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youryanderedaddy · 4 months

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Summary: You're a princess locked in a tower and guarded by a big, scary dragon. But is he as scary as it seems? tw: female reader, deceit, manipulation, murder (not reader), stockholm syndrome(?) My ko - fi <3

As the youngest princess, you'd always known you would end up like this. In some far off land with little to your name other than some jewels, stuck in a tower just like your mother had been before she got married to a foreign lord, and finally allowed to re-join society. It was such a cliche it was funny at first, but now you just felt like screaming at the top of your lungs from boredom.

At first you didn't feel the unknown presence. The tall man was lurking in the shadows, as if part of the ancient building. You could smell the herbs in the air around him - the minthy fragrance trailing long after he had retired to his chambers. Then little by little you started to recognise him - in certain shades of sunlight, in the back of mirrors, in the tiny lizards crawling at the corners of the stone walls. But nothing could prepare you for that first morning when you saw him - really saw him.

You had woken up early, startled by noise reminiscent of that a bird makes during flight - but multiplied tenfold. You had looked through the window with a weak, fluttering heart. And then you saw his true form - massive yellow wings covered in what looked like pure gold burning brightly in the sky. Long, hard body made of sun - kissed flakes; so sharp they could be used as arrows. And a thin, curled tail drawing circles around your tower.

One of his empty moonlit eyes turned towards you, and it was all over. He immediately dissapeared into thin air, the only evidence of his existence being miles of thick gray smoke. But you weren't going to let the only living creature around run away so easily.

"I saw you!" You screamed long before you could even begin thinking of proper etiquette. Ladylike behavior be damned, you were dying of loneliness in this stupid tower. "Please..." You begged, voice hoarse and desperate from weeks of forced silence. "Come here." You continued ruefully, playing with your hair, chest riddled with anxiety - after all you hadn't spoken to a human being in so long.

You heard a long, almost pained sigh, which made you turn around. You were greeted by a tall brooding figure. It wore the face of a man, but its long golden hair and broad, muscular shoulders pointed to something a lot less human and a lot more devine. He must have been twice your size - trully intimating in all his shining glory. Even in his human form his skin seemed to glow just like his sharp almond - shaped black orbs, constricted in his yellow pupils.

"I'm always here, Your Highness." You remember his exact words simply because you were taken aback by how soft his voice was - just like fine silk. It wasn't the voice of a dragon, but the voice of an angel. "You just never see me." He added with what you then assumed was a hint of playfulness, but now recognised as annoyance. With that he leaned against the wall, crossing his hands together.

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

Many months passed since that fateful day. You slowly got to know your new companion - or perhaps, guardian. You learnt that many called him Cain after the fallen son* - once a strong soldier of the Lohemian Kingdom, his injuries had made it impossible to keep fighting. That's how your father found him - abandoned by his brothers, lying in a mudded puddle of his own blood. The rest was history.

He didn't speak very much - but he never left your questions unanswered.

"Cain..." You'd call out with practised uncertainty. Even so far removed from your peers, you still couldn't escape the twisted societal ideals of propriety. You could never be too eager to speak to a man - even if he wasn't fully human. "Is that your real name?" You wondered, genuinely curious. You slowly looked away from the book you were holding and towards your friend, the book long forgotten. The dragon was sitting in the other corner of the room. Despite all the time you had spent together so far, he was still hesitant to come near you. There was a certain stiffness in his strong shoulders - as well as his jaw.

"Princess..." The man mumbled softly, your heart aching by the sheer tenderness of the term. Usually you'd pay it no mind as it was your right from birth, your title - but titles didn't matter here. There was no place for status or riches between those four intimate walls that always felt small despite the spacious squares. "Don't you know curiousity got the cat's tongue?" He responded with a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes - even his smiles were serious and stoic.

"You have it all wrong." You huffed, standing up from your comfortable chair just to make a big, dramatic gesture with your hands. "It's curiosity killed the cat." You stated confidently, waving your finger at the dragon. He let out a soundless chuckle and averted his gaze away from you. He still couldn't get over the fact that you weren't afraid of him.

"Whatever my Princess says, goes." Cain teased, eyes narrowing further - now they looked like two pitch black slits. He tuck one disobedient lock of gold behind his pointy ear, making the glass beads of his earring jingle in tone. "Just don't say I didn't warn you." He whispered with slight condescension, toying with the dancing little crystals. "My name is Kaajin, if you must know. I doubt you can spell it. It's in Lohemian." He suddenly stared at you as if in a challenge. "Does this change anything? Anything at all."

You shook your head - of course no. There was little your protector could do to make your feelings change; not when you had been so terribly alone without him. Not when he looked at you as if you were precious - breakable, yet precious.

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

The days went by slowly. There was nothing there to help pass the time - just your voice and his voice blending together in the echo of the tower. Again and again and again.

"Entertain me." You asked authoritatively, looking at your friend from down below while you were sitting on the ground. You were bored - so very bored. "I don't remember ever signing up to be your personal jester, my Princess." Cain, no, Kaajin replied succinctly, showing off two pointy fangs - and you couldn't help recalling the story of the Sleeping Beauty and the spindle that sent her into deep, eternal slubmer. You wondered how his teeth would feel against your finger - and your throat. Whether they'd tire you or save you with the kiss of true love.

"Please?" You asked sweetly, just the way he liked - just like you had done that cold winter day in December when you first met face to face. It seemed to work, because soon after that you could feel him move through the room with a tired step - ever so dramatic, closing in on you. "Sure." The dragon breathed in your ear, enjoying the way the flesh quickly reddened with emotion. He reached behind the sensitive shell and slowly waved his fingers just short of your nose. In his hand just milimeters from you was hanging a thin silver chain with a little red rose dangling down. "Here. Have fun." He let it slip past his slender fingers and you swiftly reached to catch it before it could break in thousand pieces.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" You asked, puzzled - still looking at the delicate bracelet and the way it seemed to come alive under direct sunlight. "I am not a child." You suddenly puffed, stuffing it into the pocket of your long skirts. Kaajin only clicked his tongue, gently tugging at your wrist until you took it out of your pocket. "Don't be so ungrateful." His strict yet plush voice took you out of your little outburst, and you finally looked up. His eyes were measuring you up, scanning for any hidden movement - any secret emotion. "I am a dragon, remember? We tend to be awfuly protective of our things."

Your eyes filled with curiosity once again. "You mean your jewels?" He nodded rhytmically, trying to keep his composure at the mention of his old, forgotten customs. "I've read some stories about dragon kings stealing piles of golden coins and locking them away for all eternity. "You chuckled to yourself. "Like they could ever use them." Even after all those years you still found the thought amusing. Humans spent their youth slaving away so they could waste the money gained once they were old and wise. Dragons, on the other hand, were satisfied with holding onto wealth and jewels and all those shiny human things - with little understanding of the subejctive value they held in the human world.

"Yes. It's true indeed. Dragons-" Your guard nodded yet again, now somewhat uneasy. "We take good care of our..." He averted his eyes far away from you. "treasures." He finished stiffly, gaze basically burning the ground. "So you shouldn't take my gift lightly. You should wear it with pride. And perhaps in time you'd find another use for it, too." The man explained, a slight blush spreading across his usually high, cold cheeks.

You smiled gingerly, kissing your fingers around the chain before pressing it to your chest - close to your heart.

"I shall cherish it forever, then." You exclaimed, feeling warm inside. You were uncertain as to why, but your stomach was spinning wildly, as if filled with bubbles. "But you still owe me some fun." You giggled, running to start the old phonograph in the corner of the room. It was your favourite thing in the whole world - which didn't mean a lot up here, but it was enough to make your legs move on their own.

As you danced to Vaarlen's famous spring waltz, the air seemed lighter and the cramped hall just slightly more grandiose. It was easier to breathe. You extended your hand towards your dragon, asking him to join.

"You know I don't dance, princess." He grunted, his mood souring. He never told you why he hated it so much, but the man was never too fond of music. Still, you decided to try again. "Oh, come on. Just this once." He didn't seem convinced. "Let me teach you as a thank you gift. I'm serious." You tapped your chest playfully. The man rolled his eyes, then gently took your hand in his. You almost broke into a giddy giggle - for the first time since your family locked you up in the rotten tower you felt happy.

And he always gave into you.

So you two danced, both lost to the music and your own racing thoughts. Kaajin kept his distance, but his hold was strong onto your wrist - unrelenting, like he never wanted to let go. Your body twisted and turned, perfectly synced to the chords, blind to the pass of time. You only realized it had become evening once your back hit the window - it was dark outside. Yet another day gone. Yet another day lost.

"Kaajin..." You could feel the tears burning at your wet lashes before you could stop yourself. You had promised yourself not to think about it anymore - not today, or ever for that matter, but it was impossible once you were faced with the Creator of All. The Master of everything, of everyone - time. How could you ever pretend otherwise?

"Do you think-" You bit the inside of your cheek, your hands fighting the guilt as you let go of his. "Do you think my father would ever let me go into the outside world?"

The guard gulped dry, taking a step back to give you space.

"I-" He took a deep breath, gaining the courage to look at you. "I don't know. The war is still going. Your kingdom has lost many brave men and women. Even the strongest soldiers are starting to capitulate." He couldn't bear to look at your pretty face all messed up by the pain and sorrow, but it was for the best.

"I understand." You muttered, turning your back to him - curling back into yourself. You felt his arms wrap around you, and you remained quiet - neither fighting it, nor embracing it. "Don't cry, my princess." The man whispered. "No matter what happens, I will always be by your side." He meant it. You knew it by now, and that only made it all the more tragic. "I swear on my life." You believed him, you had no reason not to - he was the only one you had left.

As for your father, he couldn't really give a proper order now, Kaajin thought. After all, dead men tell no tales.

#yandere #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere dragon #yancore #yandere male x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere smut

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aulunthe · 2 years

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If you have traveled in the Midwest lately and you listen to TuneIn radio you have no doubt heard political ads saying Minnesota is a high crime state. Not sure why it would be aired in Iowa, but OK. Considering we are currently in an election cycle, the ads are no doubt from right wing propagandists. One of those non-profits that solicit donations to pay for their propaganda. They are called "American Experiment". They had a pdf to download that had several charts showing different crime statistics comparing crime in Minnesota to the National average.

Crime is higher in some categories, and lower in the burglary rates and property crimes. The charts show that while crime is higher than let's say, late 2016, what they fail to tell you in their ad is that crime SPIKED during the Trump administration and in most cases it is declining or not growing as fast under the current administration. Just one example of the obvious GOP deceit is the graph showing the Minnesota Violent Crime Rate from 2010 to Present. They highlight a 36% Increase in violent crime from 2018-2022. The graph clearly shows that the current rate of 36% up from 2018 is a decrease from late 2020/early 2021 to 2022. And, there was a gradual decrease from mid 2014 to early 2017, then a sharp decrease until 2018. Then a SPIKE from 2018 to an all time high in late 2020. The same with the murder rate, aggravated assault and motor vehicle theft; all had sharp increases from 2018. Then a slower increase, or leveling off, as in the murder rate.

Where they show comparisons between the Minnesota vs. National Crime and Property Crime specifically, they point out when the Minnesota rate was above the US rate, but they stop showing the US rate at 2020. One could suspiciously assume that those rates were also on an increase. GOP deceit? It could be assumed that this obvious GOP aligned propaganda is being put out now because there is a Governor race in Minnesota and the current Governor is a Democrat. His opponent I think is an election denier, so in other words, if so, dishonest.

Crime is higher in most states considering the recent pandemic, the global economy, and the xenophobia of the twice impeached former occupant of the White House and Republican xenophobia for the past decade. There is no doubt this is a right wing propaganda mission. The corrupt and dishonest Republicans; you can't believe them and you can't trust them. Vote Blue to save Democracy!

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themilfking · 5 months

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wait I know why we hate AIPAC but what did ADL do? I thought the anti defamation League was good

The ADL is an Israeli/Zionist advocacy group at its core. It's main priority as an organization is to protect Israel and its mission for a Jewish Ethno-State. This is especially true under Johnathan Greenblatt's leadership who has said "antizionism is antisemitism" It's easy to think that the "Anti Defamation League" has no underlying agenda given its history as a "civil rights organization" but it has constantly used that as a screen for extremely right wing positions on Israel. Some of their greatest hits include: Equating Students for Justice in Palestine, JVP, and CAIR to "white supremacists" simply because they strongly oppose an ethnic cleansing of Palestinians. A leaked ADL memo revealing how ADL plans to "soften" the news to Americans that Israel plans to annex the West Bank. (Source). In this leak Greenblatt recognizes that the annexation is a violation of basic human rights. To me this is a clear indication that they are less concerned with civil rights and more concerned with shaping the public image of Israel, especially in the US. Really urge you all to read this leak! Supported South African Apartheid (surprise surprise) and participated in propaganda against Nelson Mandela and the ANC. They even employed a spy named Roy Bullock to infiltrate the anti-apartheid campaign in the US. They later settled a law suit for this. (Source) That's not even close to the only time they've utilized spies. THIS recent leak of Greenblatt talks about ADL having spies in Jewish Voice for Peace and other organizations. It also talks about how they are having a hard time with the global youth no longer buying into their propaganda. Another source you should give your full attention to. PLEASE listen to that whole thing. It's truly terrifying. You're gonna hear them talk a lot about why Tiktok is a danger to their mission.

HERE is an article about how the ADL has a long history of smearing black activists, working with Police/ICE, and its attempts to demonize the BDS movement. I could go on and on about how terrible and deceitful the ADL is. The sources above are a good start to understanding why we shouldn't trust the ADL but please look into all the other things they've done like working with the FBI to spy on Arab Americans, infiltrating student organizations they find to be a threat to "Israel's image", surveillance, the people who fund/donate to them etc.

The best way to fight orgs like this is to share/spread this info as much as you can. It's clearly working because they're losing global support especially with the youth.

#fuck israel #fuck the adl #scum #free palestine #adl

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so-sures-blog · 2 months

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Earthbound

earthbound definition: attached or restricted to the earth.

In which Cole stands up to a tyrant that is cruel and unjust deep within the mountain. Because he made a promise.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

It doesn’t take a genius to see that Cole’s losing.

The cave is in chaos; the sound of screams and clanging weapons fill the air as two sides clash against each other.

Vangelis and the Skull are toying with him, and he knows it: they’re circling him, trying to throw him off by telling lies about his mother. Cole blocks the hits from Vangelis and the blasts from the Skull, feeling like a fly they were winding up in a web of lies.

Vangelis rises above him, resembling a winged creature of death with his blank mask and the glowing Skull of Hazza D’ur in hand. “And now, her deceit has doomed you!”

“Her only son,” the Skull rasps.

Vangelis hurls the Skull at Cole; growing brighter and brighter the closer it gets. He stands his ground and braces himself.

The Skull collides, and the blades …

… shatter.

Cole is thrown back, the air knocked out of his lungs as his body rolls to a stop. He sits up weakly, before throwing back his mask to gasp at the sight of the broken Blades of Deliverance.

“No!” He cries. With trembling fingers, his gloved hands hold onto the shattered pieces of the black and white blades. “It can’t be …”

His mother … lied …

“It is,” Vangelis glides towards him menacingly. “And now, you will pay the price for your mother’s lies.”

“Lies, deceit,” the Skull rasps.

Cole screams in pain as the Skull unleashes fire upon his fallen form.

“Your cause is lost.”

More fire.

“Have the grace to admit defeat.”

More fire. More, more. Blistering pain wreaks havoc across his broken body.

It’s hopeless. He’s finished. He’s too weak. It’s over. He just wants to —

He remembers his mother.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

“I want you to promise me, Cole. That you will always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust. Always.”

“Always.”

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

His mother … her strength hadn’t come from the Blades of Deliverance. She’s always been strong. She had been sick all his life, yet no matter how weak her body had gotten she had moved through her life with implacable momentum. Impossible to sway or dissuade. Ever since he was young, his mom had power — from her beliefs … and from the Earth.

“It was her,” he realizes. “It wasn't the blades. It was her. The power inside my mother.” The power inside of me, his heart whispers. Not the Spinjitzu Burst. The power of Earth.

“It was all her.”

“Alas,” Vangelis laughs cruelly. “You are not half the warrior your mother was.”

Pain and grief bite through his being, but Cole forces himself to his feet to glare at the Skull Sorcerer. “Maybe not, but I am her son.” Conviction buries itself deep into his being. “And I made her a promise to stand up to tyrants like you! Always!”

The mountain rumbles its agreement. Cole digs his fingers into the rock and feels it mold around the shape of them. Every grain of earth begins to glow as his power seeps into it.

“What are you doing? What is this!” The Skull Sorcerer demands.

“It's the Burst!” He barely hears Master Wu cry above his roaring element.

But no. It's not, and Cole can feel it. It's something different. Deeper.

His power was strongest when he was the closest to the earth and he’s never been farther underground. He was basically at the bottom of the world. Never has he been more surrounded by the very thing that powered him. The Skull Sorcerer thought he was burying him — but what if bringing him closer to his full strength? To the source of his elemental power?

Cole could feel it — the connection to the earth. He could feel it reaching out towards him, coming from the ground all around him.

He stands and lets it in. He let the energy of the earth infuse him, deep into his core and surging forward. The Skull of Hazza D’ur comes flying forward to finish him off and Cole bursts to life.

Unparalleled power explodes from the earth, bright and blinding, and Cole feels more alive than ever. His skin disappears, being replaced with magma and rock as the mountain quakes under his force.

The battle halts as everyone stops at the sheer force of the Earth; Ninja gape in shock, the Shintarians fly back in fear, the cave-dwellers stare with awe.

��Son of Lilly,” the Geckle and Munce whisper.

Cole rises with the power of the Earth; the Skull spiraling, lost, as he reaches for it with a molten hand and throws it down against the Earth. Destroying it.

The battle — one that had been reigning in secret for decades — is finally over.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

Vania dips her head as the last servant that has finished attending her and shuts the door.

She takes a deep breath, listening to the fading footsteps of the servant and the guards clanking armor move away.

Then she springs into action.

She quickly changes, flying out of her normal, queenly wardrobe into more plain, neutral robes. She glances at Chompy, who’s watching her from his bed. She touches the dragon’s head.

“I’ll be back before morning — promise,” she whispers. He makes a chattering noise, telling her he’s displeased. “I know! I will, I promise. I just …” she bites her lip. “I just can’t leave him alone down there.”

Maybe Chompy can hear the pain in her voice, because he doesn’t argue — simply pushes his head into her hand with a small chur of forgiveness.

Vania pushes past the grief and stands, lighting a candle before leaving. She sneaks through her own palace silently, moving past guards like a ninja as she heads for the gardens.

She makes her way to the entrance of the garden alcove leading into the mountain, her heart steadily beating harder. The caves beneath the mountain were deserted, with the Geckle and Munce people deciding that they wanted to live their new lives above the mountain.

She scurries down; down and down the winding mountain, past cramped caverns and twisting turns, the cloying darkness only fought off by a single flame.

Finally she reaches it.

The Heart of the Mountain.

The legendary temple for the Masters of Earth. Ancient scriptures written in the Old Tongue read: Let pass through here, into this refuge and sanctuary, only those who are One with the Earth. Orange flames danced off the walls, even though no one had been down here to light them. Power shined through the giant doorway as Vania drew nearer.

Creak …

The door opened slightly.

Vania went inside, following the carved path molded by Geckle and Munce. Statues of ancient Earth Masters and their stories echoes around her, and she ignores the familiar goosebumps that rise along her skin. Her eyes linger on the statue of Lilly, before moving on.

Statues are more than solid pieces of art. They are immovable, unbreakable monuments that enrich storytelling, making the experience of living more profound and unforgettable. They remind us of the strength of traditions, the power of history, and the enduring spirit that echoes throughout the ages.

She draws closer to the one standing in the middle, heart beating loudly in her chest. It's tall and strong, newly carved. Awake and glowing with the surging elemental energy. She reads the plaque in front of it.

This statue was carved with love and gratitude by Geckle, Munce, and Shintarian craftsmen in honor of Cole Brookstone: Ninja, brother, and son.

Vania places the candle on the stone ledge and takes a seat on it, facing away from the statue. It feels like yesterday she was trapped in here with the Upply and Master Wu, trying to figure out a way to stop her father. She forces the memories away when she feels the mountain move.

“Hello, Cole,” she says softly. The Earth rumbles under her feet, before slowly forming and making a vague shape of the person she used to know. Orange light shines through the cracks of rock as he peers at her curiously, waiting.

Vania smiles.

“So, what story would you like to hear today?”

#ninjago #ninjago fic #ninjago au #master of the mountain #seabound au #cole brookstone #ninjago vania #skull sorcerer #ninjago wu #kai smith #jay walker #zane julien #lloyd garmadon #nya smith

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brittle-doughie · 15 days

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That reblog has me thinking about something...

Imagine a Y/N Cookie that entered a pact with one of the beasts for their power. Could be any of the five - sort of like a Warlock from DND situation.

It has taken up my brain space fr...

-🌋🐉

The Perfect Vessel Doesn’t Exi-

It can’t be all that bad that your pure soul is mixed with the Beast of your choosing, right?

Shadow Milk + Y/N Cookie

Shadow Milk wins out in the appearance department, with your appearances taking on many aspects of his jester attire, one of your eyes resembling his.

Cookies would be more willing to turn into deceitful clowns thanks to Y/N Cookie’s charming capabilities

Will now be able to wield Shadow Milk’s pyrokinesis power, using blue flames in your attacks

Telepathy allows you to get into cookie’s heads easily…

Eternal Sugar + Y/N Cookie

You win out in the appearance department, looking mostly yourself with the ability to spring out Eternal Sugar’s demon wings and tail, her angel wings. Other aspect as well like her halo, and one of your pupils being that of hers.

Eternal Sugar’s Sloth aspect makes you a little slow to act, but it’s because you know you could destroy your opponents if you tried.

Cookies are now charmed way more easily if you simply whisper their name and say nothing but sweet words. So cookies should NOT give their names in your presence!

Playing the harp has charmed cookies following your tune flawlessly..

Burning Spice + Y/N Cookie

You win in appearance, having Burning Spice’s weapon and shoulder guards, one eye pupil being that of Spice’s.

Destruction is your main tool of attack, the fires around you listen to your movements, resulting in hell on Earthbread all the time.

Increased strength, that weapon isn’t exactly lightweight. Cookies who try to attack you head on will have a rough time!

Your attitude might get a little more battle ready, you’re just itching to get ready to cause havoc!

Mystic Flour + Y/N Cookie

Mystic Flour wins in your appearance, getting most of her attire, it’s unknown if your pupils have changed since your eyes are always closed.

Probably one of the more deadlier Beasts that you can agree to be let inside in exchange for her power. One wave of your hand is enough to wipe out the area all around you.

Cookies now mean exceptionally less to you due to Mystic’s Apathy. You still regard Cookies, but you don’t care whether they get hurt or not when you use your power.

Levitation is also inherited from Mystic Flour, you won’t need to touch the ground that might inconvenience you.

Silent Salt + Y/N Cookie

Silent Salt wins in appearance, with you literally wearing their armor and wielding their sword, one of your eyes being theirs.

You’re a Cookie of little words, you’d instead let your sword do the talking, and by that, you mean cutting them down right away.

Companionship is a no-go for you, isolation is something you welcomed and any Cookie interfering with that are not going to get a polite warning.

Similarly to Spice, your strength is increased in order to wield your sword. Cookies should also avoid close quarters fighting with a silent you as well.

#brittle answers #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom x reader #cr kingdom #burning spice cookie x reader #silent salt cookie x reader #mystic flour cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #eternal sugar cookie x reader #beast cookies x reader #beast cookies

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antifainternational · 7 months

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Since youre antifascist, how about you give us a definition of fascism? What exactly makes someone a fascist? (and in case you use terms such as left-wing or right-wing be sure to define them too)

Guess it's been a while since a clever Anon challenged us to define fascism, huh? Right, let's get into it: Via the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum:

Yale professor Jason Stanley:

“Fascism is a creation of race hatred and its politically organized expression.” - Willhelm Reich, The Mass Psychology of Fascism (1933).

“Fascism is capitalism plus murder.” - Upton Sinclair

“Repression by brute force is always a confession of the inability to make use of the better weapons of the intellect — better because they alone give promise of final success. This is the fundamental error from which Fascism suffers and which will ultimately cause its downfall…that its foreign policy, based as it is on the avowed principle of force in international relations, cannot fail to give rise to an endless series of wars that must destroy all of modern civilization requires no further discussion. To maintain and further raise our present level of economic development, peace among nations must be assured. But they cannot live together in peace if the basic tenet of the ideology by which they are governed is the belief that one’s own nation can secure its place in the community of nations by force alone. ” - Ludwig von Mises, Liberalism: A Socio-Economic Exposition (1927).

“Spent most of the day reading fascisti leaflets. They certainly have turned the whole country into an army. From cradle to grave one is cast in the mould of fascismo and there can be no escape … It is certainly a socialist experiment in that it destroys individuality. It destroys liberty.” - Harold Nicolson, The Harold Nicolson Diaries : 1919-1964 (2004).

“The liberty of a democracy is not safe if the people tolerated the growth of private power to a point where it becomes stronger than the democratic state itself. That in its essence is fascism: ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or any controlling private power.” - Franklin D. Roosevelt

“A fascist is one whose lust for money or power is combined with such an intensity of intolerance toward those of other races, parties, classes, religions, cultures, regions or nations as to make him ruthless in his use of deceit or violence to attain his ends….If we define an American fascist as one who in case of conflict puts money and power ahead of human beings, then there are undoubtedly several million fascists in the United States.” - Henry A. Wallace

“Fascism is the cult of organised murder, invented by the arch-enemies of society. It tends to destroy civilization and revert man to his most barbarous state. Mussolini and Hitler might well be called the devils of an age, for they are playing hell with civilization.” - Marcus Garvey, Authors take Sides on the Spanish War, 1937 Philosophy Tube's breakdown of the elements of fascism is very thorough and recommended if you're not the reading type. But do you read books? We hope so if you're looking to engage in political discussion about anything. Here are some books that tackle the definition of fascism, in whole or in part, that we would recommend to you (check/order from your local library!) Mark Bray's highly-accessible Antifa: The Anti-Fascist Handbook is a great starting point for this topic.

Columbia history professor Robert O. Paxton's excellent book The Anatomy of Fascism goes into this in great detail.

There's also Umberto Eco's The Eternal Fascist

or his "practical list for identifying fascists" as well as Hannah Arendt's seminal The Origins of Totalitarianism

We hope you weren't looking for a simple answer to the complex question of "what is fascism?" Anon, just as we hope you're up to taking our challenge of checking out all of the above so you're curiosity is satisfied and you're well-versed on the topic.

#antifa #fascism #defining fascism

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missmonsters2 · 1 year

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—OPIA | FOUR

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x OFC/Fem!Reader

Summary: You've been avoiding Wednesday's gaze lately.

Warnings: Angst. Protective!Wednesday. The Addams Family reunion. Larissa is exasperated. Enid, the gossip queen. Thing, the chaperone. Xavier, gets no breaks.

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Note: I rewrote this chapter so many times but I think it definitely explores the most intimacy so far. Likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated 🥺💘

Part Three

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Opia: Noun. The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

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Wednesday is agitated.

To succinctly summarize, you have been refusing to look Wednesday in the eye as of late.

It took a while for Wednesday to notice, perhaps because your back was always turned to her when she met up with you nightly to apply the medicine on your wings. And when that was finished, you kept your eyes focused on the pond while you talked.

And for a while, your witty banter and intriguing anecdotes had kept Wednesday distracted. The more time she spent with you, the more she began craving something she couldn't quite place.

Wednesday found herself enjoying listening to you talk about your life before Nevermore. Of course, she could tell you were avoiding talking about anything serious, but there was a small relief that there were good moments in your life as well.

In turn, Wednesday shared anecdotes of her own childhood, tales of the times she had to rescue Pugsley because he was weak, squishy, and sensitive. Whereas other people had looked at her disturbed and passed judgment on her, you had grinned and laughed.

Wednesday never minded the judgment from others, but she quietly admitted to herself that it was also pleasing to have someone enjoy her morbidity and harsh penchant for revenge.

So, maybe that's why Wednesday began to notice. Her discovery to see what your face looked like as she told her stories had led her to realize you've been avoiding eye contact.

You made it seem like it wasn't on purpose, fiddling with flowers until they've been weaved into crowns or giving Thing manicures—he's been getting much too pampered between you and Enid.

But even when Wednesday called your name, you looked at her, but you weren't looking at her. It was like you were looking past her, like Wednesday couldn't even be seen by you, and she despised it.

Wednesday detests people who can't look her in the eye. It was a sign of deceit, guilt, and secrecy.

And Wednesday will be damned if she'll let you keep any more secrets from her.

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"Oh my god, did you hear?" Enid leans her head forward at their table in the quad.

Wednesday was reading her spellbook, her eyes occasionally trailing across the quad to where you sat with the faceless outcasts. You seemed very intrigued about learning how they communicated.

"Hear what?" Yoko asks, adjusting her sunglasses. The vampire has taken to joining their table lately, and sometimes it would grate on Wednesday's mind to hear Enid and Yoki incessantly talk and gossip.

"Ajax was telling me all about it this morning," Enid grins as she looks over to the stoners. "Apparently, someone changed one of the girls' bathrooms near the Gorgon rooms to nothing but mirrors. I heard that two gorgon girls walked in this morning and were stuck stoning themselves over and over."

"Shit, that's awful," Xavier frowns.

Wednesday smirks behind her book.

"I wonder who would do that," Yoko casually comments.

They all look at Wednesday.

"So, why'd you do it?" Xavier asks, resting his chin in his hand.

"Even animals know to have evidence before accusing someone," Wednesday flatly speaks, her eyes never leaving her book.

"So," Eugene tilts his head with confusion, "you didn't do it?"

"I never said that," Wednesday's reply was uninterested.

Because Wednesday did do it.

The investigation took longer than it normally would with her being distracted by you. But finding out something so trivial, like who had hurt you, was child's play.

Wednesday had debated long about what to do. The idea of filling their rooms with tarantulas or poisonous snakes had first come to mind, but she knew it was almost guaranteed that Weems would discover it was her if the girls died.

While she did save the school last year, it would be unlikely Weems would allow her to stay here if she did kill someone, as tempting it would be.

Wednesday sighs lightly through her nose. It would've looked lovely on her record.

But expulsion would mean being very, very far from you, and Wednesday couldn't have that.

At least—not before she at least found out why you've been refusing to look her in the eye.

"Hi, everyone."

Everyone's attention turns to you as you begin walking up to them. They greet you back, and Xavier, Enid, and Eugene are already throwing out the nicknames they came up with that week.

"Tinker Bell!"

"Winx Club!"

"Bloom!"

"Eugene, that was literally just a rip off of mine," Xavier laughs.

"Those are all terrible," you laugh along, shaking your head. "Are you guys just thinking of all things faerie-related only?"

"Well, yeah," Xavier blinks as if there couldn't be anything else.

"Well, continue on then," you gave them a lopsided smile.

"Really? None of them?" Xavier sighs as he moves down his seat to let you sit between him and Wednesday.

"Can you blame her?" Wednesday comments while turning the page.

"Oh, yeah?" Xavier raises his brow. "Let's hear what you've got then."

"And let you idiots ride off my coattails? I think not."

Xavier starts grumbling, and you chuckle.

"Hi, Wednesday," you say softly, looking over at her.

Wednesday looks up at you, but you start staring at her bangs as soon as she does.

She glares.

"Oh, hey, I think you've got some dirt on your back," Xavier says, his eyes squinting as he stares at your back. "Here, I got it."

Xavier lifts his hand and starts to descend upon your back when Wednesday reaches over and grabs his wrist, twisting it back.

"Ah!" Xavier grunts. "What the hell, Wednesday!?"

Wednesday is holding up her book with one hand while holding Xavier's wrist in the other, glaring at him. "What are you doing, you oaf? Are you trying to dislodge her lungs from her chest?" She flings his wrist away, glaring at him while he shakes off the sting in his wrist.

"I was just trying to help," Xaiver mumbles, looking confused.

Wednesday doesn't dignify him with a reply as she inspects your back carefully and does find dirt on it. "Were you rolling around in the grass?" Her tone is flat, but her lip is curled in distaste.

Still, she carefully begins to brush the dirt off your back. It's a far cry from the hard pats you would've gotten from Xavier.

"Maybe," you sound amused.

"Christ, Wednesday," Xavier huffs. "Morgan le Fay over here isn't made of glass."

"It's a no to that one too," you shake your head.

"C'mon!" Xavier groans. "You're not going to pick anything at this rate."

"You never know," you shrug, smiling. You look at your watch on the palm side of your wrist. "Class is starting soon. I'm going to head out." Turning your head to Wednesday, you tilt your head. "I believe your class is on the way. Do you want to go together?"

Wednesday nods jerkily, packing up her things. She doesn't say anything to the group other than giving a look and walking off with you.

The walk down the halls is quiet, as it usually is. It's something Wednesday can appreciate that you never feel the need to fill the silence. But halfway through, you break the quietness.

"I heard the bathroom near the Gorgon's dormitory was changed to mirrors," you say nonchalantly.

"I see," Wednesday's tone betrays nothing.

"My usual lab partners were absent as they were apparently stoned all day—over, and over, and over."

"How lucky."

You stop walking, causing Wednesday to stop as well. You face each other, but once again, you are staring at her ears.

"I told you it was an accident," you sigh. "She doesn't know my wings are hidden inside my back. No one does."

"Accident or not, she still slapped your back—and I don't care that it was meant to be jovial—hard enough to reopen your wounds," Wednesday snaps and then sneers, "What? Were her hands partially stoned when she patted you?"

You seem unsure of what to say to Wednesday. In the end, you sigh.

"Even though it was unnecessary, thank you." It's soft and sincere, and the gruesome butterflies are eating Wednesday's insides again. It probably would've been worse if you had actually been looking Wednesday in the eyes when you said it.

"You're welcome," Wednesday says stiffly, and you turn to walk again.

The silence resumes, and Wednesday is nearly so fed up that she's about to just ask you if she's done something wrong. But what actually comes out of her mouth is, "Are you looking forward to Parent's day?"

There's an internal frustration rising within Wednesday.

"I'm ambivalent," you reveal, your tone even.

"I assume your parents won't be coming?"

You chuckle. "Unlikely."

"Will you spend the day with Weems, then?"

"Maybe," you seem pensive. "But she'll most likely be busy talking to other parents. Are your parents coming?"

Wednesday sighs. "Unfortunately, yes. They'll want to know how I've suffered so far."

You chuckle. "They seem like horrible people."

"Thank you, they are."

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"Oh, my little storm cloud, how have you been doing?" Gomez coos as he walks towards her.

"Wednesday, you look positively pale," Morticia comments. "It suits you."

Wednesday brushes off the comment, feeling awkward but nods at her mother to acknowledge it. Her eyes then focus on Pugsley, and she accesses him.

"Pugsley, you look feeble and squishy as per usu—are you sniveling again."

"I missed you, too, Wednesday," Pugsley smiled.

The four of them sit at a nearby table. Wednesday's eyes skim the quad, catching her various friends with their families. Enid seems to be getting along better with her mother, but Wednesday will always despise that woman.

"Who are you searching for, Wednesday?" Morticia's voice drags Wednesday's attention back to her family, who are all staring at her curiously.

"No one," Wednesday answers flatly.

But her mother only smiles as if she knows Wednesday's secret, which utterly irks her.

"So, how have you been faring?" Gomez asks, his face genuinely eager to hear.

"Dreadful," Wednesday replies. "Not once has my life been put at risk, nor have I been accused of any murders. Not even a single stalker."

Morticia and Gomez gaze at each other for a moment before back at Wednesday placatingly.

"It's...quieter than your first year here, but not every year may be filled with mayhem," Morticia smiled. "At least, not in the way you expect."

"What do you know about faeries?" Wednesday asks, changing the subject as it was intruding on a topic Wednesday herself wasn't prepared to talk about.

Morticia and Gomez seem lost in their thoughts as they contemplate Wednesday's question.

"Why do you ask?" Morticia finally answers. "Is that who you've been looking around for?"

Wednesday doesn't answer her mother's question, but the lack of an answer is an answer in itself. Luckily, her mother is merciful and only gives Wednesday a knowing smile.

"Not much," Morticia answers. "I believe we had only one ancestor who has ever visited a fae realm. They might've documented it somewhere in a diary."

Wednesday's eyes sparkled with interest. "Is that so? Do we still have it?"

"Perhaps," Morticia muses, her voice dragging at the end, and Wednesday felt herself tense. She knows that tone and already begins mentally bargaining.

"Alright," Wednesday says evenly. "What do you want in return for sending me the diary?"

Morticia tilts her head to the side, a black widow-like grin on her lips. "Larissa let me know that the next Parent's day will be when students get to go home for the weekend. I want you to bring your fae friend."

"Why?" Wednesday demands, her eyebrows furrowed in displeasure.

"Because Wednesday," Morticia leans into Gomez, who puts her arm around her. "You rarely show interest in other people. Enid is a lovely girl, and I hope to host her one day as well, but she didn't have you sitting here asking your mother what I knew about werewolves."

"What makes you think my 'fae friend' will be available to come?" Wednesday shot back.

Morticia doesn't chuckle in consideration for her prickly daughter, who was more likely than ever to say hurtful words now.

"You've been looking around the quad, but your eyes haven't landed on anyone. If they're not here, then neither are their parents. And if that's the case, they'll be unlikely to show up for the second Parent's day," Morticia looks around the quad and then back to Wednesday. "It would've been nice to meet them today."

Wednesday says nothing about the last comment but contemplates her options. The idea of introducing her parents to you was dreadfully...uncomfortable. But the diary...Wednesday sighed an internal breath of defeat.

"Fine," Wednesday concedes. "I will ask, but I cannot control the outcome of the answer. I want the diary regardless."

"Agreed," Morticia nods.

"Alright," Gomez claps his hands together. "Why don't I catch you up on what Uncle Fester has been up to?"

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Wednesday feels a casual headache forming.

The day was long, and her family had been one of the last few to go. While her relationship with her mother improved after resolving the Garret Gates case, there was still a limit on how much time she could spend with her before feeling like she was on edge.

Although, Wednesday was pleased that her brother was faring better in school and no one was torturing him in fear his killer sister would come for them. It made her smirk a little.

But now that the day has ended, Wednesday finds herself craving something—craving you. She checks her watch, but it's still too early in the day to meet up with you for your salve treatment.

Wednesday runs her tongue against the back of her teeth in contemplation.

Friends...you were friends, weren't you?

Enid had confirmed it. With the consistent hangouts, shared stories, and occasional walking each other to class...that was friends, wasn't it?

So, if Wednesday wanted to see you earlier, she could. With that, she turns in the direction to start looking for you. You were nowhere in the quad, so Wednesday began to look for you in places you usually were.

In the end, Wednesday could not find you.

And she was angry.

First, you were avoiding eye contact, and now, you've hidden somewhere without saying a word.

When she finds you, Wednesday promised herself repercussions.

"Enid," Wednesday calls out evenly when she spots the blonde dragging her feet through the halls.

"Oh, hey, Wednesday," Enid says tiredly and then smiles. "Survived Parent's day, did we?"

"There was never a doubt."

"What's up?"

"Have you seen..." Wednesday drags and then shakes her head. "Did you happen to see—"

"I saw Faerie Canary a couple of hours ago with Bianca," Enid cut in to spare Wednesday. "Bianca's parents didn't show up either."

"Back to the rhyming, are we?" Wednesday doesn't hold back the unimpressed tone.

Enid only makes a face.

"Are they still together?" Wednesday asks.

Enid shakes her head. "I don't think so. I only heard bits of their conversation when I passed by with my family earlier."

Wednesday tilts her head, waiting for Enid to continue.

Enid looks mildly uncomfortable as she rubs the back of her neck.

"Enid," Wednesday's eyes narrow threateningly.

With a sigh, Enid mutters, "This isn't the type of gossip I'm into." But then she focuses back on Wednesday and looks at her seriously. "Don't repeat what I'm telling you. Not only do I think Bianca will stab me with her fencing sword, but I don't think Fae will talk to me if this spreads around."

Wednesday nods, and Enid looks around. Satisfied that there's no one in sight, she leans in closer to say quietly, "Bianca was talking about how it was unlikely her mother would visit again after last year. Their relationship is strained and complicated, but Bianca said she knows her mother does love her and wants the best for her. Bianca said how every mother wants the best for their kid, even if they have a fucked up way of showing it, although it was between her mother and mine for winning an award for the way they went about it." Enid scrunches her nose at that.

Wednesday nods, unsurprised by the comment.

Enid pursed her lips. "Well, then—" Enid huffs. "Fae just laughed, and then she said, 'Unless your mother's best for you is your demise, I think my mother has both of you beat on that.' I don't think she elaborated on it and left shortly after."

Wednesday was silent, her face furrowed as she thought about Enid's words. There was something uncomfortable nagging at her, and it was going to result in something Wednesday would despise.

"I see."

Enid nods. "If you find her, you didn't hear it from me, okay?" Enid gives Wednesday a look. "I also might not come back to the room tonight. I'm going to hang out with Yoko and Ajax."

Wednesday nods. "If you don't provide me an update at night, I will assume the worst and their murders will be the reason for my second expulsion here."

Enid smiles widely, doing her best to refrain from hugging her friend. "I will let you know I'm safe."

Without saying anything else, Wednesday turns and begins to head somewhere else.

Principal Weems's office.

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"Principal Weems," Wednesday calls after she knocks once and then proceeds to enter without waiting for a reply.

"Wednesday," Weems sighs deeply when she sees the gloomy girl. "How lovely to see you in my office. I assume your parents' visit went well?"

"It went fine. My mother was delighted to hear you weren't murdered and made a full recovery during the summer," Wednesday says bluntly.

Weems tries not to roll her eyes, especially when she remembers Wednesday's concerned face hovering over her when she had been injected with nightshade.

"Yes," Weems says dryly. "Surviving was the highlight of my summer." Then Weems sighs. "What can I do for you, Wednesday? Are you looking for our resident faerie? I've been told about the contest for coming up with a nickname. So far, I've heard some...interesting suggestions."

"She told you about that?" Wednesday narrows her eyes.

"Fae tells me about most things," Weems reveals. "But as her legal guardian, it's also my job to know."

"You call her Fae?" Wednesday frowns.

Weems smirks. "She actually quite likes it. I believe outside of her own amusement, Fae had her own hopes about the results of the contest."

"What does that—"

"What can I help you with, Wednesday? It's getting late."

Wednesday clenches her jaw in annoyance but tries to relax, remembering her objective of coming here in the first place.

"I want to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth."

Weems nods. "I'll do my best."

"I'm aware that her parents couldn't visit today for her safety," Wednesday looks at Weems expectantly, who nods.

"But I was under the impression that it was their judgment that it was too dangerous," Wednesday's face was impassive. "That's not exactly true, is it? She had said the more in contact they are with her, the more it exposes her location—which is true to keep other faeries away, but the full truth is this place is meant to guard her against her parents too, isn't it?"

Principal Weems sighed, looking both annoyed and impressed as she looked at Wednesday. "Well, since you've already figured out this much from what she's told you, I assume you'll find out soon enough because you're incessant and nosy." Weems rolled her eyes. "And I would prefer you don't alert the entire school as you do your investigations, so I trust what I'll say remains between us."

Wednesday felt her jaw tightening, her position staunch as she waited for Weems to come out and say something that would irrevocably change things.

"Yes, it is too dangerous for her parents to visit," Weems confirmed. "But not because they deem it so, but because I do. I wasn't offered guardianship because her parents brought her here and requested it, but because she escaped and found me."

So few little things make Wednesday's heart beat faster. Usually, it's from excitement, but Wednesday doesn't feel the excitement from the words, 'she escaped.'

Wrong.

Wednesday had been wrong.

Wednesday is filled with dread, rage, and vengeful thoughts—promises.

"As you know, night faeries are outcasts within their own group. Many people dread their existence, and some are even violent enough to take matters into their own hands before they believe calamity ensues," Weems's hands were tightly clasped together on her desk. "I will never allow her parents to step foot on these grounds because her mother was the one to try to cut her wings off."

Wednesday turns and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her.

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There's nothing like the frustration of not having your number when you're nowhere to be found. Wednesday considers coming up with some ridiculous nickname and forcing you to accept it the next time she sees you.

There's only about an hour before she usually sneaks out to see you for your salve treatment, so Wednesday decides she'll play the cello to get her mind off things.

It'll be difficult with the hot rage that beats furiously inside Wednesday's chest. Her emotions dictate she avenges you because that's the only way she knows how to show she cares.

Wednesday opens the door to her room and finds it empty, as expected, with Enid not returning tonight. But when she looked out the balcony, she could see a silhouette of someone sitting on the railings.

Immediately, Wednesday made her way over and opened the window to see you gazing at the sky, swinging your legs as Thing sat next to you. The noise makes you turn around, and Wednesday can't explain the immense relief at seeing your face.

"Where have you been?" You ask with a tilt of your head.

"I could ask you the same," Wednesday asks with a clenched jaw.

"Around," you shrug your shoulders. "But I wanted to see you earlier than our usual time, so Thing let me in about half an hour ago."

"So, you've been here for half an hour?" Wednesday glares.

You nod.

She was going to break Thing's fingers, but the disembodied hand looked confused at Wednesday's irate behavior, and she had no choice but to let it go.

With a deep breath out of her nose, Wednesday steps out onto the balcony and joins you in sitting on the railings. It was quite a far drop-down that guaranteed either a lifetime of being a paraplegic or death.

It was kind of nice.

"How was parent's day?" You ask softly, staring out into the view.

"I survived."

You smile. "Your parents and brother are refreshing. It looked fun."

"It was not," Wednesday immediately corrects you. "You saw?"

You nod. "For a bit."

It was silent for a bit before Wednesday spoke up again.

"I talked to Weems before I went looking for you." Wednesday looks at you, but you don't look at her. "She's spilled all your secrets."

You laugh, and Wednesday frowns.

"I told her she could tell you if you asked," you reveal, a quirk on your lips but still refusing to look at her.

"Why?" Wednesday demands. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because somewhere along the lines, you stopped asking me."

The words hit Wednesday in the gut, making her feel unwell and breathless. It was true, and Wednesday can't even remember when she stopped asking and started assuming.

It was so unlike her.

All of this leads towards something Wednesday knows will make her face a revelation she's not sure she's ready to.

Still, Wednesday needs to ask because that's how mysteries are solved.

"Why have you stopped looking me in the eye?"

There's silence, and despite how much Wednesday has loved it all her life, she wishes you'd say something now.

You grant her wish.

"Do you know what I think about why you stopped asking me questions?" You ask instead of answering her question. You don't give her time to answer it, though. "Everybody has told me you've got an obsession with solving mysteries. But somewhere along the lines, you knew deep down your interest would continue even after you got your answers. That would mean you're vulnerable—and you don't want to be."

Wednesday felt herself clenching her jaw and fists so tightly she could draw blood from her palms.

"So, when you asked me why I stopped looking at you in the eyes, it's because it’ll push you towards being vulnerable." As if to prove your point, you finally turn and look at Wednesday—really look at her, like she's been wanting for weeks.

You look at Wednesday, locking gazes, and Wednesday feels like she sees galaxies and constellations in your eyes. It's opening her up to your bottomless, gleaming pupils. It's invasive and vulnerable, but the thing is—Wednesday can't tell if you're looking into her or if she's the one who's looking into you.

Wednesday thinks she sees something in you that you didn't mean to share, just as you saw something in her.

You turn your head, almost ripping your gaze from Wednesday's.

"Unpleasant, wasn't it?" You say with a self-deprecating smile.

"Yes," Wednesday answers, swallowing.

You nod stiffly. "Then, for both our sake, stop—"

"But in a way that I favored," Wednesday cut in.

You slowly turn your head back, catching Wednesday's intense gaze.

Wednesday's face somehow softened, her brows less tense and eyes less narrow. It was minuscule, but you noticed.

"I'm not good at this—whatever this is," Wednesday says quietly. "I will most likely devastate you at some point but for now, all I can vow is to ask you questions if you stop avoiding my gaze."

You stare at Wednesday, analyzing her face, and she wonders exactly what you're thinking.

In the end, you chuckle. "Deal, but no questions tonight. My wings are sore, and I hear you're an excellent cellist."

PART 5

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams fanfiction #wednesdayedit #wednesday addams x you #mm: my fics

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sapphim · 6 months

Text

Monstrous Wardens Masterpost

A great big collection of text from the Dragon Age games and novels about darkspawn, Grey Wardens, and the Calling, to fuel everyone's monstrous wardens headcanons.

This has actually been sitting in my drafts for like half a year now bc I thought I really should scrounge around for more quotes from Last Flight, Awakening, and Legacy. That... didn't happen, and there's really no sense in holding off longer. If I ever do get around to it, I'll pull more quotes to add. But I consider this complete as is. enjoy~

—

The Song

The Old Gods will call to you, From their ancient prisons they will sing. Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts, On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight, The First of My children, lost to night.

—Canticle of Silence 3:6, Dissonant Verse

“The Old Gods beckon, as they always have.” The Architect turned and paced to the other side of the cell. The shadows cast on the walls by the glowstone danced ominously. “That is what you hear. To my people, it is a call that we cannot ignore. It whispers to our blood and compels us to seek the Old Gods out. We search and search for their prisons, and when we find one, we touch the face of perfection and thus desecrate it forever.”

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

So close. We nearly reached him. Made it down to what looked like a dwarven thaig where the song was actually audible, real and thrumming through the air, not just in our heads. It rattled through the lyrium pillars and shook the earth beneath our feet to its dreadful tempo.

—[DAI] Note: Ancient Warden Logbook

There were creatures in that land. Dark things that lurked in the corners. Cole couldn’t see them, and didn’t want to. He worried that they could see him, however. […] And worse, there was the music. He didn’t know what it was, but it seemed to come from far, far oﬀ. It called to him, but not in a pleasant way— it had an urgency that sped his heart and made his blood burn. The dark creatures, the lurkers, they listened to it. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he could feel them out there, craning their necks, raising taloned hands toward that call.

—Dragon Age: Asunder, chapter 9

As the griffon began to climb through the clouds that followed the Blight, Isseya heard a faint, strange melody seep into her mind. She had no sense of it as actual sound; rather, it seemed to come from within, almost as if she were humming the tune to herself. She could never have imagined such a song, though. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. Aching and ethereal, it seemed to pull her toward a memory of nostalgic bliss that she had somehow lost—but that she would do anything to recover. Anything at all. […] “What was it?” the elf asked, shaken. […] “The Archdemon.” […] For the rest of their ride back to Antiva City, Isseya sat small and quiet on Blacktalon’s back, unable to reconcile the horrors of the darkspawn with the sweetness of their song.

—Dragon Age: Last Flight, chapter 3

The Chorus

The faint sounds of movement ahead got more frequent, and along with them, they began to hear a strange humming. It was deep and alien, a reverberating sound that they felt in their chests and that made their skin crawl. […] The deep humming was coming from [the creature. It] was moaning softly, almost chanting, and this moan built upon the sounds of many others behind it in the shadows. They hummed in unison, a hushed and deadly whisper the creatures spoke as one. […] All of them walked as calmly as the first, shambling toward them while moaning and hissing softly. The sound was loud now, reverberating around them like a physical force. […] They watched the darkspawn advance, their weapons held at the ready. Even with their prey cornered, the creatures did not accelerate. Their hum became louder, reached a hungry, fever pitch.

—Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne, chapter 14

Were they digging? He had the impression that the masses of them were all engaged in some sort of industry, all united in moving great portions of the rock out of the cavern and expanding it even further. Yet there were no sounds of tools crashing against stone, no hammering sounds or grunts of exertion. All he could hear was a rhythmic groan, a keening pitch that it seemed each of the darkspawn contributed to. The sound of it made his skin crawl, and he realized that the chorus in the distance responded to it. Like a cat that arched its back to meet a brushing hand it became ecstatic; it surged and almost overwhelmed his senses.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

The Senses

They were more than simply skilled at fighting darkspawn; they knew them intimately. They sensed their presence, sometimes even gleaned their intent.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 4

He could feel the darkspawn out there now. Genevieve was right. It just took some time to become acclimated. They were at the edge of his consciousness, lurking in the shadows far out of sight. It was that same feeling when someone was standing behind you, and you didn’t hear them or sense them in any way; you just knew.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 5

Bregan closed his eyes and carefully reached out with his senses. There were darkspawn all around him. Not in the same room, perhaps, but nearby. He could feel them tickling at the edge of his mind. As always, the sensation came with a feeling of foulness, as if a poison had seeped under his skin.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 2

“There is a taint that is within the darkspawn […] A darkness that pervades us, compels us, drives us to rail against the light. It is in our blood and corrupts the very world around us.” The creature gestured toward Bregan with a withered, taloned hand. “It is also within your blood. It is what makes you what you are, what you sense in us and we in you.”

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 2

Anders: Hmm. Hawke: What's wrong? Anders: I think [the Grey Wardens are] nearby. Anders: Or it could be darkspawn.

—Dragon Age II

The hunter had a sensitivity to the taint that went far beyond any tracking ability he might have learned during his time with the Ash Warriors. He was always the first to sense the approach of darkspawn, and he could discern between the various breeds by their scent alone. Some of the Grey Wardens even used to claim that Kell could do the same with them, sense who was who from afar just as if they were darkspawn. If so, the hunter never commented on it.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 11

She felt Bregan out there, felt him just the same as she felt the darkspawn. Every now and again she would turn a corner in the tunnels and would feel her brother’s presence on the edge of her senses, almost as if his scent had been carried to her somehow on an invisible wind.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 15

The Dreams

Alistair: Oh… and then there were the nightmares. Duncan said it was part of how we sense the darkspawn. We tap into their… well, I don't know what you'd call it. Their “group mind.” Alistair: And when we sleep, it's even worse. You learn to block it out after a while, but at first it's hard. It's supposed to be worse for those who Join during a Blight. How is it for you? Warden: Nightmares… yes, I know what you mean. Alistair: Some people never have much trouble, but that's rare. Others have trouble sleeping their entire life. They're just more sensitive, I suppose. Alistair: Everyone ends up the same, though. Once you reach a certain age, the real nightmares come. That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come.

—Dragon Age: Origins

The dream, when it came, was similar to the hundreds of dreams Fiona had suffered since she’d become a Grey Warden. Before, however, it had always felt as if she was looking on the dream from afar, hazy and easy to forget. Now it was crystal clear. Fiona stood on a battlefield littered with dead men. All of them were soldiers in heavy armor, knights wearing the griffon standard of the order. Each had been brutally slaughtered. The smell of blood and decay hung thick and cloying in the air, the buzzing sound of flies nipping at her senses. Overhead, the sky filled with an endless, roiling black cloud. It looked like ink spreading slowly in water, a great stain that blotted out the horizon. She had been told about this. The first sign of the Blight, said the Grey Wardens, is found in the clouds. When the mighty dragon rises, its corruption touches the world and spreads. She was alone on that field of corpses. All alone. The wind picked up, a sickly breeze that carried with it the stench of carrion. A gloom fell upon her, and she stumbled as she watched something rise from out of the field of bodies nearby. It was enormous. A great, black thing that was as cold and terrible as anything she could have imagined. Fear pulsed through her. Her heart raced, and she looked away. She didn’t want to see it. She threw her hands up in front of her eyes not to see it. Yet still she felt it coming. Her foot caught between two corpses and made her fall back on top of them. Dead flesh pressed against her and still she covered her eyes. Still she felt the darkness surging ever closer to her. It was coming. And it was coming for her.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 14

The Calling

Hawke: You don't look well, Bethany. Are you injured? Bethany: Injured? I have the darkspawn taint forever in my veins, barely held in check by the Wardens' rituals. Bethany: I will never be well again.

—Dragon Age II

At first, it was just a whisper. A creak in the door hinge I could put off oiling. But soon, all I could hear was the music. It was there when I swung my staff and wiped the sweat from my brow. It lingered in Lyam's laughter and stalked my dreams. I can't explain the sound—the song—but I knew. It's a poison that grows in the mind, then consumes the body.

—[DAI: The Descent] Codex Entry: Warden Ailsa's Diary

It scratches at my thoughts, the music almost a voice, at once unearthly and beautiful. I found myself humming it aloud a few days past. Where once it intruded, it now feels a natural part of my mind's course. It coils around memories I hold dear—training with Ser Keller, riding in the moonlight, my mother's face the last time I saw her—and inserts itself into them, so that I could almost swear that music, that sense of a presence watching and calling, had always been a part of what I remember.

—[DAI] Codex Entry: Regarding the Calling

She had seen enough of the corruption to last a lifetime, and somewhere off in the far distance was that strange sound, the beautiful whispering. She didn’t want to listen to it, but couldn’t help herself. She closed her eyes and tried to pick out what the whisper was saying. Was it a song? Was it a name? It almost seemed that it was calling out to her, stroking her soul ever so softly. . . .

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 14

The humming sound, however, was stronger even than before. It was no longer something muted and distant; it was everywhere. It was behind the walls and under the floor; it filled the shadows and caressed his skin. There was a terrible beauty to it now, an awful yearning that pulsated within the sound, a tugging that pulled at the edge of his consciousness and yet frightened and nauseated him at the same time. The humming had eclipsed any sense he had of the darkspawn. Any attempt he made to reach out with his mind to sense where the creatures were found only a wall of beautiful sound instead. Like a weed, it had insinuated itself into his consciousness, blocking out anything useful.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

The far-off chorus had become a powerful symphony, a great swell of beautiful music that no longer pounded to get inside his head but instead tickled at the edges of his thoughts. It was far easier to ignore, but now he found it distracting. He found himself losing his train of thought whenever he listened.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 10

The taint fogged her thoughts a little more with each passing morning. Her diary, once a detailed chronicle of every day’s thoughts, went neglected for weeks, sometimes months. She was losing her mind. She wasn’t the only one, of course. It had gotten harder to tell the reality of the Blight from the horrors of her dreams. Sometimes she wasn’t sure which one she walked through, or which one she fought in. The elf had learned to recognize the confusion that sometimes passed over other senior Wardens’ faces. They, too, heard the Archdemon’s song echoing through their heads, a trifle louder every night. They, too, fought to block it out and to hide the signs from their comrades…

—Dragon Age: Last Flight, chapter 21

My body is breaking down. The fingernails were the first to go. I started to itch all over, and when I scratched, they peeled back. Clumps of hair fell away. Then clumps of flesh. I hear a song in my head. It's deafening. The most beautiful thing I've ever heard. But I don't hear it with my ears. It's in my brain. A blissful sound. This must be the call for which the darkspawn yearn, what causes them to dig so feverishly. I'd still rather die. Suppose that's something.

—[DAI] Codex Entry: To Be Corrupted

His skin itched terribly underneath those bandages, but he resisted the urge to peel them off. The pain throughout his body was dull but insistent, as if his body protested against this unfamiliar movement. The sluggishness made him wary. There was a thickness to his blood, a deliberateness to his heartbeat that made him feel like something alien was crawling inside of him and sapping his strength. […His arms] were half covered in dark blotches. At first, he wondered if that was some kind of injury, or perhaps a bloodstain. But then he noticed the texture of the skin within those discolored areas: rough and withered, just as darkspawn flesh was. […] Every part of his skin that wasn’t covered by the greyed cloth bandages was corrupted. It was like a network of black mold working its way across his entire body, and everywhere it touched he could feel a hot buzzing underneath the flesh. It was difficult to look at.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

The Architect stared into Utha’s eyes and nothing happened at first. Then black veins began to appear along her hand where the darkspawn touched her. They became darker and darker, the veins branching until her entire hand was criss-crossed with them. […] Her flesh withered and curled, the air filling with the foul stench of decay. […] The stain on her skin spread, crawling up her neck and covering her face. Her coppery hair began to grey, and then it became white. Her long braid twisted and curled behind her, like a match that was burning itself into a cinder. Her eyes shot open, blood red, and she opened her mouth in a soundless scream... and what wisps remained of her hair simply fell out. And then it was done.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 16

Bonus entry that made me go "hey what the fuck"

What I remember most is its tongue flapping against a row of spiky teeth. I'd heard emissaries possessed the ability to speak, but the words were unnatural. They twisted and lurched as they left the creature's mouth, accompanied with a spray of saliva. "Have you ever experienced living flesh ground between your teeth?" it asked Mila before biting through her throat.

—[DAI: The Descent] Codex Entry: Darkspawn Emissary

#dragon age #grey wardens #darkspawn #wardenposting #canonical texts

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fragileheartbeats · 24 days

Text

King Aegon Targaryen Second Of His Name

Born of fire, yet cold within, A crown of thorns, my only kin. Mother's scorn, father's disdain, In their world, I but a stain.

Aegon the second, they called, a name not mine, A burden heavy, a cursed line. For what am I, but a ghost adrift, In a family's cruel, unending rift?

My heart, a vessel, void of cheer, Nursed not on love, but brewed in fear. The throne, they said, my destined seat, Yet every step felt like deceit.

The whispers, oh, how they did sting, Of rightful heirs and dragon's wing. My soul, a battleground for their war, My identity, nothing but lore.

My mother's fury, my father's neglect, A child's plea for some respect. But what am I, if not a king, Whose crown does naught but pain bring?

But what love can a monster find, When love itself has been confined?

My reign, a fleeting, tragic blight, A dance with shadows, fleeing light. For what joy does power bring, When devoid of love's enduring spring?

In cups of sorrow, I did drown, Each gulp a step to cast down. The crown, a jest, my royal jest, A poisoned chalice at its best.

And so, I muse, what could have been, If love, not hate, had shaped the scene. Aegon, a king, not by fate, But a man, whose heart could navigate.

Alas, the end, it came too swift, My soul adrift, no more to lift. Aegon, they'll say, was king and died, But who mourns the boy who never thrived?

Remember me, not for my crown, But for the tears of a clown. For in the end, what truly stings, Is not the death, but the unflown wings.

#i made it as gif but i deleted my side blog so yeah...#house targaryen #house of the dragon #house of dragons #king aegon #aegon ii #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon the second #team green #pro team green #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower #poetry #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #tom glynn carney

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cemeteryspider · 2 months

Text

Ballet on the Bayou ~ Pt. 2

Alastor x Ballerina! Reader

Summary: The rise and the fall of an up and coming ballerina

Trigger Warnings: Graphic injury, bullying, physical pain, hospital setting

Word Count: 1516

Previous | Next

Ballet on the Bayou Masterlist

Practice had left you a tad sore and achy but that went away, as you peeked from the wings into the crowd. The place was practically packed with people. The speakers rang with static and announced the beginning of the show in a moment.

The lights in the crowd dimmed and you ran towards the backstage and allowed a deep breath to escape your lips, and you awaited your queue.

~~~

Earlier that same day...

"Ladies and Gentleman, Alastor signing off for the night but before I go, we have a truly special performance at Louisiana's favorite opera hall tonight, the Orpheum Theater, for a timeless classic. The Magnificent Swan Lake, starring up-and-coming ballerina Y/n L/n"

~~~

Alastor and his mother sat in the very middle of the audience. He hoped to never miss a moment of you. He had already called up a couple of friends and had a special gift sent to your dressing room after the performance.

They sat down before the lights dimmed, and his mother watched in awe as the curtains parted revealing a sparkling moonlit forest scene. Some dancers of the trope glided across the stage with the same grace as the swans they were dressed as.

Alastor looked carefully at every dancer, suddenly angry that he forgot to ask the beauty her part in the show. Then in a moment, the star of the show appeared onstage, and it was you.

You transform the scene and the other dancers gather round to create a captivating ensemble. The ensemble dances with such grace and unity it could be mistaken for a kaleidoscope of shapes.

You begin a graceful solo, dancing to the melancholic orchestra below. With a swift crescendo, the villain of the story jumps in, and Alastor could only assume, with his limited knowledge of the ballet, that turned you into a swan.

~~~

After the first act, you quickly rush into your dressing room to change into your Odile costume. This was the most stunning costume you had ever put on. You hoped that Alastor was in the audience to see it.

"Ah, while it isn't the perfect person to play to a two-faced bitch"

Louise said, barging into your private dressing room. Followed closely by her two friends whose names were never offered to you. You only knew Louise because her Daddy paid a fortune to have her be in the running for the two leads of the ballet. However, when the casting directors saw your performance they immediately put you on for both roles, as was tradition.

Trying to be civil you said, "Louise, it is a pleasure to see you as well".

"Yes well, I just wanted to stop by and tell you to break a leg this weekend" She giggled a little and stalked out of the room. Leaving your brows knitted together in confusion. The show must go on, however, and you finished getting ready for the rest of the show.

It didn't even come to your mind that Louise's jealousy could bubble so close to the surface.

~~~

Once again sitting in his seat after helping his mother to get a drink of water and stretch her legs, he quietly anticipated your return to the stage.

Again the lights dimmed and the curtains parted to reveal you dressed in black immersed in the blue lighting that surrounded you. With an air of mystery, you began your dance. Your legs were a symphony of strength and elegance, that wove a wonderful tapestry across the stage. The fluidity and grace you possessed were mesmerizing as you danced across the stage.

When you looked into the audience he could only hope you saw his awe in the darkness. Your eyes held so much passion yet an air of deceit from the character you portrayed. Every pirouette beckons the audience to come closer and experience the darkness and desire you emanated.

Then you made eye contact with the prince onstage, and your movements somehow became more intoxicating. The tempo quickened and when the music was at its loudest you started a series of dazzling turns that left not a single jaw dropped.

Your final pose was one of power and passion, and you held it as the last notes of the music lingered. The crowd left only a moment between the end of the number and a thunderous applause. Alastor happily joined in.

~~~

After bows, you ran into your dressing room quickly to touch up your makeup before going out and looking for Alastor. On the little vanity in the room was a dozen red roses with a little notecard, From Alastor. Your smile widened infinitely as you rushed out of the dressing room to go find him, forgetting completely about the makeup.

In the foyer, your eyes looked frantically around as other dancers looked to the more wealthy patrons of the opera house for a drink or two. You almost went to join them when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You were greeted with a wide smile and a hand held out for yours.

"You were just magnificent, mon cherie, just brilliant"

You let out a small embarrassed chuckle, as you turned to face him fully.

Once your hand was held in his, he kissed your knuckles just as he had the night before. A small blush crept up your cheeks and you began asking him all about the show, and his favorite parts of it.

~~~

Alastor did not miss a performance the whole week you were there, his mother sadly did not feel up to going to any more of your lovely performances.

Time after time, there would be a new dozen of red roses in your dressing room after your bows, but never at intermission. You would have to ask him how he was doing that. Each night you became more infatuated with the man coming to your shows.

With every bouquet Alastor sent you, something pulled on his heart strings. He knew you would not be in town forever, and he would need to discuss your plans for the future. He hoped he would be included in them.

However, during the last performance you had in New Orleans, something unexpected happened. One of the swans in the opening scene had stuck her leg out in front of one of your beautiful turns. She had a sly grin on her face as she watched you fall, her friends faces mirrors of her own.

Alastor heard the sickening crack as your ankle bent a way it should never bend. Alastor's eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat as he witnessed Y/n's fall. The gasp of the crowd drowned in the turmoil of his emotions. A sickening feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't tear his gaze away.

Never in his many years did he think an injury would make him squirm, especially considering his hobby, but this made his insides thrash in his stomach.

You did not make a peep, you just allowed yourself to be gracefully carried off stage by the man who played the prince.

~~~

Once the backstage door closed behind you, you let out the bloodcurdling scream anyone in the hallway had ever heard.

Your foot dangled from your shattered ankle bone and you saw everything you worked so hard for disappear in front of your eyes. Tears rolled freely down your face and Charles set you down in a chair. He gave you a sad look as he ran back to the stage to see if the show would go on.

You knew that it was Louise's foot that caused your fall, and you knew it would be Louise who would go on in your stead. A wave of dizziness washed over you as Alastor came into your line of sight.

Alastor's voice, usually calm and composed, betrayed a hint of urgency as he spoke."Cher, they've already called an ambulance. It's on its way. Darling, I am so sorry" He knelt next to you and put a cold soft drink bottle against your ankle. You flinched slightly, but Alastor put his hand on your leg to keep you still.

"I shouldn't have shown her up, Alastor, otherwise I would still be on that stage, on any stage"

"What do you mean?"

"Louise, she did this, she wanted my part"

Louise was the bitch who tripped you and caused your "accident". He kept that name in mind for later, but now you were his only priority. He saw the wagon-looking car pull up outside. Gently he set the bottle down and hoisted you into his arms.

As you made your way to the ambulance with the help of Alastor you couldn't help but think of what you were leaving behind. The pain in your ankle mirrored the pain in your heart as you were carried outside. How could everything you've worked so hard for be gone before it could even really begin?

You tucked your teary face into his chest, and for some reason, he did not seem to mind it at all.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #littledolly2345 #hazbin #hazbin hotel 2024 #hazbinhotel

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