him and convincing him to join their cause, however, was bound to be a difficult issue.

Which was how that one fateful morning went so far off the rails for Y/N.

For her, the day started lazily--like most days, honestly. As a human firmly on the Xadian side of the border, she didn’t get out much to the nearby elven town. At one point--before the world went to hell--she’d been one of the Crownguard of Katolis. There, in the castle, was where she met the man that was currently acting as her pillow and running his fingers through her hair. With as much time as she spent in the library, it seemed inevitable that they met in the first place.

She lightly dragged her nails across the star-dappled chest, earning a quiet hum. “How long have you been up?” she asked, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Not long,” that bone-rattling, deep voice replied quietly.

She turned to rest her head on his chest to allow her to meet those golden eyes. “Did we need to do anything today? I feel like we said we did.”

He hummed again, this time in thought. “I believe . . .” his free hand moved up to cup her jaw. “It’s a free day aside from needing to get groceries.”

“And here I was hoping to just stay here all day.”

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest while leaning up so their lips just barely brushed. “I would support that thought, but I’ll give it four minutes before you get hungry.”

Just for that, she defiantly licked his lips, giggling at the slightly disgusted scowl that pulled them down afterwards. Moments later, as an apology, she kissed him sweetly. Of course, that was a slippery slope that led to her being pinned beneath him, hands either clawing at his back or tumbled in his hair.

Eventually, they successfully made it to the town; of course, that was after they’d washed away the evidence of their morning activities. He’d donned his usual plunging tunic, pants, and star-studded cloak while she dressed in the garb of a Moonshadow elf: leggings, boots, and a tank top with her hair braided to be out of her face. She’d worn their style of clothing or a long time since she found it to be the most practical style available among the elves. Besides, everyone in town knew she was human; there was no use hiding it even if there were still some people--mostly the Skywing family--that detested her.

It was overall a peaceful journey with only minor staring. They’d quickly gotten the supplies they needed for the week. Shopkeepers had a tendency to want the pair of them out as fast as possible, what with Y/N’s species and Aaravos’s reputation, but that was fine with them. Neither was fond of chatting with strangers, anyway.

“One last stop,” Y/N breathed. She would be happy to get back to their peaceful house.

Aaravos hummed, as he had a habit of doing. “We just have to pick up that book I ordered.”

“What was it about again?”

“It is an update on the warfront. We may be neutral, but you know how I like to stay updated.”

“Well I suppose we can’t be completely submerged in our little fairytale here. Never been one for doing nothing anyway.”

“Good, because we seem to have guests. Those two ahead, they have a glamor spell on them. That necklace is a moon illusionist’s doing.”

“Been a while since we’ve had a good fight,” she muttered, free hand tightening around a dagger at her waist.

“Now, now, dearest, all in good time,” he chided. “We should at least see what they want first.”

Despite his words, Y/N felt him release the hand he’d been holding. It was a move she was long familiar with; if a fight came forth, he’d need both hands for his magic. “Because that went so well lst time,” she muttered.

The shit-eating smirk on his face was enough to make her roll her eyes. “At least let us lead them out of town. We don’t need to go out of our way to further anger the Skywing.”

“Fair enough.”

“Two of them are circling around in front of us. Third’s still behind,” Y/N reported a few minutes later once they’d reached what was considered the outskirts of town. She’d kissed him on the cheek a few moments prior in order to disguise the process of her looking around.

“Observant as ever, dearest.”

“Okay, now really doesn’t feel like the right time to be flirting,” she snarked back, elbowing him in the side.

“Here we go,” he muttered, changing the tone of the conversation the instant two people--stalkers, her mind provided--blocked their path. “Can we help you?”

“You sure this is the right guy?” one of the stalkers asked, obviously the skittish one of the bunch.

His ‘Moonshadow’ companion scoffed. “Do you see another elf with a human girlfriend?”

“Well . . . no, but--”

“Exactly, this has to be the guy.”

“We are right here,” Y/N sighed. Clearly whoever these guys were, they weren’t professionals. That stung her pride a bit. If this group knew enough about them that one of their members was this skittish, it could be assumed that they knew enough to be more wary of this particular pair. It was a mix of insulting and disappointing, really.

“Right. We were sent by . . .”

And that day deviated wildly from their nice, lazy plans from there. Needless to say, they ended up working for the humans. After the yaers she’d spent ignoring the glares from the elves of their little town, the glares from her former brothers-in-arms did nothing to rattle her, and of course Aaravos was as unshakable as ever. Whispers followed her wherever she went. People called her traitor or worse whenever Aaravos wasn’t around (they weren’t brave enough to do it while he was present) simply because she loved an elf. Of course, she herself thought that their relationship was better suited to be an example that their species could get along and even thrive.

While that relationship flourished as it always had (they’d been together for quite some time, after all), everything else went to shit around them. Because of Aaravos, the humans held their own in the war until the Xadians were willing to come up with an armistice. True to the elven belief that humans were corrupt, they were all too willing to forfeit Aaravos despite all he’d done for them. One of the stipulations for the armistice was that Aaravos would be handed over for the Xadians to punish how they saw fit. Another was that Y/N would never be allowed back in Xadia.

The humans naturally agreed to both clauses.

On their last night together, Aaravos told her of the curse he’d put on his name wherever it appeared in text. Anyone specifically looking for him in human lands would find the pages blackened and unreadable. If they were just reading a random tome in which he appeared, the book would be unaffected--a handy little trick that would help keep from suspicion from arising. It was his way of giving her a fresh start, he explained; no one would be able to connect him with her after enough time had passed.

Provided she wasn’t killed, Y/N would live long enough for the humans to forget. When they initially got together, Aaravos gave her his heart--a crystal he’d used to focus his power when he was young--set into a small silver ring on her finger. To the surprise of them both, she’d stopped aging. It’d seemed like the ring kept her aging to match his in order for them to remain together without the grief that came with loving someone that lived a much shorter life.

As she stood there contemplating things in the present, she thought, That is the only time I’ve ever even heard of such a spell. The odds . . .

She’d tried to find out what the dragon king had done with her lover ever since the day she’d been vanished, but word had never reached the human kingdoms. They seemed to want to forget about the archmage that essentially won their existence for them. Then again, who wouldn’t want to forget that you just offered a virtual hero up like a lamb for slaughter?

Years passed.

Then decades passed.

Eventually, everyone except Katolis’s high council forgot she ever existed.

Then even they forgot.

Just for something to do, she’d eventually rejoined the Crownguard. Surprisingly, she made friends with the children of the king’s advisor. They were good kids, if a little dense at times. Soren was her favorite, naturally; they worked together almost every day, after all. Claudia was a bit too much like her father sometimes for Y/N to be completely comfortable with her, but she tried to be a good influence for the child. Both of the children viewed her as an aunt, and she prided herself in her ability to temper the destructive habits Viren tried to teach them.

Otherwise, her existence largely went unnoticed.

Until she saw those books in the library.

#aaravos x reader #aaravos imagine #dragon prince imagine #reader insert #the dragon prince imagine

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