#the true moral debate of our times

[pseudowho]

In Flagrante Delicto

Higuruma Hiromi will fight your help and guidance every step of the way...until one night, he catches himself needing you desperately.

An AU where Higuruma is forced into the employ of Jujutsu High after his role in The Culling Games.

Warnings: 18+, sex pollen!, angst, smut and fluff, Hiromi being willing to argue with anyone about anything, with a little bit of sex pollen needy Hiromi

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Higuruma Hiromi was undoubtedly the most difficult mission you had ever been given.

Tasked with walking Hiromi through 'the systems' of the Jujutsu world, you, a sorcerer who had been introduced to this world more conventionally, had absolutely nothing in your armory to counter the veritable force of nature that this man was.

You argued, constantly. He forced you to acknowledge the hideous insufficiencies and injustices in the system you worked for, at the most inconvenient of times.

Your patience was a finely tuned machine. You had perfected your ability to debate and discuss the ethics and morality of Jujutsu sorcerer activity, both legal and illegal, over a number of years.

But Higuruma Hiromi had driven you to drink. One evening, sat at home, deeper into a bottle of wine than you had anticipated, you received two messages in quick succession; one, from Yaga ("Mission with Higuruma tomorrow. Details to be sent over by Ijichi") and the other, from Higuruma ("I look forward to continuing our discussion tomorrow"), and you groaned, sinking the rest of your wine, and hoping it was enough to get you through the chaos of Higuruma's mind.

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"So," you started, approaching the subway with Higuruma, "lots of late-night civilian disappearances on this one line," you pointed to your map, "and two Second-Grade sorcerers have already disappeared in separate incidents. What does this tell you?"

Higuruma was silent, musing as he tapped his gavel lightly against his hip. Reaching his conclusion, he turned to you with a wry smile: "That your higher-ups knew, by the first Second-Grade's death, that a Second-Grade wasn't strong enough, but sent another Second-Grade anyway."

You sighed, deep and weary, "While that's probably true, we don't know they're dead--"

"Well they're not playing Scrabble, are they--"

"--and that's not the answer I'm looking for--"

"Well, I'm not here to be charitable, or unrealistic."

"Oh, are you here to be insufferable?"

Higuruma half-laughed, "Preferably. God forbid I should be sufferable--"

You swiped his gavel from his hand, and tapped him sharply on the forehead, "Higuruma. Please. I'm begging you," you clasped your hands for dramatic effect as he assessed you, a sardonic half-smile in his hooded eyes, "the quicker you play the game, the quicker you and I can go our separate ways and you can just go out and do this by yourself."

Higuruma's lip curled up in bitter distaste. He wiggled one finger into the knot of his tie, loosening it with an irritated twist of his neck. "I'll reiterate," he said, considered and flat, "that my joining the Jujutsu sorcerer's established hierarchy is a Hobson's Choice."

"If I want to go about making some positive changes to this cesspit," he spat, "I have to prove myself trustworthy in their eyes, and atone for my crimes by playing their game." Higuruma approached you, his chin tilted down as he looked through you, with sombre eyes.

"And the sad thing is," he said softly, now inches from you as you burned under his scrutiny, "you've been playing their game for so many years, you've convinced yourself that the rules are fair."

You swallowed, meeting his gaze; your agreement with him passed as an unspoken pact, but you were, as of yet, unable to betray your established part in this system with words. Higuruma nodded, slowly, understanding.

"So I'll inconvenience you as little as possible," he reassured, "and try to be a good boy today." You closed your eyes, breathing in through your nose, and out through your mouth, counting to ten. Opening your eyes, you caught up to Higuruma, who was already halfway down the empty subway steps.

"Please don't go ahead without me," you pressed, "I know you're not completely inexperienced, but fighting Curses is much more nuanced than fighting Curse-users."

"But they're brainless, right? By all means they're probably easier." You tilted your hand from side to side.

"They fight on instinct. We can be guilty of overthinking something that's primal for them. I'd never assume I can out-think evolution."

Higuruma hummed, satisfied with your answer. You were relieved to have averted another argument. Reaching the bottom of the steps together, your shadows were short in the low eerie glow of the empty subway system.

"So the victims got on a train, but never got off it," Higuruma confirmed with you.

"But it hasn't been the same train every time, so it seems to--"

"--pick a host. Right. And you've asked the station master to keep to the same train schedule tonight?"

"Mhm. No people around though."

"So, we could always just get on trains until we're attacked."

"That is completely reckless, and I won't--"

Higuruma breezed away down the corridor, his slim suited figure sloping away so lackadaisically that you felt annoyance bubble up in your throat.

"You don't have to come," he called back, relaxed and confident, "I've got this covered." You ran after him, grabbing his upper arm. He stopped, annoyed and impatient.

"Just...trust me," Higuruma urged, "try something new. You may be pleasantly surprised." He gripped your hand, firmly breaking your grip as he stared you down.

"How can I trust you? I barely know you."

"Then why are you worried about me?" He taunted, heated and scathing, "Not really what you lot do, is it? Worry about each other?"

"Well I worry about you," you snapped, "I worry about you every day and every night since they tasked me with taking care of you." You swallowed, embarrassed by your outburst. Higuruma hesitated briefly, looking...touched? He spun round, his back to you now, tapping his gavel in irritation against his thigh.

"That settles it then," he said, convicted and grabbing you by the hand, "you've got to come with me. It would be cruel not to let you worry. Come along."

You were pulled through the dim corridors of the subway system by Higuruma Hiromi, protesting the whole way.

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"-- so stupid, you could have died--"

"-- but I didn't, and I'm fine, so stop worr--"

You slapped the wounded shoulder you were currently patching up for Higuruma, and he made a noise of protest as you scolded him, "Stop telling me to stop worrying," you cried, pressing gauze to his cuts, "because I've worked in this shitty system for years, so I know that if we don't worry about each other, nobody else will worry about us, and you have no regard for your own wellbeing--"

Higuruma's head snapped up, smiling, "So you agree," he pressed, excited by the new development, "that the higher-ups have no intention to safeguard any of you--"

"--I never disagreed with you, Higuruma. You just...missed the point. As usual."

Higuruma turned, unable to look you in the eye as you continued dabbing the back of his shoulder. His eyes beseeched you to continue, dark and quizzical.

You continued, your voice tight and upset, "Whether or not we fight back against the higher-ups, makes no difference. Almost every sorcerer in this wreck would go where they were sent anyway, because at least we have a chance of defending ourselves against the monsters out here."

You sighed, taping bandages down, Higuruma's bleeding now settled, "So that's what I decided to do. I expend my energy protecting the non-sorcerers because they're the weakest link in the equation. They can't defend themselves. It's the right thing to do. I'll fight the big fight on my days off."

Higuruma was quiet, allowing himself to be chastised. He rolled the gavel between his hands. He suddenly felt so exposed, shirtless in front of you, feeling every touch of your soft hands as they assessed his ribs, and he gulped, unusually unable to find the words to say.

"Do you, uh...do you want to grab a drink? After we're done here," he offered weakly, eager to spend time with you outside of these roles you were forced to play.

"No," you emphasised as he rubbed his nose, "you'd probably tell me my drink order was wrong." Higuruma sunk his face into his hands, laughing.

"I'm not that bad--"

"You are dreadful. I love the...the passion you have, but I'm just...I'm tired. I'd rather go home." Higuruma nodded, thoroughly shot-down, respecting your refusal.

Sloping home that night, insisting he'd prefer to walk over being dropped home by Nitta, Higuruma considered he may have been fighting the wrong person for weeks now. Torn between 'playing the game' to get out from under your feet as soon as possible, and resisting becoming part of another broken, unjust system, Higuruma found himself erring unusually on the side which benefitted you over anyone else.

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In the midst of battle, you found yourself separated from Higuruma, cold dread seeping into your belly as you realised there was nobody else here to save him from himself. Distracted, you took a major hit, thrown by some sordid thrashing beast down an old brick staircase.

You had largely protected your body in swathes of your own Cursed-energy, but still had the breath forced out of your lungs as you had hit the wall below. The Curse, enormous and puce-coloured, roared down the stairs after you.

Trying to stand on a dice roll, your numbers came up short and you stumbled, heart lurching into your mouth.

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You and Higuruma had been assigned to clear out a growing populace of curses in an abandoned block of flats. Trying to talk to him, to plan tactics and methodology, Higuruma had seemed quietly indifferent towards you on the journey there. Refusing to engage with you on any serious level, he seemed almost bored of you, staring impassively out of the window throughout.

You tried not to be hurt, reminding yourself you were here to assess whether or not Higuruma was safe to act independently as a sorcerer. After his series of murders in the Culling Games and before, he was offered two choices: work for Jujutsu High, or refuse and face being hunted down and executed. But, he was an adult, and his safety was ultimately not your jurisdiction if he refused to take your advice.

And yet...the thought of his death by any means filled you with a sickly dread.

Because in reality, Higuruma represented the idealism, the ethical standards that working within a broken system had steadily stamped out of you. Your anger towards him was a projection of your own shame at having fallen into line when you wanted nothing more than to rebel, to protect the weak, including your own colleagues, despite the resistance.

Even worse, Higuruma saw this, and his disappointment in you only deepened your shame. You were meant to be 'helping him' to adapt to your world, and you felt sick to your stomach as you tried to contaminate this man. You felt sicker still as you felt yourself creep closer and closer to his way of thinking, wondering if you fit in this world anymore.

You couldn't tell him how deeply you admired him for being everything you had fallen so far from.

After efforts to interact had fallen flat, you sat beside each other in stony silence. Still, you felt, despite his feigned indifference, anger poured off him, not cold, but white hot.

"What have I...what have I done?" you asked, afraid of the answer.

Higuruma looked at you, eyes still glowing like little coals in his impassive face; "What have you done?" he retaliated. You sighed, a short breath out of your nose.

"...you're not ready to be sent out alone yet. You're reckless and you've got by on luck so far, but--"

"--so you saw fit to carry on this babysitting charade by telling the higher-ups that I'm a danger to myself and others around me." Higuruma scowled at you, not trying to conceal his fury anymore. You blushed, feeling the shame twist in your throat.

"...you...assume you're going to come out on top in every fight, so you don't assess the danger before you jump in, and it's just a matter of time before-- before you--" You reached out to take his hand, desperate to communicate your fear for him in a way he would understand. Higuruma moved to pull his hand away and you held on harder.

"I just...couldn't stand to see you die some pointless death," you urged, "I need-- we need men like you." Higuruma appeared unmoved, silently allowing you to squeeze his hand. Eventually, his long fingers slowly closed around yours.

"I don't think anyone's cared about me this much in years," he replied, as lightly as if he were talking about the weather.

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Brickwork and rubble clouded your vision as the floor rumbled beneath your feet, the Curse blown sideways, shunted by a comedically large gavel. You felt a taut-muscled arm loop around your waist, yanking you to stand-- "get up, come on-- NOW!" -- and you half-ran, half-staggered through a devastated corridor. Your heart sank as you spotted the staircases downward completely collapsed, leaving you both stranded on the fifth floor.

Higuruma appeared, dusty and spitting, wiping residue out of his eyes and slamming his hand to a button on the wall. In a wild flurry, the Curse turned the corner, screeching and hissing, and with a *ping* the lift doors opened. Not looking back at you, Higuruma shoved you into the open lift, slamming his hand on the button again for the doors to close.

"No-- Higuruma! Hiromi!" You skidded across the lift on grazed knees, wedging your arm between the doors with a yell as they closed around it. The lift didn't move down, and you heard Higuruma's incoherent shout of rage at you as you forced the doors open, reaching out for him and dragging him in by the back of his collar, and hammering the 'close doors' button repeatedly as the Curse, still dazed and staggered, made its headlong rush towards you.

As you fell into the lift with Higuruma, you felt a hand press behind your head, its fine bones crunching as it cushioned your head's strike against the wall. You sat, slumped, Higuruma's body over yours in a protective cage, as the doors slid closed, denting inwards as the Curse hit them with a metallic thud, and a roar.

Silence. Higuruma, silent and seething, reached behind him to press another button. The lift started a smooth descent downwards.

"I had it," he spat, lips curled upwards, nose wrinkled in animated fury, "and you stopped me-- for what? Why?"

You gulped, coughing brick dust out of your lungs as you croaked, "You were lunch. You were that close to being killed--"

"--do you really think I'm that inept--"

"--you're not inept, just inexperienced--"

"I'm not a fucking child!" Higuruma's voice rang, deep and final, around the lift. The lift pinged as you reached the bottom floor. You sighed again, pushing him away from you as you stood, moving towards the doors.

"We'll regroup and consider our plan of--" A wiry arm blocked your path, holding down the 'close doors' button.

"We are not finished," Higuruma pressed, enunciating every syllable with gritted teeth. You rested your hand on his forearm, gentle and weary.

"I am. I'm finished." Higuruma stared at you incredulously, hackles still raised. You continued, "I can't coddle you anymore. You're a smart man, you're happy you know what you're doing. So I'm finished. I won't keep fighting you for your own life, Hiromi."

Hiromi deflated slowly, unable to fight without an opponent. His lip still curled, he refused to move his arm from blocking the door, looking away from you as his fury simmered low.

"I'll clear you with the higher ups. Do what you want to finish up here. I'm done." Still, Hiromi didn't let you go, silent as your hand stayed tenderly on his forearm. A few heartbeats passed between you.

"The thing is, Hiromi...you've already lost the fight when you think the result is the most important thing. Being willing to put yourself forward to defend people, going through that fight for them...that's the really noble thing. Any idiot can win a fight. It takes guts to stand up and decide to fight in the first place."

Reaching past Hiromi to press the 'open doors' button, the lift flooded with daylight, muted by the external veil. Hiromi's arm dropped, beaten. As you moved to step past him, his fingers gently tangled in yours, your hands ghosting together between your bodies.

"Can I...can I buy you a drink? To thank you." You swallowed, throat thick with conflicting emotion. You hesitated, then nodded. Hiromi smiled down at you, something unreadably tender in his eyes.

He leaned slowly down, and pressed a soft-lipped kiss to your forehead; "thank you."

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You didn't get to go out for that drink. After giving the higher-ups your approval for Higuruma to be released, he was thrown headlong into mission after mission.

You sent him occasional texts, and he messaged back, usually dry witty commentaries on the jobs he'd been given. You found yourself missing him, feeling little golden bubbles of joy when your phone pinged, his name on the screen.

It had been a week since your disastrous argument in the lift. You still felt guilty for having abandoned him, still not feeling he was ready, but knowing he had to find his own footing at this point.

Late one evening, you dried your hair with a towel, padding around your apartment in just your underwear as you got ready for bed. You jumped and squeaked with alarm as someone hammered on your door. Grabbing an oversized t-shirt from a pile of laundry, you pulled it on over your head. Approaching the door, cautious, you were alarmed to feel--

"...Hiromi?"

Hiromi leaned against your doorframe, his head on his forearm, and he looked at you with feverish eyes, panting, apparently in pain. His dishevelled suit, and a blossoming bruise beneath his right eye placed him as a man fresh from a mission.

Without hesitation, you gripped Hiromi by the hand and pulled him into your apartment, closing and locking the door. Immediately your hands grasped his cheeks, looking deeply into his eyes, a look of such sweet concern on your face that he gulped, overwhelmed, desperate.

"What happened? Why are you here? You should get to Shoko--"

"I don't want Shoko," he spat, chest heaving as he turned away again, pressing his forehead to his fist against the door, "I want...I want you." You blushed, pleased he had come to you for help, but your medical knowledge was limited.

"What happened?" You asked again, hands cautiously ghosting over his abdomen, checking for injuries.

Hiromi groaned, low and slow, as he burned from the inside out. Your touch shot through him like a thousand arrows. His fingers seared his skin as he fumbled, trying to undo his own tie, and you took pity, reaching round him, your small hands cool against his neck as you removed his tie for him. You felt him tremble against you.

As his collar opened, you spotted a narrow, inch-long dart in his neck, like a cactus prickle. Curious, you plucked it out and dropped it onto the sideboard near the door. Is he poisoned? You questioned yourself in a panic, and you grasped him by the cheeks again, looking deeply into his eyes, terrified you'd watch the life ebb out of him, unable to do anything.

"What do you...what are you feeling?" You took him by the hand, guiding him to your sofa and forcing him to sit as you stood in front of him. His sloped eyes were narrow, taking in your barely-covered legs, the barely-concealed nubs of your nipples beneath the t-shirt fabric. Hiromi reached out with a shaking hand, grazing his fingers up your calf and your breath hitched.

"...Hiromi?" His hooded eyes flicked up to yours as his fingers stayed on your calf. Oh, you looked so uncertain, so concerned for him, and it was...delicious.

"It hurts," Hiromi croaked, "I need-- I-- I need--" His throat was tight, and you took him in, how desperate he looked, how needy, and the realisation clicked into place.

"You need...me?" Hiromi shuddered, recalling how he'd walked directly into an obvious trap while hunting down this godforsaken Curse, not taking in his surroundings, stubborn and certain in his ability to prevail--

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, cock throbbing, trapped against his thigh, his whole body burning from the inside out, "I was wrong."

"Oh, so you do know how to flirt," you teased and he huffed out a laugh, groaning again, in agony, and he begged, shameless, his head leant forward to press against your tummy as his hands crept up, eager to grasp your hips and pull you straight to his mouth.

"Please...please--" he whined, and you shivered feeling his hot breath on your belly through the fabric of your t-shirt, tangling your hands into his hair. Hiromi trembled, letting out a sandy growl against your clothes.

"Don't stop me, please," he urged, "I can't...I can't stop myself." He flipped your t-shirt up and you gasped, his strong hands sinking into the plush of your hips, holding you to his mouth, his tongue tasting you as he swiped open-mouthed kisses just above your underwear.

You felt sweet pleasure throb between your legs, all good sense thrown out of the window as you felt how deeply you had missed Hiromi, how ridiculously grateful you felt to be needed by him in this way, and you breathed to him, "You know I'd always help you."

Hiromi moaned his appreciation, his mouth now slipping down to the front of your underwear, and his tongue traced the shape of your pussy, groaning at the taste of you on the tip of his tongue. Your knees buckled, weak with the feeling of his mouth against you.

His lean arms hooked around the back of your knees, lifting them over his shoulders as he leaned you back against him. You cried out, when leaning forwards to grasp the back of the sofa, your clothed pussy pressed firmly against Hiromi's face.

You blushed as he breathed you in, his hips bucking instinctively upwards, aching to be inside you, cum heavy in his balls and desperate for release. His teeth grazed your pussy through your underwear, and he nuzzled into you, trying to part your folds with his nose through the fabric. Impatient, and feeling your hand sink into his hair again, he used two fingers to swipe your underwear aside, sinking his tongue instantly between your folds.

You whined so beautifully above him, and he undid his trousers, pulling his cock out of his trousers, gripping it tightly as he rubbed his nose and tongue urgently between your soft lips. Hiromi began to stroke himself furiously, squeezing hard at the tip, pre-cum dripping down his fist, shivering at the pleasure.

You allowed Hiromi to use you, your keening voice rising as he latched onto your clit, sinking two fingers into your pussy with no warning, thrusting them roughly into you. You bucked your hips against his face as he whimpered his approval. You blushed as you heard the frantic plaps of Hiromi pleasuring himself, your brain foggy with bliss.

Hiromi's fingers bullied into you, desperate to study you, imagining how deliciously his cock would stretch those plush walls. The constant pressure of his fingers against your cervix and his desperately nuzzling tongue and nose between your folds had you reeling, humping his face as you trembled and shook, Hiromi encouraging it as you approached your orgasm.

Your pleasure peaked, sharp and sweet, and Hiromi held you tightly to his face, still determined to taste you, drawing your orgasm out until you quivered, overstimulated, feeling your heart pulse between your legs. As Hiromi shook from his own orgasm, but not at all relieved and panting, cum dribbling down the front of his shirt, he dropped you into his lap.

You gripped the front of his shirt, his cum sticky against your belly. His hand tangled into your hair as he crushed his lips to yours with bruising force, forcing you to taste him. Nipping your bottom lip between his teeth, he whispered, begging again.

"Inside you...please, please..." You nodded again, and Hiromi threw your shirt off over your head, leaning back to drink you in; panting, trembling, straddling his lap, what the fuck was he playing at by fighting with you for so long--

Your hands worked nimbly at the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning and pressing it down his arms and you leaned forwards, almost as hungry as him as you took his nipple into your mouth. Hiromi hissed with delight, kicking off his trousers, shoes and socks and rocking your hips against him.

Hiromi grasped your hands, pressing one to his cheek, and one to his chest, forcing you to lean forwards as you shamelessly cast your eyes up and down his lean body, his muscles twitching with the electricity of your core on his aching cock. His teeth scraped against the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, your shivers like a sedative to him.

His eyes burned into yours, hot and pleading in the dark. His body was a furnace against yours, desperately craving a cure for the agony he was in. You lifted one leg off him, intending to stand to remove your underwear, but stopped as Hiromi all but sobbed against your wrist at the sudden loss of pressure on his cock, throbbing and sticky with cum against the neat, black hair on his belly. His fine-boned hands pressed you hard against him, before methodically tearing the sides of your underwear, flinging the scrap of fabric to the side.

When you grasped his aching cock, Hiromi was almost blinded by the anticipation, his hands flinging out sideways to grip the fabric of the sofa, and he panted, whimpering and pleading as you rubbed the angry red head of his cock between your folds, gathering wetness.

When you sank slowly down onto him, crying out as your walls fluttered around him like wet velvet, Hiromi came again with  a shout, faint with bliss and temporary relief, feeling his own seed drip out of you and onto his thighs. He growled in frustration when, after his cock had stopped twitching inside you, he felt the need to cum again build up within his belly, overwhelming him with an almost violent urge to pursue it.

"...Hiromi? Do you...is this...?" You rode him slowly as he twisted in pleasure and anguish beneath you. Reaching up to grasp your breasts like stress-balls, Hiromi shook his head desperately at you, feeling pathetic and helpless. He was corseted by his intense need to not hurt you. You leaned into him, whispering reassurance and soft nothings in his ear.

Hiromi couldn't take it anymore. Standing up, holding himself inside you and locking your ankles behind his hips, he flipped you over, crushing your thighs to your chest. Grasping the back of the sofa, Hiromi snapped his hips against yours with determined precision, his shoulders tight and mouth slack as with every thrust he felt the urge to push harder, deeper, to empty himself inside you again and again, until you were putty in his hands, until he had cleansed himself of this unscratchable itch.

You clawed for purchase on anything as you were pounded into the sofa, drunk on the sensation of being so full, your insides feeling thrillingly bruised, the tenderness building, slow and intense. Reaching up, you plaited your fingers in Hiromi's at the top of the sofa, and he leaned down, nipping and kissing your knuckles in grateful affection.

The air was filled with the wet slaps of your joint bodies, and Hiromi's constant soft whimpers as you came again, this orgasm burning through your body as you hiccuped, tears streaming into your hair.

"Please please please...please, please," Hiromi begged as his next orgasm surged ruinously through him, dropping him to his knees on the edge of the sofa. Hiromi felt his senses return to him with each pulse of cum that left his body, relieved...for now.

Weak, exhausted, Hiromi flopped onto you, wrapping your arms and legs around him in a full-body embrace, suddenly feeling so touch-starved. Hiromi almost wept his thanks into your hair, and you stroked his hair in soft circles with your nails, all reassurance and acceptance.

By the time you had made it to your bedroom and slipped, sticky and spent, between the soft covers, Hiromi's eyes had returned to you, hungry and burning, his fingers stroking through your folds, fascinated by the drips of his seed still leaking out of you. He had flipped you over and pinned you prone to the mattress, sinking into you and moaning your praises as you had clenched, trembling with overstimulation, sucking his cock into your aching body.

Throughout the night, his relief had waned, with longer and longer gaps between him seeking out the warm acceptance of your body. You would wake to his body flush against yours, Hiromi lifting your leg over his hip as he sunk into you, mewling and panting in the night.

Finally, you had woken with sunlight streaming through the windows, Hiromi draped around you, looking soft and exhausted as he slept; Hiromi woke to the smell of coffee and you, very much ready to be cared for...and, occasionally, argued with.

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Ugh, yes. Debate me, lawyer daddy.

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[fourmoony]

𝐨𝐡, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⭒⭒⭒

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬' 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝.

𝟖𝟏𝟕 - masterlist

⭒⭒⭒

"I want one." I'd said, without even thinking.

Harry had just started to crawl. Lily was hovering over him rather nervously, wand at the ready to fix any bumps or bruises whilst James (who was very frazzled, but also very chuffed for his son) tried to figure out how to work the 'bloody muggle photo-thingy'.

Inside the Potter's living room, filled with laughter and joy, and so so much love for each other (and Baby Harry) it was all too easy to forget about the war. It was easy to forget the identifying questions James had made us answer on arrival, or the incantation we'd had to perform just to be able to see James and Lily's home. It was easy to forget the missions Sirius and Remus were being sent on, stretching out over weeks and days, or the missing muggles, witches and wizards, the rising death toll, the insistent nagging from The Dark Lord to change allegiances and join him.

On a lazy Sunday, where Lily would make soup and crusty rolls for lunch, and a roast for tea, where James and Sirius would spend hours transforming between their anamagi to amuse Baby Harry and Remus would read aloud whilst Peter and I played chess, it was easy to forget everything wrong with the world. It was so easy to just exist.

Remus looked up over the cover of his book and then down at his nephew, who was now sitting atop Padfoot, his father laughing maniacally whilst Lily shooed them out of the kitchen. He smiled an odd sort of smile, like he hadn't expected the words to come out of my mouth at all. Ever. Honestly, neither had I. Having children had been the last thing on my mind, in that time. But seeing the joy that Harry had brought to our friends, the life that Lily and James were building for him - it inspired me.

"Well," Remus mused, sitting his book down on the coffee table - careful to mind the cups of scattered tea everywhere - "I'll distract Lily. You could take Prongs in a duel. Easy."

His smile was wicked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he came from the single arm chair to the sofa I was stretched across. He lifted my legs, sat them back on his lap, arm stretched along the back of the sofa behind me. I rolled my eyes at him, pouting, "You know fine well that's not what I meant, Lupin."

Remus laughed. A rare laugh, these days. My heart melted. He looked so much like the boy I'd fallen in love with all those years ago - the quiet (not at all quiet), studious, mysterious Remus Lupin. Little had I known he was the true mastermind to all 'Marauder' pranks, while remaining studious and mysterious, but also being the biggest, most sarcastic loud mouth I'd ever met. I had been in way too deep ever since.

"I know, love, I know." He patted my shin gently, lovingly.

He was thinking, behind those big, hazel eyes. I knew Remus inside and out, the moral debate was eating him alive. The self doubt, the inner fear he held of himself, of the wolf.

"I guess I never much thought of us having children. Of you wanting to have them, really, with me..." Remus looked pitiful, lost in thought, I frowned.

"Why wouldn't I want to have children with you? They'd be the prettiest, smartest, funniest babies to ever walk the Earth." I said confidently.

This earned me another laugh. Then, a shrug, "I dunno," Remus scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "The wolf, I guess. It's not really one hundred percent that the kid wouldn't be."

I knew the possibility. But I also knew the progress that was being made in the ways of Lycanthropy. I knew how hard it had been for Remus, growing up. I knew he was cast aside, an afterthought, that people held prejudice against 'his kind', but I'd only ever loved him more for the strong man it had turned him into.

Not everyone was like this, though.

"I know the risks. I know you'll have put a lot more thought into it than me. A conversation for another time, maybe, but I'd like you to know," My hands reached for his face, guiding him to meet my eyes, "It would never be the wolf that put me off having children with you, Remus."

Remus smiled, a genuine smile and leaned forward to place his lips on mine. I settled back into the sofa, watched as Remus picked up his book, settling over my shins to read it.

"Your massive head..." I blew a whistle, "Now that might put me off."

Sirius cackled from the kitchen. Remus blew a raspberry and Harry copied him.

#remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin fic #fluff #love #harry potter #marauders #james potter #lily evans #peter pettigrew #sirius black #marauders imagine #marauders fic #james potter imagine #james potter fic #lily evans imagine #lily evans fic #peter pettigrew imagine #peter pettigrew fic #sirius black imagine #sirius black fic #remus lupin x fem reader

[fandomnerd9602]

She was your princess. You were her knight. Sworn to protect her, to let your last action ever be your sword hitting the ground because your opponent bested you. To make sure that she lived while you’d die for her.

How could you have not fallen for her? How could the very sight of her smile not ignite the fury of a thousand dragons’ fire in your heart?

How could Rhaenyra not fall for you? Your steadfast nature, your kindness, the way you smiled when you locked eyes with her from across the royal court. All of it just made her fall deeper in love with you.

You took whatever moment you could just to be in her presence. A second, a minute, whenever you could, you were by her side. A gentle walk in the garden. A token of her favor before you went to train with the other knights. Any time with her was welcome.

You pledged everything to her.

“Everything that I am,” you whisper against her knuckles, “ my sword, my shield my very soul I have pledged to you.”

“Then run away with me” she practically pleaded with her hazel eyes.

“ you and I both know that wouldn’t be a life.” you sadly counter You take her chin in your palm and lock eyes with her, "but know this that after these bones have turned to dust and dragons no longer fly in the skies above Westeros, my heart will always keep on beating for you.”

“And mine shall beat for you" her lips formed a silent promise.

You gave her hand a soft kiss and she walked away from you sadly.

What you failed to notice was that king Viserys had noticed the whole ordeal. An idea was quickly forming in his mind.

The king summoned you into his throne room within the hour. Your heart was beating out of your chest. As you walked into the massive throne room to find it was only you and him. You fall to your knees at the base of the intimidating Iron Throne, fearful for your very life.

"Your majesty" you put your own sword before Viserys' feet.

"Arise my son" he gently orders you, "have you heard of House Valor?"

You've heard of it, "the grand isle to the far west of Westeros?"

"The very one" King Viserys walks down from his throne and approaches you, "I'm sending you at once as my emissary"

"But, your Majesty, my duty as protector to Princess-"

"That is a direct order from your king" Viserys gently interrupts you. "the ship is leaving promptly at sunset"

You could feel the color drain from your face. You couldn't even tell Rhaenyra goodbye, you had to leave in that instance.

Your journey to Castle Valor was a day's journey aboard a ship across the sea to a land beyond the horizon of Westeros. House Valor was long held as a house that held true to its very title. If the world believed that morality was dead, Valor held the lifeline showing that it was not.

You arrived at your destination. A humble island nation, vast villages that dotted its landscape. The castle sat in the middle of the island, not massive by any stretch of the imagination but its stronghold told of its pride and honor.

The guards lead you directly to the throne room and there sat Lord Valor, an elderly man with a kind smile and eyes that told of a life time of heart aches. You kneel before the ruler.

"Lord Valor" you state, "I come on behalf of King Viserys as his emissary. I may not have a title but I will serve you to the best of my ability."

"Welcome my son" the older man greets you, rising from his throne and putting his hand on your shoulder, "we have much to talk about"

A day's journey became a few solid weeks. Rhaenyra's heart was only growing all the more fond of you in your absence. She found herself summoned to her father's throne room.

"Rhaenyra I have selected a husband for you" King Viserys states, not allowing any room for debate.

"What?" Rhaenyra's heart broke in that moment. She could only hope it was not with House Velaryon.

"You are of age and we must secure our borders with House Valor" Viserys explains. "Your betrothed will be arriving shortly."

"But Father I can't marry into House Valor" Rhaenyra tries to explain, "I am in love with-"

The doors of the throne room opened and you walked in, dressed in the royal dressing of House Valor. You carried yourself calmly with every bit of might and pride that a prince would.

"Your majesties" you offer a bow to the two royals. Rhaenyra could feel her heart fluttering at the sight of you.

"Ser Y/N of House Valor" Viserys smiles, catching the smile already forming on Rhaenyra's face. "Glad you could make it."

The truth was that while you were not of noble birth or of privileged title, the lord of House Valor was in search of a successor. A kind man, beloved by all under the banner of his house, he did not have any children or heirs to speak of. Viserys had been in talks with Lord Valor for a while. The king noticed your own sense of morality and kindness, especially to Rhaenyra. Viserys offered you and your sword up as a potential successor. So Lord Valor took you in and named you his 'son'. You had spent the last few weeks learning all that you could from your newly adoptive father. And with it, you finally realized that you could wed the princess. Your heart was brimming with joy over that mere thought.

You walk up to Rhaenyra and gently kiss her hand, "if my lady will have me, i would treasure each second of the day with you."

"I think this marriage is more than agreeable," the young princess giggled, tears beginning to stream down her porcelain face. You pull her into your arms and kiss her tenderly. She wraps her arms around your neck, holding you close.

You briefly look to King Viserys who gives you a wink as you guide Rhaenyra out of the throne room.

#rhaenyra targeryan #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x reader #princess x knight #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #house targaryen #milly alcock #game of thrones #house of the dragon imagine #hotd x reader #male reader #male reader insert #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon x reader

[theprettynosferatu]

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

I - The Heroes

Luna MacKleere didn’t like the word “Rebel”. She was one, to be sure, but in her mind the term evoked anarchy, disorder, chaos. Maybe it was her past life as an Imperial officer, or maybe it was just the way she was wired, but Luna felt sometimes clear order was a necessity. The Rebellion had a chain of command, but it was a tad… diffuse. For all its virtues, the Rebellion often fell short in the “getting things done” category: strategy meetings could become endless debates in the name of equality and freedom of expression. To Luna, a little hierarchy didn’t necessarily become tyranny. 

She was well aware of her reputation within the base. Humorless, strict, cold. She didn’t much care. She got things done, as the events of the day had proved. A screen lit up letting her know the newly-minted Heroes of Korriban would arrive shortly. The base was buzzing. She wasn’t upset because she had been the one to discover the Imperial outpost in that barren planet, planned the surprise strike, organized the entire operation: it was natural for the pilots and boots on the ground to get the glory. What irritated her was that for a good three hours or so nothing of real use would be accomplished as the new Heroes celebrated their triumph. Oh, well. She supposed it would be a morale boost, at least.

She did the best she could to tune out the cheers, the laughter, the singing. Luna wondered how the old Jedi had been able, if the stories were true, to keep their emotions always under control. Given how her chest pounded with irritation, she figured she wouldn’t have made a good Jedi even if she had been born hundreds of years before. 

Eventually a knock on her door broke her out of such dark contemplations. She looked around to make sure everything was presentable: the room was both her command center and her bedroom. The base had been built with haste and stealth in mind, and living comfort had been sacrificed to keep it compact. Deciding the place looked respectable, she let the visitor in.

Kara Nalls was barely out of her teens; like so many in the rebellion, she was an orphan of the war the Empire waged against independence. Luna took pride in knowing the names and stories of everyone under her command. She wished Kara would get a bit more confidence, though. Even then, the petite blonde was almost shaking, dataslate in hand.

“What is it, Kara?”

“Ma’m, I have the manifest of liberated weapons, supplies and equipment right here. A full report should be made… uhm… later. Oh, and there’s… this”

Kara produced a small, black cube.

“We don’t know what it is, Ma’m. If it’s a container, there seems to be no way of opening it. But the boys say it was heavily guarded, so perhaps it might be of importance”

Luna took the dataslate and gestured for Kara to leave the box on her desk. She could look at it later.

“Thank you, Kara. Please make sure our esteemed warriors write proper reports when they’re done being tonguebathed by the entire base”

The rude words almost made the younger rebel recoil, but she caught herself.

“Yes, Ma’m”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, Ma’m”

“Then go out there and enjoy the party. I appreciate you taking the time to bring me the data”

“Thank you, Ma’m” 

 

Kara almost skipped away to rejoin the celebration. She wasn’t the worst, but still needed discipline. They all did. Luna tried to put her mind out of the racket outside her door. She decided to enable communications and send the manifest to her rebel contacts. It was always a risky thing, for signals could be intercepted, traced: that was the reason only two people on base knew the codes to engage the transmitters. Sure, Luna could have waited until the full report was ready and sent everything together, minimizing risk; but she needed to focus on something, anything to dull the annoyance inside her. As the transmission happened, she idly looked at the black cube on her desk.

No, it wasn’t just black. It seemed to absorb all light, to pull it within itself and capture it to never be released again. Luna felt discomforted by the small accursed thing. What in the galaxy could it be? Well, whatever it was, she didn’t want to see it on her desk. She picked it up to put it away…

She couldn’t be sure, but for a second something like a sigil appeared on it, bright red. It was a flash, and then it was gone. Before Luna could process what she had seen or if she had indeed seen it, the box opened without a sound, its top moving on unseen hinges. Inside was something beautiful.

It shimmered copper and ruby, calling to her from within its nest of fathomless darkness. It was obviously valuable, and should be reported to the rest of the rebellion. That was the obvious, ethical, logical thing to do. However, Luna found herself hesitating, bound by a shapeless feeling at first, one that soon wormed its way into her head and solidified into words. Did the rebellion really need whatever the necklace could be sold for? Would it truly be so harmful for Luna to keep it for herself? After all, wasn’t the rebellion all about freedom? And more importantly, didn’t Luna deserve it? She was the reason the base got anything done, after all. Hell, even the celebration taking place was thanks to an operation she had planned, based on information she had gathered! But were people thanking her? Did they dance for her? Did they kiss in secluded hallways for her? No. She deserved a reward. Results had to be rewarded, that was the very basics of management. And no one would know. She alone had seen what the box hid. She had spent two years away from any luxury, working ragged, cramped inside a base that gave her little to no privacy or room, eating rations and wearing sensible, resistant clothing. She had almost forgotten how she looked, how she could look when she paid attention to her appearance. She had sacrificed so much… of course she deserved a little treat, a little beauty in her life. It was so obvious.

When she put on the necklace, she felt as if life was returning to her body. It felt so good to finally do something not for the rebellion, not for the fighting men and women, but for herself. And it looked good. It looked so perfect on her… too bad her clothing didn’t really do the necklace justice.

Well, she did have a few outfits saved for special occasions…

II - Confidence

It felt good to be out of the sensible white and brown clothes. Sure, it was cold. Sure, her formal dinner dress was hardly practical in case of a sudden attack. No, Luna didn’t care. She loved the way she looked, with flowing red silk, high-heeled boots and a generous cleavage that showed the pendant in all its glory. It was as if she was rediscovering a part of herself she had long left behind. She had been desired, once. Before the Empire. Before she broke away from it. Before uniforms became her default attire. Yes, she had been desired in her home planet. The scion of a wealthy House, fabled for her beauty and wit. She had wanted to escape that. That’s why she had enlisted in the Officer Corps. To spite her father. To get away. Now, she couldn’t remember why she had ever felt being the center of attention was a bad thing.

And oh, all eyes were on her, alright. Most looked at her as if they were seeing her for the first time. In a way, they were. Even she had forgotten how… impactful she could be when she chose to use her looks as a weapon. She felt like a conquering queen… or a predator on the prowl. Everyone around her looked so small, so weak, so pliable. Was this the rebellion? Was this the force that would topple an Empire? She felt as if she could just… take whoever she desired. Take them to do what? She couldn’t say. Hurt them? Use them? Motivate them?

Yes, perhaps motivation was needed. Confidence. They seemed so… run down. Luna knew the best leaders led by example. Well, she could be that example. She could show them all the passion the sorely lacked, the drive to victory that seemed so alien to them. Suddenly, there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind. If the rebellion was to have any chance of success, she would have to teach them to take what they wanted, to fight and manipulate and feel the drive to grasp victory by any means necessary. Ambition. Yes, that’s what they lacked. Well, she’d teach them ambition.

Someone caught her eye. Tadriec was staring at her. Tadriec. Thin as a reed, obedient and respectful to a fault, generally looking like a little desert mouse caught in a trap. Was he a virgin, Luna wondered. She couldn’t imagine him doing anything but staring at any object of desire from far away. In a way, that was the rebellion right there. Too shy, too meek, too willing to settle for small victories. Well, if Luna was going to show them a new way… what better place to start than small, frail Tadriec?

“Tadriec, come with me”

“Why, me, ma’m? I… uh…”

The man was about to start shaking. He looked like the very picture of pathetic meekness. For a moment, Luna felt like striking him across the face, or digging her nails into his skin, just because she could, just because he would do nothing about it. Weakness invited abuse: was it any wonder the Empire regularly abused the people under its control? It was a two-way path: yes, the tyrant is terrible, but those too weak to stand up for themselves invited and enabled that tyranny. Perhaps a more hands on example was in order.

“Just be silent and follow me”

“Yes ma’m”

As the door to her quarters slid shut, Tadriec started mumbling in fear.

“I… uh… if you need anything, I… if I may, the door…”

“Tadriec, be quiet”

“Yes, ma’m”

Luna leaned on her desk, letting sensuality flow out of her. She could almost see it, a black and red tendril enveloping the poor, weak rebel.

“Look at me, Tadriec”

“I… I can see quite clearly. Uh, I don’t believe I’ve seen that… attire before, ma’m. It is quite beautiful; is there a ceremony or…”

“Look. At. Me. Tell me, Tadriec, what do you desire?”

“Desire?”

“Yes. What do you want? What would bring you joy, satisfaction? You are aware with the concept of desire, I presume”

“I… of course. I’m nor sure what… well, if I could… uh… I suppose victory over the Empire would make me happy. Peace would make me happy”

“Oh, how very noble of you. Allow me to be more specific. Do you desire me?”

“Uh, I… desire… uh… I’m not sure I understand the…”

“Do you desire to take me? To take this body and use it however it may please you? To make me go on my knees and take you in my mouth, to bend over like an animal in heat and let you mount me, pull my hair, make your every fantasy real? Do you desire to fuck me? To fuck me hard, take out all your frustrations and emotions and passions on me?”

The man’s next words would be inconsequential, Luna knew. His body already spoke volumes about how he felt, even if he wouldn’t dare say it out loud. She amused herself, watching him shifting uncomfortably, trying in vain to hide a bulge in his oh so sensible rebel uniform. This has to be how a Krayt Dragon feels before devouring their prey, she thought.

“I… I’m not sure it’s appropriate to… uh… I mean, you do look… quite attractive, but…”

“You desire me. Every movement you make screams it. You need to make me yours. My question is: why don’t you? Why are you so afraid to simply… take what you want? Why not turn me around, pin my hands on this desk? Why not push me up against the wall? Why not make me an object for your pleasure?”

“I… uh, that’d be… that’d be wrong! Wrong and… and inappropriate, and…”

Wrong. How would it be wrong to follow one’s heart? Luna couldn’t fathom the reasoning, and found herself with little patience for it. Fuck it. Time for a practical demonstration. She leapt out of the desk and took a few steps, until she could feel his nervous breathing on her face, their lips almost touching.

“I am your superior in command”

“Y-yes”

“Then you will do as instructed, is that clear?”

“I… yes ma’m”

“Then I’m instructing you to bend me over, lift my dress and plunge your cock inside me as hard as you can. Make it passionate. Make it hurt, if you want. But do it!”

He was too gentle. Far too gentle. He turned her around, carefully, almost shaking. He used minimum pressure to push her head down. Even now, even as he should be overcome with pure lust, he takes care of her, makes sure she is comfortable. Such a disgrace. Sheer weakness.

“Fuck you, Tadriec! Stop. Holding. Back! Are you such a coward? Such a useless pussy? Take it all out on me… you resentment… your fear, your anger, everything! Use me just as an object for your pleasure! Stop denying yourself what you deserve!”

Luna gasped as she felt him go inside her. Part of it was the rather unexpected size: she never would have imagined the skinny rebel packed such a… remarkable member. But what truly got to her was the feeling of it all. She couldn’t quite explain it, but there was a point, a very detectable moment when she felt the man’s emotions… burst forth.  

It was unexpected and it was intense and it was intoxicating. Rage and lust and hatred so vivid she could almost taste them. The feelings washed over her, sending shivers all through her body, robbing her of the ability to speak, to do anything but moan and drool and cum, over and over again, all control long gone. 

By the time she managed to regain some notion of herself, she was feeling his cum sliding down her thigh, panting on her desk. Shit. A woman could get addicted to such feelings.

III - Just a Dream

She’s standing in a dark place, an old place. A place of evil. She knows this, and it scares her. Statues seem to rise up to the stormy sky, and she’s aware of ruins, of ancient temples so deep and twisted a man could walk in and never walk out. There’s a way out of this place, this much she knows; but it’s cloudy, hidden in mists and creeping shadows. It’s terrifying how this place whispers to her. How it wants to feel like home.

But Luna has home, doesn’t she? She can’t remember. It’s hard to focus. Everything seems so distant now, like her life is hidden behind veil after veil after veil… She does have a notion, a barely formed sensation that she has made a mistake recently, a horrible and…

She feels it creeping up her leg, igniting her skin with a million sensations, a million passions. No, no, no… this is the mistake, she knows it. It’s coming for her. It will devour her, shift her, twist her if she allows it. She tries to run away, but it’s there and not there; a physical being and a manifestation of something monstrous growing inside her… she can no more escape it than she can escape herself.

She has to resist. She has to find the light inside her, lest the darkness consume her, turn her into someone she wouldn’t even recognize. But it’s so hard to find the willpower… so hard when the dark tendrils make her body feel so alive, so intense, so… eager. No. She has to…

It reaches between her legs, and she’s vaguely aware she could perhaps stop it, if she was strong enough. Is she that weak? Or is it that she doesn’t want to be strong anymore? A moan escapes her lips as her pussy twitches in pure, undiluted pleasure. It’s wrong. She has to hold back. She has to resist, to fight, to…

Why? Why not give in? 

Did she think that? Did the darkness think it for her? She can’t tell. She feels herself accepting it more and more, letting it explore her deeply… her pussy, her ass, her tits… her body is just a vehicle for pleasure, for power, for…

No, she’s so much more than that! She’s a kind person, a rebel, a fighter for freedom…

Does she want to be all that? Or does she want to be something else entirely? She can’t say anymore. It just feels too good… too good to think… too good to resist…

Fuck it.

And with that thought, the darkness enters her fully.

IV - Improvement

Luna McKleere woke up with a purr. She stretched in her bed, letting the air caress her skin. She felt sensitive and strong and… hungry. Not for food, of course. The rations on the base were anything but appetizing. But the base itself… well, she was the most important person in it, was she not? After all, if she wasn’t around, nothing would ever get done. In that sense, wasn’t it her base? Her dominion? Her responsibility and her property? She got up, determined to improve her base, even if she had to drag every single sorry mediocrity kicking and screaming towards something resembling strength.

She stopped in front of the mirror.

Perhaps she should have felt upset, or scared. Shocked, at the very least. Confused, certainly. Instead she didn’t feel anything but a simple, calm satisfaction. Before her stood an image she had never seen before, and yet felt oddly familiar. Her already dark hair had turned jet-black, with a strange blue-ish reflection, like the feathers of a fearsome bird of prey. Her eyes were still green, but when the light hit them just right they appeared to have an unnatural yellow hue to them. She wasn’t sure if her lips had become fuller or if they only seemed that way because of the confident, seductive expression she now wore. What wasn’t in doubt was the size of her chest: that had definitely changed. She shifted around, looked at herself from a few angles. She had to say, her new breasts were a definite improvement. Sex appeal was power, a power most people, weak-willed as they were, often found unable to resist. Besides, there was a certain beauty in knowing she could inflame passions and emotions by her mere appearance. The rebellion needed a bit more fire, a bit more blood in it… even if that blood was concentrated on rather specific body parts. Her legs were stronger too, more toned, ready to step on whoever got in her way.

All in all, her body felt like a tool, one perfectly designed for its purpose. And oh, did it have a purpose. The entire staff needed to change if the base was to have even a chance of achieving anything significant, anything beyond small raids on mostly abandoned imperial outposts. It needed to embrace greater ambition and be willing to take bigger risks. It needed to heed impulse, accept strength, forget mercy.

Every group had its leaders, official or otherwise. People who set the tone, the pace, the spirit of the endeavor. For the rebellion to change, the leaders would have to change. Luna decided to turn her base into a showcase, a template for the rest of the rebellion to follow. That meant summoning the leaders of her small base into her room. She would show them the way, and they in turn would push the new philosophy to the followers, the meek and spineless men and women that made up most of the fighting force.

They all stared at the floor, trying oh so hard not to glance at her new, improved tits, at the way she left her jumper’s zipper half-open to make them impossible to avoid. She felt nothing but a sickly contempt towards the men and the one woman before her. They were there, but were they actually there? They felt more like shadows, insubstantial, nonexistent. Luna felt something growing inside her. Hatred? No, not that. They were beneath that, they didn’t even deserve that much from her. Their weakness, their meekness, their lack of focus, of ambition… disgusting. They could be so much more, if only they’d let go of their stupid fetters of morality, of propriety, of the rules of engagement. They had passions inside them, buried so deep… if only…

The pendant felt warm on her skin, nestled between her breasts. She couldn’t explain it, but it was whispering. It was beckoning. It made her feel powerful. It made her feel like an uncaged beast… and she could tell the others were starting to feel it too. Their bodies told the story in a million small ways. A small shiver there. A discreet glance there. A conversation without words, the air around them almost vibrating. No, not a conversation. This was conversion. Luna could feel it between her legs, sense the blindfolds falling from their eyes, the repressed passions bubbling just under the surface, ready to guide them, to take control. An inescapable truth of the Galaxy was starting to take hold: the strong took what they desired, and deserved everything they took, because they were powerful enough to take it. That was it. A simple, elegant truth. Luna slowly pulled the zipper down. All eyes were on her now, shame long gone, replaced by a primal hunger. Yes, she could feel them… and it felt so good, their passion was like a million electrical pulses starting right in her pussy and coursing through her body. She moaned and let one of her hands wander inside her pants. They were at a tipping point. Her smile was the final push.

It was glorious, a symphony of grunts and they all lost control at once and tore off their clothes. The men were so big, towering over her, hungry expressions in their eyes. Finally. Strength. Something she could respect. Something she could… kneel for. Beside her, the other female rebel had gone on all fours, her head pressed on the cold, metal ground. Ready to be taken by those with the will to do so. And now the men had the will. Luna focused on worshiping their cocks, licking them and kissing them and using her new gigantic tits to jerk them off, letting the men use her as nothing more than a living sex doll. She moaned as a rebel thrust inside her fellow woman without mercy, without pity. She could feel it all, beyond physical sensations. She felt their lust and their frustrations and the anger they blew off using Luna’s mouth, her tits; using the other girl’s tight, eager holes. She was all of them. Fucking and getting fucked. Slave and master. She was attuned to the energies saturating the room, sending her deeper and deeper into a state of complete, savage pleasure. 

At some point someone pushed her on her back. She was too far gone to fully register who. All she knew was she was being conquered, and it felt so fucking good… Her ass burned as a man rammed inside her with not care as to how she might feel, with hatred for all the bitchy things she had done, with rage and a red retribution. A hand shifted her head. The other girl was positioning Luna’s mouth, so that it may be used by a worthy cock. The girl’s eyes looked… delighted. Evil. 

Luna shaked as cumshot after cumshot painted her skin, aiming for her face, her tits. It was suddenly so obvious. So simple. She knew it, and she sensed they all knew it now. She didn’t have to tell them. She managed to get on her feet, feeling their eyes on her. Strength was Right. Those who conquered deserved power. Power deserved more power. The Empire was powerful. The Rebellion was weak. Nature had to take its course. 

She put in the code enabling communications and typed the coordinates to her own base in. She set the message to be unencrypted, ready to be picked up. She set it to repeat, over and over.

She fell on the floor, an orgasm racking her body and whatever was left of the rebel she had been. The Empire would come. They would take. They would conquer. Because they were stronger. Because they deserved to rule over the silly rebels who deluded themselves by thinking they had a chance. Now the truth would come. 

They would all be fucked, as they should be. Maybe literally. Luna didn’t care. All she knew, and all everyone in the room knew was that the base would fall to its superiors. As nature intended. As for them… they would wait for their conquerors. They would wait on their knees. They would wait sucking and fucking and letting their passions run wild. 

The pendant hummed. It knew better than anyone the power of power, the allure of conquest. And now, after centuries underground, it had found a vehicle to spread the truth. It would make sure Luna was spared. It had great plans for the young woman, after all.

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[gatheringbones]

[“Our institutions have socialized us to scarcity, creating artificial resource shortages and then normalizing them. For example, because the residents of affluent neighborhoods have been so successful at blocking the construction of new housing in their communities, developers have turned their sights on down-market neighborhoods, where they also meet resistance, often from struggling renters fretting about gentrification.

As this dynamic has repeated itself in cities across America, the debate about addressing the affordable housing crisis and fostering inclusive communities has turned into a debate about gentrification, one pitting low-income families who have stable housing against low-income families who need it. But notice how contrived and weird this is, how our full range of action has been limited by rich homeowners essentially redlining their blocks. Or consider how a scarcity mindset frames so much of our politics, crippling our imaginations and stunting our moral ambitions. How many times have we all heard legislators and academics and pundits begin their remarks with the phrase “In a world of scarce resources…,” as if that state of affairs were self-evident, obvious, as unassailable as natural law, instead of something we’ve fashioned?

The United States lags far behind other advanced countries when it comes to funding public services. In 2019, France, Germany, the Netherlands, Italy, and several other Western democracies each raised tax revenues equal to at least 38 percent of their GDPs, while the United States’ total revenues languished at 25 percent. Instead of catching up to our peer nations, we have lavished government benefits on affluent families and refused to prosecute tax dodgers. And then we cry poor when someone proposes a way to spur economic mobility or end hunger? Significantly expanding our collective investment in fighting poverty will cost something. How much it will cost is not a trivial affair. But I would have more patience for concerns about the cost of ending family homelessness if we weren’t spending billions of dollars each year on homeowner tax subsidies, just as I could better stomach concerns over the purported financial burden of establishing a living wage if our largest corporations weren’t pocketing billions each year through tax avoidance. The scarcity mindset shrinks and contorts poverty abolitionism, forcing it to operate within fictitious fiscal constraints. It also pits economic justice against climate justice. When lawmakers have tried to curb pollution and traffic gridlock through congestion pricing, for instance, charging vehicles a fee if they enter busy urban neighborhoods during peak hours, critics have shot down the proposal by claiming it would hit low-income workers in transit deserts the hardest. In many cases, this is true. But it doesn’t have to be. We allow millions to live paycheck to paycheck, then leverage their predicament to justify inaction on other social and environmental issues. Politicians and pundits inform us, using their grown-up voice, that unfortunately we can’t tax gas-guzzling vehicles or transition to green energy or increase the cost of beef because it would harm poor and working-class families. My point isn’t that these tradeoffs aren’t pertinent but that they aren’t inescapable. They are by-products of fabricated scarcity.”]

matthew desmond, from poverty: by america, 2023

#matthew desmond #history stuff #currently reading

[starcurtain]

Haikaveh Fanfics I Want to Read (Part 2)

<- Part 1.

Part 3. ->

1. The Palace of Alcarzarzaray might be called Kaveh’s magnum opus, but actually, it was more like a kick-start for his career. Kaveh hasn’t known a moment of peace since, with constant commissioners begging for him to choose their projects. The longer his waiting list gets, the more his fame grows and grows... So when a pair of people come out of the woodwork insisting they’re Kaveh’s long-lost parents, Alhaitham thinks it’s only right to be skeptical.

Kaveh agrees (for once), but... they’re so nice to him, and apparently he’s got siblings, and they haven't asked him for anything; they say they never meant to leave him, and they love him, and--and--how could he just turn them away? What if it’s true?

What if he has a real family?

Of course, when these so-called parents start encouraging Kaveh to move back home with them, Alhaitham becomes determined to unravel the lie and show them for the imposters they (almost) certainly are.

It’s only because it irks him to see people twist the truth and get away with it. It’s only because the logical step is to point out obvious manipulations when you spot them.

It’s got nothing at all to do with how empty the house will feel if Kaveh isn’t in it.

Nothing at all.

  Rest under the read more:

2. Okay, listen. The fact that Kaveh and Alhaitham are both 12s out of 10 does not change the fact that they’re also MASSIVE NERDS. The fic is just silly snippets of them being the graduate school gremlins they most definitely are:

Is it even fighting if all you are doing is reciting academic citations at each other?  

Saturday night, we are both at home doing nothing but debating over the rules to an ancient word game that we’ve mostly pieced together from the barest disconnected snippets of apocrypha and one oblique reference in a single receipt of sale from 1600 years ago, because we are Normal™. The most normal people in Sumeru, even.  

How Althaitham flirts: Practicing his newest language acquisition by translating nothing but obscure ancient love letters (“Well, they could have had romantic intention but we shouldn’t allow modern interpretations to color our perceptions without thorough analysis of their semantic contexts and candid awareness of the moral obligation of the translator to avoid speculation on connotations which might privilege biased readings--”). Then he heaps his transcriptions all over the top of Kaveh’s desk and chair and bed and...  

How Kaveh flirts: “I built you a bookshelf.”   “I take back every uncharitable thing I’ve said about architecture this week.”   “It is both climate-controlled and self-dusting. Also, it will catalog which books are missing after they’re removed from the shelf and remind you when it’s time to put them back in place so that you’re not tempted to leave your moldy tomes all over my--”   “Wait, who is this bookshelf actually for?”  

“See, I’m allowed to criticize his work, but you, peon, are absolutely not. Here is my 50-page rebuttal of your recent article critiquing the architect Kaveh’s research, in which I will outline exactly why you are an incomparable idiot who should be disbarred from publication ever again. Very uncordially, Alhaitham”  

The only time Alhaitham and Kaveh are unequivocally, indisputably, and inseparably a T E A M: Tavern Trivia Night. (The schedule for tavern trivia night is shortly thereafter altered to: “Any time in which Kaveh and Alhaitham are not on the premises. The management apologizes in advance for last minute trivia night cancellations, but asks patrons to please respect the rule that not even a single trivia question be spoken in the presence of the Light of Kshahrewar or the Akademiya’s scribe.”)

In other words, two geniuses live their very best lives together.

  3. When Prince Alhaitham's viziers started nagging about his lack of spouse to ensure an heir, he dismissed them out of hand. But the truth is, he can't inherit the full privileges of his family's throne (including unfettered access to the kingdom's collection of forbidden records) unless he upholds an ancient peace treaty between his country and their most useful trading neighbor: to become king of Haravatat, he has to marry a citizen of Kshahrewar. Alhaitham isn't the type to bow to social or legal pressure, but if it means he might finally be able to further his research, well, he's willing to swear even a marriage oath to get the knowledge he desires.

But he's not willing to marry anyone unworthy. He's not willing to marry anyone boring, or rote, or feeble-minded, or ill-tempered, or shrill, or under-educated, or ambivalent, or weak, or too polite, or--

If Kshahrewar is going to insist on a political marriage, then Alhaitham will insist on accepting only the best.

But now things are starting to look grim. Prince Alhaitham has interviewed and dismissed (in no polite terms), every eligible Kshahrewar maiden and and no small number of their eligible men besides. For Alhaitham, this is but a formality on his way to further reading, but for the Kingdom of Kshahrewar, real fears are stirring--if they can't find an acceptable candidate soon, the peace treaty that has ensured their alliance with Haravatat’s military-might could dissolve, and already the neighboring powers of Vahumana and Spantamad have been testing the boundaries of their borders...

Entirely out of options, the nervous kingdom gives in and sends the last person they'd want to lose: the Light of Kshahrewar, their beloved architect and most renowned scholar.

But it's all right, because Kaveh has a Plan®.

All right, admittedly, the plan was a lot closer to "Be way too beautiful to reject" than "Argue all night and wake up just to argue again," but hey, whatever works?

(Also known as: The Thousand and One Nights AU where Alhaitham's not quite crazy enough to kill the people he rejects but will crush their self-confidence; Kaveh's not great at telling stories but is great at debate; and the ultimate outcome is still the same very cliffhangery happy ever after.)

  4. If you asked Kaveh Kshahrewar, on-call urban planner for the city of Sumeru, he would expound at length and with several melodramatic sighs upon the fact that his life is fraught with a great many challenges and his fortunes are fraught with a great many (obvious in retrospect) mistakes.

To put it simply, Kaveh will tell you he just has rotten luck.

If you were to ask the High Council of Principalities of the Fifth Ring of the Host of Heaven, they would tell you that Kaveh’s luck is actually quite good... for a person in the targets of the dark legions of Hell itself.

There are some exceptional humans upon whom the wheels of fate are hung, whose very existence is destined to bring beautiful things to the world, to tip the balance in the eternal fight between good and evil firmly toward good. Kaveh is one such person, and therefore all his life he’s been a target of unseen forces that would rather see his light snuffed out.

But that last near-death experience was too close. If Kaveh is left to his own devices much longer, he very likely will perish, long before he’s able to achieve his fated great works for the world. Heaven has to do something.

Alhaitham is a very, very efficient Principality. Maybe the most efficient Principality the Host of Heaven has. But he’s never--not once since the beginning of creation--been called on to actually guard a human. Yes, yes, of course he’s read the manual cover to closing, but...

But no one thought to warn him that they were so very emotional.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?!”

“I’m your guardian angel. I live here now.”

“911, I need to report a home invasion in progress! Please send help, there is a lunatic eating raw butter out of my fridge!”

(Or: The guardian angel AU where Kaveh is disaster prone because he is Very Cursed, and Alhaitham is even weirder than normal because his frame of reference for humans is still “wears fig leaves.” It’s a tragicomedy in six acts: Kaveh’s going to change the world for the better. His future is already written in stone. And nowhere in that record is there anything about falling in love with an angel, so Alhaitham knows he’s not supposed to be anything more than a bit part in this grand story.

Too bad Kaveh’s always sympathized with the side characters most.)

  5. During an exploratory trip to the desert ruins looking for remnants of the Deshret Script, lone researcher Alhaitham discovers a strange--and, in fact, magical--teapot, containing none other than a beautiful (but rather noisy) djinn.

“My name is Kaveh.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I’m a djinn.”

“I can tell.”

“I’ll grant you three wishes, if and only if--”

“Five wishes.”

“What?”

“You should grant me five wishes.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked politely.”

“You absolutely did not! Ugh, fine, I’ll grant you five wishes. But only--and I mean only!--if you’ll agree to set me free at the end.”

“All right, I swear.”

But where are they now?! Kaveh is getting desperate. It’s been six months, and Alhaitham hasn’t made a single wish! At this rate, Kaveh will never get free! He’ll be stuck bunking in a house full of tacky furniture, being tricked into doing the laundry and sweeping forever! This is so unfair; how is it even allowed?! Alhaitham is human; he has to have some kind of wish in that stone-thick head of his!

(The truth is, Alhaitham does have a wish. It just can’t be granted.

He swore an oath to set Kaveh free, after all.)

#haikaveh #kavetham #alhaitham/kaveh #kaveh/alhaitham #genshin impact #alhaitham #kaveh #genshin impact fanfic #fanfic ideas #I don't have time I just have ideas

[calico-cows]

Is marching band a cult? here’s a list from site link

The group displays an excessively zealous and unquestioning commitment to its leader, and (whether he is alive or dead) regards his belief system, ideology, and practices as the Truth, as law.

the band directors word is law

Questioning, doubt, and dissent are discouraged or even punished.

maintain morale, don’t question anything or complain, especially leadership

Mind-altering practices (such as meditation, chanting, speaking in tongues, denunciation sessions, or debilitating work routines) are used in excess and serve to suppress doubts about the group and its leader(s).

questionably applicable… it is very hard work but the goal is not suppression

The leadership dictates, sometimes in great detail, how members should think, act, and feel (e.g., members must get permission to date, change jobs, or marry—or leaders prescribe what to wear, where to live, whether to have children, how to discipline children, and so forth).

yeah absolutely. They tell us how to act and think and NO TOUCHING and professional learning environment and all that

The group is elitist, claiming a special, exalted status for itself, its leader(s), and its members (e.g., the leader is considered the Messiah, a special being, an avatar—or the group and/or the leader is on a special mission to save humanity).

well we ARE special

The group has a polarized, us-versus-them mentality, which may cause conflict with the wider society.

you cannot tell me the band doesn’t have this mindset about cheer and other sports kids

The leader is not accountable to any authorities (unlike, for example, teachers, military commanders, or ministers, priests, monks, and rabbis of mainstream religious denominations).

ok but is the band director actually held accountable

The group teaches or implies that its supposedly exalted ends justify whatever means it deems necessary. This may result in members participating in behaviors or activities they would have considered reprehensible or unethical before joining the group (e.g., lying to family or friends, or collecting money for bogus charities).

eh not really unless you count exercise lol

The leadership induces feelings of shame and/or guilt in order to influence and control members. Often this is done through peer pressure and subtle forms of persuasion.

not really unless you’re late

Subservience to the leader or group requires members to cut ties with family and friends, and radically alter the personal goals and activities they had before joining the group.

band camp. You’re never home. Debatably applicable

The group is preoccupied with bringing in new members.

have you seen our recruitment efforts? We’re not good at it but we’re trying very hard

The group is preoccupied with making money.

it’s expensive to run a band! And we need new uniforms eventually! So yes

Members are expected to devote inordinate amounts of time to the group and group-related activities.

haha absolutely

Members are encouraged or required to live and/or socialize only with other group members.

I mean no one says it out loud but yeah kinda

The most loyal members (the “true believers”) feel there can be no life outside the context of the group. They believe there is no other way to be, and often fear reprisals to themselves or others if they leave—or even consider leaving—the group.

there is no leaving marching band

#Marching band #band kid #band #is marching band a cult? #answer: yes

[kasagia]

Our little game

~Part 2~ ~Part 3~ ~Part 4~ ~Part 5~

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x witch! reader Summary: You and Klaus have been playing this game between yourselves since your first meeting. One day, you two would fight with each other like dogs, and the next day, you would flirt and act like people completely mad with love. But whatever was between you two, you would never lose this game and admit that you fell for him. He would only use you for your power, right? At least that's what you were telling yourself all this time. Words count: 4,2k

I had no idea what I was doing here.

Wearing one of my fancy black dresses, I was staying in the middle of Mikaelson's compound in New Orleans, with hundreds of people surrounding me.

I was definitely making a huge mistake.

But a few hours ago, when my Mystic Falls gang tried (and failed) to kill these crazy heretics who came to our town two weeks ago, I could only think about coming here.

I needed to find a safe place to stay until Damon or Stefan called for my help.

But after hours of driving here, I wasn't sure if I still wanted to be a part of their group. Yes, I loved them all, especially Bonnie, who became my main "witch-teacher" after I found out I was like her, but sometimes I felt used by them. My power was stronger than any typical witch's. Even Bonnie was surprised to see the things I was able to do until my strength was exhausted and my nose started to bleed.

One day, Damon said that I was their greatest weapon. Then I burst out laughing. Now I'm not so sure how much the black-haired man was joking and how much his words were true. But I had to keep the promise I gave myself and stay with them, if only for Bonnie's sake. She would have killed herself trying to protect her friends, and I wouldn't let that happen. After all she did for me, I have to repay her debt of gratitude.

I turned on the radio while driving to nowhere and heard one of my favorite Mikaelson's, beloved, old songs, which was "better when it played at ball without this strange background sound." That's when I remembered Rebekah and her last words before leaving for New Orleans with her brothers: "You know, if your gang falls apart, you can always come to me. It would be funnier to have a partner in crime against Nik."

After a lengthy moral debate within me, I decided to fuck Salvatore's opinion of me and visit their nemesis. If Damon was so smart to make and realize his own crass plan without telling anyone, I could do something really stupid too and spend a week (or more) with Rebekah. After all, no one could control me.

Then it seemed like a very good plan.

Now with so many people around me, I decide that I have made a great mistake.

I totally forgot that four days ago, Bekah told me about the "engaged party" of Katherine and Elijah. (Thank God for my magic. At least I could turn pants and a T-shirt into a pretty dress.) I sent my gift to the happy couple with separate, joking congratulations to Katherine for "entrapping her Mikaelson after a long couple of centuries" without actually intending to attend the party.

Elena and Caroline would skin me if they knew that instead of buying them fancy birthday presents, I spent my money on something special for my best friend's big day.

In retrospect, I'd like to see their faces. They would be invaluable. Especially Damon's.

"My God, look who arrived!" a familiar voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Hi Beks." I turned around to face her.

"Hi Beks? You appear here without telling me or Katherine anything; you hide in the crowd with a mean expression on your face, and all I get after months apart is a simple "hi"?"

"Well, in my defense, I was thinking about bringing you wine, flowers, cake and saying, "I'm sorry, baby,"  but I figured it would be only a waste of time and my money because you're going to yell at me anyway. Also, your boyfriend would be jealous." she started laughing and pulled me into a hug.

"I haven't seen you for too long."

"Bekah, we were talking yesterday morning."

"You called her yesterday and didn't call me?!" I heard Katherine's resentful voice behind me.

"You look gorgeous, honey. Engagement suits you." she gave me an unimpressed look. "Oh, c'mon. Don't be angry. I'm here now, ready to give you compliments and fight with your fiance's brother, who loathes you. Now, show me the ring. I want to see how much money Elijah was willing to spend on you." she burst out laughing, waving her ringed hand in front of my eyes.

"You realize you're not getting off so easily? Besides, something must have happened for you to suddenly decide to come."

"We can talk tomorrow. Tonight, it's about you and your undying love for her brother." I pointed to Rebekah.

"Talking about my brothers. We'll use some help with Nik's composure for the rest of the evening."

"It is so bad?"

"Yes. He's been following Elijah and trying to convince him to change his mind since this morning." Katherine complained. "He doesn't leave us alone, even for half a second."

"Do you two really think I'm able to "charm" him for the rest of the night?"

I asked, doubts about his supposed affection towards me. Since our first meeting, I and an original hybrid have had a kind of love-hate relationship. At the beginning, we only had short, verbal skirmishes, then it evolved into an open war (he tried to hurt Bonnie, so I gave him a headache and snapped his neck. After that, he used one of his hybrids to crack my car, so I convinced Rebekah to steal his car keys and give them to me. He gave up after two weeks of our teasing and after I (with little of Damon's help) ruined all his dark plans. The original hybrid bought me my own car, trying to bury the hatchet between us.) After a month of these events, the hatred between us began to develop into a kind of mean-companionship. At least no one had tried to gouge out the eyes of the other one anymore. Our "game" developed so much that one day he began to tease me with flirtatious phrases. And it's not true that I choked on my drink and blushed like a teenager from a romance book when he called me for the first time his "innermost, darkest pleasure," whispering it with his seductive tone, which he undoubtedly used for many women before. It was at our school party in the style of the 20s. Since then, I've figured out how to play by his new rules. I couldn't be worse than him.

"Well, you're doing your job even now. He's been staring at you for about five minutes, and you haven't even used any magic. I think we all know why, but you're too stubborn to admit it, so you might as well use his soft spot for you as reparation for your silence for 3 days."

"It's not a soft spot or any other stupid feeling you assume. This is a game."

That was our way of communicating: by circling around, lulling the other person's vigilance, and attacking when he least expects it. At the end of the day, I was just a toy for him—a mortal witch who was never scared of a 1000-year-old hybrid. He proved it after he moved with his family to New Orleans, and I never heard from him again.

"I like spicy stories, but please, keep my brother's kinks away from me. BOTH of you. It's just disgusting." Rebekah shuddered.

"I'm not…"

"Did I hear something about kinks? Y/N darling, it's a pleasure to finally see you here!" Kol suddenly appeared from nowhere. He got closer to me and gave me a strong hug.

"What the bloody hell? You should be on Hayley's tail!"

"Relax, sister. Our brother's formal one-night stand peacefully came back to her husband and wolves. Which means I'm free for the rest of the evening.     Y/N do you want to dance with me?" without waiting for any response, he took my hand and led me to the dance floor, where other couples were dancing.

"Alright, what did you do?" I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I have no idea what are you implying. I just wanted to dance with a friend I hadn't seen in a long time."

"Kol."

"Y/N."

"Okey, okey. Don't look at me like that. In a nutshell, there is a girl." Oh, I've heard about her. I was curious how much of the original's interest in this girl was genuine.

"My God. I never expected to live to see the day Kol Mikaelson finds his epic love." I cut him off with a smirk.

"She is a hag like you, by the way." he continued, ignoring my taunt. "She doesn't want to know me, but she loves me. I just need a little magic of jealousy, and voilà, I'll be kissing her at the end of this night."

"And you didn't think, Sherlock, that acting like this would make her think that you only play with her?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. The gears in Mikaelson's head began to turn.

"F*ck. So what should I do? I've tried everything. Flowers, jewelry, old grimoires, unexpected almost-dating, puppies, cats, and all of this modern stuff."

"The idea of coming to me with a "love problem" is as ridiculous as expecting an answer, but I will try my best because you are kind of my friend and seem desperate. I don't know if you thought of it, but speaking with her and making a true confession seemed too simple, didn't it?" I said it sarcastically.

"You mean… "L" word?" he cleared his throat, ashamed.

"For the love of God, Kol Mikaelson! Do you love her?"

"Of course."

"Then get out of my eyes and tell her, not me." he disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, leaving me alone in a sea of people.

"Little bastard." I said it to myself while trying to get out of there.

But someone made sure I wasn't left alone for too long.

"Hello, my love."

I would recognize that voice even on my deathbed, and I undoubtedly knew that he would someday be the reason for my death.

"Hello Klaus." I turned around to look him in the face. He had grown more handsome since the last time I saw him, which worried me a lot. I tried to hide my unwanted emotions behind a sarcastic smirk.

"If you're wondering if Stefan or Caroline sent their regards, I'm going to have to disappoint you."

"Actually, I'm wondering who I have to kill." I frowned, not understanding him. He swept me into his arms and whirled me about the dance floor as the orchestra played. "I knew you were planning not to go to this party. Katherine was very upset about that."

"So you must have had an enjoyable couple of days." I can't stop myself from interrupting him. He gave me a small smile, shaking his head in amusement. I was so close in his arms that I could feel his every breath adjust to mine.

"You don't usually change your plans, so it's obvious that your bunch of stupid friends must have done something impressively dumb. And quite possibly, it has to do with the emergence of competition vampire's group in Mystic Falls."

"You seem quite well informed, especially for someone who doesn't care about anyone but his family."

"Ouch. As mean as I remembered."

"And you're as irritating as always. It looks like no one changed."

I sighed as I looked around the room. Mission successful - Katherine talks to Elijah. The only problem was that they looked like they were gossiping about me and Klaus…

"Tell me, did you miss me?" Klaus' taunt diverted my attention.

I thought for a moment about how to answer his question. Of course, I missed him. I frequently found myself recalling memories of us in locations where I was at the time. But as I said to Rebekah and Katherine, there was no bond between me and Klaus. We were just two bored souls who were looking for entertainment. We liked messing with people and making fun of them. That's all. There is no feeling involved. But it doesn't mean I will miss my chance.

"Yes." I whispered this while staring into his ocean eyes, never taking my gaze away from him.

He was surprised by my bold, direct statement. He leaned slightly closer to me. His gaze was moving from my eyes to my lips.

"I was bored as no one was trying to hurt me or my friends. Fortunately, Miss Salvatore came back with her own, special family." I got a little closer to him so I could whisper in his ear. "And then we had a new member of our group. Enzo. He's incredibly handsome and was an excellent substitute for your company."

He moved his hand slowly as he extended his arm to encircle my back. Then he dipped me deeply, looking at my eyes all the damn time.

"Be careful, my love. You may fall for him, of course, if you have a heart." he whispered, tightening his grip on me. I held my breath, too enchanted by the moment to respond to his taunt.

I should feel uneasy, distrustful, and disgusted that I am at his mercy, for he could drop me at any moment. Instead, all I could feel was being hypnotized by his blue eyes until he helped me get back on my feet again.

"Every girl would love him. He has dark hair, plays the guitar, and speaks with an English accent. Everyone's type, espessialy mine." I said, when I came back to my senses. If he wanted to tease me, I'd make sure I was a worthy opponent. I just had to keep my emotions under lock and key.

"So your "type" has to have an English accent? It's good to know."

"Yeah, but not as old as some of the people who live here. Also, not this one who wants to get closer to me only to use me for my power."

"You really think that little of me?"

"Is it truly important what I think about you?"

"No, not if you want me to remain a stranger to you. Not at all. But I'd like to think that we are more than we're willing to admit."

"Are you drunk?" I asked, taking a step back to examine him more closely. He began laughing at my reaction, drawing me closer to him once again.

"No, my love. I'm honest. But I'm not sure if there's a big difference between these two."

"You're honest only if you know it's in your interest. Clearly, you want something for me because you've been nicer to me than you have in the last few years. But you have to know I'm not that stupid to let you control me." I got out of his arms and went out in search of a room free of anyone.

"Running away isn't a solution, Y/N! I hope you know that." He shouted as he followed me. We came to a halt as we entered his art studio. Of all the fucking places in this huge villa, it had to be the den of the big bad wolf.

"Katherine has managed to escape you for more than 500 years." I said this without giving him a single, damning look. I much preferred to admire his works.

"Yes. Because she wanted. I'm not sure if you share her desires." He grabbed my arm, turning me to face him.

"What kind of fucked-up game are you playing right now?!" I yelled, yanking his hands away from me. He confused me. We never crossed that unspoken line in our banter. Few months apart, and now he shares the attitude of our crazy friends. That kind of playing wasn't fun at all.

"Did I bring up a sensitive topic? You're not ready to finally stop lying to yourself?" I laughed, mocking him.

"I've never claimed to be a saint." I growled at his face.

"You also never admitted being a sinner."

"That's good I've always wanted to be an anti-hero, then." I whispered, looking into his mesmerizing eyes, not even realizing that as we talked, we were getting closer, as we were suddenly a foot apart. I felt his hand slip around my waist like a snake. He pulled me closer and then I found myself pressed between his warm chest and cold wall.

"If only you weren't such a paranoid woman and suspected me of using you whenever I wanted to get closer to you. Maybe you would understand who you should be scared of and what is truly between us."

"Said the man who murdered his biological father because he was afraid Ansal would endanger Hope."

"You seem quite well informed, especially for someone who doesn't care about me."

"Katherine and Rebekah are gossipers. You can't blame me for listening to them."

"You have an excuse for every circumstance, don't you?"

"It's not my fault you can't accept the truth. Whatever you've been taking today, you'd better take less of it. It's damaging your immortal, ancient head." I started to turn towards the door, but he stopped me by grabbing my hand.

"Don't turn your back on me, love." he threatened, keeping his firm grip on my wrist.

"Or what are you going to do? Dance with me again? You're right, it's so dangerous and horrible that I can't take it anymore." I ignored his warning and tried to leave the room.

He used his vampire speed and pinned me against the door. He leaned in, his eyes closed, and rested his brow against mine. In a silent, peaceful room, our hard, synchronized breaths were the only sound I could hear. My world shrank to just the two of us. The party outside was long forgotten by me.

He rubbed the tip of his nose on mine. I shivered as I got close enough to him for the first time to feel the warmth of his lips (and yet they were so far from mine).

"You have no idea… what you're doing to me."

His deep, hoarse whisper reminded me of who was standing in front of me and why I couldn't give in to my inner, treacherous desire. Before his lips could catch mine in his intoxicating trap (and possibly destroy me for any other men), I wrapped my hands around his neck and pinned him against the door, keeping a decent distance between us.

When he felt a piece of wood on his back, he opened his eyes, looked at me, and gave me an impressive glance. He giggled sinisterly, sending a shiver down my spine.

"For your own good, if you're not ready for a fire, don't play with it, love." I leaned slightly toward him, still catching his gaze with mine.

"Who said I wouldn't be the one to burn you?" I whispered against his neck, placing a burning kiss on it.

His soft, strangled moan after I gently bit into his skin was enough reward for my patience and a sign to stop before things got deeper.

I slowly took my hand from his arm and put it on the doorknob. I smiled on his neck because he was too preoccupied with the feeling of my lips to notice anything. I decided not to tempt fate anymore. Hybrid could easily take control from me (which wouldn't be good for me at all). So I pulled the handle and opened the door. The original nearly fell down because of my sudden, unexpected move.

I left Klaus behind in my haste, casting a quick glance behind me. It was definitely worth it. His look of indignation will stay in my mind for a long time. This battle was mine. We gonna see what future bring.

I walked into the room in a magnificent mood and took the glass of wine from one of the waiters.

"Can everyone get together, please?" Elijah caught everyone's attention. "Thank you. I wanted to thank everyone for coming to our engagement party. Me and my beloved fiance are very happy to see people around us who are wishing us a long, beautiful future." the crowd began to applaud, interrupting his speech for a moment.

"Such a diva." I whispered under my breath as I sipped my wine. Rebekah somehow heard this and tried to hide her laughter.

"But I didn't gather you all here just to talk about my luck. We wanted to announce who, from our closest friends, will be the second-most important couple at our wedding. My best man and Katerina's maid of honor, I don't think it will surprise you that my best man will be my brother Niklaus."

Klaus stood on the stairs next to the couple, wearing his trademark sly grin. He scanned the crowd. His gaze lingered directly on me, and he didn't want to take his eyes off me. The little bastard must have been up to something.

"I've been thinking about this since the day we got engaged, and to be honest, the decision wasn't as easy as it seemed to be. It was my desire to have this person as my maid of honor, but circumstances indicated that, unfortunately, my dream would not come true. You don't know how happy I was when I heard a few hours ago that she agreed. So without further extensions. My chief bridesmaid and best friend, Y/N Y/L!"

Applause erupted around me. It took me a second to recover from the shock and climb the stairs. I was standing right in front of this smug son of a bitch.

"Thanks for asking." I said to Katherine when Elijah ended his speech and people spread around.

"Klaus didn't tell you?" she asked, looking at her future brother-in-law.

The original just shrugged.

"Don't worry, Kath. I won't make a scene. I'm not going to play according to the script of this drama queen. It will be a pleasure to be your maid of honor."

"I'm not a drama queen." the hybrid interjected, frowning.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." I responded, giving him a small look.

"If you're so worried about my good sleep, why don't you join me in my bed, love?" he asked, coming to my side, so I had to give him my attention.

"Ha ha. Not even in your wildest dreams."

"In my wildest dreams, we don't need a bed, love." he said, casually adjusting the strap of my dress on my shoulder. His icy fingertips brushed against my heated skin, right next to my collarbone.

"You're the thousand-year-old father of a little girl. You don't think it's time to act like an adult and not a horny teenager?" I asked, grabbing his hand and pulling it off me.

"Ouch. But then you wouldn't even notice me." he pretended to be offended. He also tightened his grip on my hand without thinking of letting go. I fell into his trap with my own fucking wish.

"Believe me, it's impossible to miss you. I've tried. Many times." I growled, trying to free my hand from him.

"Aw, is that your way of telling me I'm special to you?" he asked, clearly amused by my annoyance. I've never seen such a huge smile on his face.

"Yeah, like a plastic, red punch cup at a school party," he laughed, reluctantly releasing my hand.

I turned to say something to Kath, but then I realized that she had left us in the middle of our conversation. I sighed as I was alone with him again. It's going to be a very long week (or month).

"By the way, when are you going to tell me I'm Katherine's maid of honor?" I asked, favoring him with my look again.

"It must have slipped my mind when you were passionately kissing my neck, love."

"Oh, I remember. You were moaning for me like a street lady."

I turned to leave, but he suddenly wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his hard, well-built chest. He placed my head on his shoulder and cupped the tip of my right ear with his lips. His fangs came out, reminding me of his superhuman strength. Sometimes I forgot that the man I was teasing could easily break me with a flick of the wrist. Of course, if I let down my guard and drop my magic for a moment. We both knew that was impossible.

"Maybe I should return you a favor, and then we will see which one of us is making the most tempting moans?" he whispered suggestively and placed a small kiss under my ear. "What do you think about it, love?" he asked, rubbing his nose against my neck. He took one deep breath before placing his revange-wet kiss there.

And then, when I was burning for even his littlest touch, he just walked away like nothing happened.

I stood there, frozen in shock, watching his receding silhouette (definitely with a proud smirk on his face).

There was only one thing in my head.

1:1 motherf*cker

#klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x y/n #klaus mikaelson #klaus x reader #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus oneshot #katerina petrova #katherine pierce #tvd fanfiction #tvdu imagines #tvd #klaus x y/n #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #freya mikaelson #davina claire #the originals #new orleans #vampire #kalijah #Spotify #kasagia

[turtleybeachin]

Nightbringer Simeon's (yandere??) Feelings

inspired by recent daily chats with our angel

In the OG, Simeon started just as a friendly side character. He slowly evolved into a love interest. He began as a friendly neighborhood angel, turned into a true friend, slowly realized the depth of his feelings and could become a love interest. He had time to evolve and grapple with himself and his emotions.

Nightbringer Simeon, though. One day he's just an angel, just grieving his lost brothers and sister, just holding on as best he can. One day he shows up in the Devildom as an envoy, and meets-- this strange demon? Someone he's never seen before. But instantly feels a connection to.

The boys say and hint regularly at how MC feels like someone they've known for years, someone special, someone they trust, someone they care about. They have flashes of 'memories', moments of almost deja vu that never quite land.

For Simeon, that must mean that one day he's an angel carefully regulating his emotions, and quite literally suddenly he is bombarded and overwhelmed with affection-fondness-love-trust-sacrifice-protection for this absolute stranger.

It's zero to one hundred in half a second. It's nothing to everything.

No wonder he's being a bit of a yandere in some of these daily texts lately (under cut). He had no time to slowly develop his feelings and consider them and wrestle with the morality of them and debate his stance on them.

Shock & Awe 1:

Shock & Awe 2:

#my writing #obey me nightbringer #obey me simeon #simeon obey me #simeon #this is just my speculation and headcanon feel free to not agree #but it's what makes sense to me for why he's coming on SO STRONG and SO FAST here #nightbringer spoilers #possibly not really but to be safe for people behind on checking their texts and whatnot

[transfaguette]

same anon from the puritanical ideals message- the fiction thing is wild because like.... don't get me wrong i do agree there's more shades of gray to the "morality in fiction" debate than most people allow (namely i don't believe in the concept that books should be banned or burned for moral impurity, but at the same time i think there are obviously dozens of cases where works truly were made with observably harmful impact, and i do think it's our responsibility as a public to react appropriately, make sure that harm is discussed, treat these works with a certain amount of scrutiny, etc etc) but the problem is that people believing something without nuance no matter how people try to introduce nuance isn't Puritanism it's Dogma. and in addition almost none of the people who Are on the Far End of the morality of fiction debate have literally any power in society, something which The Church (tm) decidedly Does have. like it's not that these discussions aren't worth having and it's not that some people Aren't being unreasonable it's that perhaps we need more words. and perhaps we need more perspective. because like if someone says "puritan" and your immediate thought is a 14 year old fandom blogger with bad takes about lolita you Really need perspective. because what Should be your immediate thought is say... preachers telling 7 year old girls they must maintain their virginity until marriage or be forever tainted

YUP you hit the nail on the head. it bothers me that some people think that someones writing shouldn’t ever be used as a judge of character, but I don’t think thats true! You can read Ben Shapiro’s fiction novel and tell a lot about his views on the world. And obviously his novel is meant to be sickenly political so its very natural to draw those conclusions and I understand where fanfiction has different intentions but still. i’m not saying every piece of taboo fiction reflects on the authors moral character but it certainly isn’t inherently detached from it either like they would like to act like it is.

#asks

[goratrix-betrayed]

Living with a “Problematic” Fictional Identity (And Where to Go from Here)

During my panel at this year's Othercon, I promised to publicly release the script I read from. This is that script: this is what I said before the Q&A and discussion portion of the panel. Once the recording of the panel is live, I will reblog this with a link, as quite a few people expressed interest in it. (I have been informed that my voice was paramount for proper enjoyment of the panel; I don't know if that's quite true, but it's what people said.)

Here is the blurb I originally wrote for the panel on the schedule:

A lecture followed by questions and discussion about navigating through life with a “problematic” fictotype or as a “problematic” fictive. How to find community, how to cope, what responsibilities we may or may not have, what morality means for us and where the line between choices “then” and choices “now” lies.

Now, for the script itself.

Introduction

Greetings, people, creatures, and other beings. Welcome. This is a panel about how to live with “problematic” fiction-based identities, and I am someone with one such identity. My name is Goratrix. I am a fictive. Back in my source of Vampire: the Masquerade, I did quite a few bad things, the details of which I will not go into here or now. If you’re curious, I have written entire essays on the topic. Suffice to say that many of my actions were morally repugnant to most, making me quite the moral quandary to some people who encounter me online in this strange reality I have found myself in. Presumably, quite a few of you have had a similar experience—whether you be fictionkin, a fictive, or something similar, or just know someone who is, some of you undoubtedly have identities that are not as squeaky clean as some people would like. Perhaps they are voluntary, perhaps they are not. Perhaps you regret the things “you,” as in, your identity, did, or perhaps not.

Today, we are here to discuss that, how to live with it, and where to go from here.

I will say this: I am going to be making a case for universal acceptance of people with identities like these. Yes, even those people. Yes, even people that did that, whatever you are thinking about. If you disagree with me, that’s fine. I will be happy to discuss and debate this—respectfully—in the later sections of the panel or after it ends. If the concept of accepting people despite their crimes in another world upsets you, please feel free to leave the panel at any time. I will not notice and I will not mind. That being said, those who want to have respectful conversation or have respectful questions—whether they disagree with me or not—will have time at the end of the panel to speak up. I can’t take questions during the lecture effectively because I am easily distracted and long-winded; a bad combination for staying on-script. So, please, hold your questions for me until I open the floor for them. There will be multiple opportunities to speak up, and I will take suggestions and feedback on certain topics throughout the panel. Thank you all for understanding and cooperating. To head off one question, though—if you are wondering if I always talk like this, yes. I do. You get used to it.

Special thank-you to Chaiya, Pale, Rani, and everyone else who gave feedback and/or encouragement during the writing of this panel. I think I would have been reduced to ash without them.

Initial Discussion

No matter what way you spin it, there are identities out there that people don’t like. In a broad sense, this is more obvious: there are bigots worldwide. In our community, however, this can be a little harder to spot if you aren’t one of the affected, and it can be all-consuming if you are. Syscourse and purity culture plague us, as do accusations of being abusers and varying ableist claims of us being “sick in the head.” Ironic, coming from those battling to get recognition for their kintypes and headmates at all, don’t you think?

Attacking someone for who they are is ridiculous. Most people do not choose their identities, problematic or not. A common argument in the otherkin community against outside harassment is that you do not choose to be ‘kin—you just are. Must I spell it out? Must I explain that there is no difference, here, between someone whose kintype is a wolf and someone whose kintype is a murderer? The identity simply is. By attacking or allowing harassment of these “problematic” people, you are indicating that the entire community deserves harassment. Furthermore, people are not responsible for the actions of their kintypes. Yes, they are their kintypes, but did they make those decisions now, as they people they are, now? Typically no. They did not choose to be this, they did not choose the actions; leave them be.

Ah, but Goratrix, you may be saying. What about the people that did choose their identity? And what about fictives, who have no distance between their sense of self and their fictional identity—their “fictomere,” as we call it on the fictionkind Dreamwidth?

I shall address voluntary identities first. There are a thousand and one reasons to voluntarily identify with, or on some level, become, a character or creature. (Some would argue that the line of voluntary and involuntary is rather blurry in places, which I agree with, but that is not in the purview of this panel.) Perhaps they are coping with something, maybe even the thing that the character is guilty of. Perhaps not. Perhaps they see a shred of who they could have been in this character, given different circumstances, and see them as a different version of themselves to be integrated into their personality and considered. To be quite honest, it’s none of our business. Identity is a deeply personal thing—especially identity that you choose for yourself—and judging anyone, for any reason, based on it is going to get messy, unpleasant, immoral, and run into exceptions left and right. Who’s to say which exceptions are allowed, and which are not? Who’s to be the referee on the harassment of the “right” “problematic” identities? You see how this can go wrong, I imagine. And, furthermore, once again, these people did not perform these actions in this world, in this life. If you were to go to the authorities about these people, accusing them of a crime or some immoral act, with no evidence other than “they identify as a fictional character that did this,” you would be laughed off the block. These people have done nothing wrong, and I implore that those of you who disagree please consider why you disagree. Have you considered why they took on the identity at all, or are you just experiencing a kneejerk reaction? Put yourself in their shoes, just for a moment. Consider what might make you take on such an identity, and try to see it in other people. Assume the best, for assuming the worst tears you down as quickly as it tears down those around you, and, speaking as someone who repeatedly assumes the worst in people, it can destroy your life. Do better than I did; grow from this.

Now, onto the topic of fictives, of which I am one. There is frequently a distinct divide in fictotype and fictive; while someone is their fictotype, in many cases they are also separate from it, in that they have lived a life separate from their fictotype in this world. (Note that I am speaking generally, not completely—generalization is necessary for conversations like this, and I apologize for those who do not fit in with such generalizations or the words I am using. I am speaking largely from personal experience within my system.) Fictives are not that way, or at least, are not that way initially. (Fictives can change into very different people upon exposure to this world and time spent living in it, something I know well from watching my headmates and fictives in systems I have befriended.) Fictives typically appear in the system as if they’d been plucked straight from their source, from their life. They are precisely the people who made their life choices, and in some cases, those choices are abhorrent to your average Internet-goer. In my case, my morally questionable decisions include murder, betrayal, and human experimentation, among others. Does that not make me a criminal, worthy of damnation?

I argue: no. It does not.

Why?

Because the circumstances that led me to make the choices I did do not exist in this world. I have been here for almost a year, and have done nothing that others would consider “wrong,” as far as I am aware. (This is a record for me.) Why is that?

My source is Vampire: the Masquerade. My nightly life was filled with political, scheming, ancient vampires that would backstab me given a moment of weakness, a second of hesitation. I had to be ruthless, conniving, murderous, or I would be cut down, and I refused to let myself be killed by the world I had been thrust into, nay, that I had clawed my way into living in, desperate to survive. I considered those things that I did necessary, even “right”—in the situation I was in, the standards for “right” are quite low, and if you are keeping yourself and those you care about alive without harming others merely for the fun of it, you are doing quite well.

This world, and my system’s placement within it, does not force me into those kinds of situations. I have no need to kill, backstab, and lie here, and I argue that if I did, it would not be wrong of me to do so, because trying to merely survive is not wrong. People do what they must, and fictives, even the ones who seem the most horrible, were forged by circumstance just as I was. Hell, this applies to fictotypes, too—people do what they must to survive.

All right, say circumstances were not life-or-death and someone still did something you consider “wrong.” Can they be harassed?

No.

Let me bring up my theory of morality: people do the best they can in the circumstances they are in with the information they have. What is “best” depends on nothing more than prioritization—in my mind, that is all morality is: prioritization. What is more important: the life of an animal, or the life of a human? Someone’s bodily autonomy, or someone else’s life? Your life, or someone else’s? Your pocketbook, or someone’s livelihood? All morality can be broken down this way. Moral debates happen when two or more people have different moral priorities, and consider each other’s prioritization to be “wrong” in some way. I am not free of this; I find people who are willing to harm others for mere entertainment to be doing something “wrong,” but I do try not to throw bricks when living in a glass house; I know my list of actions better than anybody, and I also know that a morality system where my own survival is paramount (second only to the survival of the one I love) is bound to be seen as “wrong” by many. This does not bother me.

My point, in bringing this up, is that few people believe that what they are doing is both wrong and unnecessary. People may do things they consider wrong to survive, and hate every minute, or may do things they consider right unnecessarily, but people rarely do what they think is wrong for reasons they believe are unnecessary. People’s moral prioritizations are formed by the circumstances in which they are in and were raised. Had I been born into a world with limited or no magic, no vampires—this world—I would be completely unrecognizable. I would be a different man entirely, one that you likely would not consider to be “problematic!” If I had chosen to perform the same actions, unnecessarily, that I did back in my source, when I felt it necessary, morally, for me to do, then perhaps I would be worthy of judgment or retaliation. Furthermore, anything I did in this world would be fair game, because it was done in this world. If I murder someone here, then yes, I should face some kind of retaliation for that. I would have done it here, just as things I did back in the world I am from earned retaliation there. It just seems ridiculous, to me, to judge someone by moral standards that they have no concept of nor connection with, across entire worlds and across the boundary of fiction, when chances are that they were doing the best they could with the way they saw the world. People who are “problematic,” in terms of fiction or fandom, are not inherently dangerous in this world, because of the change in circumstances. And, furthermore—don’t they deserve another chance? A chance to be who they feel is best in these new circumstances?

That being said, no one is obligated to interact with anyone else. If you cannot get over what someone did back in their source, and are uncomfortable with them—fine. That’s your business, not theirs: avoid or block them and move on. Anyone is well within their right to refuse to interact with anyone for any reason. Harassment, however, is over the line, and I think you all know that. Identity is identity; leave well enough alone.

If you are one of these people—as I’m sure many of you are—with a “problematic” fictional identity, you are not wrong for merely existing. You are not alone. You are not doomed to be hated and reviled forever. And, if you struggle with your identity, you are not doomed to struggle alone forever. Let us move now to the topic of coping.

Coping

For fictives, it can be extremely traumatic to come to this world and find out how different things are here. To find out that what you did is so repugnant as to be seemingly worthy of constant harassment and no support—and for fictionkin, learning that your fictotype is someone that did things that you consider horrific can be traumatizing as well. Good God, I cannot even imagine learning that I am, or was, someone who did something that I would consider repugnant. Facing that and coping with it can be hard enough without hordes of strangers getting on you about it. People do not need help in feeling bad for who they are; they do need help in accepting it and handling it in a healthy way.

There are infinite types of trauma, here. My suggestion, overall, is this: approach it with a policy of self-forgiveness. I know it can be difficult, but listen to me: remember my definition of morality earlier. You did what you felt was best with the circumstances you were in and the information you had. Forgive yourself for doing differently than you would do now. Changing your priorities, and thus, your morality, is not hypocritical—it is growth. Let no one take that from you. Let no one take what you find precious in your identity from you, because it may be your past, or a parallel present, or something that your mind latched onto because it was important to you. Let no one take this from you. Forgive yourself, if need be, and never let anyone make you feel like you cannot do that, or like you don’t deserve to do that. Defend yourself from those who would wrong you for the things that were done in your source.

My suggestion on coping and dealing with cruelty from the community is quite simple, but I have found it effective. It comes in two parts: one, block liberally, and two, find a small group that accepts you and stick primarily to them. There are community spaces that facilitate this, but you can also form small groups of friends. Discord DMs, email chains, Snapchat threads, whatever works for you. Block those who will not accept you and allow yourself to befriend those who will. If people would hurt, harass, or exploit you for things done in your source, block them. The block button is there to protect you. You have been given a potent tool—use it. Consider it a form of taking care of yourself, and, if need be, self-forgiveness.

Finding friends you can trust is harder, and admittedly, I am not the best person to ask about this. I have only recently begun to open up, and have gotten lucky with the system’s pre-existing friends. Furthermore, I have had little need to cope with my identity, although I have watched multiple fictives in our system have to deal with it, so my advice here is somewhat limited, but here is another suggestion: work on accepting and understanding your identity. Journal, make posts, do long-form writings, answer prompts—whatever helps you unpack everything, whatever helps you understand and record, do it. I thought it silly, at first, but after I started doing longform writings, I never looked back—I enjoy them immensely, and wish I had more time for them.

I believe it best to open the floor for a few minutes for suggestions on both coping and finding an accepting group, including community spaces. I know of the fictionkind Dreamwidth, of which I am an administrator—where else is there that accepts people such as us? How do you find accepting friends? How do you cope? Leave your suggestions in chat. Let us have a brief conversation before we move on.

Growth

Let us continue, now, on the topic of healing and changing. I spoke earlier of morality being shaped by circumstance, and of our ability to alter our morality via reprioritization, something fairly common in fictives especially. (After all, fictionkind tend to have their own sense of morality before awakening as fictionkind, as do those with heartypes and most other identities.) We are capable of doing this—changing from what we are and were—but I ask: are we obligated to do so? Must we become “good” people, model citizens of the world we now find ourselves in? I say no—as long as you are not bringing direct harm to others, it’s no one else’s business who you are, what you feel, what you believe. You should not be forced to change your very identity and sense of self just because someone else does not like it. The self is the most intensely personal thing about anyone, and it is no one’s business but yours.

However, I am also not saying that you should act with impunity here just as you would back in your source. Chances are excellent that you can’t get away with what you would, there, and if you’re a fictive, you could hurt your headmates or get them in trouble. I will not presume to tell you how to handle dealing with your headmates (or whatever word you use to describe them), but I would advise not harming them intentionally. Chances are, you are stuck with them, possibly for the long run—does it not make sense to try to get along with them? I will leave that in your discerning hands, however.

I won’t tell you how to live your life, but I will recommend that you think carefully about what parts of your behavior you want to perpetuate moving forward. This should always be considered every time you enter a new, drastically different, situation: this is just one of the most drastic. When it comes to myself as an example, I did not have to think on it much: I don’t enjoy hurting people, I just did so out of necessity. Here, I am not pushed to behave the way I did. My cutthroat sense of morality is key to who I am, and I refuse to abandon it, but the objectionable parts of it never come up since I am never pushed into dire straits here. I believe the worst thing I have done so far is threaten to block people who harass me because I don’t care enough to try to convince them on a one-on-one basis to respect me. What a nightmarish creature I am, truly.

If you do not wish to change who you are, just as I did not, but also do not wish to do “immoral” things that would incite reasonable consequences, there is a balance to be struck between “same identity and morals” and “new behavior”--and that balance is different for everyone. I have worked out mine: you will have to take the time to work out yours. If you need a sounding board for that, my inbox is open, both on Tumblr and Discord.

Perhaps you do want to grow beyond your identity, whether you be a fictive or someone with a different kind of identity that influences you in ways you do not like. I think that, if this is something on your mind, it is a good idea: with this kind of thing, wanting it tends to mean you need it. Remember what I said about morality and prioritization: that is a matter of reprioritizing. For other parts of yourself: don’t think about changing what already exists. Think about adding onto it, and the change will come in time. Pick up a new hobby. Make some friends. Play a game, make a playlist of songs you like but don’t necessarily have anything to do with your fictional identity. Get involved in something creative, whether it be making or consuming, and relate to other characters. Modify your behavior in ways that make you happy, but remember two very important things: one, never change yourself because someone else wants you to, and two, changing who you are is not hypocrisy, it is growth. No one stays stagnant forever, even those of us who cling to our identities because we do not wish to move beyond them: even as myself, as Goratrix, I grow and change, but well within the bounds of what people would think is still Goratrix.

What Now?

So you have this identity steeped in fiction. So you have heard all of what I have to say thus far. Perhaps you are accepting this identity, perhaps you are struggling with it. Perhaps you want to connect with and understand it more, perhaps you have feelings you need to get off of your chest, perhaps you want to move on from it. What now?

Find community.

I cannot express enough how much community has helped me in accepting my current place in this world, who I am, and why I did the things I did—and why I do the things I do now. I am changing, just as everyone does, and accepting that has been difficult. I am more social in a positive sense than I have been since my pre-vampirism days (which was about a thousand years ago) and I had a hard time accepting that until I began to make friends in the community who I legitimately enjoy speaking with.

Communities of this type, I’m sorry to say, cannot be found in broad social media spaces like Tumblr or Twitter. It’s too chaotic, too public, too out there—smaller communities are our best bet. Earlier, I asked you all to give me examples of community spaces where people like us can go to find refuge and no judgment while we work through, or even just live as, our identities—I recommend going through those and finding places that you feel might work for you. Again: I run the fictionkind Dreamwidth—which, despite its name, welcomes anyone with any kind of fiction-based identity—and we put up with no harassment or judgment of any type. That kind of behavior gets corrected, and if it continues, the offending party is removed. There are plenty of spaces for people who want to be judgmental and downright bitchy: let us have our havens, of which there are precious few. It is vital that your only external acknowledgement of your identity not be toxic—the self-hatred and emotional damage that can result from that is something that I am sure many of you are all too familiar with.

I will say, however, that “community” does not mean “fandom.” I do not recommend engaging with your source’s fandom in the context of your identity: in most cases, this will lead to misunderstanding and harassment. Many people with fiction-based identities avoid fandom, period—I am one of these people. I cannot stand it. This goes doubly so for interacting with creators of a source in your capacity as your fiction-based identity—I recommend that you do not engage with them outwardly as this. This cannot go well: it will only make you and them uncomfortable. The possible exception to this is when it comes to, say, having an identity based on a friend’s OC or similar—since they know you, or a member of your system, they might be more accepting, or they might be more upset. Know that you did nothing wrong in having this identity, and that it may be best to not tell them to avoid the potential hangup of them getting upset at the implication that you know their character better than they do. I would typically err on the side of not saying anything, but I will leave that in your capable hands. You may want to get advice from community members on a case-by-case basis if you are unsure of how to proceed.

In addition to finding community, I recommend that you do writings on your identity. They don’t have to be pages and pages long: just a few paragraphs journaling your experiences would do. Write essays if you’d like, or just bullet-pointed thoughts. Answer prompts. Do creative writing exercises. You can keep these to yourself, or you can post them, which I would encourage. It can be immensely helpful to a newly-awakened or formed individual to find writings, no matter how small, from someone like them. The feeling of “thank God I’m not alone” cannot be underestimated.

Post them on your blog, or in your smaller community. Post them on your personal website—yes, your personal website, which you should have if you do any significant amount of writing, just ask Page—or anywhere else you can slot them in. Write for yourself, and write for your past self who may have wished that there was more out there to guide them and make them feel like they were not alone. I know I wish that there had been more out there when I formed—other VTM fictives, more writings from other “problematic” beings. Write to understand and accept yourself, write to heal from any damages inflicted on you because of or by this identity, write to leave something for future wanderers of our breed—whatever your reason, I implore you to write. Write and find community: spend time with people. Find elders of your community and speak to them—they have more insight than you can imagine, more ideas than you realize, and less time and energy to implement them than anyone would prefer.

If you want to put yourself out there and build community, help run events, do things, excellent. I would love to see it, and I’m sure that others here would, as well. If you want to just exist with your identity, maybe answer a few prompts, talk to some people—that’s all you need. You need not do anything to deserve to exist as you are—you are more than enough, dear listener, and never, ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

At this point, my long paragraphs of thoughts are over. I want to hear what you have to say. I made sure to get as much time as I could for you to ask questions, speak your comments, voice your concerns. This is your time: I am sure many of you have questions, at least. Ask away.

Closing Notes (Post-questions)

Our time is running short, and we must end the panel at this point. I will be available via Discord PM for anyone who still has questions or wishes to speak to me about anything; my inbox on Tumblr is open as well, for those who would rather communicate there or send me something anonymously. Please remember that the anonymous toggle is a privilege, not a right, and if you use it to send cruel or rude messages to me, I will block you without reply and eventually disable the ability to use it.

Before we go, however, I wanted to read you my favorite poem. I formed during last year’s Othercon, and my first memory of this world is Pale reading this poem at the beginning of his panel, which had a similar theme to this one. 

This is A Monstrous Manifesto by Cat Valente.

If you are a monster, stand up.

If you are a monster, a trickster, a fiend,

If you’ve built a steam-powered wishing machine

If you have a secret, a dark past, a scheme,

If you kidnap maidens or dabble in dreams

Come stand by me.

If you have been broken, stand up.

If you have been broken, abandoned, alone

If you have been starving, a creature of bone

If you live in a tower, a dungeon, a throne

If you weep for wanting, to be held, to be known,

Come stand by me.

If you are a savage, stand up.

If you are a witch, a dark queen, a black knight,

If you are a mummer, a pixie, a sprite,

If you are a pirate, a tomcat, a wright,

If you swear by the moon and you fight the hard fight,

Come stand by me.

If you are a devil, stand up.

If you are a villain, a madman, a beast,

If you are a strowler, a prowler, a priest,

If you are a dragon come sit at our feast,

For we all have stripes, and we all have horns,

We all have scales, tails, manes, claws and thorns

And here in the dark is where new worlds are born.

Come stand by me.

#othercon #fictionkin #fictionkind #fictive #fictives #otherkin #otherhearted #fictionhearted #otherlink #fictionlink #alterhuman #essays #goratrix's tower talks

[ryin-silverfish]

Hey I just wanted to say thank you for your Tripitaka post and for explaining this so well without being rude or dismissive. A while ago I made a post questioning Tripitaka that I had to take down within a few hours due to the amount of hate and harassment I was receiving. It was awfuly belittling and some of the things people were saying were just cruel insults towards me nothing that tried to explain or be helpful. I wish someone responded like this back then.

Awww, thank you!

It is true that old Chinese novels have a lot of nuances and contexts even native speakers could easily miss, not to mention all the things lost in translation. It is also true that they are a product of their times, and often have views and practices that most modern readers would not be comfortable with.

However, that is no reason to attack people who simply don't know, or jump to the worst conclusions. It reeks of the sort of fandom mentality where nuanced discussions go to die, and having been guilty of that mentality as a teen, I'm trying to steer clear of it.

Like, from what I understood, there was a recent trend of demonizing Tripitaka in popular JTTW adjacent fandoms like LMK (I mean, enough Chinese fans of JTTW medias disliked him too, but the "abusive" take, especially in relation to shipping discourse, is a new flavor), then a reaction against that, but people end up overcorrecting and going toward the "Tripitaka did nothing wrong!" end.

Frankly, this need to hold fictional characters "accountable" is tiring, and often just a way for people to feel like they have the moral high ground.

To me, it also distracts from more interesting questions one could be asking——from "How do the characters in question justify their actions to themselves?" to "What does it tell us about the time period the work was set in?" to "Could there be allegorical and metatexual layers we are not aware of?"

But even if we aren't going all literary, at the end of the day, it, is, flipping, fiction. You can complain about the execution, debate about people's takes on it, or write your own fix-it fanfics, but it is not an one-on-one correspondance to IRL morality or beliefs. Like, dude, you aren't "respecting Chinese culture" by being an asshole on our behalf over fictional characters and ships.

It is truly awful that people would personally insult you without explaining anything first. I hope it does not discourage you from learning about—or loving—JTTW and its related media, and wish you better luck in future online interactions.

#jttw #fandom discourse #lego monkie kid #tripitaka

[knowlesian]

gonna indulge my inner ed here and split a hair real fine, but because i have somehow never talked about this: why the semantic difference between ‘stede burned that ship down’ and ‘stede said a lot of entirely true but very uncomfortable to acknowledge stuff, and doing that led to a bunch of new money assholes losing their absolute shit on main and burning their own ship down’ is pulling so fucking much thematic weight it kills me. 

i’ve said it that first way before jokingly and i will say it again, but the other is actually a lot more accurate. 

because what’s the actual sequence of events? not just the consequences, but the context.

- stede asks if they want to play a game in a way they could avoid by not being insecure little noveau riche babies; they take the bait much in the manner of fish stuck in the proverbial about to be bullet-riddled barrel

- stede says a bunch of true stuff about these people, things they are ashamed of and lie about but are 100% accurate. not insults! just facts.

- they delight in the first few chances to shame each other, but as stede keeps going and the secrets expose them all to the truths they all sort of already knew but balanced their social circles on not openly acknowledging, they go absolutely hog fuckin wild, fight in the parking lot of the shittiest bar i ever worked at style.  

- while they go apeshit and attack each other and burn things, stede (and everybody else in this scene we actually like) stands back and goes ‘...wow, these people are really doing this??? really??? fuckin’... wow. oh shit, are they gonna kill each other for real? and they say we’re uncivilized.’

so stede’s not insulting these people, and even better: he’s not being passive aggressive. 

he is, in fact, being the exact opposite of passive aggressive. he’s being honest. and it’s not that ‘oh, i’m just brutally honest so you have to let me get away with out of pocket shit’ crap people pull when they’re looking to be cruel but don’t want to admit it.

that one dude IS embezzling! those two siblings ARE going full dime store lannister! that one dude DID have a child out of wedlock with that other chick!

(i love the inclusion of that one in particular, and how it’s markedly different than what comes after: because i think p solidly that’s the only one where i’m like, hey: as long as everybody involved was chill, who cares? that’s as morally neutral as having a baby with someone you are married to: the context is where the ballgame lies, on that one. 

but these people care. they really, REALLY care. and they care because society has told them they have to care, if they don’t want to end up shamed by said society for it.

outside some select exceptions that mostly come down to ‘ahahahaha capitalism can go fuck itself, the phrase cost of living is far more obscene than most of the words you can’t say on broadcast tv’, i would agree the other truths stede reveals are baseline Not Great. however: fucking somebody you’re not married to only matters if the people involved decide it does, there’s no general moral absolute there. 

like, look. this is why i find debates about if humans are ‘meant’ for monogamy or polyamory tedious and wrongheaded at the same time. are we meant to be on sailboats, or eat cheese? who fuckin’ knows, and who fucking cares. those are all questions that cannot be answered on any practical or universal level. 

we are MEANT to make our own choices, and do what works best for us. the presumption that monogamy is moral or natural versus just... sometimes easier to navigate, because good communication is key to a healthy relationship and the more people there are, the more communicating must be done, is stupid. god knows plenty of monogamous couples cannot communicate for shit. there’s no right way or silver bullet there, and given the lucius and pete of it all, ofmd obviously knows that.

g o d i love this show.)

anyway, tangent over: nothing stede says is not just the simple, unvarnished truth. 

if these people weren’t ashamed of themselves and so afraid of the truth it drives them to freak the fuck out and vomit on each other mid-fight and then burn their own fucking ship down, none of this would be happening. literally none of it! 

they react to the truth like stede does set the ship on fire: but that’s all them. they set their own ship on fire. stede doesn’t do anything but hold a mirror up to their faces and i don’t think there’s an argument here that he shouldn’t have said that stuff, unless you think society should run on people never telling each other the truth if it would be uncomfortable, lest we run wild in the streets and literally burn everything down.

which is a fun little thematic wink/echo: stede breaks their world there, and he does it by working with his actual natural allies and in particular, by listening to frenchie and then going to ask abshir for his help, because he knows things stede doesn’t and stede literally cannot pull this off without him. so stede shows solidarity, and having recently realized this dynamic is a thing he’s gonna have to be aware of and start pushing against if he genuinely cares about ed, actively and purposefully uses the social privilege looking the way he looks, and having the money he has granted him. 

but what he does with it makes all the difference. because having realized these people will listen to him in a way they will not listen to ed, he takes that assumed right to hold the floor and he uses it to burn the motherfuckin system of agreed-upon dishonesty calling itself politeness down. the system, not the ship.

(there’s a read on ‘these are my people’ that’s a lot sadder/less positive, and i think that’s in the mix too, but for this part of stede’s development i love what it also means about how he’s realized the world looks at ed and makes some assumptions they will never, ever make about stede or the other rich white people in that ship.)

so tldr: stede doesn’t actually burn the ship down, not outside the broadest ‘this was what happened next’ terms. 

the rich assholes burn their own ship down, because they literally cannot handle the basic truths about themselves being spoken aloud, and that context makes a whooooole lotta difference.

i mean... this SHOW. what the fuck? i just wanna talk to these writers. 

#our flag means death #my ofmd meta #also GOD i love that the Fragile New Rich are in literal whiteface #i know i know face powder is a real history thing but purposeful anachronism on this show does thematic work alongside the rule of cool #the new money white people who freak out about not being fancy enough so they paint themselves whiter and love phrenology #i MEAN. OUTSIDE. I WILL SEE THESE WRITERS. I WILL YELL WHYYYY AND I LOVE YOU AND THANK YOU???? #and p cry. #okay now back to my bigger e5 piece i just needed to yell this

[c-is-for-circinate]

a penny for your Ashton thoughts?

ASHTON GREYMORE MY BELOVED

Fair warning, I am once again half an episode behind, plus I'm pretty scattered today, but let's have some bullet points and see what ensues.

Anybody remember when, a couple of months ago, some posts went around about how 'everyone says Ashton's So Loyal but that's bullshit and people letting their affection for Taliesin overrule their objectivity'? No? Well I do and I AM STILL SMUG ABOUT THEM BEING WRONG.

Seriously, this rock is the walking personification of "I don't care," I said, caringly, as I cared deeply. We all know this by now, I think. I love it with my whole heart.

Something fascinating to me about Ashton in comparison with Taliesin's other characters: they are, every one of them, Extremely Sure they know how the world (or their specific part of it, at least) works. Part of what's great about that is how often the things they're Sure Of disagree -- Percy, Molly, and Caduceus in a room together and asked to debate human nature would be a wild show to watch from the other side of a bulletproof one-way mirror, safe behind blast doors. And so far Ashton is in their own way perhaps the least obviously Absolutely Sure out of all of them, which is really interesting in its own way! It means when I think about Ashton, I always find myself pondering: what ARE they Sure of?

I think we saw our biggest hint about that with his rage during the Hytroga heist. There are rules. You keep your word. If you create an agreement, you keep it. Breaking an agreement like that is WRONG, fundamentally, core-of-how-the-world-works wrong, and people who do that should Pay For It.

The other half of Ashton's worldview seems to be something along the line of 'people are assholes' -- put together, "People are assholes, but there are rules." Certainly 'people are assholes' is probably the part he'd say out loud! Which makes it really interesting that, by the standards of a Taliesin Character, Ashton is practically halfhearted about this one. They certainly don't believe that people never act for reasons of loyalty and love. I think about Ashton in comparison to Percy or Molly, in particular -- Percy and Molly, who were quite sure that the universe contained Decent People and Terrible People, and that they could quite readily tell the difference. (Percy might have had ranks for 'tolerable people', a category that could theoretically be applied to either Decent or Terrible people, but it was all very much something appropriately categorized.) Ashton doesn't go around the world expecting to find Terrible People the way they did. He goes around expecting to find assholes, which is a statement of general dickishness but also not, like, a thing to get morally offended over or be surprised about. Even the kind of prissy rich people that Molly would have loathed (lord, Molly meeting Jiana Hexum?) fall comfortably onto Ashton's scale of 'yeah, they're an asshole, that's whatever -- no, OBVIOUSLY you can't trust them, but who trusts people?' There are very, very few individuals who seem to rate Ashton's 'no, this person is so awful they have forfeited their right to be treated with decency and rules' classification. Thinking about how he flipped out about Hytroga, it almost feels like it's a surprise to him. Like Ashton goes around pseudo-cheerfully expecting a certain baseline of shittiness in the general tone of 'why would I be SURPRISED by that?', and when someone fails to live up to even those (complicated, only-known-to-him) standards, it hits right in the gut.

There's an interesting tie-in here with how Ashton thinks people thinks of him, specifically. Ashton thinks of themself as 'that asshole, who people may at any given time be annoyed with/furious at/relatively meh about'. And like, that's...sort of true? They have a really low charisma score! Various NPCs have indeed come pre-annoyed with him! But Justi was reasonably pleased to see him, and Milo saved their damn life and then let them keep living in their punk squat house, and the Bells Hells love him. I think that might be part of why 'people are assholes' is such a complicated thing, for Ashton. Yeah, people are dicks -- but it's not like they're going to just ignore the fact that friendship and love and loyalty exist too. That sometimes people are inexplicably fond of them in ways they can use. (and meanwhile, Ashton has been so, so lonely, Ashton who was almost fond of Jiana Hexum for being a person he could rely on who considered him Of Use, Ashton who's all in on Bells Hells as a crew and FCG in particular, who lets Laudna goo-cry on their shoulder and plays with Fearne and is Kind Of A Dick (affectionate) with them all. Ashton who was so ready to be valued and has gone all in on it immediately.)

...oh motherfucker, if Chetney is Travis's version of Nott, then Ashton is Taliesin playing Beau.

That aside, it's been great to see them in Basuras for multiple reasons, including the fact that it really beautifully illustrates exactly how and why "People are assholes, but there are rules" might become a life philosophy. In a lot of ways, that's the core motto of this entire town! People are assholes, everywhere, always, and nobody ever really stops them -- but there are a few central fundamental tenets to how things work around here, and if you break them you are in for a WORLD of hurt.

Honestly, it has been such a joy to watch Ashton in Basuras. They're in their element and it's wonderful! They know the town, the players, the rules, the games, the local legends. How many years has it been since Ashton's been here? And Justi and the All-Minds-Burn collective still remembers them fondly? It may be a shithole, but this is home.

Lastly, I have had SO much joy watching Ashton take FCG's whole "oh, Ashton is our leader!" to heart. He's never made a big deal out of it, never given orders exactly, but in a leaderless collective of fuckwits all trying to Twitch Plays Pokemon their way through life, Ashton has been guiding discussions, proposing plans, and doing a really unexpectedly excellent job of nudging disordered chaos into action. Part of it's because this is home turf and Ashton knows what's what here, but -- every time they tell Chetney to keep an eye out for if the group's being followed and Chetney immediately goes with it, every time Ashton checks in with the group to see whether certain people are okay -- it's so good! I love it so much! It doesn't work during fights exactly, because barbarian rage tunnel vision (contrast Fjord, who did similar nudging and guiding things but was also very much a battlefield controller with a good big-picture view of the whole field most of the time, especially by the end), but on a general day-to-day basis...at least in Basuras, Ashton is actually acting as the group leader, and I love it so much.

At any rate, the tumblr grapevine suggests that the second half of this week's episode is going to involve Dusk getting revealed as Secret Inside Assassin PC, and I am stoked to see how Ashton reacts to that. Ugh. Do I need to just bite the Twitch Subscription bullet for weekend VODs, given that this state of bed-at-mid-break affairs is likely to continue for...literally evermore, with this new job? I think I do. I really think I do.

#cr spoilers #critical role #asked and answered

[yukipri]

Following from your tags on the Galidraan post, there's actually a canon(-ish) source that states that the Darksabre was chosen by VIZSLA as their symbol of the Mand'alor: Tor Vizsla's in-universe Ba'jurne Kyr'tsad Mando'ad, which is included at the end of the real-world book, The Bounty Hunter Code. Direct quote is: "To ensure we would be led by the most powerful, we decreed that any could challenge the Secret Mand'alor for leadership of Death Watch. And, as our symbol of authority, we chose the Darksaber, an ancient weapon liberated from the Jedi long ago." (Please ignore my editing in the image.)

(The whole text of the Ba'jure Kyr'tsad Mando'ad is on google sites: https://sites.google.com/view/bajurne-kyrtsad-mandoad/title-page)

Yep, I have that book, it's actually a really fun reference, all the books in that series are! <3

But yup, see, this is another part where I see how Legends doesn't quite match up with current canon. The info in this book is Legends, specifically Legends as published in 2013. But in New Canon, given how the Darksaber is treated in Rebels and now in the Mandalorian, I feel like it being solely the symbol of "the Secret Mand'alor" is kinda BS—it's much more treated as the symbol of ALL of Mandalore.

Of course, one could interpret all of this through the lens that Clan Wren is part of House Vizsla so all of Sabine's story is biased (I'm still not happy they made that association...), and Bo-Katan used to serve Pre so of course she's got Vizsla bias, and Din was rescued by Death Watch + Paz is in his covert so presumably his covert also has strong Vizsla/Death Watch bias.

New canon is so incredibly Vizsla/Death-Watch centric, perhaps "Vizsla's Mand'alor" is the only Mand'alor that matters anymore. Which. Ugh. But kinda feels that way.

Anyway, while it isn't based on anything official, I do feel like if the Darksaber existed when Open Seasons was written, there might have been some more history with it there. Because keep in mind, even though they're both Legends, Open Seasons still predates the Code book by over a decade, and much of Legends isn't consistent.

My own take is that IF we go by the premise that the Darksaber is the symbol of the rightful leader of all of Mandalore and NOT just Death Watch, then it should make sense that at different points of time between the Darksaber becoming the symbol and the "present," it would have passed between different clans, especially since modern Death Watch is an extremist terrorist organization that has not been depicted as being the rightful anything tbh.

Therefore to me, the Darksaber is more interesting if it's a neutral symbol planetary leadership, which may have originated from Tarre Vizsla, someone who is not synonymous with Death Watch of the Clone Wars~onwards eras. Vizsla may claim that it's only a symbol of them and their Mand'alor, but again then that makes a distinction between that and a leader who unifies all of Mandalore.

It's more interesting if Jaster and Jango once had the Darksaber and were recognized as leaders, and perhaps that too was part of why Tor Vizsla was so determined to take them down, if he felt they were unfit to wield it. His underhanded tactics in getting rid of them would then mean that he didn't win the saber in fair combat, which means that when Pre presumably inherited it, its current presence in his family isn't rightful in the first place, and perhaps he never knew. That then leads to the question of whether any current claim to the Darksaber is legitimate if the last true wielder was taken down by Vizsla manipulating Jedi from the shadows, never lifting a finger himself. That kind of moral debate of honor, of understanding the messy past of Mandalore...that kind of juicy drama, I am all for.

To be clear, I'm biased, and none of the above is me saying "this is the right way to interpret this media." This is just how I, personally, am choosing to internalize it. I don't like Death Watch and don't think they have been depicted as honorable in ANY media they're in. It does not make any narrative sense, at least to me, to put them on a weird pedestal while stripping Boba, Jango, Jaster, and the other True Mandalorians of all historical and cultural relevance. IF the Darksaber is a symbol solely of Vizsla leadership, then I cannot imagine WHY anyone would want to make it into a cool fun symbol to build a franchise around and give to a hero character. So I'm hoping that canon will eventually lean a bit towards my personal interpretation, even though I have little faith that it will.

If it doesn't, eh, that's alright! I'm more than capable of making my own lil stories and entertaining myself!

Anyway, this response went a bit longer than I expected but yeah, those are my thoughts on the Darksaber and how I've personally chosen to combine Legends + New Canon!

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

#batsutousai #YukiPri replies #Darksaber #the Mandalorian #Mandalorians #Mandalore #Star Wars #Star Wars Legends #Mand'alor #Death Watch #Vizsla #Jaster Mereel #longpost #long post #OP comment: btw this is the take on that history in all of my own works #at the same time who knows man i don't understand a lot of new canon decisions #like it makes zero sense to me why giving Din a symbol of the Death Watch king would be a cool thing to do #but it also makes zero sense to me why anyone in their right mind would think that giving a child the weapon of a Zygerrian slaver #and make that her iconic weapon is a good idea

[3piox]

Why do you think Satine (a pacifist who encourages diplomacy) did not try talking to them? @soliloquy-of-nemo

In "The Academy" Satine has wants the kids taught that "It's every citizen's duty to challenge their leaders, to keep them honest, and hold them accountable if they're not."

In "Voyage of Temptation" Satine tells Obi-Wan that "Even extremists can be reasoned with." If she doesn't consider Death Watch extremists, I don't know who would qualify. This suggests she still has hope for a peaceful outcome with them.

In "Duchess of Mandalore" we learn that Death Watch cannot take over Mandalore without the "will of the people" which is part of the many pieces of evidence that Satine's pacifist rule is favoured by the majority of Mandalorians. We also get "They are not powerful enough to destabilize our government. We will resolve this without conflict." and "The Mandalorian government holds no secrets from its people." Does any of this sound like a dictator who refuses to seek a peaceful mediation with her enemies?

I mention that Satine's pacifist rule is favoured because in that episode she also tellingly states that "You would trample our right to self-determination." about a Republic occupation. We don't know if Mandalore is a democracy (I have trouble picturing them at the voting booth, but who knows) but what Satine represents is an attempt to decentralize power (she has a Prime Minister, a Council, does not call herself Mand'alor which seems to be an old-fashioned power grab move of ultimate rule when others do it.) Satine is a strong leader with a clear vision, but she doesn't wish to rule with an iron fist: she wants Mandalore to develop naturally into a people who choose non-violence. This is why we see her care so much about education of the youth, and that those youth be taught that it's morally correct to hold your government accountable and fight corruption everywhere it appears.

In "The Lawless" it's clear Bo Katan and Satine haven't spoken in some time, and we're told "There was a time when we weren't enemies." Are we to assume that even when they were still sisters who spoke, Satine never tried to explain or communicate her ideas to Bo Katan? That they never had debates, never tried to compromise?

And compromise is a tricky word, because to believe that they could have just talked it out, you have to fundamentally fail to understand what Death Watch are fighting for. What compromise do you think they wanted? They believe in 'might makes right.' They believe the strongest should rule Mandalore, and that they should return to the glory days of warfare past. To let ol' Pre tell it:

"We are the Death Watch, descendants of the true warrior faith all Mandalorians once knew. Now my people are living in exile because we will not abandon our heritage. Our people were warriors. Strong. Feared! Now they're ruled by the New Mandalorians who think that being a pacifist is a good thing. They've given away our honor and tradition for peace. Duchess Satine and her corrupt leadership are crushing our souls, destroying our identity. That is our struggle."

Does this sound like a guy who's gonna compromise on some things? Say, "Jeez, Satine, I agree we should stop bombing each other but hey can't we have a little conquest, as a treat?" It's not like Mandalore was wholly demilitarized. Satine has guards. We see armor and weapons. She believes in a person's right to defend themselves. What Vizla wants is for them to be active combatants -- to be "feared" and to reject peace. They are, frankly, fascists, and saying Satine could have found common ground with them suggests that they have a point, and they don't. What they want is fundamentally morally corrupt, and it is a credit to Satine that she continued to strive for peaceful resolutions with them in order to not betray her own ideals, but never gave in to their demands.

Also they're a terrorist group composed of a small minority of the population called Death Watch who are shown to favour assassination, torture, DROID torture (?!), abuse of captives, militarized occupation of civilian populations, bombings, etc., etc. ... I'm pretty sure the writers didn't create them to represent a reasonable opposition, the way they sometimes did with the "heroes on both sides" of the galactic war.

#satine kryze #mandalore #death watch #bo katan kryze #pre vizla #* #[blue virus guy voice] you mean MURDERED!