#dal is a rage demon

[dalniente]

"Zira" "Azi" "Az" SIGHHHHHH

is anybody else irritated at the widespread fandom nicknaming of Aziraphale and fucking nobody else? is that just me? because it really feels like a "oooh [wince-hisses through teeth], no, that's too long and weird. that's too hard. i'm gonna call you This instead" situation, and i do not care for it. it pissed me off when i was writing good omens fanfic thirteen years ago and it pisses me off now. you care enough about everyone else to get their names right, all the unusual demon and angel monikers, but oh no, Aziraphale, oh that's ten whole letters, that's way too long. oh you're not gonna bother to type all that, no, his name is just Zira now.

and like, he's not real, so this super duper does not matter and isn't deeply and incredibly shitty the way it is when it's directed at real people. but it still rubs me the wrong way every time i see it. that's not his name! why is his name not good enough for you to take the time to type out the way you do for everyone else! ugh.

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 17: Let Me Forget

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.4K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

With the medley of parchment laid out on Gale’s lengthy kitchen table, the silence hangs heavily over the room, suffocating the air with an oppressive stillness and unspoken words. The only sound is the angry rain, drumming on the grand, arched windows, and the raging wind that buffets the manor with forceful gusts. 

It is a foreboding sound. You have never been afraid of storms; you enjoyed watching them before, but you find yourself closing your eyes at every quaking groan of Gale’s tower and every rattle of the windows as they hold out against the blustery squalls. 

Gale finally takes one piece of parchment and examines it. His brows furrow, and he rubs his chin. Eventually, his eyes flit up to Astarion. 

“Dal’s.” Astarion sighs, answering the unasked question. Wracking his fingers through his hair, he points to each piece. “Petras’s. Yousen’s. Violet’s.” 

Shadowheart’s voice is softer than normal when she speaks. “Where are your siblings, Astarion?” 

“In the Underdark, as far as I know.” He shrugs. “I never returned to see them.” 

Your hand coasts over the indented, scarred skin of your arm from the time you visited the Underdark. “They were in the Underdark. They were using the Arcane Tower as a home.” 

“You saw them?” Astarion asks. “All of them?” 

“Dal, Petras, and Leon were definitely there, as well as the spawn we set free.” Your fingernails bite into your scars as you try to repress the memory. “I’m not sure about the others.” 

“Did they say anything?” Astarion turns to you with his speech a little more rapid than usual. “Anything at all?” 

“It was many moons ago, Astarion. They weren’t interested in talking to me much, but no, they never mentioned someone was hunting them or requesting to sketch their scars.” 

“Why do they have scars written in Infernal?” Hecat’s brows furrow as she regards the symbols. “It’s pieces of a contract.” 

“We know.” Shadowheart says brusquely. “We know what it says and what it’s about. What we don’t understand is why it’s here.” 

“Do you have scars like this, Astarion?” Hecat asks carelessly. 

Your whole body immediately tenses, but you master yourself and attempt to appear unruffled by her inquisition. Astarion is capable of deciding how to answer this for himself. 

“I do,” he nods. “A… gift from my old master.” 

“Who must be dead?” Hecat presumes, still trying to make sense of everything. You’re not sure how much you want her to know. “Since you’re here and all, and still a spawn.” 

“Yes, he’s dead.” Astarion answers calmly, but he subtly rests his hand on your thigh, and you realize his fingers are trembling. 

Taking his hand, you give it a reassuring squeeze. He squeezes back while breathing deeply. It is not something you’re used to seeing him do unless he’s trying to calm you. It alerts you to his unease, setting you further on edge. 

“I suppose I will ask the question none of us want to.” Shadowheart surmises with her lips pressed together and a clenched jaw. “Why are Astarion's siblings' scars drawn on pieces of paper we found in a manor hidden by illusion magic?” 

You frown and chew on your bottom lip. “Is it possible that another Vampire Lord can try to fulfill the contract?” 

Gale shakes his head. “We destroyed everything that even dared hint at that ungodly ritual.” 

“We destroyed the paper trail.” You nod and glance at Astarion. 

“But not the pawns of it.” He finishes, looking down at his lap. “The only people living who might be able to tell someone how to complete the ritual are my siblings, me, and all of you.” 

“Hells.” Gale rasps, his hand rubbing his forehead. “Do you really think that’s what this is all about?” 

“It makes sense,” you murmur. “But what we don’t know is if they are trying to collect the spawn that are already marked for sacrifice or if they simply need the markings on them.” 

“Either way, they will collect them.” Astarion concludes bitterly, with one corner of his lips curling up in contempt. “Likely to make sure no one else has access to those markings. Furthermore, the spawn we set free in the Underdark will be rounded up as well. A Vampire Lord is not going to waste time making 7,000 spawn if there are already that many running around in the Underdark who have been conveniently carved up already. Gods. I knew I should have killed them.” 

“So, what do we do?” Gale paces around, clearly agitated. “What can we do?” 

“There are still two of Astarion’s siblings unaccounted for.” You sit back in your chair. “Maybe Astarion and I should visit the Underdark. If they are rounding up his siblings, maybe we can get to them before they do.” 

“And bring them where, exactly?” Astarion spits, twisting in his chair to look at you. “Certainly not here.” 

“Not here, but maybe our house?” Astarion’s brows pinch together, and his mouth snaps shut. You continue, “It’s well hidden; they can hunt in the forests, and it’s already set up for the particular needs of a vampire.” 

You’re not particularly fond of the idea of letting them stay in your house. It feels like an encroachment, but it is the best idea you have right now. Judging from Astarion’s sour expression, he, too, is not pleased with it. 

“Kamena…” Gale’s hands rest on the back of a chair, and he looks at you with his expression clouded by somberness. “I don’t wish to overstep, my friend, but are you certain it’s a good idea for you to return there?” 

Astarion quirks a brow at you, and your hand moves to cover the scars everyone is now staring at. You ignore the urge to get as far away from this conversation as you can and take deep breaths. Admittedly, you don’t want to return there, but you don’t want to stay here either. 

If you’re being completely honest, you would take Astarion, disappear, and never look back. If this Vampire Lord is truly after the contract in an attempt to complete the ritual, then Astarion is in peril staying here. You should be getting him as far away from here as you can.

But you cannot leave your friends, who are now tangled up in this mess. 

“Thank you for your concern, Gale, but I’m fine.” You lie, and you’re rather impressed that you manage to keep your voice steady and strong. “What do you think, Astarion?” 

“I think the more of my siblings we can keep away from them, the better, but I do not relish taking you into a den of vampire spawn who are likely feral.” Astarion rubs his eyes, squeezing them shut hard, creasing the corners. “Perhaps it would be best if I went alone.” 

The thought of Astarion leaving makes your heart thud in your chest, seizing and being crushed under his words. He promised he would never leave you alone again, and now he’s trying to. 

You try to breathe deeply, but the air seems unfathomably thin, and you feel like you’re drowning. Your eyes feel frozen open, just staring at the table but not really looking at it. 

He wants to leave.

He wants to leave.

He wants to leave.  

He wants to leave me alone again.  

Would he ever come back? 

Does he want to come back?

Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to gag that voice in your head that tells you to run, to break his heart before he can break yours, and to repress the whirling thoughts of loneliness, abandonment, and dread. 

Is this just his way of trying to get away from me?  

“Kamena?” Astarion touches your shoulder featherlight, but it still makes you jump up. 

Your chair falls backward and clatters to the floor, and you stare the confused faces at the table. You ball your hands into fists at your sides so that they can’t see how badly you’re trembling.

“Excuse me.” 

It takes considerable effort to force yourself to walk down the hallway as nonchalantly as you can, but as soon as you get out of sight, you pick up speed and jog to your room. No matter how hard you try, the panic continues to grow like thorny vines around your nerves, and your breath comes rapidly through parted lips. 

You need a distraction from this downward spiral, so you grab the lock and thieves’ tools Astarion gave you to practice and draw a bath. Sitting in the tub, you listen to the soothing sound of running water, place the lock on a stool, kneel and hunch over the edge, and start trying to replicate what Astarion has shown you. 

Your fingers still tremble fretfully with both tools in hand, and you cannot, for the life of you, find the first pin in this stubborn hunk of metal. Even as your trembling settles and your mind stops its incessant whirling, you cannot get the stupid lock to turn even slightly.  

How many times has Astarion shown me this?  

Would he give you a defective lock you never had any chance of opening? Yes, you think he would. He would find that to be quite humorous once you figured it out. You peer into the keyhole to see if any of the mechanisms look... Well, fuck. You’re unsure what you should even be looking for, and you frown at the lock with spite. 

“You are staring at that lock like it has personally offended you.” Astarion chuckles, leaning his shoulder on the frame of the archway. 

“It has,” you grumble. “It will not fucking open!” 

“May I join you?” Astarion points to the bath. 

You nod, continuing to try to manipulate the lock while he undresses and slips behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, and he presses the sculpted planes of his chest into your back, hovering over you to watch your incompetent attempts while he rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“I can veritably hear you scowling at me, you know.” 

“Hells below.” Astarion groans dramatically. “This is truly painful to observe.” 

His arms come around you, and his cool hands grip yours as his expert fingers guide the tools in your hand to demonstrate again. He turns the tools slowly, performing some sort of Rogue devilry, you’re quite sure, until you feel a small pop and hear a metal clink. 

“Feel that?” Astarion glances at you, kissing your cheek. “That’s what you’re looking for.” 

He relinquishes his control and goes back to resting his head on your shoulder with his arms tangled around your waist. He murmurs, “Are you okay?” 

“You told me you wouldn’t leave me alone again,” you say shakily, swallowing the burbling fear. You hate how pathetic you sound. “Where you go, I go. Remember?” 

“The Underdark is dangerous — far more dangerous now than it was when we went gallivanting down here.” 

You hold your scarred arm out for him to see before going back to tending to the lock. The distraction is helpful, allowing you to focus instead of spiralling. “I’m well aware of how dangerous it is down there now.” 

Astarion’s hand glides down your arm, his fingers brushing over each indented blemish gently. “Are you going to tell me what in the Hells happened down there?” 

“I don’t know.” You answer truthfully. “The short version of it is that the spawn down there are feral and starved, and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

“I suspect there is far more to it than that.” Astarion rubs your back in soothing circles, kissing the back of your shoulder softly. “Alright, fine. Where I go, you go, and vice versa from now on, yes?” 

You glance over your shoulder into crimson eyes. “Promise?” 

He sweeps a lock of your hair back from your cheek and places his hand on his chest, above his heart. “You have my word.” 

You nod with a small smile and return to the lock in your hands before your mind can whisper and pull you under into a riptide of doubt. Astarion brushes his fingers through your hair, untangling any knots as he goes gently. It is entirely distracting, and one of the sharp tools slips from your grasp.

“Focus, darling,” he tuts, picking up the tool off the floor and handing it back to you. 

“I think this lock is faulty,” you huff in annoyance. 

Astarion has always made lockpicking look like child’s play. Most locks take him a matter of seconds to pick; even the ones in the Counting House only took minutes at the most. 

“Do you really think I would do that to you?” Astarion laughs when you quirk an accusatory brow at him over your shoulder. “Fine. Fine. I might for a laugh, but I assure you, this lock is perfectly fine. You’re just too impatient.” 

You groan, rolling your eyes, and take a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. A low growl of frustration rumbles in your chest as the tool catches on something and refuses to budge. 

Astarion chuckles as he takes control once more to correct the position of your fingers. “You cannot just brute force it like some barbarian. You must be patient, focus, listen to it, and tend to its unique needs.” His fingers brush the back of your hand softly. “Much like making love.” 

“For the love of...” you scoff. “Did you really just make that comparison?” 

He helps you rotate the metal rods deftly, pressing his body further into yours. “You’ll find it to be accurate. Every lock is different and requires a personalized approach. You cannot just shove the tools in the hole like an oaf and expect it to open and reveal its secrets.” 

“You’re making it sound intentionally sexual in nature.” 

“I cannot be blamed for the fact that dexterity comes in handy in a variety of situations.” He says, clicking his tongue softly. His lips ghost along the ridge of your ear to the tapered tip, and he whispers, “It is how I make love to you, no? Listen to your body, read your mood, and tend to your needs.” 

Heat rushes to your face, reddening your cheeks, and your heart jolts in your chest, escalating into a quickened pace as his words play your heartstrings like a lyre.  

“My mood?” You rasp with a silvery timbre.

The pop of another pin clinks. Astarion rescinds his control but keeps his hand poised near yours, skimming the back of your hand with his fingertips to encourage you to keep going.  

“Yes, your mood." Astarion drawls, "Sometimes you want it tender and loving, and other times rough and wild. Sometimes you want to control; sometimes you want to be controlled. It all depends on your mood, really.” 

You swallow hard, finding it extremely difficult to concentrate all of a sudden. Shivers spread across your body, prickling your skin as Astarion’s lips ghost along the back of your neck, raining kisses down your spine. 

Your hands jitter in the lock, making the rods ting against the metal housing. 

“You’re awfully distracted.” Astarion coos. 

The heat seems to drain from your face and into your lower abdomen, flaring at the seductive, husky baritone of his taunting. 

You clear your throat. “And what mood would you say I am in today?” 

“Hmm…” Astarion hums lowly. He regards you silently for a moment, as if reading a particularly interesting chapter of a book. “I think today you want to be taken, claimed, fucked. Perhaps, if you’re a very good girl, I will give you what you desire if you can unlock that lock.” 

His knee nudges between your legs, edging them further apart, and his hand cups the curve of your ass, giving it a teasing squeeze. Your mouth drops open as his fingers trail through your folds and settle on the intensely aching flesh. 

Your hips jerk, and your fingers quiver, nearly dropping the tools, but Astarion's other hand steadies your grip. “Focus,” he purrs, starting to rub circles around the throbbing border of your clit. “Keep a firm grip on it now. Try rotating it to the right a little.”

He cannot possibly expect you to keep focused like this, and you let out something between a whimper and a mewl, frustration and desire mixed. With his free hand, Astarion takes control of yours, guiding the tool in your fingers to turn the mechanism as his fingers change the direction of their circling — counterclockwise, clockwise, and back — in whatever way he makes you twist the lock. 

Another metallic pang comes from the opening, but you barely hear it underneath your gasps. “Hear that? You’re nearly there.” He groans, pressing chaste kisses down your neck. “Keep going, love. You’ve got this.” 

You are nearly there, but not in the way he’s implying. “Astarion… I can’t... Gods. Not when you’re-” 

“When I am what?” He increases his pace, making you slump over and moan, closing your eyes against the pleasure. “If you stop, so will I.” 

Good Gods. There is almost nothing you wouldn’t do to get him to continue, so you force your eyes to open, center them on the lock, and try to continue manipulating the godsforsaken device. 

Astarion presses his erection against your lower back with a shaky groan. He drags his finger up and down your seam, teasing your entrance, and then back to circling your demandingly pulsing pearl. The sensation is too overwhelming, making your core spasm involuntarily, and the tools drop from your hands in favour of holding onto the edge of the bathtub for dear life. 

His ministrations pause instantaneously. “The tools do you no good unless you use them, darling.” 

You roll your hips in a vain attempt to get any friction, but Astarion grasps them and forces them to remain still. You lean back into him; his cock pulses against you, and despite his outward poise, the low grunts and growls in his throat tell you that he’s losing his composure. 

“Astarion,” you whimper in disapproval. It takes everything you have not to take matters into your own hands, so to speak. 

“You want more?” He taunts, with a featherlight stroke to entice you. “Go on then. Unlock it.” 

You smile at his choice of words and grin at him mischievously. Before he has time to correct himself, your fingers dance, the incantation rolls off your tongue, and the lock clicks open for you. 

Astarion chuckles — rich and low. He kisses your shoulder, clicks his tongue, and tuts. “That’s cheating, Kamena.” 

“You said unlock it,” you tease. “You didn’t specify how.” 

“You naughty little vixen,” he scolds, kissing up the column of your neck. He whispers, letting his cool breath fan your heated skin. “I have half a mind to withhold your prize.” 

“What does the other half of your mind say?” You press into his arousal, rocking your hips side to side. 

“Fuck it." 

His fingers clutch your chin, turning your head in a possessive hold, and he kisses you ravenously. You only feel the blunt head of Astarion’s cock at your entrance for a moment before he drives himself to the hilt with a swift snap of his hips. 

Your eyes roll back, and Astarion’s hand covers your mouth to smother the loud, rapturous cry. 

“We are not at home any longer,” he grunts as he pulls back slowly, so you can feel every crest of his swollen head exquisitely drag across your ridges. “Are you going to stay quiet, or shall I keep you quiet?” 

There is no hope that when you speak, your words will be intelligible, and you simply put your hand over the one covering your mouth to let him know he should keep it there, lest the entire household know what carnal depravity you’re partaking in. 

“As you wish,” he purrs, nipping at your shoulder and snaking an arm around your waist to hold you steady. 

Your thighs tremble as you ride out the relentless pace Astarion sets. The bath water splashes over the edges of the tub with every one of his powerful thrusts. Every thought shatters into fireworks that burst behind your eyes, and all your doubts are drowned away as he slams into you, hitting a spot so deep that it makes your legs weak. 

“You are mine,” he growls, dark and dominating.

Yes. Yours. Make me forget every month, day, second I spent without you. Make me forget.

I want to forget. 

Astarion’s fangs crawl down your neck and sink into your flesh with a quick snap of his jaw. He doesn’t ask permission, but he knows he doesn’t need to. He plays with your clit, the pads of his fingers rubbing and circling, and the combination of all these sensations borders on overwhelming. 

The world seems to fall away around you, and all that’s left is you, him, and devastatingly intense ecstasy. Your hand drops and grasps Astarion’s thigh, fingers squeezing the taut muscles, feeling them work as he pounds into you unrelentingly. You’re a moaning, whimpering, mindless mess as the pleasure grows and grows until every nerve is humming with blissful tension. A loud moan rumbles in Astarion’s chest, and the tension snaps suddenly like an overwrought elastic band. 

You come, hard and loud, thighs shaking, hips rocking into him, every shockwave clenching upon his thickness so strongly that it draws ragged breaths from his throat. 

He removes his fangs from your neck. “Kiss me,” he orders. 

Even though your spirit feels like it’s just finding its footing back in your body, you turn your head with parted lips, blinking at him slowly. Your blood is smeared across his silken mouth, dripping down his chin. His eyes are glossy with genuine pleasure as he moulds his lips to yours. 

Astarion’s hand wraps around your throat, and he buries his cock as deep as you can take him thrust after sensational thrust. He entices your lips to part, his tongue eagerly seizing the whimpers and sighs from your throat. 

His hips stutter, eyes squeezing shut, and he cries in your mouth as his cock twitches and pulses, spilling his seed deeply inside you as he unravels in the Eden of his climax.  

You both slump forward as you catch your breath, holding onto the edge of the bathtub for support. Astarion’s hand slips from your throat to just under your breasts, and he keeps you pressed firmly to his chest, supporting your still-trembling body. 

In his arms, you feel safe and secure. 

Yet, there is a voice at the back of your head that warns you not to get too comfortable being this in love because if his life is in danger and being in Waterdeep with you puts him in mortal peril, you will send him away. 

You will break his heart to save his life — even if it breaks you.

The shadows spread out around you, with only the soft bioluminescent glow of crystals, flora, and your small fire providing any illumination to the hopeless dark. You gaze at the fire, absently morphing it into shapes of things you miss from the surface — the sun, trees, birds.  

Astarion.  

How long have you been down here trying to track down his siblings and the 7,000 vampire spawn you set free?  

Days? Weeks? Months?  

Long enough for your skin to start losing the kiss of the sun.  

When the flaming figure looks up from the book in his hands and waves at you, tears start to prick your eyes, and you curse under your breath as you relinquish your control and the fire rolls down into its natural state.  

You know better than to allow your mind to wander. Why you keep doing this to yourself, you’ll never understand.  

You glance around your little, makeshift, one-person camp situated in a spot you remember well. You thought it would bring you comfort to stay where you have happier memories, but the barrenness is only another aching reminder of his absence. Sighing, you grab the edges of your bedroll and start wrapping it up. You left your tent months ago when it became too threadbare and worn to be of much use other than slowing you down. 

Your fingers comb through your knotted hair quickly and tie it back. It’s not been properly washed in some time, and it feels stringy and gritty against your hands. You look briefly around the camp before walking down the little slope, taking particular care to evade the spore clouds from the timmask. 

Picking up where you left off the day before, you follow the path and keep a keen eye on the ground. Without the banter from your friends, an eerie silence spreads in all directions around you.  

But that’s how it’s been for months — just you, the road, and your nightmares.  

You crouch down, studying the tracks in the silt. Pressing your fingers into the dirt, you find it to be dry and dusty this far away from the lake. The ground would not hold impressions for long.  

I’m getting closer. 

Something snaps in the murk, making you jump to your feet and study the surroundings, but the darkness is deep and obscure.  

“Hello?”  

The stillness doesn’t answer. 

My mind is playing tricks on me again. 

After adjusting your pack, you do your best to follow the trail. The Arcane Tower looms in the distance, a spire that seems to blend in with the gloomy atmosphere except for the burning braziers giving off their blue glow. A flurry of pebbles bounces down a nearby cliff, clattering against the stone. Perception heightens all your senses, your skin prickles, and your hair stands on end. 

You’re being watched, tracked, and hunted. 

Casting Misty Step, you vanish and reappear, swiftly descending into a crouch, shrouded in darkness. Frenzied red eyes and dirty, gaunt faces begin to appear with their fangs bared in deranged toothy grins that spell danger. They scent the air, and their eyes snap directly to your position, their fingers poised in front of them, ready to claw their prey.  

They twitch and quiver, snarling and hissing like feral animals. You try to speak to them, but your words fall flat, muted by malnourishment and bloodlust. You search the faces for someone you recognize, but good Gods, they are filthy, cadaverous, and emaciated. 

Hells. Are they suffering because I didn’t have the strength to end it when I could have? 

You do the only thing you can and run. Their pursing footsteps thunder like a stampeding herd of Bulette. You sprint, pushing your body to careen over the uneven terrain faster, faster, faster until your muscles burn and cramp.  

But it is not fast enough.  

You scream for Astarion as your mind blanks momentarily from panic, but he’s not here; he’s never here, and he never will be again.  

You trip.   

Gods.   

You trip on rocks and gnarled roots, scraping your knees and palms. The scent of blood in the air only sends them further into a frenzy, and bony hands grab at you from all sides. You try to pull away, but it’s too late. You are jerked forward, back, and side to side as they contend over you as if you are the last decaying scrap of carrion in all of Faerûn.  

Numerous pairs of pointed fangs pierce into the flesh of your arms, legs, and neck. They are not gentle. Hells, they are not gentle at all, nothing like Astarion. This pain does not ebb into a pleasant, dull throb. It is sharp, with ice and fire rending your skin. They shake their heads, ripping and tearing, and their fangs sink through muscle and hit bone.  

How many of them are there? Hundreds? Thousands? 

Crimson eyes and hollow cheeks fill your vision, blotting out everything else. You thrash, you struggle, and you call for Astarion in high-pitched screams, but none of it is of any use. 

You lash out at them with your magic, allowing the flames to envelop your skin, but they hold your arms and legs, grinding your limbs into the dirt. They burn, but they do not stop; they cannot stop. They are too starved and too crazed. They will drain you dry even as they char and blacken.  

It’s over. 

You will die alone in the dark. 

A sheen of cool sweat dusts your skin, you grow cold, and the pain begins to recede into a cradling senselessness. You resign yourself to death as you walk the edge of it. When the darkness calls, you find that you want to heed it and tumble into the respite of your imminent demise. Your heart beats slower, slower, slower. It palpates in your chest, trying to pump blood that is no longer in your body. 

Your eyelids are heavy, lashes fluttering as they beg to close. Death approaches you, seductive and charming, with outstretched arms. It is attractive and tempting. It whispers relief. Death is all embrace me and never be alone again. It says don’t be afraid. It beckons you to join it in sweet, all-encompassing release. You reach toward it, taking it’s hand, and allow yourself to be led away from the pain, the cold, the loneliness — all of it. 

And you finally feel at peace.  

A voice bellows, agitating the edges of the still serenity you’re sinking into, and fangs begin to rip from your arm and legs.  

A man? 

You blink, trying to clear your clouded vision. The voice urges you to move, to get up and run. You try, but the earth here is unable to swallow your blood quickly enough, and you slip and fall into the pools collecting on the ground. Your eyelashes flutter weakly as you squint to look at the man standing before you, hauling, and throwing the hysterical, blood-mad spawn away.  

Astarion? 

The feeble beat of your heart jolts with hope, and you turn away from death, releasing its hand and resisting its siren song. You turn away from the peaceful nullity it offers, walk out of its dark caress, and back into your body.  

But all hope is expunged as soon as the shroud is removed from your sight. The blurred figure begins to take shape, and previously formless details sharpen.  

No… 

Not Astarion. 

Never Astarion. 

Though you do recognize him, your mind sluggishly tries to connect the familiarity with memories.  

His name. Gods, you know it, but what is it?  

Sebastian. 

The spawn attack, throwing themselves at him, rendered insane by the smell of your blood. You try to push yourself up again, but you only make it to your knees, wavering unsteadily as your head spins and unconsciousness summons. Sebastian starts calling out over his shoulder.  

“Get her out of here,” Sebastian barks to Leon who looks at you with brows furrowed in confusion. “Her blood is only making it worse. Dal and I can keep them busy long enough for you to get her away.”  

Leon nods curtly, sprinting toward you and throwing you over his shoulder. It’s not a comfortable hold, as his bony shoulder juts into your stomach and lungs. The swaying makes your head throb sickeningly, and you fade in and out of consciousness.  

Panicked voices rouse you back from the dark, but you cannot open your eyes. Your senseless fingers twist into your robe as you try to find a way to hold onto your wakefulness.  

“What are we going to do with her?” A woman’s baffled voice quivers. “What in the Hells is she even doing down here?”  

“If we don’t do something quickly, she’s going to die,” Sebastian says.  

“Let her die,” another man’s voice drawls, heartless and cold. “I could use a snack.”  

“Petras!” Leon scolds.  

Your eyes finally begin to open while they debate your fate. You’re slumped against the stone wall of the Arcane Tower. 

“You cannot seriously be suggesting we let her bleed out.” Sebastian mutters from the corner. “She killed Cazador. She saved our lives. She saved Astarion.”  

“She-” Petras stomps with his fists balled at his sides. “ She stood by and watched while Astarion roasted me!”  

Dal scoffs. “Are you still sour about that? Gods. Let it go.”  

“No,” he says, shaking his head and jutting his chin out haughtily. “I don’t think I will, sister.”  

“She means much to Astarion,” Leon sighs, rubbing his forehead. “We owe him to at least try and save her.”  

Your voice is weak, barely even a whisper. “Have you seen or heard from him?”  

All of their heads snap toward you with narrow eyes.  

“Who?” Dal tries to smile, stops pacing, and comes to crouch by your side.  

“Astarion. Have you seen him?”  

Leon frowns. “No. The last time we saw him was at the Black Mass with you.”  

You nod and let your head loll to the side. It takes every ounce of energy you have left, but you cast Detect Thoughts covertly.  

You knew it was a long shot, but they are not lying.  

“Let me die.” You sob. “Have mercy and let me die.”  

When your eyes crack and creep open, darkness so thick that it presses in on you, being drawn into your lungs with every shallow, rapid breath, suffocating you from the inside and out, is there to greet you once more. 

Death had been a mysterious, charming man, holding your hand, and gently walking you into that final repose, and you turned away from him and told him to wait. 

You told Death himself to wait because you thought Astarion was there. 

But he wasn’t. 

He was never there. 

Your eyes cry silent tears of mourning for the loss of the peace that was all but promised to you. Now, you must walk on the precipice of two existences. One in which you exist to hold everyone and everything together — a fearless leader, a lover, a light in the darkness — and the other where you watch yourself continually fall apart, crushed beneath the weight of it all. 

Shutting your eyes so tight it hurts, you clench your teeth, and instead of shying away from the pain, running, as you so often do, you delve into it. You force your heart to ingest your fears, doubts, and suffering until it shatters, you run out of tears, and you let it hurt until that too stops. 

A remarkable numbness circulates through your veins, like a wave cast out from your heart as it burst into fragments of all the things you used to be. There is no happiness or sadness, love or not, just a soft lull into emotionlessness, and you wade ever deeper into the treacle of frigid calm. 

Somewhere, deep inside you, a voice whispers that this is worse, that this is not healing, that this is running. 

You tell that voice to shut the fuck up. 

You manage to slip out of the room without waking Astarion, pad through the silent manor, and go outside into the courtyard. The storm still rages on. Rain splatters against your face, thunder and lightning crack overhead, and the wet strands of your hair whip wildly in the wind. You stay as the rain drenches you to the bone, you’re shivering, and watch the wild orchestra; the chaos of it mirrors the turmoil of your own soul. 

“Sorceress.” The voice comes from behind a locked, wrought-iron gate. 

The voice should make you jump, scream, run, but it does not even spur the shattered remains of your heart to quiver in their grave.  

“Aldous.” 

“My master would like to parlay with you.” He sneers as if it physically pains him to say. “She believes a deal can be struck to avoid fatalities on both sides.” 

“I don’t make deals with Vampire Lords.” You hiss, “You can tell your master I said to fuck off.” 

“Kamena,” Aldous slinks closer to the gate. Can he come through the gate? Is it just houses they can’t walk into uninvited, or is this part of the house? “You did not even ask what her offer was. I assure you that you will want to hear it.” 

Curiosity gets the better of you. “What’s she offering?” 

“Safety, for you and yours, including the blood sucker,” Aldous hisses the last part, and it makes you smirk. It must just be killing him to offer safety to the man who drained him dry and left him to rot. 

“Not interested,” you yawn, and stretch dramatically. “There are other ways to ensure our safety that do not rely on a deal with a Vampire Lord. I much prefer those ways.” 

“What about this?” Aldous holds up a ring. A golden band with a large ruby, but it looks otherwise unremarkable. 

“Jewellery?” You scoff, “Gods. Are you just fucking with me now?” 

“I admit it appears rather unremarkable, but it is the Ring of the Sunwalker. It will allow your lover to walk in the sun again unharmed.” 

Could it be true? Could an enchanted ring be mere feet away from you that will allow Astarion to see and walk in the sun again without fear? 

“What’s to stop me from taking it from you right now?” You stalk toward the gate, fire ablaze in your palms. 

“Ah-ah, Sorceress.” Aldous wags his index finger at you. He holds the ring in his palm, and you realize it’s an illusion. “My master is willing to give up such a unique treasure if you can come to an agreement.” 

“Because she means to complete the Rite of Profane Ascension, the one I stopped Cazador from completing. She will be able to walk in the sun, and she won’t need it anymore. Correct?” 

“Something like that.” Aldous smiles snake-like. “So, what do you say?” 

“Astarion and my friends are guaranteed safety, and we get the ring, but what’s the catch?” 

“We require an exact sketch of his scars to complete the contract as well as the incantation.” 

You could end this. You could take the deal, take Astarion, and run as far from Waterdeep as you can, leaving it to its fate under an Ascended Vampire Lord.  

How far would you go to ensure Astarion’s safety? Would you turn a blind eye to another Vampire Lord ascending and all the thousands of deaths that means? 

Could you live with yourself? 

“I will think about it.”

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

Do we think Kamena is going to take the offer seriously?

I am curious. Would you consider it if it means safety for all your friends and Astarion, and a ring that allows him to walk in the sun unharmed, even if it means turning a blind eye to all that death?

[jadarnr]

TRINITY BLOOD

RAGE AGAINST THE MOONS

(Storia: Sunao Yoshida // Illustrazioni: Thores Shibamoto)

Vol.1 - From the Empire

FROM THE EMPIRE - CAPITOLO OTTO

Traduzione italiana di jadarnr basata sui volumi inglesi editi da Tokyopop.

Sentitevi liberi di condividere, ma fatelo per piacere mantenendo i credits e il link al post originale 🙏

Grazie a @trinitybloodbr per il contributo alla revisione sul testo originale giapponese ✨

“Improperium exspectavit cor meum et miseriam - Il mio cuore era pronto all’ingiuria e all’afflizione.”

La porta si aprì mentre il coro dei ragazzi cantava l’“Improperium”, un canto della liturgia cristiana. Preceduta dal sacerdote che faceva oscillare l'incensiere, entrò una solenne processione di chierici vestiti con abiti e cappucci. Sebbene il numero di persone fosse esiguo per l'entourage delle persone più potenti del mondo, era adeguato alle dimensioni di quella cattedrale.

Situata trenta metri sotto la Basilica di San Marco, con il coro di ragazzi presente dall’inizio della cerimonia, alcune guardie simboliche ed il gruppo di chierici appena entrato, la cripta non aveva più spazio per mettere un solo spillo.

“Et sustinui qui simul mecum contristaretur, et non fuit - Attesi chi prendesse parte alla mia pena, ma non ci fu alcuno.”

Durante il canto dei sacerdoti, il Papa, con il cappuccio calato sulla testa, che gli copriva anche gli occhi, chinò reverentemente il capo verso l'altare dove si stava tenendo il sacramento. In mezzo al silenzio, consacrò una scatola contenente le sante reliquie sull'altare. Dopo aver completato quella parte della cerimonia, il Vescovo di Venezia, che gli stava accanto come assistente, iniziò a leggere la preghiera ad alta voce.

“Kyrie, eleison. Christe, eleison. Media vita in morte sumus quem quaerimus adjutorem nisi te, Domine? Kyrie, eleison - Signore pietà. Cristo pietà. A metà della nostra vita già ci troviamo nella morte, chi possiamo chiamare in nostro aiuto, se non Voi, o Signore? Amen.”

Il Papa si era alzato e, con l'aiuto del Vescovo assistente che lo teneva per mano, aveva lasciato l'altare. Normalmente, dopo questo momento sarebbero dovuti essere eseguiti la comunione eucaristica e gli altri sacramentI, ma erano stati omessi dalla cerimonia. Si diceva che il Papa, il più giovane della storia, soffrisse di un'estrema fobia sociale e che in un'occasione fosse addirittura svenuto per la paura mentre celebrava la Messa. Nel silenzio imbarazzante che ne seguì, il giovane pontefice, con passi incerti, si era diretto verso la porta.

Fu proprio in quel momento che una voce chiara risuonò nelle orecchie dei presenti.

“Alessandro XVIII, 399° Papa del Vaticano, ho una questione da discutere con voi.”

Nella direzione in cui tutti gli occhi si erano rivolti, un ragazzo si era alzato dal centro del coro. Sotto la sua veste fluente, un'enorme ascia brillava minacciosamente.

“Il mio nome è Endre - Endre Kourza, Conte di Zagabria del Vero Impero Umano! Voi, semplici primati che osate sfidarci, consegnate le vostre teste senza opporre resistenza!”

Le guardie non riuscirono nemmeno ad alzare le armi. Come un demone bellissimo e veloce, che si muoveva con la grazia di un angelo sotto l'effetto dell'Haste, balzò sopra gli attoniti presenti. Nell'aria, l'enorme ascia lampeggiò minacciosamente e, senza esitare, Endre la scagliò contro la testa del giovane Papa pietrificato...

“Cosa...?”

In un batter d'occhio, insieme a un suono chiaro, il corpo di Endre fu scagliato a grande distanza. Il bel viso dell’essere che atterrò contro la parete decorata con un magnifico mosaico fu distorto dalla sorpresa.

“Im-impossibile... Sei tu!”

“... Sei tu quello che farebbe bene a non opporre resistenza, Endre.”

Insieme al tono basso della sua voce, il cappuccio che copriva la testa del Pontefice cadde.

Sopra i suoi capelli di bianco avorio, una donna impugnava una robusta sciabola militare. Alla vista dei suoi occhi color ambra, una voce tremante di rabbia uscì dalla gola del vecchio vampiro.

“Tu, Astharoshe Asran! Come!”

“Endre Kourza, in nome del Padre, del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo, lei è in arresto con l'accusa di quaranta omicidi.”

L'assistente del vescovo di Venezia... No, la persona che fingeva di essere lui gridò, aggiustandosi gli occhiali spessi come il fondo di una bottiglia di latte.

“Resistere è inutile. Arrendetevi immediatamente!”

“Com’è possibile...!? Siete stati troppo veloci! Il Papa? Dov'è il vero Papa?”

“Nella cassaforte del signor Marco Colleoni, che avete ucciso, è stato trovato un biglietto ── È stato ricattato con la figlia in ostaggio, e ha falsificato le analisi della Santa Eucarestia. La cerimonia è stata annullata... Ah, tutti i sacerdoti qui sono dipendenti dell'Ax. Non potete più scappare. Vi consiglio vivamente di gettare le armi e arrendervi.”

“Il biglietto è stato trovato dai parenti in lutto che stavano cercando il testamento. Se non lo avessi ucciso, probabilmente non sarebbe mai stato trovato. Arrenditi, stupido, ti sei scavato la fossa con la tua stessa crudeltà! Ora non hai più scampo!” Aggiunse Astha.

I sacerdoti estrassero simultaneamente i loro fucili da sotto le vesti. Il suono dell'armamento riecheggiò in sincronia.

“Ah! Nonostante mi sia infiltrato nel coro per arrivare prima che vi rivoltaste contro di me... Anche così...” Con visibile odio, il ragazzo sollevò le labbra e rise beffardo. “Arrenditi, hai detto?! Non farmi ridere, ragazzina!”

“Giù!” Nell'istante in cui la mano di Endre si girò, Astha tirò Abel verso di sé e lo fece chinare a terra. La grande ascia, emettendo un ruggito, spazzò via il vuoto dove si erano trovati loro un istante prima.

“Ricordalo bene, Astharoshe... Vieni, moccioso!”

“Aspetta, Endre!”

Il vecchio vampiro, afferrato uno dei coristi, iniziò a correre; Astha lo inseguì, seguita dalla voce disperata di Abel.

“Signorina Astha, non inseguirlo così... Ah, basta così! Tutti quanti, per favore, badate ai bambini!”

Nel frattempo, Endre allungò elegantemente la mano verso l'altare sullo sfondo. Quando l'altare, che pesava quasi una tonnellata, fu rovesciato di botto, si aprì un buco: erano i resti di un tunnel risalente a prima della Grande Calamità, il cosiddetto Armageddon. Il vecchio vampiro saltò dentro e anche Astha si lanciò dietro di lui.

“Non riuscirai a scappare!”

La luce della vernice fluorescente sulle pareti faceva apparire il tunnel stranamente biancastro. Le ombre dei Metuselah, che sfrecciavano nello spazio bianco in uno stato di haste, erano impossibili da cogliere per gli occhi umani. Tuttavia, grazie alla sua giovane età, Astha era leggermente più veloce.

“È finita, Endre!”

Il lampo di una spada militare spietata puntò alla schiena del vecchio vampiro che correva senza sosta con il bambino sotto il braccio.

“...Cosa!?”

Tuttavia, proprio mentre la lama affilata stava per squarciare il fondo, fu respinta senza alcun suono.

Intorno al vecchio vampiro, che stava saltando di lato, giravano otto sfere d'argento.

“Scudo Aegis!”

“Kuhaha! Getta via l'arma, Viscontessa di Odessa!”

Voltandosi, Endre sciolse l'haste e avvolse le dita intorno alla gola del ragazzo svenuto.

“Questa è la seconda volta... No, se contiamo la volta in cui ho ucciso senza pietà la tua compagna, sarebbe la terza, non è vero? Quindi, Astharoshe, se tieni alla vita di questo ragazzo, che ne dici di gettare via la tua arma?”

Per un attimo l'immagine della donna che era stata la sua compagna, fatta a pezzi, le balenò nella mente. Nonostante ciò poco dopo Astha gettò a terra la sua spada militare.

“Va bene, suppongo che tu non l’abbia fatto apposta... Ma ti sei messa in mezzo proprio al momento giusto! Immagino che dovrò darti una lezione, eh?”

Mentre estraeva la spada militare che era caduta sul selciato di pietra, Endre rise. La sua lunga lingua leccò la lama lucente.

“Ti avverto in anticipo, non pensare che questo sia l'unico piano che ho. Comunque vadano le cose, il Papa che avete salvato morirà. Sono già stati presi accordi in tal senso.”

“Se stai parlando della diga mobile, altre persone sono già in viaggio... Questa città non affonderà.”

“Come fai a saperlo?”

Endre strinse gli occhi come se fosse impressionato.

“Cavolo, sembra che io abbia esagerato con la mia battuta... Ti ho sottovalutato, pensando che fossi solo una ragazzina. Ma anche se sei arrivata a questo punto ── il crimine di interferire con le mie ambizioni è grave, Astharoshe.”

“Endre, bastardo, ti sbagli su due cose. Primo, non sono sola...”

Di fronte alla morte imminente, Astha, con un'espressione stranamente calma, guardò di nuovo in faccia Endre.

“E poi, quali sarebbero le tue ambizioni? Tsk, un maniaco come te non dovrebbe parlare con tanta audacia!”

“Cosa... cosa hai detto...?”

Era stato un discorso di estrema insolenza, ma sembrava che non fosse riuscito a capire subito cosa avesse detto. Mentre gli occhi di Endre si allargavano per la confusione, Astha sfoderò ancora una volta la sua lingua tagliente senza pietà.　

“Vigliacco e incompetente, ma con un enorme orgoglio. Vuoi essere riconosciuto dagli altri, ma non hai talento e non ci provi nemmeno. Come se non bastasse, tormenti e uccidi i Terrestri, fingendo di essere un artista... Ah! Un vigliacco depravato come te osa parlare di “ambizioni”? Non farmi ridere. Persino io mi vergogno di te.”

“Aa......”

Il bel viso d’angelo impallidì per un attimo, poi arrossì e infine impallidì completamente.

“Ragazza insolente!”

Una delle sfere d'argento cadde a terra accanto a Endre, emettendo un suono. Al suo posto, un ruggito esplose dalla gola del vecchio vampiro che brandiva la sciabola militare.

“Una come te... Che cosa puoi capire? Io sono diverso! Sono diverso dagli altri! Eppure non mi hanno riconosciuto! Ecco perché... Ecco perché io... ahhh!”

Un fulmine esplose diretto al cuore di Astha. Endre urlò, mostrando persino le gengive.

“Muori, mocciosa!”

“Ora, amico mio!”

Il suono dell'esplosione della polvere da sparo che riecheggiava nel tunnel non fu troppo forte. Ma sembrò avere una potenza sufficiente per far cadere in aria il vecchio vampiro infuriato.

“C…cosaaaaa!”

Il piccolo corpo, incurvandosi a forma di “C” nell'aria, rimbalzò una volta sulla parete, poi fu gettato a terra e rimbalzò di nuovo. Tenendosi l'addome, si contorse sul pavimento. Un proiettile d'argento, l'elemento più detestabile per i Metuselah, aveva perforato la sua cavità addominale e si era conficcato nella spina dorsale.

In fondo al tunnel, esattamente in direzione del sacerdote dai capelli d'argento dietro Astha, Endre gridò.

“Tu... Terran...! Mi hai ingannato, Astharoshe!”

“Non pensavo che saresti caduto in un trucco così meschino.”

Prendendo a calci l'Aegis caduto senza pietà, Astha sorrise maliziosamente.

Il sistema di difesa assoluta, Isis Aegis, aveva un difetto fatale in combattimento: finché il campo magnetico rimaneva attivato, era impossibile effettuare attacchi dall'interno verso l'esterno.

“Ben fatto, padre!”

“Cos'è questa storia del 'ben fatto'? Ti prego, non farmi innervosire così! Stai correndo avanti e mi stai lasciando indietro.”

Con il revolver ancora fumante in una mano, il sacerdote dai capelli d'argento aveva il fiatone.

“È un bene che ci siamo preparati in anticipo, ma sul serio, non avevo alcuna fiducia nelle mie capacità di tiro.”

La sua espressione era così buffa che Astha scoppiò a ridere. Ridendo, continuò:

“No, no. Io credevo in te, Tovarish... Hai fatto un ottimo lavoro!”

“Mi chiami compagno solo quando ti fa comodo eh... Ops, signorina Astha, è la prima volta che ti vedo ridere. Che bello!”

“...Dobitoku.”

Quando Astha distolse il viso, sembrava sconvolta, ma non riusciva a nascondere il fatto che le sue guance erano rosse.

Bene, questo conclude il lavoro. Non resta che scortare Endre nel nostro Paese. Poi sarà un addio a questo mondo detestabile: la mia nostalgica patria mi aspetta.

La nostalgica capitale imperiale. Un ritorno trionfale e pieno di orgoglio. Ma...

“...Grazie per il vostro aiuto, padre.”

“Non c'è di che.”

Il sacerdote inclinò leggermente la testa, con lo stesso sorriso spensierato di sempre. Astha strinse gli occhi, come se fosse stata colpita da qualcosa di abbagliante.

Probabilmente non lo rivedrò mai più...

Astha cercò di imprimere il volto del prete nella sua memoria. In quanto Terran, probabilmente non avrebbe vissuto più di altri cinquant’anni. Per lei, che avrebbe vissuto almeno altri trecento anni con lo stesso aspetto, cinquant'anni sarebbero passati in un batter d'occhio. E anche se un giorno avesse dovuto rimettere piede nel “mondo esterno” e i due si fossero incrociati, probabilmente non avrebbe riconosciuto il suo volto invecchiato.

“Ricorda bene il mio volto.” Chiese Astha. Poi continuò:

"Non sarò in grado di ricordarmi i volti di voi Terran per molto tempo. Quindi dovrai essere tu a chiamarmi, se mai ci rincontreremo, capito? Quando questo posto diventerà territorio del mio Impero, in onore dei vecchi tempi, magari ti nominerò responsabile di togliere le pulci ai gatti.”　

“Non vedo l'ora.”

Sorridendo dolcemente, il sacerdote strinse la mano che la sua compagna gli aveva teso.

[marsnolias]

I was bored so I compiled a list of my favourite-ever media.

Books

Proofiness: the Dark Arts of Mathematical Deception, by Charles Seife

A nonfiction book about how statistics and math can and will be used for nefarious purposes.

Humble Pi: When Math goes Wrong in the Real World, by Matt Parker

(The UK version of this is subtitled “when Maths goes Wrong in the Real World”). Another nonfiction explaining how many disasters in many different areas of science and technology are caused by seemingly minor errors with basic math and geometry.

Flatland, by Edwin Abbott Abbott

The journey of A. Square, an inhabitant of a 2d plane called Flatland, and his encounter with a sphere from the third dimension. Though fiction, it presents a good picture of how two, three, and four dimensions are represented in math. It's also a satire of Victorian class structure.

The Cyberiad, by Stanislaw Lem

A collection of short stories about a pair of androids named Trurl and Klapaucius, who fly about the galaxy building machines and robots for various kings and such. A very nice blend of sci-fi and fantasy.

Mortal Engines, by Stanislaw Lem

Similar to the Cyberiad, except there are no recurring characters. Describes itself very aptly as “fairy tales for the cybernetic age”.

Aliens: Phalanx, by Scott Sigler

The first Alien media I ever experienced. It features a colony of humans on a planet where the most advanced technology is a crossbow, and where humanity lives in underground networks to avoid xenomorphs (which they call demons).

Alien versus Predator: the Rage Wars trilogy, by Tim Lebbon

Consists of Predator: Incursion, Alien: Invasion, and Alien Vs. Predator: Armageddon

Features the Rage, a rebel group of humans that have found strange alien technology that not only prolongs their lives, but allows them to control xenomorphs. The climax ends with the Rage returning to earth to attack the human sphere of colonization, and they fight against the earth humans and their temporary allies, the Yautja (predators). One of my favorites. It breaks from the antagonistic humans being Weyland-Yutani for once.

The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas

A classic. I love how the letter that lands Dantés in prison also sets in motion a series of events that basically ruin the people that conspired against him.

Short Stories

In the Hills, the Cities, by Clive Barker

This is the only media I've ever seen that emotionally moved me. It's incredibly vivid, and equal parts terrifying and sad.

The Transformers: Showdown! (US #20) by Bob Budiansky

My favorite issue of Marvel G1 Transformers. It features the Autobot Skids falling in love with a human woman named Charlene.

Movies

Quasi at the Quackadero by Sally Cruikshank

A somewhat surreal and very fun animation about a couple of strange creatures and their adventures at a fair.

The Treasure Planet (1982), directed by Rumen Petkov

A Bulgarian animated film, not to be confused with Disney's Treasure Planet. Basically a retelling of Robert Louis Stevenson's novel, with a sci-fi twist. Contains some of the strangest, most off-the-wall scenes I've ever seen. In the English dub, Felipe, this movie's version of Jim Hawkins, is voiced by Bryan Cranston. Yes, the same one that would go on to play Walter White.

The Swindlers, directed by Jang Chang-Won

A Korean movie about a group of Swindlers banding together to take down another, bigger swindler that was the head of a giant ponzi scheme. Absolutely needs to be watched twice because, boy. The twists in this one.

Bongyi Kim Seon-Dal | Seondal: the Man who Sells the River, directed by Park Dae-Min

A movie set in the Joseon Era of Korea about Kim Seon-Dal, a legendary con man of Korean folklore.

Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, directed by Robert Zemeckis

The only one I like for the cinematography and behind the scenes stuff more than the actual plot.

Kshay | Corrode, directed by Karan Gour

A black and white Indian movie about a woman who desperately wants to conceive, and becomes obsessed with a statue of Lakshmi, Hindu deity of fertility and wealth.

[sweet-child]

Roadtrip

a journey made by car, bus, etc.

in sports, a series of games played away from home.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

In which we discover how Two-bit, Ponyboy, Johnny, and Dallas are like on a roadtrip.

part 2/2

"Enjoy" · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Dallas

Somehow the designated driver of car 2

Fought Two-bit for the keys.

Literal Speed demon.

"Dal, we're in 65 zone.."

"So?"

"You're going 80.."

"Okay?"

Challenges other cars to street races

Gets pulled over

"Oh, im sorry officer. I didn't see a speed limit sign anywhere."

If he didn't have Johnny and Ponyboy in the car, it would've been a high speed chase.

Controls the radio, and will have it on full blast.

He gets road rage.

Will slam his hand on the dashboard

Breaks hard.

Flips off people when he gets cut off.

Smoking

"Hey guys, look. No hands!"

Two-bit

Riding passenger

He spilt one of his beers due to Dal's hard breaking.

"What the hell! You owe me a beer"

"The hell i do!"

Cat calls broads

He sticks his torso out the window while doing it.

Also smoking

Tells Dallas to challenge cars

He tries to pretend he's asleep when they got pulled over.

Man probably, just somehow, has a warrant out for him.

Flips random people off for shits and giggles.

"FUCK MAN"

"WHAT!"

"I have to pee.."

He gets bored easily.

"Dal?"

"What."

"Are we there yet?"

Asks that question every 5 minutess

Johnny

He don't normally get car sick

Its another story with Dallas

"Im gonna puke"

Poor boy needs to be in the other car.

Dallas pulled over for him to puke.

Multiple times.

That boy is so light, inertia pushes him around like no big deal.

He hates the street races

"Dal, please don't.."

"Imma be sick again.."

Poor boy got scared when they got pulled over

Might pass out?

Either because he's tired or because of the street racing

Would get shaken awake by Pony

"Dal, pull over,"

He is the reason why Darry can catch up to them.

Barely eats the snacks

Unless they pull into a Dairy Queen

Chows that shit down.

But high risk of puking.

Ponyboy

Quietly points out out-of-state tags to Johnny

Would probably keep count of how many he sees

"Johnny's gonna puke!"

He probably has the window down for Johnny

He's somewhat used to the street racing? (Soda and Steve do it on occasions)

Inertia is also pushing him around, poor guy.

Offers Johnny a smoke

he refuses

He probably buys Johnny n Him snacks

Will NOT share.

He will slap hands away.

Probably gets sick like Johnny, but quickly gets used to the speeding/breaking/turning/etc.

Worried about the laws

Freaks out when Dallas takes his hand off the wheels

Terrified about getting lost.

He might take a power nap

But its quite impossible with Dallas' yelling

and street racing

Smokes to get over the nausea

Barely has to pee

Even though he's drank like, 5 Pepsis.

[squid-princess-teach-swallow]

Romance Club Edits - Masterlist

No. of links in post: 24

Arcanum

Selena × Liam holding each other

Selena × Liam holding each other - 2

Dracula: A Love Story

Aslan/Leo × Lale/MC random edits

Aslan × Lale childhood/teenage CG

MC as a demon

Sita Ramam × DaLS crossover ft. Leo as Ram and MC as Sita

Leo × MC × Vlad matching outfits

Heart of Trespia

Modern! MC

MC as Judith from the Bible

Wyatt holds MC bridal-style

Heaven's Secret

MC × Dino on a swing

Kali: Call of Darkness

Amala × Ratan in black

Rage of the Titans

MC × Murphy Wedding

Murphy after a fight

MC × Murphy being domestic

MC × Murphy forehead kiss

MC × Murphy random edits

MC × Murphy riding bicycle

POV: Murphy is your boss

Seduced by the Rhythm

MC × Claire in silver

The Flower from Tiamat's Fire

Nikkal × Niall holding each other

Crossovers

Dracula: A Love Story characters as Heart of Trespia characters

Miscellaneous

Valentine Cards

OTPs Christmas Edits

MCs Holiday Party

[mbcorvo-author]

Corvo’s Writober 2019 - Day 5 & 6

This is PART of a bigger thing I wrote, after what happened in yesterday’s D&D session. And I kind of wished that I always wrote everything so I could have the entire story of my character’s misadventures.

The original version of this is around 1577 words long, but since it’s more a novel-ized(?) version of what happened in a tabletop roleplaying game, I didn’t want to translate and share everything. I don’t know why, but I feel that this is a little bit personal in some ways. And also I didn’t want to spend hours on the ita-eng translation.

Since I still wanted to share something instead of jumping directly to Day 7, I decided to share only the pieces with the prompts in them and put some filler brackets for the left out parts.

The prompts I used are:

Day 5 - “I might just kiss you” from Fictober 19 prompt list by @fictober-event

Day 5 - Afterlife & Day 6 - Scorched from Writetober 2019 prompt list by @virtu-s and @elventhief 

Day 6 - “I can’t decide if this is the best, or the worst way to die” from October 2019 prompt list by @downwithwritersblock

___

Title: Love is a burning thing

The enormous Troll shouted in anger and fury when that flaming spell exploded in a big flame. Two guards collapsed lifeless on the floor, burnt from the magic fire that hit also the Paladin that wasn’t able to dodge it completely, but the giant Troll was still standing and even more furious. He turned around to look at who attacked him and with a growl moved in huge strides in the big kitchen to reach the violet Tiefling, golden eyes full of pure rage and despair, that was near the door that took to the fields behind the great mansion. He roared ferally and again struck his four muscular arms trying to hit the wizard, trying maybe to grab him and rip his head off like the creature already did on the other Tiefling that decided to defend the Paladin instead of continuing to be on his side. Two hits failed, but the wizard wasn’t enough agile – or maybe not enough clear-headed – to avoid the other two hits that took his breath away and made every fibre of his body scream in pain. He staggered back few steps, trying to recover from the attacks, left index finger pointed towards the Troll that for some moments found himself wrapped in black hellish flames that burned him further and making him exhale a pained growl. “I can’t decide if this is the best, or the worst way to die” was what crossed over the mind of the Tiefling Wizard. “Burned… scorched by one of my spells”. He had only a few instants to decide how to act.

“Lhuis, it’s been a lot since last time I talked to another Tiefling” said the wizard “We know each other such a brief time, but I have to admit that I like being with you.” the tail with the double-arrow looking tip moved and wrapped itself around the right leg of the Wizard, in a common instinctive movement that for Tieflings means embarrassment or nervousness. Nervous, the one that never shied away from flirting (or, at least, trying to flirt) openly with anyone he liked. “You know… finally finding someone that gets me, that likes me the way I am. And then… I have to confess to you that I like you. A lot.” violet lips, like his complexion, parted in a smile that let show a little part of his white pointy teeth that – with the horns and tails – gave him an even more devilish look. The other Tiefling, with unusual light skin, in the meanwhile took off the half mask that he used to cover the remainings of his horns, chopped off with his tail in the past by some intolerant humans that felt extreme hate towards what they saw as half-demons. He turned towards the wizard and moved few steps to stand very close to him “Kylech, I… I might just kiss you, you know?” asked, with a sweet smile on his face. Kylech reduced more the tiny gap between them, softly taking the other’s face between his hands “And so, kiss me” murmured on his lips, taking then the first step kissing him lightly.

[Here there was another big piece of flashback about Lhuis and Kylech and about the series of unfortunate events that lead to the current situation, and Kylech's realization that Lhuis is what he searched and needed after all his travellings.]

The golden eyes of the desperate wizard were fixed in the direction of the furious Troll with the maw still stained with his lover’s blood. Only a few instants before the Troll recovered from the pain caused by the hellish flames that hit him, few moments to decide. Risking to be mauled by the enraged being, or using his strongest spell even if that the too close range would mean risking being struck by it as well?

“Lhuis, I’ll join you in the Afterlife!” shouted the Tiefling, before striking against the Troll in front of him that fireball that at the impact exploded, flaring up and burning everything that was in its proximity.

Italian under the cut!

Questo è PARTE di una cosa più grande che ho scritto, dopo quello che è successo nella sessione di ieri di D&D. E tipo mi sarebbe piaciuto aver sempre scritto tutto, così da avere l’intera storia delle disavventure del mio personaggio.

La versione originale di questo è attorno alle 1577 parole, ma dato che è una versione romanzata(?) di quello che è successo in un gioco di ruolo cartaceo, non ho voluto tradurre e condividere tutto. Non so perché, ma mi sembra che sia anche un qualcosa di un po’ personale in qualche modo. E inoltre non avevo voglia di trascorrere ore nella traduzione ita-eng.

Siccome volevo condividere comunque qualcosa invece di saltare direttamente al Day 7, ho deciso di condividere solo le parti dove ci sono gli spunti e aggiungere delle parentesi riempitive per le parti tralasciate.

Gli spunti usati sono:

Day 5 - “I might just kiss you” from Fictober 19 prompt list by @fictober-event

Day 5 - Afterlife & Day 6 - Scorched from Writetober 2019 prompt list by @virtu-s and @elventhief

Day 6 - “I can’t decide if this is the best, or the worst way to die” from October 2019 prompt list by @downwithwritersblock

___

Titolo: Love is a burning thing / L’amore è una cosa che brucia

Il gigantesco Troll urlò di rabbia e ira quando quella magia infuocata esplose in una enorme fiammata. Due guardie stramazzarono a terra esanimi, bruciate dal fuoco magico che colpì anche il Paladino che non fece in tempo a scansarsi del tutto, ma il gigantesco troll era ancora in piedi e ancora più furente. Si voltò ad adocchiare chi lo aveva attaccato e con un ringhio avanzò a grandi falcate nell’ampia cucina per raggiungere il Tiefling viola, occhi dorati pieni di pura rabbia e disperazione, che si trovava in piedi nei pressi della porta che dava verso i terreni sul retro della grande magione. Ruggì bestialmente ancora una volta e fece saettare le sue quattro muscolose braccia per cercare di colpire il mago, cercare anche di afferrarlo e staccargli la testa con un morso come aveva fatto con l’altro Tiefling che aveva deciso di difendere il Paladino anziché stare dalla sua parte. Due colpi andarono a vuoto, ma il mago non era abbastanza agile – o forse non abbastanza lucido – per poter schivare gli altri due colpi che gli mozzarono il fiato e urlare di dolore ogni fibra del suo corpo. Indietreggiò di un passo, barcollando e cercando di riprendersi dai colpi, dito indice mancino che si puntò in direzione del Troll che per qualche momento si ritrovò avvolto da nere fiamme infernali che lo bruciarono ulteriormente facendolo ringhiare ancora di dolore. “Non so decidere se questo sia il migliore o il peggior modo di morire” fu quello che passò nella mente del Mago Tiefling “Ustionato...arso da un mio stesso incantesimo”. Aveva solo qualche istante per poter decidere come agire.

“Lhuis, era da parecchio tempo che non parlavo con un altro Tiefling” disse il mago “Ci conosciamo da così poco, ma devo ammettere che sto bene con te.” la coda terminante in una doppia freccia si avvolse attorno alla gamba destra del mago, in un classico istintivo movimento che nei Tiefling indica imbarazzo o nervosismo. Imbarazzato, lui che non si era mai fatto problemi a flirtare (o, almeno, tentare di flirtare) apertamente con chiunque gli piacesse. “Sai… finalmente qualcuno che mi riesce a capire, che mi apprezza per come sono. E poi...devo confessarti che mi piaci. Molto.” labbra viola come il resto della sua carnagione che si stirarono in un sorriso che lasciò intravedere la candida dentatura appuntita che – assieme a corna e coda – gli davano un’aria ancora più diabolica. L’altro Tiefling, dalla carnagione insolitamente chiara, aveva intanto posato la mezza maschera che utilizzava per nascondere quel che rimaneva delle sue corna, mozzate assieme alla sua coda molto tempo prima da umani intolleranti che provavano un odio estremo verso quelli che vedevano come mezzi demoni. Si voltò nuovamente verso il mago e mosse qualche passo fino a fermarsi vicinissimo a lui “Kylech, io… potrei baciarti, lo sai?” domandò, con un dolce sorriso sul viso. Kylech ridusse ulteriormente quella minima distanza che li separava, prendendo delicatamente il viso altrui tra le proprie mani “E allora baciami” gli sussurrò a fior di labbra, prendendo poi l’iniziativa scoccandogli un primo leggero bacio.

[Qui c’era un grande spezzone di flashback riguardo Lhuis e Kylech e sulla serie di sfortunati eventi che hanno portato alla situazione attuale, così come la realizzazione di Kylech del fatto che Lhuis è tutto quello che aveva cercato e voluto dopo tutti i suoi viaggi.]

Gli occhi dorati del disperato mago erano fissi in direzione del rabbioso Troll dalle fauci sporche del sangue del suo amato. Rimanevano pochi istanti prima che l’essere si riprendesse dal dolore causato dalle fiamme infernali con cui era stato colpito, pochi istanti in cui decidere. Rischiare di essere dilaniato a propria volta dalla creatura furente, oppure usare il proprio incantesimo più forte nonostante la distanza ravvicinata e rischiare di venirne investito a propria volta?

“Lhuis, ti raggiungo nell’Aldilà!” esclamò il Tiefling, prima di scagliare contro il Troll di fronte a lui quella palla di fuoco che all’impatto esplose divampando e investendo tutto quello che si ritrovava nelle sue vicinanze.

[enddaysengine]

Oracles on Eberron

The ancestors were restless tonight.

The goblin shadow priests stalked around Haanurr in a circle. The hobgoblin was easily twice their height, but he was outnumbered three to one.

"Traitor!" snarled one of the priests."God-forsaker and kin-killer!"

Haanurr snorted.

"I'm the traitor? What of you all? The goblins of the Empire worshipped no gods, and neither do I." Haanurr needed to buy himself some time as he rummaged in the extradimensional space up his sleeve. He had an idea, but the Dhakanni spirits who haunted him kept moving his gear around.

"I can't control what I believe any more than I can control what I see. I know my prophecies to be true. I have faith in something that is real, something that our Dhakanni ancestors knew of and believed in. You? You invented gods that the Empire never worshipped. You turned your backs on the renaissance of our culture. You have turned your backs on your ancestors for demons of the mind. You have forgotten the faces of your mothers!”

Each of the goblins drew their blades in turn in silent rage, the purple-black dragonshards glinting in the campfire. Keeper's Blades.

"Very well," said Haanurr, withdrawn the alchemical flash-powder from his sleeve and preparing to call on his Dhakaani ancestors to shove one of his assailants off a nearby cliff.

"I predict your charge of kin-slayer will become true very shortly. A pity you won't be alive to see it."

The ancestors were restless tonight, but Haanurr would be damned if they would be forgotten.

Keith Baker has written extensively about the nature of faith in Eberron, so I'm not going to retread that ground too much. Pathfinder's oracles fulfill a similar niche to the favoured souls of 3.5: spellcasters born with an instinctual connection to the divine, not extraordinary priests whose deep faith grants them divine gifts. If the cleric is ecclesiastical and philosophical, the oracle is intuitive and charismatic. Nothing prevents them from existing in the hierarchy of a church, but they don't require the formal training of a cleric, so nothing stops them from living outside that hierarchy either.

Now, with all that said, there is another interesting niche for the oracle that is specific to Eberron. Oracles could also be mortals who understand the Draconic Prophecy at a fundamental level that is not based on academic study. This would still be divine magic, but these oracles don't worship the Prophecy. Instead, they have a deep and unshakeable conviction that the Prophecy is real and that what they predict will come to pass. This faith in one's self wouldn't preclude belonging to another faith of course, but it would massively flavour the specifics of how that religion is practiced.

Here is a question that you can only ask in Eberron. Could you have an atheist oracle? Absolutely! Okay, Haanurr was a bit of a spoiler to my answer, but it is worth pointing out that  a multitude of religions on Eberron don’t actually require belief in gods  (much like Buddhism). The most obvious is the Blood of Vol, but the Keepers of the Past, the Undying Court, the Path of Light, the Path of Inspiration, and all of the Druidic Sects are fairly deity agnostic. Even the Church of the Silver Flame doesn’t require belief in unknowable divine entities. The Silver Flame is a gestalt force made of souls (which are a known natural phenomenom), so it is entirely reasonable for it to exist when gods don’t. So yes, atheist oracles are definitely in for Eberron.

Curses don't really inform anything about oracles as a group, but they speak to the backstory and individuality of specific oracles. One oracle with clouded vision may have traded their mortal vision for the insight of Aureon's gaze. Another may technically see fine, but their sight is obscured by visual representations of the Prophecy. A third may be a kalashtar whose sight is clouded by a curse from the Dreaming Dark, but who can channel divine power from the heart of Dal Quor itself. Use the curses to emphasize what makes an oracle unique and why they are more than just another cleric.

Few would be bold enough, daring enough, or irreverent enough to mess with an oracle's curse. House Vadalis is all three. The House keeps its eugenics programs under deep wraps, but they exist. One posits that since the oracles' magic and curse are linked together if the curse can be passed down along bloodlines, so can the spells. Results so far have been promising, but the members of other Houses who know about the program worry that Vadalis will be able to create divinely powered super-soldiers or, even worse, use their findings to manipulate the lineages of the dragonmarks themselves.

One of the most renowned veterans of the Last War in New Cyre was not a born a citizen of Galifer. The minotaur Grey MacTuum joined the war as a mercenary though House Thrashak, but soon became such a thorn in the side of Thrane and Breland that she was granted citizenship and a noble title.  MacTuum's faith revolves around Arawai, Balinor, and the Devourer, but the Church sees her use of oracular powers in the service of any of the Dark Six as a mockery of the Keeper of the Flame. Meanwhile, the knighting of MacTuum with the title ir'Droaam by Queen Dannel is still a sore spot for King Boranel. Officially MacTuum has retired, but she offers her patronage to anyone who is helping Cyre rebuild or who respects both the Sovereigns and the Six.

The Sovereign Host is far from the only religion in Eberron to be found independently in multiple cultures. The Lizardfolk of Q'barra worship the Flame as well, but instead of having a single Speaker of the Flame, they have access to a shared memory. This memory results in a higher number of oracles than other races, since the lizardfolk's innate connection to the Flame makes them more likely to develop spontaneous divine powers.

Notes: Want more fun with classes? As always, check out @dailycharacteroption !

[lyrics2world]

Maze Of Memories Lyrics - Stray Kids

Maze Of Memories Lyrics Song From Clé 1 - MIROH.Song Sung By Stray Kids (스트레이 키즈).

Song Credit

Song - MIROH

Album - Clé 1 - MIROH

Artist - Stray Kids

Maze Of Memories Lyrics

[Romanized:]

Shiganeun dallyeoga

Machi nae kkumcheoreom day and night

Jamshi nae mogmareul taewo

Naye chueokdeureul bakkeuro deonjinda

Igeon machi gakbon eopneun drama

Saenggak mot han gyeolmal nawa

Yejeone mamsogeul deopeotteon meonjiga

Ijeneun nae kkumeul jitnulleo now

Throwback kkaman bamdeureul jibeosamkyeo

Ijeneun naega gajyeoganeun taeyange bulkeun bichi

Geu dameneun chagaun saebyeoge

Weroi tteun dal bomyeo eolgureul dwideopeo shimchwi

Geomeun saekchilhadeut

Meorissoge taolla ga gadeukhaejyeo mureumpyoga nareul tat tat

Ijeneun boiji anneun dabeul wihaeseo dallyeo

Running on my mind hajiman sogeun deo dabdabhae

Igeon nae naeireul wihan gyeoktu

Jigeum nae sangtae machi eojeye miraereul bon deuthae yeah

Misoreul sshik namege bilbilgeorimyeo hansumeul pik

Jigeumeun oneure naneun nal boneun geotcheoreom jamkkane goyoga hwing

Georeumgeoriga neuryeojilsurok nal buchugineun baram

Turn up with this bangrang

Jamshi dongan naege jamdeun shiganeul jwo

Nae salme deohae odab gateun jeongdabeul naege show

Jigeum naege boineun geot da geojitmariya igeon

Dorado gateun shigan sok meomulleoisseo

Shipeoreon haneul arae bulkge taneun uri norae

Bulkge taneun uri norae apeul makneun geochin moraebaram

Tago naraoneun meogi sanyanghaneun gorae

Geureotago meogil jul suneun eopseo naneun wollae geurae

Yeogijeogi doldeuri da

Naraomyeon kallo chingching da beeobeorin daeum

Tikkeullo mandeureo tikkeullo taesaneul mandeureo

Da dwedollyeojunda

Kkeulheo olla jujeonjae damgin hwa

Kkeureo ollyeo geogi hwae gachin nal

Geu hwaga kkochieosseum jogetne

Bulbada malgo kkotbat ieosseum hae

Doro wie akmadeuri tteodeureodaene

Bokjabhame gonggi junge tteodoneun nae nwe

Geu noereul nakkachaen geon nopi naneun saene

Geu saeye deung dwie ta naneun bihaenghae

Imma look back

Imma look back to the future in fact

Let me examine the progress

The demons that tried to suffocate the road to success

Imma look forward into the sea

Oblivious sea I call "history"

Thunderous waves that rage

Destroying the maze of memories I wanna see

And so, should I give up

But really, can I give up

We live in a time and space, a world full of blinds

It makes me wanna give up

But then again, no I shouldn't give up

I feel it inside, don't wanna give up

We live in a time and space, a world full of blinds

Now I've had enough

Calling out for help, on this carousel

Life is like a dare or an open fair

I just wanna tell, tell the citadel

Dream

Empire, campfire,

Unpile old files, set fire

Rise higher, go wild and chase my

Dream

That's why I

Never give up

Never give up

Nae mareul deureo nan jogeum dalla

Never give up

Never give up

Never give up

Naeireul bogo jogeum deo dallyeo

Never give up

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[Korean:]

시간은 달려가

마치 내 꿈처럼 day and night

잠시 내 목마를 태워

나의 추억들을 밖으로 던진다

이건 마치 각본 없는 drama

생각 못 한 결말 나와

예전의 맘속을 덮었던 먼지가

이제는 내 꿈을 짓눌러 now

Throwback 까만 밤들을 집어삼켜

이제는 내가 가져가는 태양의 붉은 빛이

그 담에는 차가운 새벽에

외로이 뜬 달 보며 얼굴을 뒤덮어 심취

검은 색칠하듯

머릿속에 타올라 가 가득해져 물음표가 나를 탓 탓

이제는 보이지 않는 답을 위해서 달려

Running on my mind 하지만 속은 더 답답해

이건 내 내일을 위한 격투

지금 내 상태 마치 어제의 미래를 본 듯해 yeah

미소를 씩 남에게 빌빌거리며 한숨을 픽

지금은 오늘의 나는 날 보는 것처럼 잠깐의 고요가 휭

걸음걸이가 느려질수록 날 부추기는 바람

Turn up with this 방랑

잠시 동안 내게 잠든 시간을 줘

내 삶에 더해 오답 같은 정답을 내게 show

지금 내게 보이는 것 다 거짓말이야 이건

돌아도 같은 시간 속 머물러있어

시퍼런 하늘 아래 붉게 타는 우리 노래

붉게 타는 우리 노래 앞을 막는 거친 모래바람

타고 날아오는 먹이 사냥하는 고래

그렇다고 먹일 줄 수는 없어 나는 원래 그래

여기저기 돌들이 다

날아오면 칼로 칭칭 다 베어버린 다음

티끌로 만들어 티끌로 태산을 만들어

다 되돌려준다

끓어 올라 주전자에 담긴 화

끌어 올려 거기 화에 갇힌 날

그 화가 꽃이었음 좋겠네

불바다 말고 꽃밭 이었음 해

도로 위에 악마들이 떠들어대네

복잡함의 공기 중에 떠도는 내 뇌

그 뇌를 낚아챈 건 높이 나는 새네

그 새의 등 뒤에 타 나는 비행해

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Imma look back

Imma look back to the future in fact

Let me examine the progress

The demons that tried to suffocate the road to success

Imma look forward into the sea

Oblivious sea I call "history"

Thunderous waves that rage

Destroying the maze of memories I wanna see

And so, should I give up

But really, can I give up

We live in a time and space, a world full of blinds

It makes me wanna give up

But then again, no I shouldn't give up

I feel it inside, don't wanna give up

We live in a time and space, a world full of blinds

Now I've had enough

Calling out for help, on this carousel

Life is like a dare or an open fair

I just wanna tell, tell the citadel

Dream

Empire, campfire,

Unpile old files, set fire

Rise higher, go wild and chase my

Dream

That's why I

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Never give up

Never give up

내 말을 들어 난 조금 달라

Never give up

Never give up

Never give up

내일을 보고 조금 더 달려

Never give up

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[dalniente]

what a lovely evening to remember how much I hated having to have a wedding, and how annoyed I still am that i didn't put my foot down harder with my parents about the size of the damned thing, AND how, although i tried to have things as low key and accommodated for our guests as possible, i am absolutely certain i still fucked up on some front or other

(did i...did i send the final tally of meal modifications to the venue? i think i did? but WHO KNOWS! a thing that was necessary because ohhhh no we CAN'T have a buffet meal like a NORMAL family; no, we have to have a stupid fucking pick-your-meal-in-advance dinner jesus christ)

and what! a lovely evening! to remember how ABSOLUTELY LIVID i still am at overhearing my dear sweet mother laughingly tell an extended member of the family that she and my dad offered both kids either Money or A Wedding, and both kids picked Wedding

friends

friends i saw RED

listen. i am incredibly fortunate. in that i had a lovely wedding, and for its size it was pretty close to what i wanted. but what i actually wanted was an immediate-family-only ceremony by a river in February and then just a rockin party somewhere else later that year when the weather was good. i am fortunate in that i had a lovely medium-sized wedding and i only paid for a few pieces of it, but i didn't WANT THAT

(like!!! for example!!! the wedding favors were a bullshit BULLSHIT pain in my ass; The Boy and i said "little honey jars with a label that has our names and the date and maybe a ribbon or something" BUT NO we "HaVe To GiVe PeOpLe A kEEpSaKe so they can hang it on their christmas trees" NO, MOTHER, you weird weid dingbat mad old lady nobody wants that)

(my SISTER got to give people little burlap bags of mulling spices and i will never not be extREMELy peeved about it)

(and! another example! i said "bridesmaids in simple black dresses, yes it's nonstandard but hey so am i" but OHHHH NOOOO we can't have that, oh ho ho ho NO, and somewhere in that screaming fight it became "fine, the dresses won't be black, but the bridesmaids will pick their own dresses or YOU, MOTHER, YOU WILL PAY FOR THEM YES YOU FUCKING WILL IF YOU WANT THEM TO BE PICTURE-PRETTY-MATCHY-MATCHY; all of my bridesmaids are taking time off work and traveling and i AM. NOT. HAVING THEM PAY TWO HUNDRED FFFFFFUUUUCKING DOLLARS FOR A DRESS THAT THEY HATE AND THEY WILL WEAR ONCE")

(and then! and! then! when the pictures came and i said see, the mismatched nontraditional dresses looked just fine and really good actually, my dear sweet mother INSISTED that she fully supported the whole idea from day one, when what she actually did was fight and yell and yell and fight and THEN lament that her new son-in-law "hated" her because he spoke up and said look, we aren't asking, we're telling you, and YES WE WILL pay for the whole damned thing; if you try to use that as leverage you will fail, so don't try and she whined about that until i comforted her over it just to make her shut up)

(and they ask me why i don't call more often ha ha ha ha ha)

aaaaannnyyyywaaaaaaayyy.

i know

for a ffffffffUCKING FACT that we were not offered the choice between a check or a big wedding

because if we were EVER offered that choice

WE WOULD HAVE TAKEN THE MONEY AND GOT THE HELL OUT OF DODGE

i heard her say this and i did not call her a liar (because. my mother does not lie. what she does is edit her own memories until they look like what she wishes they had been all along), i simply laughed the nasty nasty sharp-edged laugh i learned from my mother and said "no. wrong. the whole event would have looked VERY different if you had done that. i WISH you had done that. maybe you did that for [sister] but you did not do it for me. Howdy, Agnes, how's the baby? babies? was it twins? how old are they, now?"

which on one hand at least i did not let that shit slide unchallenged

but on the other hand

the

audACITY

but it's not audacity, is it; it's mental illness. and lord help her, she tries her best, i know. it's just that her best is not actually very good. or maybe her best is fine but it's too little, too late.

what

a lovely evening to be PISSED OFF over shit that happened three years ago.

anyway, get married. getting married is great. but if your family is in any way unreasonable, ever, either don't have a wedding or learn to set boundaries ahead of time, because JESUS that shit was TRAUMATIC

[dalniente]

great! awesome! you can "see both sides," good for you! but you aren't special! lots of people can see both sides! i can see both sides, too! both sides existing doesn't mean they deserve equal weight and consideration! and if you can look at a situation in which a marginalized person is asking for a good-faith attempt at basic respect and acknowledgement and they're getting dismissed out of hand, and your response is *shrug emoji* "yeah but i can see both sides," you deserve to be kicked in the teeth!

"life is hard for me because i can see both sides" no, life is hard for you because you are insecure and hiding behind a sense of unexamined moral superiority that requires you to risk nothing. don't talk to me.

[dalniente]

Part of the reason I am as pissed off as I am is that one of them claimed to be a gay man. Led off with "they're killing children too" and then attempted a belated heel-turn into "oh um uh we have to see this as a societal mental health problem."

And sure, yeah. Fucking obviously, mate. But mental health is not a motivation, it's a contributing factor at best, and either way, the mental-health-gun-violence discussion can be a SEPARATE DISCUSSION. Yanking school shootings into every single discussion as if they're somehow relevant to the raging queerphobia in this country is fucking stupid.

So yes! I have no doubt that a lot of the morons going "but why are we talking about this and not school shootings" are doing so because they see queer people as acceptable losses. Absolutely, one hundred percent with you on that. But I do think some of the people going But School Shootings Too! simply don't realize that they sound like they're saying "The guy who decided to target a queer nightclub didn't have any motivations other than just being mentally unstable. This was just another mental health issue. It doesn't MATTER if he hated gay people or not, he was just CrAzY 🤡"

So here's my PSA, I guess: In the coming weeks, you're going to see discussions about queerphobia, about history, about mental health, and about gun violence statistics. Each of those topics can intersect with the others, but they are separate topics that can stand on their own! If you want to introduce a new topic to the discussion, either WAIT to do so until you are sure it further illuminates the topics already being discussed, OR introduce your topic and explain how you feel it is relevant to the topics aready being discussed. If all you're doing is going, "you should be paying attention to This Other Topic INSTEAD," consider making your own post about that other topic.

I have now seen two different people in the notes of a post about the recent nightclub shooting whining about "it's not just lgbtq folks, they're killing kids too" and I am fucking enraged. School shootings and queerphobic shootings are two totally different tragedies, with different motivations that deserve to be discussed separately. Who the FUCK goes into the notes of a post on one mass shooting in order to piss and moan about how we aren't talking about the victims of another shooting. What the hell kind of asshole or moron do you have to be in order to think that's ok. May I cordially invite you to sit your ass down and shut the fuck up until you can stay on-topic and not pull bullshit whatabouts like a snotty 5th grader.

This was motivated by queerphobia. Demanding we ignore that and address gun violence only from a mental health standpoint is ignoring the root cause of this particular shooting. Dismissing a painfully relevant discussion about people who want us dead because it isn't about The Children is fucking buckwild.

[dalniente]

So the other day i went to this Fancy Dinner Thing with Auditboss, Tax Bossman, and Batman Coworker.  And as we were having dinner, Auditboss said to me, in kind of a this-is-a-conversation-opener voice, “So, you don't have to make dinner tonight!”

I must have looked pretty blank--like, I genuinely could not figure out what kind of response to give (how is this observation supposed to lead into a conversation?)--because he followed up with, “I mean, your fiance is on his own tonight.  What's he gonna do?”

Ah.  Right.  That’s how.  

And like...I just kinda...blanked for a second.  Because.  What the FUCK did you just say to me?  Look here, asshole, my fiance and I both work full-time jobs; what exactly makes you think I’m also a housewife?  I don’t “have” to make dinner tonight? are you? fucking? serious?  WHAT THE FUCK

(just to be clear, i know he didn’t mean it like “you’re a girl so you are required to make dinner”; that’s not why i’m upset.  i’m upset because he just took for granted that making dinner would ~naturally~ be my job.)

Anyway, I said something like, “I have no idea.  There’s a freezer pizza in the freezer, maybe he’ll eat that.  It’s not a good pizza, but it’s there.”  And then there was a pause, and then I added, “He actually cooks more than I do” because I needed to say something to kind of maybe hint that traditional gender roles are not actually a thing in the Niente-Boy household.

I just...

If this were the first time Auditboss has said something like this, I’d probably have an easier time letting go of it.  But.  It’s not.  He’s commented at least twice on how much I’m eating/the size of my meals when he’s seen me eat lunch.  And he’s said that my car is “an awfully big car for such a little lady.”  That’s a direct quote.  I swear to God.  It’s a CRV; it’s not that big; I learned to drive in a Ford Expedition!  Compared to that, a CRV is like driving a hole in the ground.

And later on, at the Fancy Dinner Thing, when he was getting ready to leave (a few minutes before everybody else), he asked who helped me set up our table with all our company’s advertising stuff.  “Nobody,” I said.  

“You carried all that stuff in by yourself?” he said.

“I’m fine, I parked super-close to the entrance.  Don’t worry about it.”  

“Oh, no, that’s okay, Batman Coworker will help you carry stuff out,” he said. “Hey, Batman Coworker, you sticking around?  Help Dal carry the stuff from the table out, will you?  I need to leave a little early.”

And I’m like...Dude.  I do not need you to take care of me.  If I need help tearing stuff down, I’ll ask for it.    

But no.  No.  You just signed me up for like six extra little interactions on a day when I didn’t want to interact with anyone at all, let alone go to an event and schmooze for three hours with a bunch of strangers--I was tired; it was two days after the election and I was disappointed and exhausted and kind of looking forward to turning my brain off and packing up by myself.  Batman Coworker is a good buddy, so I don’t mind interacting with him even when I’m feeling off, but Tax Bossman is my actual boss and I knew he was probably going to feel obligated to help, too.  And I don’t mind interacting with him, either, but.  I mean.  He’s my boss.  So much for turning my brain off.

Or if Batman Coworker or Tax Bossman had wound up offering to help, I wouldn’t be bothered at all!  If they wound up not offering to help, that would have been fine!  Or maybe I’d have been like, “Hey, could one of you just take care of the brochures?  The bag is super-heavy.  The rest of it’s not a problem, but with the brochures I’ll need to make a couple trips.”   

But instead, Auditboss took some of my ownership of the task away and made it somebody else’s obligation after I told him I was fine and I could handle it.  That bothers me.  I am bothered.  I know he meant well, I really do, I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but...intent is really only half of it.  

I just want to take him gently by the shoulders and say, “Hey.  Yo.  I want you to listen very carefully.  From now on--from this point forward--you are to treat me exactly the same way you treat the guys on your audit team.  Do not say anything to me that you would not say to them.  We clear?”

Because while these seem like innocuous statements, they’re extremely difficult for me to swallow with a smile.  They just serve to remind me that I have a place.  There are roles he expects me to fill, and there are roles that he expects me to need help with.  I don’t get a say in what they are.  As far as he’s concerned, I’m a woman, and that means he’s allowed to disregard what I say about my abilities and delegate on my behalf when I’m sitting. right. there.  

You wanna do that while I’m on an audit, that’s fine.  That’s your right as the audit partner.  But lifting shit?  How much I’m eating?

Fuck off.