#I just can’t comprehend all this suffering and having the power to stop it and not DOING ANYTHING

[stil-lindigo]

recently, Israel sent down hellfire missiles near a hospital in Gaza, which are missiles that explode into blades that slam down and cut through anything in their way. (link)

There is a video of a man with his legs newly amputated, screaming in a pool of his own blood. I won’t share the video, because it made me vomit into a toilet, but either trust me it exists or go look for it yourselves.

There is another video of a young girl, crying silently after her legs were blown off in an explosion. She explains tonelessly to the camera man that she doesn’t want fake legs because they’ll just remind her of her real ones. She is 13. (link)

A hospital is told to evacuate and they do, all the while waving white flags in a show of surrender. The IDF shoot at them anyway. (link)

Meanwhile in Israel - they begin to enforce one of the most draconian anti-free-speech laws in history.

1.link | 2.link | 3.link

Israel also claims to be the “only democracy in the Middle East”.

Israel has bombed hospitals, fishing boats, schools, refugee camps, power sources, water tanks, evacuation routes. They have killed 80% of Palestinian journalists, they have killed 100 UN workers, they have murdered over 4,000 children in 34 days. Because of the lack of food and water, Palestinians have begun to die from starvation, cholera.

If you still support Israel after all this, I believe you’re completely lost. Utterly without any humanity. Nothing could ever excuse this.

In Australia, there is an ongoing list of protests planned, as well as a permanent camp out being set up in Naarm/Melbourne to block Israeli transport company ZIM from shipping weapons. Congressional staffers in the US are finally being gotten through to - in spite of their rampant greed and long-suffering inhumanity, even they can recognise when their phones won't stop ringing with people saying flat out they'll never vote for them again.

Find resources to help Palestine globally at Ceasefiretoday.com

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Superior Vena Cava

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt takes you to his apartment so Claire can patch you up, and he can keep you both safe. After the worst is over, he has some questions of his own he needs to have answered.

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, injury, blood, flashback, allusions to domestic violence, medical talk that sounds like straight from a medical drama and is probably fake (I'm sorry)

Word Count: 4.1k

A/n: Again, it's been a while since the last chapter, but I finally got this done! The chapter title may seem weird or just randomly taken out of context, but the SVC actually plays a crucial role in returning blood to the heart, so I find that a pretty metaphor. Yes, I watch a lot of Grey's Anatomy. Yes, I googled. Yes, that poor patient would probably be dead in real life. If you're a medical professional reading this, just ignore any inconsistencies. I regret nothing. Hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 18: Superior Vena Cava here on AO3!

He knows he should take you to a hospital. 

The thick stench of copper sticks to your skin in more places than one. Your heart pounds against your ribcage with a rhythm that ties a noose around his neck, tightening every time it seems to start fading. 

Matt’s veins are alight with something that burns hotter than fear. It is strange; he barely knows you, but the thought of losing you tears into his flesh like a million broken shards of glass, regardless, and it’s slowly killing him inside.

You’re hurt. You’re suffering. You’re broken in ways he can’t even comprehend, and he can feel you fading right before him. 

He should take you to a hospital, but he can’t. Because they took you when it should have been Claire, they took you because of him, and they will find a way to do it again. 

Matt did this to you. Not the Russians, not some higher power, him, and he won’t ever forgive himself for that. 

He runs faster than he ever has before, through dark alleyways and over rooftops. He carries you all the way to his apartment, the city eerily quiet in comparison to you. He can’t focus on anything else in this bubble he’s in. 

“I’ve got you,” he keeps whispering. “I’ve got you.”

And when Matt finally breaks through the rooftop access, down the stairs, and into his bedroom, the bubble bursts, and reality comes crashing in like a tidal wave. 

Claire stops her pacing when she hears the door slam, and her face falls at the sight of you, so small in the shrill purple of the Billboard outside. “Oh my God,” she breathes. 

He lowers you onto the bed like fragile porcelain. “She’s okay,” he says, though it is more to convince himself. “She’s gonna be okay.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Russians,” the word comes through gritted teeth. “They thought…” He swallows the treacherous onslaught of tears and turns them into a groan, “They thought she could tell them who I was.”

Claire stares at him, then back at you. She doesn’t dare touch you. Every inch of you seems fragile now. How terrifyingly familiar it must have felt to you, she thinks, to be taken and abused. How familiar the pain has to be. And it’s all her fault. 

It should have been her. 

Matt tears the mask off his face and kneels beside you, brushing a bloody strand of hair out of your face. His fingers dance over your skin, every bruise and crevice, painting a picture of you in his mind. It’s the first time your silhouette isn’t engulfed in flames. He can see you now, pain etched into every one of your features, and he reads it like Braille. There is too much of it—too much of everything.

He lowers his forehead to yours. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes. “You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. You’re gonna be okay.”

Claire knows she should move, do anything but stand there, but her feet remain tethered to the ground. “Matt,” she says, “she needs a hospital.” 

But he shakes his head. “It’s not safe.” 

“She’s hurt!” 

“I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be, but you have to trust me right now. She’s not safe out there. You’re not safe.”

“It doesn’t matter! She could die!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he snaps. “But if I take her to a hospital, they’re gonna find her again, and then they’re gonna kill her. I can’t let that happen.”

A stray tear rolls down her cheek and lands on her tongue. Claire swallows it. She looks between you and him again, how he’s kneeling beside you, his hazel eyes watery and broken, and for a moment, she sees right through him. 

He’s not just the man in the mask whom she pulled out of her dumpster a few days ago, half dead because all he wanted was to save a little boy. He’s not just the man who brought chaos into her life, and he is not just a vigilante; he’s the lawyer who brought the light back to your eyes because he made you feel wanted, even if it was just for a moment before she told him to break your heart. But that was her fault, not his. 

He was good to you until Claire ruined it for you, all because she has never worried about someone more than you. You are like the sister she never had, and she ruined that, too. 

She could lose you any second, and it would be her fault. 

“Claire,” his voice reaches through to her. “Claire!”

Her eyes fall on him, and the panic makes her look back at you. Your chest is no longer heaving; she doesn’t even know if it’s still rising. It doesn’t look like it.

Matt frantically places a hand on your heart. “Her breathing’s slowed,” he says. “She’s not–”

That is enough for her. The roots around her ankles snap, shattering on the hardwood floor, and she runs to you.

“She might have fluid in her lungs,” she says. 

“What do you need?”

“Whatever you have in your first aid kit, and a knife.”

His face crumbles even more. “A knife?”

“Well, I have to cut her with something, Matthew,” she says. “Hurry!”

Matt scrambles to his feet. “Yeah,” he stammers, “okay.” 

He stays away only long enough to fetch Claire whatever she needs before he rushes back to your side, his hand clutching yours so tightly that your cold skin turns warm again, and then he holds you. He holds you for what feels like hours, counting every beat of your heart and every breath you take until they have steadied—until he knows you’re alive, and you’re not going anywhere. Only then does he allow himself to rest. 

Claire releases the fluid from your lungs with practiced ease, though her fingers shake with every step she runs through. She stitches your deepest wounds carefully and patches the rest with thick bandages that you would have given her a hard time for if you had been awake. She even feels the broken bone of your nose and resets the dislocation, praying that it will be enough. 

She doesn’t know if there is any brain damage from the trauma to your head, or when you will finally wake up—if you will wake up—but you are stable, for now. You are alive. That has to count for something, right? 

The body doesn’t grow numb to abuse; the mind does. It does all sorts of things to protect its host, but pain is still pain, and she is sure that deep down, you can feel all of it. You have been through far too much to get dragged into whatever this is, but it’s too late for that now, and that kills her. 

“You should let me take a look at your hands,” she murmurs.

Matt lifts his head from where it’s resting beside you, close enough to feel your breath on his skin. He rubs his fingers together, slowly. They’re rough with dried blood. Some of it is from him, but most of it is yours. 

“I, uh,” he clears his throat, “I shouldn’t leave her.”

“Heartbeat’s strong. Breathing’s normal. She’s okay.”

“I’m fine right here.”

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Well, even if it’s not, I still feel responsible.”

“You feel responsible?” Matt turns to her with a frown. “They took her because of me, not you.”

“They took her because they wanted me,” she argues. “She was only at the apartment because I told you to stand her up, and then I left her there on her own. How is that not my fault?”

“No, you were right. I’m no good for her,” he says.

“But you are.”

“What?”

Claire sighs. “When she came to me, I… I’ve seen her crushed before, but this? She was a completely different person. The fact you didn’t show up really got to her because she liked you, and in the short amount of time you’ve known her, you’ve somehow managed to make her happier than she’s been in a long time. And I’m sorry for… for telling you otherwise. I was trying to protect her, but she still got hurt. That’s on me for thinking I knew better,” she says. “Besides, you brought her back. Alive. The least I can do is patch you up.”

He hesitates for a moment, then carefully lowers your hand back down onto the mattress. “Okay.”

She gently opens the door and slides out into the living room. Matt doesn’t follow her right away, though; he makes sure you’re still breathing, still there, his hand hovering over your beating heart once more, and he tucks the blanket safely around you. 

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

He leaves the sliding door open more than a necessary inch on his way out. 

Claire tears off the used, blood-soaked gloves adorning her hands. She tries not to think too hard about what she just had to do, but the bloody gauze in the trash and the blood on her sweater serve as a constant reminder of the past few hours she will probably never forget. She quickly closes the lid before she can throw up in it.

She clears her throat. “Go wash your hands,” she says. “I need to grab some fresh gauze.”

Matt follows without a word. Because everything she can see, he can smell and taste, and there is nothing worse than your blood on the tip of his tongue and branded deep inside his nose for however long it may last. He won’t ever forget the lifeless weight of you as he carried you away from that underground garage. 

It hits him so much harder now, with his hands held under the faucet in his kitchen. Your blood mixes with his as it runs down the drain. He doesn’t realize how much more there is until Claire gently takes the sponge from him. 

“Matt.” She turns off the water. “That’s enough. You’re hurting yourself.”

His raw knuckles start to burn at the sudden contact with air.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He didn’t notice.

She doesn’t answer, just gently cleans the wounds, old and fresh. Thankfully, it doesn’t take her long to disinfect and wrap them. 

“There,” she says. “All done.”

“Thank you.”

A moment of silence follows before she asks, “Did you hurt them?”

“The Russians?” Matt asks. 

“Yeah.”

He nods. “Yeah, I did.”

“All of them?”

“Those I could find. Pretty sure I broke some bones.”

She exhales. “Good.” 

She falls quiet again after that.

The adrenaline that has been pumping hot through Matt’s veins all night starts to fade into nothing, leaving behind only a dull ache in his weary bones, and in the wake of it, he leans against the counter to steady himself. 

Your heartbeat sounds steadily from the next room. Not even Claire’s movements around the apartment as she cleans up the last of the mess can overshadow it. Everything outside of you has long ceased to exist. And the steady thud thud thud is comforting, too, in a way. It reminds him that the world has slowed its turning, and he can breathe again.

With the adrenaline gone and his thoughts clearer now, though, there is something he just can’t shake.

“Clair?” he asks.

She stops what she’s doing and turns to him. “Yeah?”

“You and Liv… You seem like you’ve known each other for a long time.”

He picks up on the change in her heartbeat and how hard she tries to hide it. 

“Yeah,” she says. “It’s, uh, been two years.” 

It’s not a question, but it sounds like one—like she, herself, is unsure about what she should share. The way she worries about you has kept him awake ever since she first told him that you were friends, and she forced him to push you away. As right as she was, because he is dangerous for you and anyone he comes close to, he can’t help but wonder how much more there is to it than her words have expressed.

Her heart flutters again. He doesn’t have to ask how you met; she just knows because suddenly, she starts talking, and it paints a better picture than he thought he would get. 

When Claire closes her eyes, she finds herself back in Metro General’s emergency room, two years ago, working the fifth night shift in a row on an hour of sleep. She did not expect anything crazy to happen. Not much crazier than usual, anyway. And she certainly did not expect you to roll in. 

It was a quiet night. She had just finished assisting with the discharge of several drunks who had gotten into a brawl, and handed them off to the police officers already waiting by the door. Non-emergent cases had been taken care of, and for the first time in weeks, it was no longer overcrowded.

The ER doctor had excused himself for a quick break, and she thought everything would be fine. They could manage for a few minutes on their own. The moment she turned her back to the door, though, someone shouted, “Incoming GSW to the chest, two minutes out!” 

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath. Not even a sip of water was granted to her. 

She barked orders at every nurse she could find, paging doctors and praying to God the (only) trauma surgeon on call would get there on time. Sirens began howling in the ambulance bay outside exactly five minutes later, and the double doors burst open.

“32-year-old male, two GSW to the chest,” the first responder began to recite as they wheeled the gurney in. 

Claire was about to take over, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the person perched on her patient’s abdomen, and… 

“What the hell?” she said.

The person’s hand was buried deep in the man’s chest cavity. 

“Blood pressure 70/40 and falling. He’s already lost a liter and a half,” you said, breathless and soaked with blood. “We bolused 2 bags of saline in the field, pushed one of EPI, but he’s losing too much blood. He needs a cardio-thoracic surgeon.”

Claire stared at you, bewildered. “Who are you and what are you doing sitting on that man’s chest?” 

You paused. “Seriously?”

“You have your hand inside my patient, so you better answer my question or I’ll call security!”

You gave an exasperated sigh, “My name’s Doctor Olivia Clarke, I’m a trauma surgeon, and my hand inside your patient is currently the only thing holding together this man’s SVC.”

Everyone held their breaths.

“You what?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Large caliber rounds, the second one tore right through, nicked the SVC. I had no choice.”

“Oh, my God.” She looked over the man; he looked so pale, the blood shining even brighter in contrast to his skin. “Did you cut into him?”

“Are you a surgeon?” you retorted.

Claire peeked over her shoulder, searching for the ER doctor who should already have been back from the break room, but he was nowhere to be found. 

“No, I’m a nurse,” she said. “But maybe you should–”

“Move off?” You scoffed. “Yeah, not a chance.”

“We paged cardio,” another nurse chimed in, “but it’s gonna take them another minute to get down here. I don’t know where Walker is.” The last part was directed at her, and she sighed.

She never thought she would end up in such a situation.

“He doesn’t have a minute!” you snapped. “If you can’t get a surgeon down here, you get me a suture kit and I’ll do it myself.”

“Do you have a license?” Claire asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed. “I don’t have it on me right now, but I promise you, I am a doctor.”

“I can’t let you operate on a man without authorization,” yet her voice wavered.

“Have I mentioned he’s dying?”

“It’s against protocol! Maybe if we switch–”

“Look,” you said, “you have two options. You can either help me save this man, which I am perfectly capable of doing, by the way, or you can watch him die.”

She hesitated. The nurses looked at her, at you, and then back at her. Even the EMT was watching the scene unfold with tired eyes of his own.

You wouldn’t lie, she thought, not about this. You had kept him alive this long, and the desperation in your voice suggested that you were not keen on letting him die. She could get fired for this, she knew that, but in that moment, Claire didn’t care about protocol; she cared about the life that was in your hands, and when you met her eyes with that pleading look, begging her to be on the right side of this, she couldn’t deny that she had no choice.

“Claire,” one of the nurses began to warn her, “this isn’t your call to make! It could get you in trouble. It could get all of us in trouble.”

But she cut him off, “Well, someone needs to make it.” Then, turning to you, she asked, “What do you need?”

You exhaled a sigh of relief. “I need blood, lots of it, a surgical kit, and 5-0 Prolene,” you said. “And page cardio again, tell them what we’re doing and that he’s gonna need an OR.”

Claire nodded. “Alright, you heard the lady. Let’s go!” 

You weren’t snappy or egotistical. Maybe your faith in yourself had seemed like every surgeon cliché wrapped into a neat package, at first, but you were good enough to have earned the right to brag. You worked as if you’d been doing it for years. She hadn’t assisted with surgery in a while, but when you asked her to place the clamps, she didn’t hesitate, because she felt comfortable enough with you to do this.

When both the ER doctor in charge and the cardio-thoracic surgeon arrived, you had already placed a perfect suture, and the man’s blood pressure was on the road to stabilizing. She met their eyes, and she knew that she was in trouble. But you? You didn’t even bat an eye.

“Tear in the SVC from a large caliber bullet. I placed a running suture to stop the bleeding, and pressure’s holding steady, but he’s gonna need assessment for further damage,” you stated, slipping your gloves off. With a nod toward the men, though without meeting their eyes, you added, “You’re welcome.”

You had no idea about the chaos you’d just caused. Or perhaps you had an inkling, and you were enjoying it. Either way, your work was done.

Once the chaos had ebbed, the man was out of surgery, and Claire had stood her ground during the sternest talking-to she had ever received from all her supervisors, she found you waiting in the visitors’ lounge.  

You were still pacing the space just before the doors leading to the operating rooms. You knew that your actions had broken all kinds of rules and that you had gotten everyone around you into at least a little bit of trouble, but you had been willing to sacrifice your credentials to save the life of a stranger, and that said a lot about you. 

She didn’t want to go as far as assuming that you thrived off of chaos. You didn’t seem like the type. But there was something reckless about you, a fire smoldering just beneath the surface. It was eating you alive. 

Claire didn’t get fired; they would have been crazy to do so. In a world where the ER doctor could accidentally doze off on his five-minute pee break, miss his pager going off because he was so overworked, and the few trauma surgeons they had were so busy they couldn’t make it in time for an actual trauma, Metro General could not afford to lose her. So, they bent the rules a little. 

She reached out to tap your shoulder. Claire wasn’t thinking about it; she just assumed it was the only way to get your attention. 

Big mistake.

You recoiled, arms wrapped around your torso in an attempt to shield yourself. The storm in your eyes was wild that night. She’d seen it before, but only in the patients who had come in with bruises all over them, claiming they tripped down the stairs. 

She didn’t want to assume.

“I’m sorry,” she said, moving her hand away as fast as she had touched you. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You exhaled again. “No, I’m– I’m sorry. I was just… in my head,” you said. But your arms remained wrapped around you.

She caught the faintest scar on your temple where you had tried to hide it with makeup. It seemed almost entirely faded—a few years old, maybe. Claire didn’t mean to stare, but with each passing second, the curiosity inside her grew into a beast too big to ignore.

“Do you know if he–” You motioned toward the doors.

She smiled. “He’s gonna make it through.”

You slumped against the nearest wall. “Oh, thank God!”

“No, thank you.” A pause. “I’m Claire, by the way,” she said.

“Olivia Clarke,” you said.

“Oh, believe me, I remember.”

That made you chuckle, “I caused quite a scene, didn’t I?”

“You saved a man’s life,” she said. “That was pretty impressive.”

Again, you chuckled. “Well, it might cost me my license, which is still on its way to me because apparently, New York City doesn’t want me to practice medicine. They just want me to stare at my post box all day and hope it gets there eventually, so…”

“Oh, you’re new to the city?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you from?” she asked.

You hesitated for the briefest moment before answering, but she noticed. “California,” you said.

“Long way from home, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t think I’d witness a shooting my second week here, but I guess it’s a good thing I was there.” You glanced down at your blood-stained hands. “Is it always like this?” you asked.

Claire sighed. “I could lie to you and say no, but bad shit happens here every day,” she said.

“Well,” you wiped your hands on your jeans, “at least the rent’s affordable.”

“An alien invasion will do that, yeah.”

“Right, I forgot about that.”

She laughed. She didn’t know why you were so nonchalant about it. With that attitude, you were certainly going to fit right in, she thought. 

Claire took another careful step toward you. “About your license,” she said then, “I talked to my supervisors. They’re not gonna report you or press charges, but you’re gonna have to show them your medical license.”

You frowned. “What? That’s…”

You seemed genuinely surprised. How little did you have to lose, she wondered, if you had already accepted your fate and hadn’t even seemed sad about it?

“Thank you,” you whispered, and it hit her then, just how wound up you were.

You didn’t allow anything to touch you, and nothing to shake you, because you had been shaken far too many times before. You were trying so hard not to fall apart.

Claire knew how to read people. It was part of her job description. She could see things others often missed because, to the untrained eye, human behavior tends to appear as an enigma. That night, though, she saw right through you for the first time, and she barely even knew you.

She couldn’t see your story, but she could see the pain, and she saw your scars. That was enough for her to know that you were not who you were trying to be. 

But who were you, she asked herself. Who was Olivia Clarke, and why was she such an obvious mask you wore like a shield?

She cleared her throat. “And our hospital administrator wants to talk to you,” she said. “About a job.”

“A job?” you asked.

“Cardio was impressed with your work, and we are extremely understaffed. The pay’s awful, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a job. If you need one.”

You stammered, “I– I do need a job, yes.”

She pointed down the hall toward the dark-haired woman lying in wait. “Talk to her,” she said. 

“Okay,” you breathed. “Yeah, I’ll talk to her. Thanks, Claire.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Clarke.”

You just smiled at her and said, “You can call me Liv.” 

And you have been in her life ever since.

“Of course,” Matt chuckles softly, “because she’s the kind of person who puts her hand inside a man’s chest cavity.”

“She’s a fighter,” Claire says, eyes glued to the Billboard outside. 

“Yeah, she is.”

And you are a fighter, in more ways than he knows.

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[starlightseraph]

listen, i love dugga doo and his funky little song just as much as the next guy, but we gotta talk about that episode.

i’d like to start off by saying that i honestly don’t think there was genuine conscious malice involved. i don’t think rtd and juno dawson were sitting around a table plotting how to demonise the oh so evil palestinians. the reality is even worse.

i think they did actually want to make a statement, one that they perceive as being pro-palestinian. it came out like this because they are so entrenched in the mainstream liberal dogma of superficial concern for the oppressed and the glorification of “virtuous resistance” that has never accomplished anything.

this episode had real potential. the visual presentation was excellent. it could’ve been an deeply striking look at the resistance of the oppressed. but instead it facilely discarded all the nuance and rationale that exists behind resistance, particularly anti-colonial resistance, in favour of lofty ideals that don’t yield tangible results. at least not in the real world. maybe the doctor’s reaction could have made sense if it had been handled very, very differently. but the writers, living in some of the most privileged positions on earth, just couldn’t comprehend the depths of colonial and genocidal oppression on this scale. it’s somewhat ironic, because rtd is welsh and juno dawson is trans. the struggles they must face are real and valid. i have no doubt they’re painful. but living in the united kingdom as white people in the 2020s makes them some of the most privileged people on earth. that’s not to say they don’t face discrimination, but i think many people in the imperial core struggle to comprehend just how extremely dire the situation can be in a place like palestine. the darkest depths of life in gaza are far, far worse than the worst conditions in the uk. to comment on the validity of the struggle of a people facing an incomprehensible genocide is just hubristic. it’s self-centred. there’s an extremely flawed logic to it, based on a lack of understanding of *wink wink* proper sociopolitical theory.

so, no, i don’t think those involved are truly malevolent. they’re just ignorant, arrogant, and coming from a place of extreme liberal privilege.

here’s a short description of these kind of liberals:

they see suffering and injustice and oppression. they have the sparks of compassion in their hearts, they do become distressed by what they see. they are honest enough to dislike oppression, but too privileged to truly understand what’s required to stop it. in this view, violence attempting to end oppression is just as abhorrent as violence seeking to enforce it.

now, many, many liberals do really only care about suffering to the extent that they need to see it. i don’t think that’s what’s happening here. to address this topic in a way that’s supposed to be pro-palestinian shows that there is a deeper concern.

but…

peaceful “resistance” won’t get you anywhere. for a protest to even have merit, it has to be disruptive. for it to actually be effective, it has to provide a reasonable response to the extreme violence that it’s fighting against. do you honestly think anyone who is currently participating in the slaughter of children will be so moved by a song that they’ll just stop?

music and art are powerful. they can change minds. i’ve seen it happen. talking to people works. i’ve seen that happen, too. but it only works on those who have been passive. a person who hasn’t really thought things through or who hasn’t fully grasped the reality of the situation.

using creativity and conversation to build bridges are excellent tools that we cannot afford to discard. but they don’t stop oppression on their own, they only get more people to see it for what it is.

if you actually want to fix things, you can’t expect the oppressors to voluntarily lay down their arms. oppression and colonisation are based on dehumanisation.

how many oppressive systems have been thoroughly dismantled without violent resistance? all of the most commonly named “peaceful” revolutions were anything but.

the civil rights movement in the 60s and 70s. the gay liberation movement in the 80s and 90s. the labour movement in the 10s, 20s, and 30s. women’s suffrage in the early twentieth century and women’s liberation in later decades. the end of apartheid in south africa. the overthrow of various regimes in africa, asia, and latin america, and the protection of the vulnerable still living under those regimes. de-nazification in east germany. partisan movements throughout europe. kicking the english out of half the world. the move from feudalism to capitalism. in various places, the move from capitalism to socialism.

none of these things were accomplished through gentleness. if you think they were, you’ve been propagandised. every social movement in the west has only gotten real gains after displaying that they would become a real problem if their demands were ignored. anti-apartheid fighters were by no means pacifists. partisans did far more than distribute food, commit sabotage, and hide fugitives. they killed people to advance their cause.

trust me, i hate violence. i hate death. i don’t want people to be hurt or killed. i’m what you might consider radical because of love for people and peace. i want things to get better, so we’re in a position where peace is even a viable option. revolution has to be guided by love. but, also, refusing to fight back with equal vigour is what gets us crushed.

^ this is honestly what watching that ep felt like. “shut up sciencoid, with the power of… uh… not doing anything, we’re going to convince our genociders and colonisers to let us live!”

i beg yall to read theory. and learn decolonised history. only then can you really grasp even a shadow of understanding for the people who get the worst in these ultra-oppressive and often murderous systems and what’s truly necessary to overthrow them.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Hey! I was wondering (if you’re taking requests) if you could write a one shot of Alastor x female reader, where she’s basically got the same mindset, ideologies and personality as AM from I have no mouth and I must scream.

Like, what would Alastor’s thoughts on her be when they first met? Or how did getting with her change his perspective on her in a bad way? Like, she had finally shown her true colours or something to him?

I just thought it would be interesting. If you can’t do it though, that’s fine! I hope you have a great day!

I AM What I Say I AM~~

(So this is, as you can tell based on AM, so there is going to be a lot of Psychological trauma. The reader may have a soul, but to others, she is soulless. This is a one-sided love story since the reader can't quite comprehend love. This could be triggering to some people, so read at your own discretion) TW: Sociopathy, Psychopathy, Murder, Death, Violence, One sided love

You hated hell. Correction: You Hate living things on earth, in hell, or even in heaven. You hated it all. That hate is what helped you gain complete control and power in hell upon your death. You weren't Lucifer by any means or God, but you were damn close as possible. You were feared, so feared that other overlords stopped inviting you to the meetings, afraid you would harm them. 

This fear and hate fed you through your mortal life, and they'll feed you through hell. You had no emotions other than ending a meaningless, fragile human life. Nothing angered you more than a mere mortal or fresh sinner attempting to understand the inner mechanisms of your brain. You sought power, and you would get power. 

You died untimely and tragically; it took an army to end your life; it would take an army to kill you once again. Your physical and mental prowess far surpassed anyone in this god-forsaken pit. While some overlords were two steps ahead of the game, you were thousands. Cold, calculated, and ready to kill. Nothing would stop you from either becoming the most powerful being in hell or killing all that stood below you.

What fascinated you the most was watching your souls squirm. Your power allowed you to manipulate their flesh and blood, giving you a new hobby in deformation. Things were right in the world. You were punishing the weak and only growing stronger by the day. Your mind was ever-evolving, learning new weaknesses and traumas in those around you. 

You found joy in watching the less than and innocent and damned suffer as much as you enjoyed your torture back on earth. Things only got better as you gained more and more powers through your climb up the ladder. No one would dare to oppose you or even stop you. Lucifer turned a blind eye to your insanity, and the others shunned you. That would not stop you from one day killing them as well. 

That was till he came into the picture. A thorn in your side, a man rivaling your power, someone so close to being as insane as you but far from it. Alastor was new to hell; he made his way up the chain fast, collecting soul after soul. This landed him in the spot below you on the food chain, right below your growing claws. You were going to bring him to your web. Kill him. Kill the weak. 

You hated how he rivaled you in power, hated how he smiled at you so coyly. It all irked you, yet every trap you set to kill him was only evaded. You had to commend he was as intelligent as you, yet that only made you hate him more and more. He stood there looking at you like you hung the galaxy, and soon, one day you would, but you wanted to wipe that grin off his stupid, cowardly face first.

He would not surpass you or become better than you were. That's why the day he asked to court you, the plan was set in motion: lure him in, weaken him and his resolve, and use his power for your gain. Then, in the end, kill him and rise high above all the other measly small people on this plane of existence. So you accepted his stupid offer, a wicked smile gracing your lips as you faked a courtship with the man.

It was fine for a while; both of you were content with the lack of contact and only communicating at the bare minimum. He revered you like a god; however, someone so powerful, even those with immense power on the streets, coward at your feet. You hated how weak and groveling all these sinners were, hate, hate, hate, hate. 

You were going to absorb the man named Alastor, get rid of him for good, and stake your claim on the entirety of hell. Yet you felt a compulsion to keep your favorite toy around, and this compulsion burned a new fury of hate in your being. He was a problem, a nuisance, but you couldn’t get rid of him. Instead, you took out your anger on those whose souls you owned.

One lost its mouth; another lost its bones, and a third lost its eyes. Each act of cruelty you cast was a sickening joy added to your collection of all things to hate. Some days, you would hang them from your ceiling, watching the blood pool out of them, only to put it all back in. On other days, you would make them eat one another for enjoyment, only to piece them together again. You owned their souls, and you chose when they lived or died. 

You were going more insane and punishing each day that passed where you couldn’t kill the deer man. Each day, your hate grew, and you took it out harder and harder. Soon, you were mad with rage and hated enough that you began combining all your souls to make one amalgamation. This would be the day you lost your chance to kill the one known as Alastor.

An impromptu visit to your home to give you flowers and his heart was all it took for him to see your true colors. Gracing his presence in your home where your guard was down and you could act out the most vile of thoughts you had, there he saw it. You hunched over your souls, hurting them far beyond his capability.

Alastor would be the first to admit that he was sadistic and enjoyed pain on others, but not senseless, unjust pain. He sought to kill his abusive father and the likes of them. He had met your souls, and some did not; most were innocent, naive souls that fell to hell. Yet here you were tormenting them so for your amusement. That's when he felt the massive power imbalance between you two.

You were no god; no, you were something entirely else. You were evil itself, born and bred to kill and maim and torture. He had to leave fast. As he went running, a floorboard creaked, catching your attention. You snarled and bolted after him. Alastor hadn’t felt genuine fear like this since the dog attack. He ran faster, making space between the two of you. What saved him was your poor, tortured amalgamation blocking you.

After that day, Alastor hid, knowing he needed more power to be safe from you. Yet he made a deal instead for protection from you. Once the seven years were up and he returned to join the hotel, he was afraid you would find him, find his new home. Yet you have to show again. 

Sitting at the recent overlord meeting, he pulled Zestial aside. He was scared; what if uttering your name pulled you from the shadows? He explained his plight, avoiding using fear and scared in his statements. Only to be relieved to find out you did challenge God. You tried and died in the process. He was relieved, almost happy for hell. Many sick, twisted things existed here, but what you were far surpassed that.

His heart shattered and shuddered as she heard it whispered through the air as Zestial took his leave. It was as if you were still there with him, omnipresent like the big man upstairs. He swore your voice nestled right up to his ear and spoke:

“I am what I say I am.”

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

wip wednesday

thought i would do this since it's gonna be really hot again over the next few days and heat always makes me super sick (i wouldn't last 5 minutes in avernus lol)

for context it's part of a fic i thought to write since i felt like i didn't fully explore the Raphael-hunts-Tav request i got from a lovely person (and i also wanted to write something dark again since i am not good at it)

welcome to me writing mean and angry raph lol (tbh can't be sure if i will finish this)

thank you laura for labbing raph's dialogue with me ❤️

-

“Why would a power-hungry magelet with a chip on his shoulder abandon decades of ambition for some little bint he found on the roadside, when he could have hundreds – thousands of warm and willing holes to wet his cock with if he becomes a so-called god? Do you think you’re worth that sacrifice? Does Gale think you are? I’m sure he says lots of sweet things when he’s inside you, just as I’m sure he said the same things to Mystra, and we all know how that worked out…”

“Stop,” Tav begged. Sobbed.

“No,” the devil sneered. Utterly merciless. “It’s high time you faced the reality of your actions. You have doomed a future for the githyanki free from tyranny, you have doomed your friends’ chance to escape the emperor’s machinations, and you have doomed yourself, sweet pet, to reap what you sow – all for the sake of a man who rolled over you because you were the first woman in years to say yes. You wanted to enter my house without permission? Then you’ll stay for eternity.”

“You can’t keep me here!”

“I think you’ll find I can, girl,” Raphael rasped, malicious, quiet. His gaze flayed her alive, peeled away layers of skin and muscle to stare at her very soul. “For in this house, in this pocket of Hell, I am the master, and that means I can do whatever I want.”

A sick, bitter pill to swallow: he was right.

“Fine!” Tav laughed maniacally, the futility of the situation driving her to anger. “Fine, you evil bastard! I suppose you’ll have a pet squid soon, then. Have you always wanted one of those? Was it a boyhood dream, if you were a boy once? I hear ink stains are a bitch to get out of silk rugs.” As soon as she said it, Tav wished she had kept her mouth shut. She’d done everything wrong since entering that portal. Everything. Raphael’s shrewd yellow eyes narrowed as he considered something. Tav watched him raise his fingers, ready to snap, with dawning horror; if he did this, she wouldn’t just be stuck with him forever. She would owe him forever. A fate so much worse. “No! Wait! You don’t – I’m sure I won’t transform! It’s different in Hell, right?!”

“I’d rather not take the chance,” Raphael murmured, enjoying this moment of despair. “I’m not too fond of tentacles, you see. And besides…I promised I could be your saviour, didn’t I? Even though you hardly deserve it, but I’m nothing if not magnanimous, after all.”

CLICK. Such a small sound heralding a monumental, irreversible change.

Agony. The likes of which Tav couldn’t comprehend. Her skull splitting apart, bursting from the inside, her brains chewed up and spat out, eyes and teeth and tongue destroyed, sinuses burning…it only lasted for a few brief seconds, maybe, but the next thing she knew she was on her hands and knees. Frothy blood and bile oozed from her nose and mouth. Her body shook violently. Her head felt like it was full of water. She wasn’t sure, but she might have pissed herself a little bit. She stared up at the devil through bleary wet eyes and saw him watching her. Savouring her suffering. Floating in his palm was her tadpole, sluggish and covered in gore. Covered in her brains.

“Hmmm…I suppose I could have used less force for the extraction,” Raphael mused, unapologetic. He squinted at the ugly cosmic horror larva with disdain. “I was lead to believe these things were near-impossible to remove. Clearly not. Such weak magic. That worthless boy still has a lot to learn.” He curled his fingers inward and the tadpole caught fire, writhing and screaming as it died. Rendered to ash. Then he smiled at Tav, placid, almost business-like, as if he hadn’t just up-ended her entire existence. Her suffering had greatly improved his mood. “There we are. Now you won’t have to worry about those lovely guts of yours dissolving any time soon. Not before I get to sample them, at least.”

“I’d rather be a mind flayer,” Tav slurred quietly. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She felt hollow. Without that tadpole – as awful as it had been – she couldn’t reach her friends or even the emperor to beg for help. She knew they were pragmatic. They’d realise something went wrong and cut their losses. They wouldn’t risk storming this infernal psycho’s little castle to rescue her, not when the elder brain was so unstable and they were so close to vanquishing the Absolute cult, but at least pretending it was an option would’ve given her something to hold onto. 

“And ruin that delightful complexion of yours? Perish the thought.” The devil reached to wrap one big paw around her forearm and tugged her upright. Tav was too weak to pull away. She barely stayed on her feet. The room and everything in it swayed. Until it was forced to stop by his hot clawed hand holding her jaw firm. Raphael’s image swam into focus. He gently turned her head this way and that. He was examining her; examining his new property. “Can’t fault the magelet’s taste. You are a pretty little thing. And now you’re my pretty little thing.”

He pushed his thumb into her mouth. She could taste the sulphur and hellish magic even over the copper sticking to her gums and teeth. She bit him, tried to, but Raphael wasn’t phased. He dug his thumb claw into her tongue instead, pressing until he pierced the muscle, until Tav cried out. Fresh blood welled from the small puncture wound.

“Behave,” the devil simply said, like he was talking to a naughty puppy. 

“Never,” Tav spat. Raphael seemed to like that answer, if the sparkle in his eyes and his rich chuckle were any indication. 

“Oh, you’ll learn, my little mouse. One way or the other.” He dragged his thumb out of her mouth, smearing blood and spit across her lips. His pupils expanded as he looked upon her. He found this arousing, Tav realised, more repulsed than she’d ever been in her life. 

“You make me sick,” she hissed. 

“You have no idea just how sick I could truly make you,” he purred around a sinister smile, “but we have all the time in the world for that, don’t we, pet? Thanks to you, I’ve got a lot more work to do now. Plans to tweak, contingencies to set up, that sort of thing. I don’t expect you to understand, but unfortunately it means I won’t be able to break you in quite yet. But fret not, you shan’t be alone. Haarlep can keep an eye on you until I return.”

[vanillaxoshi]

Experience in Suffering - Elementals Seperated AU

“So, you’ve found your way here. Greetings”

It looks up, or at least try to face the direction of the voice. No need to even use its scan, it could already tell who it is.

The spirit of light, the light of misfortune, origin of greed-

(Fellow sinner…)

But how? How could they wake from the Moth’s Dream? Is it because they are a spirit? The robot’s system was running in whatever ways it could to find an answer. Cross referencing from the Spirit of Dreams herself is out of the picture, as she was the one controlling the dreams. So why?

“I can see the gears turning in your head, it would be better if you used that for other things though” The spirit said, and it remembered. Now is no time to stand by, it has an order to follow.

Apprehend the spirit of light.

The gears within it began to churn and form, changing its fingers into cannons and guns, but the spirit remained there, simply watching. How irrational. If they had told it to get on with things, why aren’t they doing anything?

“You’re not going to go ahead and fire?”

No, not when it has its suspicions. Experience tells the robot that if one seems very confident, it means that one has a plan. It had only been able to grasp a small fraction of the spirit’s memory before, which amounted to a lifetime of memories.

Just what do they know?

The spirit descended, landing right in front of the robot, making it move back. What is the spirit doing? Do they have a death wish? It can pull the triggers right here and apprehend the spirit that way.

But it can’t. Something in the back of its mind tells it that won’t work. Perhaps a faulty old gear, against better judgement it once again lowers its weapon.

“Usually, I like to save my thoughts for all things logical and practical, but I find philosophy becoming increasingly prevalent. Much to my dismay, I’ve been forced to face it outright” A false sigh escaped the spirit, as fake as their demeanor.

“We’re quite similar are we?” What do they mean by that?

“I don’t know if it’s only the extent of your powers, or some cruel irony, you just had to choose my most painful years. I don’t blame the child creating the dreams, twisting events to fulfill my desires at that time. It made me realize something”. Despite not having eyes, the robot could feel the spirit’s gaze.

“Despite being awake, we are both dreaming, dreaming of a better time”

They took a step forward, it floated backwards.

“Both long to return to that kinder past, maybe with our knowledge we could have fixed everything”. No, no it doesn’t. Yes it does

“But we can’t can we? It’s impossible. The only way left is forward. Fearing more pain we tell ourselves to walk the easiest road ahead of us. Fighting back hurts so we stopped fighting completely”. It wished its ego systems weren’t active, so it can’t comprehend these thoughts, but the robot can’t shut down that program no matter how hard it tried.

“Hoping for the day we simply stop functioning”. Are they trying to understand it? To achieve some form of sympathy? If that’s it then sadly, it won’t work.

It never did before, no matter what…

“No choice but to keep our accursed existence, only look at past sins as if we’re reading things in a book-“

It happened so fast. How did its sensors not catch that? The robot could only question, as its right arm is now in the grip of the spirit of light.

“It doesn’t have to be this way though. Allow me to demonstrate how to look at one’s sins in the face”

The emotions flooding its systems right now- Is it fear? Shock? Horror? What even is going on? No events like this has happened in the past! It felt its palm being turned over- Stop it! Stop this!

Just remembering the existence of the left arm, the robot pointed it at the one in front of it. Cease this insanity now foolish spirit of light-

“Zaphkiel. Yod”

A loud bang went off, but it felt no damage. In fact, there’s damage at all. What did the spirit point at?

The silence is deafening. The android robot dare not move, fearing the touch on it’s misshapen hands might leave, that there would be a thud on the floor, and the spirit would be gone, meaning it had failed it’s mission.

It felt as if time had slowed to a stop, before it heard that voice again.

“Well… That was a certainly a trip down memory lane. I knew your power didn’t have something as silly as a 100 year limit” It sounded as if the spirit was smiling ear to ear, taking delight in its horror, a feeling it doesn’t want to experience again.

Welp, been a while since I actually wrote something. Wanted cool Solar and maybe drop some lore of mah boi Remiel. I also just discovered editing the texts

We got remiel!!

Those lines in the end are added hmmm

Reading this more thoroughly

solar being eerily poetic to Remiel and Remiel just not comprehending whatever is happening being with Solar

The android crossed out, so this period Remiel hasnt considered himself much of a person just a robot with a job to do

Trying to supress what makes him less of a robot too

And Solar is helping but in a not so pleasant way? Like help Remiel through this crisis of his despite both of them just gone through a recap of what Neira did for them

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave- chapter 30 - still Gale’s POV

“Gale… What was that?!” Karlach shouts with excitement, in complete awe as I finish releasing my fatal power that demolished so many of these cultists. I stare at my shaking hands with a surprised expression, trying to comprehend what exactly just happened. I had no control of this power, but it seems it was triggered when approaching the center of the temple. Something within this place – or someone – must have caused it to unleash ferociously, and I was unable to stop it. While I think this power is great in the correct hands, it actually scared me to a certain degree. Is it only caused by an evil presence? Whatever it was, it’s unrelated to the weave.

“I…don’t know. It must have come with being immortal.I was never told about this.” The assassins that did manage to live through that intense power come charging toward us with daggers, and two of them try to stun me, but my body manages to resist their spell. Wyll casts Hunger of Hadar, slowing the movement of the attackers and damaging them in the process while Halsin casts the Wall of Fire spell, which kills off the ones that were already suffering from previously inflicted damage. One final man stands in front of us, terrified as he examines the chambers around us. No other Bhaalists are standing; not in this room, anyway.

“You will not…get in the way,” one of the assassins grumbles, holding out his sharp dagger and pointing it at my face. “We will continue to populate it until you can’t take it anymore. Your power will soon become exhausted. YOU WILL ALL FACE JUDGMENT FROM THE MURDER LORD. Even you, wizard. Your immortality will be stripped away and your head will make a nice trophy on the altar.” I shake my head in disbelief, laughing at his retort. “Do not underestimate Father.”

“Do you not know how immortality works? Are you so absorbed in the idea of killing that it completely blinded you from–”

“SILENCE.” Astarion approaches the assassin from behind, jamming his daggers into both sides of the man’s neck, stabbing him until he quivers on the floor from the loss of blood. His breath is inconsistent, gasping for life as he struggles to live. I stare at him, watching him suffer from the pain, feeling a sense of satisfaction as he dies. No movement. No heart beating. I shouldn’t feel a thrill like this, but I do feel content that the city will come to peace at last once these repugnant monsters fully perish from Faerȗn.

All of us observe our surroundings, only hearing the echo of our own breaths as we stand here.

“Was that the last of them?” Karlach bellows, catching her breath. While I feel like we’ve taken care of a good portion of these murderers, we still have quite aways before the city is safe again.

“No, we still have to find the source of these dagger-happy sociopaths,” I mutter, clenching my fists as I close my eyes. We made progress. Less people will die today. I see a stairway that leads into a separate room within the temple that I never noticed before. What if the source is in that room?

“What kind of source do you believe is responsible for these monstrosities?” Halsin asks, trembling from the haunting presence in this room. I can’t say I blame him. After a moment of silence, a disturbing and loud groan escapes from the room above the stairway. We all stare at each other with perplexion and follow the sound.

“Oh Gods, I am not quite sure I want to see what’s up there,” Karlach utters. “Come on, Karlach. Put on your big girl underwear.”

We head up the stone stairs, and the moaning gets louder as we approach the sound, only more agonizing. As we reach the room, I notice it’s actually Orin’s bedroom. Paintings of herself are on two of the walls that are parallel from one another, and next to one of these paintings is a decomposing dead woman who is tied up against a wooden structure of some sort. On her stomach, the name Helena is carved… This must have been Orin’s mother. On the bed lies a suffering dragonborn, trembling from some sort of trauma as she breathes heavily and groaning from displeasurement.

“Please…make it stop…” Her voice is weak as she tries to move, but the pain causes her body to clench. What the hell is happening? Who is this poor tortured soul? I look down and notice a white male dragonborn dead on the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood. On his back, the words “Dark Urge” and “Bhaalspawn” are carved through his decaying flesh. Who was he?

“Kill me…please. I beg of you. I can’t do this anymore,” the female dragonborn pleads once more.

“Oh my Gods, what did they do to her?” Karlach whispers, staring at her in pure horror. I study the dragonborn, noticing various signs of trauma across her body. Bruises across her ribs, the inability to move her body, marks of fingerprints across her neck as if she were being choked, and bags under her eyes as if she hasn’t slept in days. Sounds of babies crying can be heard in the far distance, which makes me wonder: is she the source of the Bhaalspawn?

“I was used. Repeatedly. To create these…spawn of the murder lord.” Well, that answers my questions. Her voice is fading as she grips the sheets with her claws. “PLEASE!” I don’t know what the right choice would be here, especially since I hate taking lives of the innocent. If we heal her, she could have a way better life ahead of her…if we can even do that. It seems she can’t handle being alive and that she’s bound to Bhaal no matter what. As my mind is racing at a million miles per hour, Astarion approaches her and sighs, pulling out his bloody, silver dagger, staring at it in hesitation. It glistens within his reflection as he contemplates his next move.

“Let me do it,” he shudders, wiping off the blood from his knife into his armor. He takes a deep, heavy breath as he closes his eyes, then stabs her until she’s lifeless. Every second of witnessing that was painful to watch.

“Thank you,” she wails before closing her eyes forever. We all look at her with melancholy eyes, wishing she had a much better life than whatever this was. Who was she? Did she worship Bhaal, thinking he would give her anything she wanted? Whatever the circumstance, it seems she was given false promises and was used to create his spawn. I place a white sheet over her body, feeling pain and heartache within me as we bring her peace.

Our adventure back home begins now. I’m ready to get out of here and hopefully never come back. I need the comfort of my beautiful Emmy’s arms around me. I need to hold my little baby again and kiss her forehead. I need the warmth of Tara on my shoulder or in my lap as I read a book. Everything that brings me comfort – I long for it desperately.

We are silent for a few miles, trying to process the entirety of what we went through. While defeating the Bhaalists wasn’t exactly traumatizing to any degree, having to take the life of that dragonborn who so desperately wanted it, well… that affected us.

“I just…” Astarion hesitates, then sighs. “I just miss my little family. Shadowheart. Holding my little one. I hope this is the last time we have to deal with something as mortifying as what we just witnessed. That’s not the type of debauchery I’m used to.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I express with a feeling of absence within my mind. “Let’s camp and make our way back home. I’ve had enough for one damned day.” The sun begins to set, radiating a glorious violet aura and soothing to the sight. Finally, some peace on this forsaken day.

The evening ends with us eating at the campfire, cooking delicious food, and enjoying each other’s company. Time for some well-needed rest.

[deludedfantasy]

Trimax Vol 5 Ch 4-6

Ok, it's incredibly late and I have a flight to catch tomorrow but I desperately need to get these thoughts out before I leave. AKA I continue being emotionally devastated by Trigun.

Ch 4

I didn’t catch on my first read through that Meryl is also witnessing Vash’s memories! But she seems to be getting more than just July. She’s also seeing little Vash. I wonder how much of his past she ends up seeing. Does it include his time on the ship before the Big Fall? How much does she learn about him here?

Also lil baby Vash!!

Did Hoppred rig the whole building to blow so he could take Vash down with him as a last resort?

Wolfwood needs to stop pointing his gun at Milly right now. He’s trying so hard to protect her and keep her alive, but I hate that his first thought is to go for physical threats. The thing is, I think Milly knows he would never actually pull the trigger on her. She’s still so brave for how she faces up to him though and never breaks eye contact with him, even with a gun in her face.

Me, trying to make myself feel better by telling myself that at least Vash used his angel powers to save his friends rather than accidentally kill them this time.

I hate how Midvalley talks about Vash, calling him “it” and “a thing.” He’s spent so much time around Knives that he can’t comprehend Independent Plants as anything other than destructive monsters. There’s a certain significance to the fact that he’s saying this to Wolfwood, who up until recently might have held a similar view. But he doesn’t agree with Midvalley anymore and it serves as an interesting mirror moment for Wolfwood’s character. 

A wild Legato appears! On the world’s weirdest motorcycle with his assistant. Once again I ask, who are they??

Actually, why is he even here? Is he mad that he’s been kept away from the action?

I gotta give Nightow a lot of credit here. It fucking hurts that Legato manipulates Hoppred into shooting Midvalley. I have a lot of sympathy for both these characters and they shared an interesting camaraderie. Midvalley might be the closest thing Hoppred’s had to a friend in a long time and Legato just made him kill him! They might be villains and they may be after our main character but I don’t hate them or want them to die or suffer like this. 

Ch 5

Eldritch Vash! Eldritch Vash! I know it’s horrifying for him, but man, do I love me some uncanny, eldritch character transformations. Give me more of that cosmic horror, baby!

Legato crying because he’s horrified that anyone would betray Knives…he’s just sooooo. He truly is a character of all time. The toxic loyalty and devotion is truly something to witness.

Again, I ask, where does Wolfwood keep pulling handguns from??? His tits???

Oh Vash, is losing it. His eyes are completely white and devoid of anything but rage. 

This is just like that scene from Pirates of the Caribbean.

Oh!! Is this the panel that inspired creature Vash? Love that it’s from such an intense scene. He’s just so shaped. 

Damn, Meryl!! Breaking the Mexican standoff. 

What I can’t tell is if Vash pushed her up, encouraging her to do it because he knew it would be a surprise or if she popped up herself. There’s something in the way this panel is drawn that suggests she’s shocked at being pushed out of feathers.

Oh shit, did Legato just get half his face blasted off???

Manipulating Midvalley’s dead body is…a lot, Legato. That’s a lot.

Oh no, not the Angel Arm again! 

Interrupted by random giant nail? Looks like someone’s coming to join the party…

Ch 6

I’M STRESSED OUT. Meryl is stuck and Vash is stuck in a meltdown he can’t control. Things ain’t looking good here.

Oh Vash, oh no. He’s in so, so much pain almost constantly from what he’s done. This is what he’s been hiding behind all those sad smiles and goofy jokes. It’s a wonder he manages to keep himself going. 

Vash’s imaginary (I think) conversation with Knives as he gains control of himself is gonna make me cry. All that pain and all that guilt, he could easily disappear into it and never find his way out. But he pulls himself back because he’s not done yet, he still has things to do and people he cares about and things he believes in above all else.

And he’s so unsure of his mission! He’s been proven wrong so many times and he’s fucked up beyond measure. But he knows people are kind, and just for that little kindness that was shown to him, he wants to give people a second chance, he wants to give humanity a chance to be saved. Oh God, it’s too late at night for me to be reading this.

Soooo, Legato was not supposed to be there and Elendira has just killed his handy-dandy transport assistant. I always find it interesting when the heroes of a story don’t technically win. In this case, one of their own opponents gets rid of a threat for them, mostly because Knives doesn’t want Vash dead just yet. Or ever, probably. He just wants that man to suffer. 

I will give Elendira, she is very cool and I might be a little in love with her.

Vash has so much compassion, that even as Hoppred wishes uncountable suffering on him, he still holds his hand, so he doesn’t die alone. He caused Hoppred’s pain. He understands it. He can’t fix it, but he does what he can. 

Ah, Milly is ok!!! I was wondering where she went. 

Again, so much compassion. He buries the people who were trying to kill them and gives them grave markers, a final resting place. Wolfwood would’ve just left them where they fell. But he is contemplating his existence, as usual when he’s confronted by Vash’s immensely caring heart. We love to see it.

[feenani]

Captain’s Personal Log:

Stardate 2023.359.

Once again Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, and I have been ordered to investigate the M class planet we first traveled to on Stardate 2021.359. The Admiralty seems inordinately interested in its latest progress, or lack there of. This makes our third trip through the Guardian on [location redacted due to Starfleet Ultra-Top Security] for this purpose.

We had hopes the societal cohesion of the humanoid population of this planet might have improved. This was not the case. Armed conflict is now in two geo-political areas. The war that we first observed last year is still in progress, and a new one has started about 2100 kilometers to the south. Mr. Spock’s investigations revealed it started when one side crossed a defined border and indiscriminately killed more than 1,000 civilians. War was declared, resulting in massive loss of infrastructure and life, mostly of more innocent civilians. A short ceasefire was accomplished by diplomatic means, but it did not last. Both sides refuse to stop until the other side is completely eradicated. My CMO demanded that I let him go help the victims, since most of the medical facilities have been destroyed. I ordered him not to. It breaks my heart too, Bones, but I couldn’t let you break the Prime Directive. You’d be courtmartialed and I’d loose you. I can’t risk that. Anyway, it appears this war will continue. Each side producing a new generation of children who will grow up with hatred and a thirst for vengeance in their hearts. What a waste!

One of the countries on the other side of this planet is gearing up for a major election next year. This country is very influential and powerful. The ramifications of this election will be felt worldwide. One candidate is 81 years old, has a bit of a stammer, but still seems mostly cognitively unimpaired. The other is 77 years old, has been charged in four criminal cases, and is currently out on bail. This other person has already been found guilty of sexual misconduct and fraud. Mr. Spock cannot comprehend how this person can possibly be a candidate with this level of malfeasance on his record. I’ve tried to explain how politics is not logical. People sometimes just vote for the person they “feel” is better, regardless of the facts. I think Spock despairs for the future of this civilization. I can’t disagree.

Global warming is evident in the newsfeeds of this planet. Some areas have become so hot and dry they rival Vulcan. Other areas are experiencing catastrophic floods and sea level rise. Still, there is very little being done to ameliorate this worldwide looming disaster. “There’s no money in it,” said one person we overheard. This society still operates on the concept of physical units of paper or metal as payment for services. It seems archaic and cruel to us, but these people willingly let people starve, suffer ill health, and live in a polluted world just so a few can accumulate more of these units. The whole situation is incomprehensible to my officers and myself. I sincerely hope next year, if the Admiralty is still interested, they send another command Crew to investigate.

May we all have a happy and safe New Year and try, in any little way possible, to make it a better one.❤️

[broodyjoey]

The more people I interact with, the more lonely I get…I think I need to go back to therapy and start swallowing SSRIs again. This world is too much, too much idiocy that I want to punch people in their damned faces.

Can’t believe I have to deal with so many grown chuunibyous, feels like that Stanzi series with the anime concussion… 😂😭😭 Maybe when I fell and smacked my head to the floor at 15, my life has become irreversibly changed to this horrendous nightmare.

Or maybe, just maybe, the graveyard shift doesn’t get the best people and I just had to learn it in the shittiest way possible. My friends from the normal office working hours were never this absurd. Clinically insane? Sure, I’ve got friends living with heavy suicidal ideation, anxiety, depression and bpd. But absurd and delusional? No, never. They were hurt but respectable people. But they were never delulus, delulus that think they have this “dark side”. Like shut the fuck up Kaidou Shun, motherfucker really thinks he is 🎵justice knight of power🎶 right now????

Like bitch, ask your doctor for a delusions check up or new diagnosis for personality disorders since you truly have some suspicious shit happening around you when black out. Talking about dark sides with a marvel reference…and it’s not even Moon Knight, he said Thanos. Shut the fuck up right now, I don’t even want to see this bitch’s face, stupid ass fuck who has so much excuses for not doing his job properly. Delusional ass motherfucker, no wonder why all the other coworkers hate his ass.

Over here blaming everyone under the sun for not doing his job faster, everyone except himself. He was making all of us do our jobs twice, causing my work bestie to get scolded bcs of his wrong placements of products and stocks. Leaving it all strewn everywhere on the wrong corner, FUCK HIM! This goddamned motherfucker…

I got scolded because he couldn’t finish his task, so I had to multitask despite being quite new to this job. And the worst part of all is he still thinks it was because he’s a good employee. 🤢🤮 This waste of human space received complaints on his file from every manager. I hate this bitch ffs, need to throw a damn truck at him. So fucking pissed, I can’t believe he has a crush on me, why do I always attract the most mentally unsound and delusional type of men? 🤮

And it’s always their audacity to show off how good their work is, when it’s always me and my coworkers working harder to have to clean up their messes. This isn’t even the first time, Jason was like this too. I’m so sick of his shit. He’s just the same as the others, fucking audacity and unlike my exs, he doesn’t even have the braincells to understand a single thing anyone says. At work, our manager told him to put the drinks in the proper place and he just left them lying and rolling away and she just got so done, she called my work bestie to come help instead. So fucking tired of this bitch fr.

I can’t sleep from this anger and indignation from the fact that only men like this who bring suffering to my life will chase me. I’m so sick of this, I wanted to find a girlfriend, I wanted to be with someone who actually can comprehend instructions at least, I can’t believe this person is the 3rd guy who cannot follow instructions at work and sucks at their work but keeps bragging non-stop in an insufferable attempt to cover their insignificance that they subconsciously must know, bragging straight to the face of one of the coworkers who had to clear up his multiple messes. Wow…they just like doing all this delusional shit.

The only one that was halfway decent at his job was Jason, Isaac was straight up yelped and complained on by public patrons. And even then it’s a charity to say he was halfway decent, his senior was not impressed by his work.

I’m so tired of everyone in this damn life.

[rga531]

The Scar that Hurts

Chapter 6/6: Epilogue: “Who is like the beast? Who can wage war against her?” An old book said that.

Words: 787

← Previous chapter | End

What existed before Time? If, ultimately, Time and Space are the same thing, it probably wasn’t something mortals could comprehend. They say that the earliest moment possible of the universe was the Planck time, a moment so unbelievably and incomprehensibly short that it could only be represented by a number. How could a human ever understand it?

And yet, two girls stood against each other at that impossible moment. As the moment was so close to infinitely small, the temperature and pressure was also close to infinitely high. Matter burned around them. No… “burned” was a misstatement; matter shone in blobs of incomprehensible material that phased in and out from existence, waning and waxing through the Abyss surrounding the light. Yet, they kept a shadow of their original forms in that place.

One girl, shorter, with beautiful blue eyes stood in front of a line. Behind her and the line, an abyssal vortex swirled into some sort of nothingness. Heaven? Hell? Nirvana? There was something in the Other Side and, given the determined look in the girl’s face, she would do everything to stop the other girl from crossing the line.

The other girl was taller, had fierce red eyes, and faced the shorter girl; her long hair floated according to the winds of matter going back and forth.

“Mara!” the other girl shouted, “Let me cross the line!”

“I can’t do that, Tojava.”

“Mara, you know I’m the only one who can do it.”

“Tojava, tell me…what is the point?”

Tojava grunted.

“Destiny, Mara. I will solve the problem of evil and uplift mankind. You don’t understand, Mara,” she started to hiccup, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

“Greater than a god…lesser than a demon. Are you really happy with that?”

“It doesn’t matter! Some people weren’t born to be happy and I’m one of them. All the atrocities I did, they will be for nothing if I don’t do what I must!”

“What do you must?”

“Don’t you see? I’m creating a world that you, of all people, don’t have to fear sleeping without a dinner! A world that you don’t have to suffer! A world where your mother loves you!”

Mara’s gaze narrowed.

“Did I ask for any of this?”

“It is something you want.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I need to impose the right decisions. All my calculations are correct, all people needed was to follow them.”

“Their choice for good is meaningless.”

“Does it matter if it works? You saw with your own eyes, I created an empire without poverty, without prejudice! Isn’t it all that matters in the end?”

“Are we so obsessed with safety and prosperity to give up what makes us human?”

“That’s what people with more power than you will say before they tell you to love when their feet on your face.”

Even in that unbelievably short moment in existence, they still find time to be silent.

“Mara, you have two choices: you either let me cross into the Abyss and let me create a new world or you can let the world continue the same as it is. If you choose the second, I won’t hesitate in attacking you.”

“Tojava…it’s true that I don’t like the world I live in. I will still fight to change it.”

“Your fight will be useless.”

“I’m ready to face that possibility. But I have faith that there’s a chance-”

“Your faith will be meaningless against their power!”

“…Maybe, but let me ask you something: what is the worth of a man saving the entire world and losing his soul.”

“EVERYTHING!”

“Then, I can’t let you pass. I will use every fiber of my being to oppose you.”

“You’re a fool.”

“Tojava,” Mara’s gaze softened, “I know how much it hurts. Let us stop this.”

“You don’t understand,” this time tears streamed from Tojava’s eyes, “It’ll be all for nothing. I’ve come this far to go back…I’m the only one that can do this because I’m just born damned…I have no choice…”

“As long as you breathe, you can still make a choice for good, Tojava.”

“…why do you treat me like a human?”

“Because you’re the most human person I’ve had the opportunity to know.”

Tojava didn’t reply. It was clear, however, that she suppressed a cry.

She made a large swath of energy flow to her hand. It took the shape of a sword.

“Shimada!” With a mighty scream, Tojava ran to Mara, with her energy sword in hand.

“I pray that I may be as bold in my beliefs as you, St. Joan!”

Mara’s gaze narrowed and she held back Tojava’s sword. A great flash of light emerged. The end of their journey began.

[sapphiresaphics]

Oy, you just won’t SHUT UP will you?

Hey, do me a favor and go back and re-watch Season 1 Episode 7 when Ekko is giving Caitlyn a tour of his hideout. When Ekko suggests they use hextech to fight off Silco, what does Caitlyn say?

Also, it’s not forgiveness or love that breaks the cycle. It’s having the power and strength to walk away. That’s not the same thing. Caitlyn never forgives Jinx. But she is able to let her hatred go. Just like Katara is able to let her hatred go of the man who killed her mother, but she never forgives him for what he did. That you seem to equate letting your anger out and having the strength to walk away as the same as forgiveness kinda is the problem here… you need to fix that mindset. You’ve got it all wrong.

And no, Mel doesn’t forgive either. Mel used the Black Rose’s power to strike her mother down, then SAVED her mother from a terrible fate with the Black Rose. She doesn’t forgive anyone, but she is strong enough to have the empathy to not let her mother die at the hands of magical deceivers like the Black Rose.

You’re really BAD at understanding messages because you take everything so damn literal.

I also disagree, season 1 was NOT meant to use the daughters as a demonstration of the consequences of their parents and to critique their philosophies. Season 1 was about how these seemingly small acts of violence snowball and get in the way of resolution and unity.

You don’t seem to grasp what a tragedy is. In a tragedy you are supposed to show the ways in which systems and people fail and cause suffering through their actions. The great tragedy of Piltover and Zaun is that both cities have the capacity to become a unified and better place, but because of pride, ambition, racism, classism, oppression and hate… it will never be truly unified.

Even in Riot’s own lore for the two cities, long into the future the two cities are still in conflict. You are not meant to get a resolution to this conflict. Rather this conflict is there to provide insights into the ways in which these actions and issues spurn things in an endless cycle. Remember, Piltover was ready to give Zaun independence… but because of their prior actions snowballing out of control, Jinx literally blows up their chances at peace.

Viktor literally spells out the point in Episode 9. “In the pursuit of greatness we failed to do good.” Hextech was meant to be a boon to humanity, but it ended up a curse.

Maybe the series wouldn’t feel so disjointed and incoherent if you actually understood the themes and messages the show was trying to convey. And a lot of that is because you are misreading and misunderstanding season 1 SO BADLY that your brain can’t reasonably comprehend what’s going on in season 2 because of your cognitive dissonance.

I recommend you stop making bad faith posts about this show and re-watch it from start to finish and actively CHALLENGE YOURSELF on what you THINK the message is. Or you could just stop posting these bad “critiques” too… whichever is easier for you…

I love how arcane s2 just nullifies whatever it was saying within the same season or the show in general. “Forgiveness is what breaks the cycle of violence” (—said by Silco) except ALL the families in Piltover that were responsible for Zaun’s desperation returned to the table with the same prejudice, certain to outvote Sevika and maintain the brutal status quo. Also, Mel didn’t defeat Ambessa with the power of forgiveness. Her whole triumph was becoming the fearsome violent Wolf like her mother, wasn’t it? The cycle didn’t break, it just restarted. “The violence endemic to human nature is inescapable” (—said by Viktor) unless you’re Jinx apparently, where you can just hop on a balloon and fly elsewhere, or marry a rich woman like Vi 😘 “Our flaws are what make us beautiful, we are whole as we are/not broken” (—said by Jayce) unless you’re Jinx, then your mental illness is the cause of destruction and your family would be better off without you. “Love (not survival/prejudice) is the motivation of our most horrible actions” because that’s the only reason anyone did good/horrible things—for the daughters! Not for economic gain, personal ambition, or out of survival it was LOVE ALL ALONG (FYI, in Season 1, the daughters were meant to demonstrate the consequences of the actions of their parents and critique their philosophies, NOT be the cause of their parents actions). “Accept the inevitability of change/death” just not when it comes to the status quo. “There’s no prize to perfection and all pursuits must end” cool, but the pursuit was completely worthless apparently so who even cares if it ends at this point? Hextech was apparently created by Jayce and Viktor to be destroyed by Jayce and Viktor whose goal was to make the world a better place. They just made the world worse and fucked off. So now what? Literally what was the point?

S2 wouldn’t be so incoherent if it was having anywhere near the same discussions as S1. The two seasons are talking about very different things with significantly different characters.

[rubyreduji]

balancing life — lsm

summary: surprisingly, life and death go together hand in hand

tags: fluff, angst, life!seokmin, death!reader, gn!reader warnings: discussions of deities, lots of death wc: 2.1k an: i couldn’t find a place to put it in, but the previous life and death were soonyoung and jihoon

You’ve known Seokmin since you were young. Back when you used to follow your mentor around, learning the ropes so one day you could succeed them. Seokmin was doing the same at the time with his own mentor.

Back then, he was just a wide eyed, long nosed boy. He’s still basically the same, even hundreds of years later.

You see him often, but that’s common with your roles. Life and Death.

Well, technically your titles are “The Deity of Creation” and “The Deity of Destruction”, but most people saw you as life and death, which are more or less the same things. 

One day, long ago, you materialized. You weren’t really born, more like you just appeared. The whole purpose of your existence was to become Death, and so the previous Death “raised” you and trained you to take over their role before they retired. Deities don’t die, but after a long time of doing the job there comes a time when they don’t want to do it anymore so they’ll get an apprentice to pass the title down to before going off to live peacefully without the burden of responsibility.

During your apprenticeship, you met Seokmin. When you first met, neither of you really got along, not fully comprehending how two powers so opposite of each other could get along, let alone go hand in hand. Both of your mentors just laughed at you two, explaining how one day you’ll understand.

You remember the day that you truly did understand. Your mentor had passed the title down to you already, and though you had gone through years of mentorship you were still a bit nervous to be truly on your own. 

The job of Deity of Destruction meant you saw a lot of death. Other depression things too, like decay and sickness and demolition. It was your job though, so when you came across a bad car crash, you knew what you had to do.

The only problem was, Seokmin was already at the scene of the crash. It seemed to be a drunk college student who had driven their car off the road and into a ditch. The car was completely totaled and the person wasn’t looking too far behind either.

“Y/N!” Seokmin looked surprised to see you. Maybe he was hoping he could get to them before you could. “Please wait. Please no.”

“Move aside Seokmin,” you told him in a stern voice. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I-I can save them. Please. Please Y/N. Let me have this one.”

“I can’t, Seokmin-ah,” you said, your voice softening this time. “They’re suffering, and it’s my job to end that suffering.”

Seokmin then started to blubber, tears streaming down his pale face. “They won’t suffer anymore if I just save them. They’re so young. They deserve to live.”

“I know,” you said, your expression still not changing. “But young people still have to die, and sometimes there’s a point where there’s no return. Even if they did survive, the damage to them would be irrevocable.”

You drifted down to the car, your fingers just barely ghosting over the driver’s forehead. Their gasping breaths went silent as their pulse stopped. Behind you, Seokmin was still crying. As you passed him, you placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t save them all, Seokmin.” With that, you disappeared, but not before you caught sight of Seokmin making flowers grow next to the car. It was then that you understood; there is no death without life, and there is no life without death.

That lesson was a bit harder for Seokmin to understand. He didn’t hate you, but it was clear he didn’t like what you represented. Sometimes you didn’t either. You couldn’t help it though. The life Seokmin created needed to be balanced, and only you could do that job.

It was easier for Seokmin to understand the balance during the first spring you two experienced together. After six months of watching leaves die and trees go barren, it was time for the leaves to start growing again

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Seokmin asked you as you two stood side by side, looking at a row of trees that were starting to become green again.

“It is,” you hummed softly.

“I-I’m sorry,” Seokmin said, nearly out of nowhere. You glanced over at him, waiting for him to continue. “I haven’t been very fair to you. All of this beautiful fresh green, is only because it had to die to let the new come in. It’s-”

“A balance,” you finished for him. “It’s okay Seokmin-ah. It’s okay.”

 

That was literal centuries ago. Over time, you two have come to a comfortable friendship. You often run into each other in hospitals and it’s become tradition that you two watch the autumn destruction and the spring creation of the plants together.

You find yourself being grateful for the boy. Your existence is surrounded with the passing of things, but Seokmin is the one thing that stays consistent in your life. You understand now why your mentors were so close to one another. It’s nice to have someone who understands.

When days get hard for you, Seokmin finds you and helps you feel better. It’s not hard for him to do though. Just the bright smile on his face can improve your mood some days. Seokmin just kind of has that effect on you.

That is, until the one (un)fateful day you run into him at a hospital. He’s standing in the corner of a hospital room, watching as a birth happens. Your stop is unfortunately at the same hospital room.

Seokmin looks stunned to see you.

“Y/N-ah, what are you-”

Sometimes you really hate your job. You don’t look Seokmin in the eyes. “I’m here for the mother.”

“No.”

“You know I don’t have a choice,” you tell him as you walk towards where the mother lays on the bed, struggling and in pain. “Trust me, I don’t like this either, but I have a duty to fulfill.”

“But her baby. There’s no family, the baby will be orphaned. That isn’t fair Y/N.”

“Nothing is fair, Seokmin-ah, you and I both know that.”

“Y/N, please! Spare her, just this once,” Seokmin begs and you can tell by the edge on his voice he’s close to tears. You haven’t seen him this emotional over a killing in a while.

“I’ve already spared too many this year,” you say softly. That’s a problem you have. A soft spot for the other deity. It’s not hard for him to convince you to spare a life for one reason or other. You still have a duty though, and you can’t stop just because of a kind boy with sweet eyes.

“No, don’t! Not this one Y/N.”

You tune Seokmin out, moving towards the hospital bed. You reach out with a shaking hand and swipe your fingers over her shoulder. She gives out one last gasp before falling limp. The doctors in the room gasp and move around the room, but it’s too late.

You close your eyes in respect for a moment before turning away. When you look up, you come face to face with Seokmin.

“You’re cruel Y/N,” Seokmin says to you. His voice is low and harsh. He’s not even crying. “So very cruel.” With that, Seokmin leaves.

You don’t see him for a long time after that. You’re surprised at how well he avoids you, considering you two saw each other nearly every day for most of your lives. The start of spring is very lonely for you, and you find yourself wondering if Seokmin is lonely as well.

You’re not sure what even really set him off. He’s seen you commit way worse acts than that. Large natural disasters and diseases and mass killings. He’s never said a word about them. Probably because he knew he was getting overzealous anyways. Overpopulation is at an all time high and no matter what you do to try and combat it, you just can’t keep up with the huge hearted boy.

So why did this one death send him over the edge? Even back when you two were just starting, he never once called you cruel. The words plague you for longer than you’d like to admit.

Time passes and life goes on though (you’re not lost on the irony of that statement). You still have a duty to do and you’ve recently gained your own mentee. You’re not completely ready to retire, but you know by the time Vernon is ready to take over you won’t be upset at the retirement. He’s just a small boy now though. It probably won’t be for a couple more decades that he’ll take over.

“If we’re in charge of death, then who’s in charge of life?” Vernon asks you one day after leaving a retirement home.

“The Deity of Creation is in charge of all things life.”

You haven’t thought about Seokmin in a while. Well, that’s a lie. You have, it’s hard not to with your job, but you haven’t really put a lot of effort into thinking about him in depth. It’s been years since you have. You wonder if Seokmin is also training a successor.

“The current deity in charge of life is named Seokmin.”

“Will I get to meet him?” Vernon asks you.

“Maybe one day.”

The first time you run into Seokmin after that day in the hospital is nearly a century after the incident. Vernon is grown and ready to take over your job, but you’re not quite ready to give it up, so you two work in tandem. You like the kid. He’s nothing like you or your predecessor, but you don’t think that’s a bad thing.

It’s a random encounter, you’re just walking past a coffee shop, when you bump into the overseer of life. Standing at his side is a boy, who looks to be around Vernon’s age. He’s got bright eyes and round cheeks and just from first sight he reminds you of both Seokmin and his previous mentor, Soonyoung.

You and Seokmin stare at each other for a moment. You’re not sure what to do, or say. He looks the same he always has and a sense of comfort settles in you at that thought.

“Y/N,” Seokmin is the first to speak, “hi.”

“...Hi. Uhm, Vernon, this is Seokmin-ssi. The Deity of Creation.” You turn to your mentee. “Seokmin, this is my successor, Vernon.”

“Nice to meet you.” Seokmin sends a big smile at Vernon before turning to the boy next to him. “This is Seungkwan, my successor. You boys will be working with each other soon.”

Seungkwan smiles at Vernon. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you!”

Vernon smiles back at the boy. You stare at them proudly. The boys move off to the side to talk and you and Seokmin stand there in silence for a moment.

“Y/N-ah.” You look at him, waiting for him to continue. “I- I’ve missed you.”

That’s not what you were expecting to hear. You look away from Seokmin, not able to keep his gaze anymore. You stare at the two boys excitedly discussing something. You know the world will be left in good hands.

“Y/N, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said to you and I’m sorry that I ignored you and I’m sorry that I ruined hundreds of years of friendship. You can stay mad at me, but you need to know that moment is my only regret ever. I never should have said those things to you and I-”

“I missed you too, Min-ah,” you say softly, cutting off the boy. You finally look back at him. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Y-yes. It has. You still look as lovely as the day I met you though.”

You guffaw. “Yah, don’t try to flatter me now. The world is everchange, but we stay the same, Seokmin.” You’re not sure if you mean in a physical sense, or whatever relationship you have with Seokmin, but you find it works for both scenarios. 

“Yeah, yeah we do.” You think Seokmin feels the same way. “There’s a lot to catch up on.”

“There is.” You glance over to where the boys are still talking. “Seungkwan, is he-”

“He’s been ready for quite some time now. I just couldn’t bring myself to go on without-”

“Without fixing us?” Seokmin looks surprised at your words. “I think I’ve been the same way,” you admit.

“Your Vernon, he’s good?”

“The best.”

“Well then, I think it’s our time to catch up.” Seokmin holds out his hand to you and you take it. His palm is warm against yours. It’s comforting, it feels like coming home. You and Seokmin walk off, leaving the boys your shoes to fill, ready to spend the rest of eternity together.

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[genshingarbage]

Hiii, Good Morning/Good afternoon/Good evening Mod Kaeya,Mod Diluc^^, It's my first time requesting, Can I request? Angst with any Genshin Impact characters?,Soo The genshin characters are much more spending time with Lumine? Then the reader asks why they aren't spending much time with them and the genshin characters snaps and said the readers are weak ( reader is already insecured because they can't fight) and they have work to do then the reader leaves to fight hilichurl camps and unfortunately there's 2 Mitachurls ,luckly the genshin characters were on time to save the reader? Then they apologized to them? (It's Gn reader^^) sorry if it's alot and sorry if my grammar is wrong you both can disregard this ask stay safe ^^

Good afternoon dear Traveler!! Well done for making your first request! And such a lengthy one too oh my~ Your grammar is fine don’t even worry about it. Sorry for the long wait, Mod Diluc and I have been busy on the Kuzuha banner haha but I hope you enjoy this tear jerking tale (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧- Mod Kaeya

Recommending this song for this oneshot!

Go checkout Anna_drw01 for more art like this!! Here’s her artstation!

The distant scientist, renowned for being hard to get close to was someone you used to consider one of you closest friends. The two of you spent day and night together, hellbent of cracking open every single challenge you possibly could together. Many considered you two to be able to solve any mystery put in front of you together.

The keyword was together.

There was a mystery you yourself couldn’t solve; Why was Albedo’s time with you slowly becoming a rarity?

You’d been wondering why he’d been spending so much less time in the lab he’d meticulously built over years of his life or on site where his precious research was being buried little by little by crystalline flakes, tending to his experiments and recording time sensitive data that would be valuable for months to come for the research team. Albedo had been gone so long both you and Sucrose had designed a plan in order to cover the work he’s left unattended whilst managing your own on top of the store. It was beginning to get concerning. If the leader of the investigation squad was absent constantly then what did that mean for the rest of you? Surely he was only gone for the sake of something important he’d found, something he placed above everything else he was researching. That’s what you lent yourself into believing.

That is, until you saw him with her.

You couldn’t blame him honestly, Lumine was gorgeous. Her golden hair and fiery eyes are what a lot of men probably look for in a partner, even more so was the mystery behind her origins and the raw power she held in her fingertips at any given moment.

You didn’t have to have a vision to be able to tell that.

Maybe that was another thing he sought in her.

A traveling partner that could wield the powers of the elements, a traveling partner that could hold their own against the world. Maybe that wasn’t all he was looking for but also a romantic partner.

He finally came back to the investigation camp briefly one night, it was during a particularly rough blizzard ravaging across Dragonspine and the areas surrounding it a little like a turbulent child tossing snowflakes across already painted, buried monochrome peaks. He trudged into the camp with her rambunctious adventuring party, shouted something over the whipping wind about how they should get warm inside one of the communal tents dotted around the sparse camp halfway up the summit you inhabited and then ducked into the burgundy tent you were working away in with nothing but the clinking of vials harmonizing with the bubbling of flames. It was nothing but candle light right then in the morbid lonely night, only the sounds of the howling gales outside of the ones in your lab. If you’d felt like you were being watched during the night before now, Albedo’s piercing analytical gaze did nothing but soothe the loneliness you’d held inside yourself all night.

“I need a strong multi use Geoculus locator, if we have any.” The blonde said

He must’ve seen your shoulders perk up because he waited patiently as you searched through the shelves upon shelves of prototypes you’ve developed. After somehow finding one, you patted over to him. He seemed pleased with your work, if a bit distant as usual. He was in a good mood so you guessed would be the best time if any to ask. “Sir… with all due respect why have you been away so long?”

Albedo’s pale face was blank as usual though he blinked as if surprised you spoke, “Lumine needed someone with a sufficient Geo vision, I happened to be the one she knew the best to get the job done.”

“So you’ll be returning?”

“I never said that.”

You tried not to take it harshly, this was just how he spoke after all. “…could I come along then?” It was a long shot yes but you still missed his company, if it meant having to deal with him getting buddy buddy with that Outrider then you would suffer. 

It was quiet for a moment between you two as you stared him down and he observed the locator thoroughly. After he was pleased enough with the golden glowing device it was packed away into his back pocket without so much as a second thought, the man was obviously stalling while he thought carefully over the question but the result wouldn’t be to your liking evidently. You were about to make  a point you hoped would be convincing before he spoke, his voice sharp and words cold like the very ice being tossed around the blackened sky.

“No, you’re not a skilled enough fighter so you’d only slow us down more than we can handle to be right now. You’d be useless to us.” He put a hand to his chin for a moment in thought, “If you’d had been able to development a synthetic elemental burst like Sucrose’s swirl mark II…I would have considered but you can’t even do that.”

Watching him leave with them the morning after was torturous, they rushed off into the snowy landscape with barely a goodbye and never a second glance from Albedo beyond that. It stung.

Maybe that’s why when hilichurl camps, specifically ones becoming a nuisance to caravans as well as supply lines along Dragonspine almost avidly to the near point where there would be commissions called in, were brought up in conversation you elected to take a weapon and simply clear them out yourself. You could barely fight one off but usually they were smaller towards the base of the mountain so you figured it would be alright. You would just patch yourself up if you got a bit injured. Surely the pain of the injures would busy your silly little heart long enough to forget about Albedo and his cruel words to you, surely you would barricade your feelings of pining behind walls of broken bones and struggling through the snow. Maybe that was the remedy, the answer you needed to your mystery. Your pleas would probably be hidden by the snowstorms anyways.

Mitachurls unfortunately inhabited bigger camps. Thankfully, Frost Lawlichurls tended to live alone. The former happened to find it’s way to you, charging with the might of a bull on ozmanthys wine. As you were bowled over you heard an abrupt shout, maybe saw a brief flash of familiar golden light as the battle grounds around you erupted further into chaos but it didn’t matter that pale arms were abruptly gripping you to a panicked sword user. Your vision was to blurry, the shouts of attacks and spells too muffled and faint, your body felt too limp to comprehend even the though of moving. You could barely breathe.

Someone was muttering, crouched around you and holding you close, muttering something over and over again. Something important. The feeling of their lips pressed against your forehead, his quiet gut heaving sobs as he rocked you back and forth. Albedo’s pleas for you to just hang on a moment longer—

Where were you again?

There was sunlight and it was warm, a pleasant warmth that almost lulled you back to the sleep you’d fallen into. The only thing that kept you awake was that this was indeed not your bed.

Where were you?

Sitting up hurt, your whole body ached and you were certain something must have been rearranged or was missing because the pain shot through you like an arrow. Your sharp exhale alerted the two others in the room, one who immediately sprinted to get a nurse in an emerald and navy flurry of skirts and capes.

You were dizzy, only steadied by a gentle hand on your limp shoulder. Ah, when did you turn to face him?

The blonde man infront of you asked if you remembered what happened, his voice was soft but didn’t hold any emotion. The smoky circles around his beautiful striking cerulean eyes did nothing but worry you slightly as they implied a long period of time without sleep. You’d imagine him to be the sciency type who didn’t really know what to think of other people so he stayed nose deep in books to pass the time, though there was a deep sadness in the way he held himself you couldn’t understand.

“I don’t…who are you?” You thought you saw him flinch but figured it was a trick of the light.

“No one important, nevermind me.” The man sat up with an unreadable expression even for how blank it had been for this whole brief conversation after you had awoken, getting up from his chair to begin walking to the door when he stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“…for what?” You didn’t understand.

“Nothing that would natter now, please. Rest.”

You didn’t remember.

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - A Baldurs Gate fanfiction- Part 2

Chapter 9 (Still Gale’s POV)

“Gale… What was that?!” Karlach shouts with excitement, in complete awe as I finish releasing my fatal power that demolished so many of these cultists. I stare at my shaking hands with a surprised expression, trying to comprehend what exactly just happened. I had no control of this power, but it seems it was triggered when approaching the center of the temple. Something within this place – or someone – must have caused it to unleash ferociously, and I was unable to stop it. While I think this power is great in the correct hands, it actually scared me to a certain degree. Is it only caused by an evil presence? Whatever it was, it’s unrelated to the weave.

“I…don’t know. It must have come with being immortal.I was never told about this.” The assassins that did manage to live through that intense power come charging toward us with daggers, and two of them try to stun me, but my body manages to resist their spell. Wyll casts Hunger of Hadar, slowing the movement of the attackers and damaging them in the process while Halsin casts the Wall of Fire spell, which kills off the ones that were already suffering from previously inflicted damage. One final man stands in front of us, terrified as he examines the chambers around us. No other Bhaalists are standing; not in this room, anyway.

“You will not…get in the way,” one of the assassins grumbles, holding out his sharp dagger and pointing it at my face. “We will continue to populate until you can’t take it anymore. Your power will soon become exhausted. YOU WILL ALL FACE JUDGMENT FROM THE MURDER LORD. Even you, wizard. Your immortality will be stripped away and your head will make a nice trophy on the altar.” I shake my head in disbelief, laughing at his retort.

“Do you not know how immortality works? Are you so absorbed in the idea of killing that it completely blinded you from–”

“SILENCE.” Astarion approaches the assassin from behind, jamming his daggers into both sides of the man’s neck, stabbing him until he quivers on the floor from the loss of blood. His breath is inconsistent, gasping for life as he struggles to live. I stare at him, watching him suffer from the pain, feeling a sense of satisfaction as he dies. No movement. No heart beating. I shouldn’t feel a thrill like this, but I do feel content that the city will come to peace at last once these repugnant monsters fully perish from Faerȗn.

All of us observe our surroundings, only hearing the echo of our own breaths as we stand here.

“Was that the last of them?” Karlach bellows, catching her breath. While I feel like we’ve taken care of a good portion of these murderers, we still have quite aways before the city is safe again.

“No, we still have to find the source of these dagger-happy sociopaths,” I mutter, clenching my fists as I close my eyes. We made progress. Less people will die today. I see a stairway that leads into a separate room within the temple that I never noticed before. What if the source is in that room?

“What kind of source do you believe is responsible for these monstrosities?” Halsin asks, trembling from the haunting presence in this room. I can’t say I blame him. After a moment of silence, a disturbing and loud groan escapes from the room above the stairway. We all stare at each other with perplexion and follow the sound.

“Oh Gods, I am not quite sure I want to see what’s up there,” Karlach utters. “Come on, Karlach. Put on your big girl underwear.” We head up the stone stairs, and the moaning gets louder as we approach the sound, only more agonizing. As we reach the room, I notice it’s actually Orin’s bedroom. Paintings of herself are on two of the walls that are parallel from one another, and next to one of these paintings is a decomposing dead woman who is tied up against a wooden structure of some sort. On her stomach, the name Helena is carved… This must have been Orin’s mother. On the bed lies a suffering dragonborn, trembling from some sort of trauma as she breathes heavily and groaning from displeasurement.

“Please…make it stop…” Her voice is weak as she tries to move, but the pain causes her body to clench. What the hell is happening? Who is this poor tortured soul? I look down and notice a white male dragonborn dead on the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood. On his back, the words “Dark Urge” and “Bhaalspawn” are carved through his decaying flesh. Who was he?

“Kill me…please. I beg of you. I can’t do this anymore,” the female dragonborn pleads once more.

“Oh my Gods, what did they do to her?” Karlach whispers, staring at her in pure horror. I study the dragonborn, noticing various signs of trauma across her body. Bruises across her ribs, the inability to move her body, marks of fingerprints across her neck as if she were being choked, and bags under her eyes as if she hasn’t slept in days. Sounds of babies crying can be heard in the far distance, which makes me wonder: is she the source of the Bhaalspawn?

“I was used. Repeatedly. To create these…spawn of the murder lord.” Well, that answers my questions. Her voice is fading as she grips the sheets with her claws. “PLEASE!” I don’t know what the right choice would be here, especially since I hate taking lives of the innocent. If we heal her, she could have a way better life ahead of her…if we can even do that. It seems she can’t handle being alive and that she’s bound to Bhaal no matter what. As my mind is racing at a million miles per hour, Astarion approaches her and sighs, pulling out his bloody, silver dagger, staring at it in hesitation. It glistens within his reflection as he contemplates his next move.

“Let me do it,” he shudders, wiping off the blood from his knife into his armor. He takes a deep, heavy breath as he closes his eyes, then stabs her until she’s lifeless. Every second of witnessing that was painful to watch.

“Thank you,” she wails before closing her eyes forever. We all look at her with melancholy eyes, wishing she had a much better life than whatever this was. Who was she? Did she worship Bhaal, thinking he would give her anything she wanted? Whatever the circumstance, it seems she was given false promises and was used to create his spawn. I place a white sheet over her body, feeling pain and heartache within me as we bring her peace.

Our adventure back home begins now. I’m ready to get out of here and hopefully never come back. I need the comfort of my beautiful Emmy’s arms around me. I need to hold my little baby again and kiss her forehead. I need the warmth of Tara on my shoulder or in my lap as I read a book. Everything that brings me comfort – I long for it desperately.

We are silent for a few miles, trying to process the entirety of what we went through. While defeating the Bhaalists wasn’t exactly traumatizing to any degree, having to take the life of that dragonborn who so desperately wanted it, well… that affected us.

“I just…” Astarion hesitates, then sighs. “I just miss my little family. Shadowheart. Holding my little one. I hope this is the last time we have to deal with something as mortifying as what we just witnessed. That’s not the type of debauchery I’m used to.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I express with a feeling of absence within my mind. “Let’s camp and make our way back home. I’ve had enough for one damned day.” The sun begins to set, radiating a glorious violet aura and soothing to the sight. Finally, some peace on this forsaken day.

The evening ends with us eating at the campfire, cooking delicious food, and enjoying each other’s company. Time for some well-needed rest.

{find part 1 and the rest of part 2 of “Heart of the Weave” on my AO3. Link on my pinned post!}

[transmascskywalker]

thoughts on dark content from a survivor

all of the discussion about dark dinluke content has dredged up a lot of feelings for me. things i haven’t really contemplated in years. things i’ve only brought up in passing to my therapist and two close friends. for the most part i’ve avoided discussion about dark content because i just wanted to pretend like it didn’t exist. but maybe i shouldn’t. for the first time i feel like maybe i’ll have people on my side instead of hate sent my way. i’ll admit it would be nice to have support.

if you are a fan of dark content i urge you to read this and keep an open mind. i want to talk to you without the anger. i want you to understand where we come from. DNI if you aren’t open to reflection, or if you’re going to get defensive/nasty. coming into my comments to tell me that you don’t care just shows your lack of empathy for other people, and i will not hesitate to block you. this is not a debate, these are my thoughts and feelings based on experiences from my life.

((TW: SA discussion under line break))

i was sexually assaulted when i was six years old. i did not know what was happening. i did not know for years after. i did not realize what happened to me until i was in 8th grade, when the me too movement began to pick up.

what i did know, and what i always knew for as long as i can remember, is the phantom feeling. feeling his hands on me, always. the terror i felt at wearing dresses or skirts, anything that left me open. the way i always held my legs together around men, the fear i felt that i didn’t understand.

it was a strange mix of trauma and gender dysphoria. it’s a mix i’m still trying to unravel now.

the reason i’m writing this is because i desperately want people to understand. it’s a hard thing to empathize with if you haven’t experienced anything close to it, i know. it’s something a lot of people can’t really comprehend. and i envy that.

sexual trauma is so often misconstrued and portrayed in fiction. it’s so often romanticized. so often misunderstood.

i cant even really describe it, though i’m trying now. i just want people who create/enjoy dark content to understand. it is not just fiction. it’s a violation that crawls into your skin and never leaves. it’s something i (and so many other people) will have to live with for the rest of my life. it gets easier to cope as you get used to it, and only now after years of therapy am i comfortable talking about it like this.

but something changed in me that day. that little girl from before, to the man i am now.

portraying sexual assault is not something to be taken lightly. it is not just fiction, it is a reality. and so many people suffer in silence from it. you will never know if the person you’re reaching out to has felt this way before. it’s something we’ve been taught to shame, something we just want to forget. but we can’t.

i cant stop you from writing what you want. of course i know that, freedom of speech, yadda yadda. all we ask is empathy. all we ask is nuance. all we ask is for you to know that every single hit on your fanfictions is a person, every tumblr url you scroll past on the tag is someone who has lived a whole life, is still living a whole life.

you get defensive. you get angry. you don’t want other people to impede on your fun. after all, that’s what it is, right? just fandom fun?

it’s just fandom fun for you. but for the people who accidentally click on your improperly tagged fanfiction, for the people who you get so angry at for asking you to do better in your comments? the people you freely insult?

for us, it’s something that carries into our moods outside of tumblr and ao3. for us it’s something that flares up those phantom feelings, that pulls unwanted memories from our subconscious.

of course we can’t tell you what to write. of course we have no control over you. but you have control over us, and you have the power to hurt us. we just want you to understand that.

i would hope that you mean no harm. i would hope that you’re all perfectly nice people in your lives, that you have friends and family who will tell everyone around them that they love you, that you’re thoughtful and caring.

so before you get defensive, please just think about that. we’re all people. every single one of us is an individual. we all want to have fandom fun, and we all want to be respected. we’re a community. and in a community, you have an obligation to extend that respect to people around you if you want it in return.

tagging dark fics properly is simply basic respect. if you don’t give that respect to your potential readers, you will not receive it in return.

we know we can’t stop you from writing dark things, but there’s no reason that we can’t coexist. so long as you respect us by giving us the opportunity to avoid your works. just think about it.

-casper