#and a detailed description of their mask choices

[satorusugurugurl]

Toji as a bodyguard

Til’ the Day that I Die

Summary: You’re a popstar in need of a bodyguard when you find yourself with a stalker. That’s how you meet Fushiguro Toji, you’re insanely hot bodyguard. Who knows how to push your buttons, and get you feeling flustered. Just how far is he willing to go to protect you? And how far would you go to protect him?

Pairing: Bodyguard!Fushiguro Toji x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: mentions of stage right, performance, anxiety, stalking, panic attacks, language mentions of gun, (eventual smut)

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: this request is amazing!! It got my brain worms going! Once again, this will be a multi part series, I’m looking at a total of four parts as I have already planned down the whole story. I’m sorry for the lack of content, it’s been a rough few days and I just decided to take some time for myself! But I do have about four stories almost done so you can expect updates for the rest of the week! Love you all!! (Readers' stage persona is highly inspired by several artists! 😊)

Part Two Part Three Part Four

Performance anxiety is defined as an excessive feeling of fear related to being able to perform well. Symptoms of performance anxiety include pulse racing, rapid breathing, dry mouth, and throat tightness. Dealing with performance anxiety when you're a rising star is brutal, and you begin to regret all your life choices. You aren't sure if you want this to be your life. You were attending nursing school, but your sister posted a video of you singing online. Reading all the sweet comments was fun initially, but it's funny how fast things change.

One second, you were posting a few videos of you singing, and the next thing you knew, you had a record deal, your songs were on the radio, and you were performing at concerts. All in the span of six months. The attention was overwhelming, and, at times, your anxiety even worse. But the more you performed, the more you were able to bury the stage fright down, masking the fear with a persona you made until you were home in your apartment. In the confines of your home, you could cry and tremble; dealing with those attacks was something you’d gotten used to.

But your stalker was a whole new fucked up mess you never dreamed about dealing with.

It had started as nothing more than a couple of love letters that turned into more descriptive letters detailing information about your personal life you had never told anyone. Anytime you saw a letter come in with ‘M’ written on the front and dark gray ink, your stomach twisted. You at first thought you would be okay. You could handle something like this. This was the kind of thing that came along with the territory of being famous.

That was until a bouquet of roses was dropped off at your door in your guarded apartment building. That whole situation sent you into a full-blown panic attack. You left your apartment and went to stay with your friends. That incident caused your manager to contact Kong Security Services and hire you as a bodyguard. One, you were anxiously waiting to meet as you sat in your dressing room before your show.

“It’s going to be fine, I promise.” Nanako, your makeup artist, assured you as she fixed your blush. “Geto said this agency is the best in the business.”

You shot her a skeptical look while her twin sister fixed your hair. “Are you just saying that because your dad’s are my managers, and they told you to say that?” When both twins had ceased their movements in obvious shock at your to-the-point accusation.

“W-What—?”

“No, never!”

“Uh-huh—I don’t believe a word either of you are saying right now.”

Nanako steps back, looks you over, and bites her lip. “They really are the best, whether or not we get to go out for Boba after this. It’s not like sweet milk tea is on the line if we don’t ease your nerves.” Just as your sweet young makeup artist finishes, the door to your dressing, eyes darting towards the door as it swings further open. Suguru and his husband, Satoru, enter, displaying their matching black-and-white wedding rings. They were the best management company in the world, the power couple of Tokyo. Satoru, who was in charge of your social media accounts, types viciously on his phone while Suguru grins up at a man walking in with them.

If you could even call him a man.

A fucking mountain of muscle is a more appropriate way of describing him. He’s tall, has dark hair and navy blue eyes, and he’s fit. The mountain wore a tailored jacket and white button-down shirt with the first two buttons undone. His eyes leave Geto’s for a minute to watch you sinking further in your chair, his pink tongue running over the scar down the corner of the right side of his mouth.

“Hun, this is Fushiguro Toji,” Suguru announced before glancing at his phone. “He’s your bodyguard and will be with you everywhere you go.”

“E-Everywhere?”

“Yes, to rehearsals, your shows, meet-and-greets, he’ll even escort you home.” Your eyes rammed back over to the mountain of a man standing off to the side. When you have time off, or he needs a day away, his work partner Tsukumo Yuki will take over for him.”

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching, a subtle action your new bodyguard noticed immediately as you dug your fingers into your skirt. It was part of Toji‘s job to see behaviors and be observant. He could tell you were on edge from how your fingers twitched to how your pulse raced in your neck. His handler, Shiu, had warned him that you were an anxious mess after finding out about your stalker. But this anxiety didn’t come from just having a stalker. This anxiety was deeply rooted in you. It was probably something you had suffered with for years.

Without being told, Toji stepped forward, kneeling before you, giving you a gentle smile like a father would give a frightened child. He had to put your nerves at ease to let you know you would be okay. “I know you’re scared, but I can assure you that I am very skilled. You won’t even notice I’m around.” You weren’t sure about that. How could you not notice the handsome man who would always be around you?

“Right, thank you.”

“You’re welcome--”

“Ugh! We gotta get going; they expect you on stage in five minutes.”

“I-I s-shou—” you stuttered as the performing anxiety began to root itself into your already anxious demeanor.

“Yep, let’s get going.” Toji stood motioning towards the door of the dressing room. “After you, Miss.”

Being a bodyguard and a security escort for so long had allowed Toji to pick up on specific cues from people, like how their eyes moved around the room or how their body language told him what they were feeling. The way your fingers were twitching, he knew you were nervous and scared, and he wasn’t sure if it was stage fright or something to do with your stalker.

Regardless of whether you wanted to go up there, it didn’t change the fact that thousands of people were already waiting for you to perform. As you both walked down the hall, Tojo noticed you took a deep breath and exhaled through your nose, and as you turned the corner, you put on a huge smile. The way you put in a mask so fast nearly sent Toji stumbling back. He was usually prepared for the unexpected, but seeing this scared, shaking woman shift into a bubbly pop star rocked him back.

Everyone you encountered smiled wide at your perky voice and demeanor. You truly lit up the whole room. “Alright, guys! Thank you for all your hard prep! Now, let’s have a great show tonight!” You were handed a jeweled microphone and placed on a platform to lift you to the main stage, but before you gripped the handles to steady yourself, Toji grabbed your hand. “Oh, Fushiguro?”

“I'll be on the side, watching you. If you need me or notice something's off, you should give me a sign.”

“A sign? Like a signal?”

“Yeah, something easy and inconspicuous.”

You thought for a second, that perky look still on your face, but Toji could see the anxiety behind your eyes. “Well, I wink a lot during my shows and throw a heart sign up.” Toji hummed, pursing his lips together.

“Well, if you don't want to alarm your fans, how about this.” he took your hand, putting your middle and ring finger down. Your thumb, pinky, and pointer finger were left extended.

“Oh, the sign for ‘I love you’!”

“Only use this if you need me on stage. Otherwise, do what you normally do, but know I’ll be right there if you need me.”

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes, which probably would go unnoticed by many different people, but it was one that he could see clearly as day. “Right, thank you, Fushiguro.” Your new bodyguard looked at you as he scoffed, shaking his head.

“Toji, just call me Toji. There is no need for formalities. Have a good show, Miss.”

“R-Right, thank you, Toji.”

Your new bodyguard watched as the platform began to lift, taking you up to the stage where fans were screaming your name. Taking a deep breath before smiling, your bodyguard watched you reach the top before the band blaring music as you began singing into your microphone. The beat of the music rang in his ears; Toji ran for the stairs that led him to the stage, where he could watch you from the side.

There, Toji found your managers standing on the sidelines, watching you. Upon looking at you, he met a woman who looked nothing like the girl he had just spoken to moments before. You danced, sang, smiled, and winked at the crowd. Multicolored lights flashed as fog from the fog machine flooded the stage, and the backup dancers moved in sync with each other. I think this is poor, who was shaking upon meeting him.

“Yeah, crazy to see her shift, isn’t it?” Geto asked before pulling his phone out and snapping a few photos of you as you sang. “She’s like a different person.”

“Like? I hate to be the one to break this to you, Geto, but that woman is a completely different person. Why the fuck is she masking?”

The white-haired man glared at Toji, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “She’s not masking; it's called a stage persona.” The annoyance was clear in the other man’s voice, a tone that crawled its way under his skin.

“Look, buddy, keep your terms to yourself. I don't care about the different terms. All I know is that woman—” he jabbed his thumb in your direction as you twirled around the stage. “is masking; that’s not who she is.”

“You don’t know a lot about the entertainment industry. This is something that a lot of celebrities do. It’s completely normal, and she knows that. That’s how she adapted so fast.”

Toji wasn’t sure if that was the case. He had seen you firsthand, shaking in your dressing room. To see you change drastically for the sake of a show? Toji could see why you would be nervous to go up on stage. There had to be a fear of your mask slipping, revealing your true persona to the world.

But Satoru was right; Toji’s job was to protect and ensure you were safe. It wasn’t his place to judge how you lived or worked your career. In the end, you were just like all the other popstar divas and clients he had had before. Rich people with too much money to throw around and fame led them to believe that they were in danger all the time, which is how he managed to keep a steady income for himself and his kids as long as they were rich snobs like you, Tojo was guaranteed to have a job.

Instead of continuing to argue with your overzealous manager, Toji crossed both arms over his chest and watched you closely. The sooner the show was over, the sooner he could get you back to your apartment, where he could call to check on Megumi. He just wanted to relax, and for all he knew, you and your managers were overreacting to this so-called stalker you had. If anything, this might’ve been some cruel prank; receiving a note to roses wasn’t that big of a deal, and this was way too easy for as much as he was getting paid, so he wasn’t going to bitch about it.

What he did want to bitch about was how fucking long your show went on for. Performed for about two hours straight, only taking breaks to change costumes throughout the performance. It was in those moments when you were changing that your mask slipped. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes and how you wanted to do nothing more than take a break. But as fast as that mask slipped, you had it back on instantly. When one costume was off, and the other slipped on, you were back on stage to sing the next song.

After about two hours and thirty minutes of this bullshit, you gave a final bow and blew kisses out at the crowd of strangers who were cheering your name. While the two hours he got to stand up to the side and watch you perform was easy, he only had to look for your signal if you needed help; getting you out of the arena safely was a whole different story. Everything moved so fast The second you stepped off that stage and towards your bodyguard.

After every show, the goal was the same: get changed as fast as possible, collect your stuff, which Nanako and Mimiko had already packed, and get in your limo before the crowd started heading towards your exit. Toji gently placed his hand on the small of your back, ushering you through the maze of halls that led you back to the dressing room, where, just like you knew, the girls had packed all your stuff.

“You got five minutes to change,” Suguru announced as Satoru snickered behind his husband. “Thanks to Satoru, you’re trending again for your newest song.”

Toji could see the minutey, perky personality shift into your more anxious state. You frowned, literally frowned, at the news. Most people would be jumping over the moon to hear it. Seeing such an ungrateful expression on your face had Toji resist the urge to roll his eyes into his skull.

Spoiled little brats, you rich folks were all the same.

“Did you make sure to tag the—“

“Are you insinuating that I don’t know who to tag or which hashtags to use? Babes, I've got you covered. When have I ever let you down?”

“Never.”

“Right, so let the best PR manager handle this.”

Toji sighed, glancing towards his watch. “Two minutes,” he announced to the room of people bouncing off the walls and collecting items to clean up the green room. How could your managers be talking about more brand deals at a time like this? Brand deals were bullshit, but knowing how popular you were with the teenagers and you probably had some make-up deal or some other shit that would make you all the richer, you had to make sure the right people were tagged so you continued to be sponsored. But there was a time and place for that, and now wasn't the right time!

“I know you're the best Satoru, but I still wanna make sure the word gets out there.” You stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in black leggings and a simple T-shirt. Completely different from the baby doll dresses you were wearing on stage. “It’s imperative—”

“I know. I’ve already posted it. Everyone’s been tagged accordingly, and the hashtags are in place. You’ll get lots of people to see this, trust me.”

You were slipping on your baseball cap and sunglasses when Toji’s large hand gently grabbed you by the shoulder. “We gotta get going,” you sighed before nodding, waving off your team, and falling Toji down the hall to where your car awaited you.

Thanks to your quick change, nobody was waiting for you outside, making your getaway from the arena smooth as butter. You just wished you felt as calm as your exit from the bustling stage had been. You were beginning to regret going back to your apartment. You hadn’t been back there since the roses were delivered to your door. Going back was going to be difficult, leaving your stomach swarming with anxiety. But at least you had a big mountain of a man to protect you if, god forbid, you needed help.

The entire ride back to your apartment complex was thankfully quiet. Toji sat on the other side of you, staring out the window, not making any conversation, which was a blessing. Not only was your throat sore from the amount of singing you had done, but the idea of sitting through a conversation run solely by small talk was almost as bad as your performance anxiety. Sitting in the back of the car, leaning your head against the window without worrying about smiling or acting perfect in front of strangers, was a breath of fresh air.

Being alone with your bodyguard made you feel like you could let your walls come down for the first time in a long time. It was a feeling you might as well get used to. He would be around most of the time, so instead of adorning the perfect, pretty mask you always wore, you could be the introverted true version of yourself. Knowing that you could relax, you shut your eyes, allowing yourself to doze off as the car smoothly headed down the freeway.

If only your dreams were smooth and calm like the car ride. Your dreams were filled with mysterious notes and roses you had once loved. They circled you, drowning you in paper and petals as a roaring crowd rang through your ears. You could fight against the tidal waves, but instead, you let them wash over you, allowing yourself to be crushed by the unbearable weight of being a star at times.

Nursing school wasn’t easy, but at least when you were in school, you didn’t have to worry about a mysterious bouquet showing up on your apartment doorstep or sneaking out to avoid getting seen and swarmed by your fans. Your biggest concern in school was getting good grades and doing everything possible to get your degree. The only things you had to worry about were study dates and pop quizzes, not ominous letters that made you fearful for your safety.

These nightmares were so vivid that you wished your family had heard you singing online. Was it too much to ask for a normal everyday life where you weren't constantly stressed?

You sighed, looking up at the lingering rays of light that slowly began to peek through. More envelopes and roses piled on the cocoon you were stuck in. Perhaps there was no going back. This might very well be the rest of your life. Just as you were shutting your eyes to the casket you were being buried in, a hand reached out from the top of the mountain of dread and anxiety you lived with, reaching for you.

You couldn’t make out who was reaching out to you, but you were sure they just wanted to help you. Without hesitation, you reached for that hand, brushing over their fingertips. Just when they clasped your hand to pull you out of the burial ground, you were jn. You gasped as someone shook you, waking you from the dream.

You sat up quickly, shaking as you met Tojo’s navy blue eyes. He was frowning, motioning towards the rolled-down window, and Ijichi, head of security for your building, leaned in, giving you a weak smile. With a quick rub to both your eyes, you placed your mask back on, going from the sleep-deprived woman you were transforming into the perky popstar everybody knew and loved.

“Ijichi! Hi!”

“Hi yourself, glad to have you back.”

Toji could see how your shoulders stiffened when you mentioned being back. “Oh, yep! It's good to be back.” Toji could see through your facade, while Ijichi was blind to it.

“I just wanted to let you know that we added more cameras to the building, and my security post will be far stricter with deliveries and anything else from this point on. We want you to feel safe here, and I’m sorry we failed to do that in the first place.”

“Oh no, it’s not your fault! Plus, I feel a lot better now that I have Fushiguro!” The man with glasses peered into the car, waving at your bodyguard whose face remained stoic, not returning the gesture. “Okay, uhm Ijichi, Toji; Toji Ijichi.”

No pleasantries were exchanged, not at all. The only thing Toji managed to do was give him a nod before focusing his attention back on the massive building and making a mental note to ask for access to the cameras. That way, he could keep an eye on you and ensure nobody was hanging around who wasn't supposed to be there. Those thoughts Toji was lost in made it a tranquil ride up the elevator to your apartment. He was leaving you feeling even more anxious. Usually, being around someone quiet never bothered you; you felt so relaxed around that person, but Toji’s cold demeanor and attitude toward your friend made you irritable.

“So, uhm, are you going to be that cold and standoffish every time you meet somebody I know?” You asked, finally allowing your heart mind to win over your mind.

“Huh?”

His dark gaze had you swallowing the lump suddenly in your throat. “I wanted to ask if this is going to be normal, you being—.”

“Oh, I am so sorry little star; I wasn't aware I needed to wear a fake ass mask around people too.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, and unfortunately, unlike you, I like wearing my face. I don’t have to be someone I’m not to get people to like me. Because quite frankly, I don’t give a damn if anybody likes me.”

“I don't eit—”

Toji scoffed, leaning against the elevator wall and shaking his head at your words. “Oh, please. You’re just like every other client I’ve had. All you care about is money, your appearance, and what sponsor deals you get.” His words made your blood begin to boil.

“You’ve barely known me for a couple of hours, and you think you know who I am?”

“Oooh yeah, you're some small-town girl that made it big. And instead of showing the world who you really are, you put on this fucking mask, one that hides the true you from the prying eyes of the world. You care only about ticket sales, making your fans happy, and sponsorships like the one you were talking about with your manager not even thirty minutes ago. So yeah, I’m sure I got a good idea of who you are. It’s my job to read people..”

This was the best security in the business; bodyguard your manager had set you up with? Ha! Yeah, right, this man was nothing more than a dickhead that had a lot of opinions that were far from true?!

You laughed, pushing yourself away from the wall to stand in front of the doors before him. “That's the great thing about wearing a mask around people I don’t fucking know. They get to see the real me, but I get to see people for who they truly are.” Toji opened his mouth to continue arguing with you, but only for you to quickly shut him down, holding a hand up before you. “You were right about a couple things; I do put on a mask, I love my fans, but I could give a damn about sponsorships.” Toji pushed himself off the wall, towering over you, gritting his teeth as he tried to control his evident anger.

“Oh, you suddenly don’t give a damn about sponsorships? I just heard you talking to your manager about one.”

“You don’t know anything about me! That whole conversation had nothing to do with this sponsorship!”

Tojo tilted his head back with a laugh. “Oh, right, of course. You don’t care about your amazing condo or all the money you’re making; you don’t care about those so-called nonexistent sponsorship deals.” The elevator rattled like the lid to the rage threatening to explode.

“Alright, yes, I do live in a nice apartment, one with security that sucks, but it’s still home. But for your information, I don’t do this for the money. You don’t know what I have planned on doing with my life, so I don’t want to hear you make assumptions about me! The conversation you so rudely eavesdropped on had nothing to do with a sponsorship deal but a massive donation I’m making to the local Children’s Hospital. The same hospital is well renowned for helping unfortunate children. So yeah, that whole conversation you listened to was me telling my manager to tag the hospital in my video because the hospital inspired the song! It was a public service announcement, a reminder to help those who can’t help themselves.”

Your rant was unexpected. Toji had never had one of his clients talk to him like that; strangely, he liked it.

“And another thi—”

The doors to the elevator slowly slid open with a ding as you reached your apartment. Usually, your automatic lights would be on in the living room and kitchen, leading upstairs. But as the doors opened, no lights illuminated your bodyguard's face. You knew something was wrong, and just before Toy could look over your shoulder into the apartment,Toji’s hand quickly covered your eyes. He pulled you into his chest, and he listened in as he smashed on the lobby button on the button panel.

“Toji!?” You asked, placing your hands on top of his. “What is it?! Is something wrong? Let me see!”

Toji shook his head as if you could see his reaction, his hand reaching for the gun at the holster on his side as the door slowly shut. There was no way in hell you were going to see what was behind the door. Because he knew if you were to see what had happened in your apartment, you would never be the same. As the elevator slowly began to descend, Toji realized that he had been wrong about your stalker. It wasn’t some harmless joke.

This was fucking serious.

(TBC)

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

[seraph5]

So I get a lot of people mentioning that they are surprised that I dress John in black and I wanted to sort of talk about my design thinking a lil bit (for the hell of it). So when I think about The King aside from the descriptions in the pod which I’ve incorporated, I considered

- How kings present themselves: incorporating details that communicate wealth, inspire reverence, show trophies or monuments to victories. While the king is a fallen king (if we are sticking to the play interpretation) I believe he would have a certain kind of regalia. I put a row of teeth around his neck from some massive creature and from his horns are hung threads adorned with trophies from the realms in which he presides. Unlike jewels or rare materials I imagine these more like items of the people whom he consumed with madness. His ‘armour’ is more minimal given that he is more influential through magic and madness then war however I did want him to have some nod to armour in the gnarled wood that forms his horned crown and pauldrons.

- His ability to influence through fear: when thinking about what might be scary to be hunted by I thought about the first thing that humans fear - the unknown. He has a mask with no face and within his cloak is only darkness manifest. His claws and body are long and his tendrils are a part of him.

Thinking of all this (in abstract terms at least) I then thought about John. When John arrives he ‘knows nothing’, he has nothing and in this way he has been stripped of all of the regalia, all the trappings of powerful terror he has as the king - all the way down to the eponymous colour of the king severed from him by circumstance. As time goes by John has also affirmed that he is who he is and that he does not want to be returned to the king.

When Yellow hits the scene Arthur gives him that name and in a way connects him to the king more directly than he ever did with John. He gave Yellow that power in giving him direction and meaning towards the king and power (in a bad way unfortunately). In a lot of mythologies words have magic, names have magic. I feel like because of this connection and because of Arthur’s choices Yellow being in a Yellow cloak made sense to me.

None of this is me saying that I’m right or that anyone else’s choices are wrong by the way, I have more favourite John’s and Arthur’s and kings than I can count in this fandom. A real warehouse of Chad John’s and Arthurs and kings I can tell you. This is just me discussing the thoughts I had around it.

[rainofaugustsith]

July is disability pride month! In honor of this, as a proud disabled person, the top 10 things I've heard/read about disability that just need to be addressed.

"Disability payments" = SSI.

Nope. There are a number of programs which are "disability payments." There are programs that look at your income in addition to disability status, such as SSI and VA pensions. There are programs that look at your disability status and work credits, like SSDI. There are also programs that look at disability and if it's service connected to your military status, like VA disability. There are people who have disability through their former employer. All of these provide a monthly payment to people who are disabled and cannot work. 2. Disabled people can't get married.

Okay, this one is complicated. There is to my knowledge no law on the books anywhere in the United States that prohibits a consenting disabled adult from marrying another consenting adult, disabled or not. If you are on disability with a program like SSDI they could care less if you get married or divorced.

The trick here is that if you are receiving disability under a program that considers income, like SSI, if you get married it's more than likely that you will go above the maximum income threshold and lose your benefits entirely. They somehow assume that you both can survive on your spouse's income alone. This also means the disabled person essentially loses all their financial independence. The maximum income threshold for SSI is to my knowledge far lower than almost any other program, so there's very little wiggle room here.

So a disabled person on SSI has to choose between getting married and losing all their income, or maintaining some financial independence with their own income - and that's really not a fair choice at all 3. I saw that wheelchair user stand up! Scammer.

Nope. A lot of people who use wheelchairs and other mobility devices are ambulatory. They may have pain or orthopedic issues, they may have a condition causing extreme fatigue or dizziness that makes them a fall risk, they may have a heart issue, they may be able to do some walking and standing but not a lot. Some people need mobility devices only when they are doing something particularly strenuous that would involve a lot of walking and standing - for example going through an airport or visiting a museum or theme park.

Bottom line, if you see someone using a wheelchair, a scooter, a walker, a cane, whatever, don't be an asshole to them, and don't ask them to explain their medical history to you. 4. That person has a placard and is using the parking space close to the building, but they can walk!! Scammer.

Nope. Again, you have no idea what that person's condition might be. They could have a cardiac or respiratory condition, they could have rheumatoid arthritis or an issue with their feet or knees, you have no bloody idea, so mind your business. 5. That person wouldn't be disabled if they'd meditate/take this supplement/pray/think positive! Why were they offended when I told them so?

Because their treatment is not your concern? Because although you did a lot of studying on Tik Tok University, maybe they're trusting the trained medical professionals who are treating them? Maybe because what you are saying has no actual basis in mainstream peer reviewed science? It's gross to try to give a disabled or chronically ill person unsolicited treatment or religious advice. 6. I asked that disabled person what was wrong with them and they got mad! Why?

Random strangers you meet are not required to give you detailed descriptions of their medical conditions. Also, asking anyone what is WRONG with them is so damned rude. 7. Ugh, the pandemic is over but that person is still wearing a mask! ROFL.

Yeah, there are a lot of people out there who are either immunocompromised or have another condition that makes them high risk for the numerous airborne viral illnesses still circulating, or they live with/care for someone who is, or they have another reason they're wearing a mask and they don't want to get sick. And? Mind your business. 8. Heh, that person said they were allergic to soy and I put soy milk in their coffee! They'll never know.

Congrats, you just might have killed someone or sent them to the hospital. If someone's telling you they have an allergy, please for God's sake take them seriously. If they consume or in some cases even smell or have contact with that allergen, it could absolutely kill or hospitalize them. There are also a lot of other medical reasons someone might tell you they can't have a particular food or drink - for example, some very common medications have a serious interaction with some very common fruits that could potentially cause them a tremendous amount of harm. Or they have a condition like celiac disease where eating certain things will result in pain and illness flares and serious complications for them. None of that is a joke. 9. Eyeroll this disabled person needs to get to the bathroom/another area that is only accessible by stairs and now they need me to unlock the elevator or door for them. Damned PITA.

Blame your employer or whoever owns the building for not making it accessible. Don't blame the disabled person who is asking for the same access to the facility as anyone else. Do you really think it's the highlight of anyone's day to find a locked elevator and have to search for whomever has the key, simply to go pee? 10. Eh, that person told me they can't walk up the stairs! But it's not that steep!

If a person tells you they can't walk up or down stairs, they can't walk up or down stairs. Period. Case closed. This isn't something negotiable.

[da-janela-lateral]

MP100 S2E01 under a writer's perspective

The Emi Fukami episode in Mob Psycho 100 was a beautiful display of Mob's character development in relation to his individuality and a earnest vision of emotional vulnerability, but I want to call attention to a single detail: Emi being a writer.

Out of all the secret truths that the cast masks during the narrative, Emi's must be one of the most mundane. She is writing a book. She doesn't want people to know about it, much less read it, as Emi was led to believe this hobby of hers was embarassing.

I find it very interesting that Emi, character whose focus episode revolves around vulnerability, has writing has her main passion. In a way, writing is one of the most revealing art forms that there is. Literary choices are a reflection of the author's context, beliefs, likes and dislikes, fears and dreams, even though many of these choices cannot be perceived in a sensible level. Even if I suddenly decided to write a tale about a random theme - you say, a blue-footed booby who becomes an architect while wearing ballet shoes - it would say something about me. It could be a preferred text type, my sense of humor or even my idea of what is "random". Word choices, rhythm, figures of speech, themes, narrative structures, spins on a literary genre's expectations - all of these and more consist of conscious or unconscious decisions made by the writer. Writing as an art form serves as a mirror to the artist's very mind.

As a result, a piece of text can be a very delicate thing. Many people would only reveal their works to a exemplarily trusted someone, or to no one at all. That's the origin and end of uncountable masterpieces. It is also associated to passion. Few are the writers who characterize themselves as such and don't feel a duty to write. Yes, duty. Not all pieces are a labor of love, but it's almost universal that they're one of resolve, as little as it might be. One can unlock a fundamental will to write something in spite of it being weary work. At this point, for many writers, it's not a simple hobby. It's a need. It's a compulsory manner of expression hardwired onto our brains; thus, it's an inseparable part of who we are.

So what does any of this have to do with Emi's arc?

S2E01 is all about being vulnerable. Even though Emi had only asked out Mob because of a bet and hanged out with him for a week, she felt safe enough to show him her book. Her own friend group didn't have an idea that she was working on one, and once they discovered this, they ridiculed Emi's effort and teared it to shreds. Emi tried to alleviate this rejection by affirming she didn't care for her work, while everything shown previously on the episode proved this was wrong. In turn, Mob uses his psychic powers to put back her text together - his first public demonstration of them since he was a child. Mob was honest about himself by revealing he was an esper. Emi was honest by wanting his opinion on her book.

Emi is a fourteen year old girl going through a confusing and ever changing phase of her life. After doubting on Mob's emotions, she tells him that she too doesn't know well who she is, and her actions around her friends prove how she was prone to peer pressure. Her mind and identity were on an uncertain state, and this would also reflect on her writing. Emi uses complicated words, perhaps to make her writing sound more serious. Based on a translation of her work "Adventure", she uses more of a stream of consciousness prose and ambiguous descriptions. She immediately decides to write something different after her experiences with Mob. Emi has a personal style! She has techniques and topics she enjoys and active choices about how she will employ them! Emi has a bit of her on her story and this was why she hid it so much: a mockery of it would be synonym of a mockery of herself.

This is what makes the plotline with her book so important to express the episode's themes. Emi felt insecure to reveal such an integral part of herself to the world until someone came and not only took it seriously, but appreciated it enough to make an effort to understand it better. It tells a lot how Mob's demonstration of caring made her leave the people who destroyed her work.

As a writer, this detail gave a whole another layer of significance for the episode. I've felt Emi's struggle in a very intense level on the past. Storytelling is something so dear to me I can't see myself without the adjective of "writer", but the acknowledgement of my work would be the same as exposing myself to the world. It can be scary at times, to divulge something so sincere to others. However, such is the writer's role: divulging. For reasons long unknown a magical excess of words was born to me, and this coincidence can't be supressed and abandoned on the dark. There is something I can offer copiously hand in hand and its words. Words. Words. Words... And the reflection of me resonates on others.

[ulquiorrapleasecallmetrash]

I just found your blog and omg it's a blessing, could I request either sfw or nsfw Ulquiorra with his female Fraccion who is pretty loud and obnoxious (literally a female version of Grimmjow) I hope you have a good day/night! 🖤

`Ulquiorra Cifer with a loud and obnoxious fraccion s/o sfw and nsfw Headcanons:

Fandom: Bleach

Rated: 16+ mayyyybe? The NSFW bit isn't that descriptive but I put a warning just in case!

Warnings: slight nsfw

Admin Harmony🐯: Aw thank you so much for calling my blog a blessing! I find that to be very flattering and hilarious. I have been laughing at your compliment ever since I read this haha. I hope you enjoy this!

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-When Ulquiorra first met his fraccion one word he could really think in his head was this- obnoxious. 

-The only reason why he agreed for you to be his fraccion was for your usefulness and nothing else. 

-You have unique powers that couldn’t quite match to any other arrancar and Aizen spoke highly of you before the two of you met. So, before meeting you he decided to take up on Lord Aizen’s Fraccion suggestion.

-Surely, you would be smart, diligent, and capable just like him… well- he was wrong. 

-He couldn’t believe that Lord Aizen would suggest someone who acts just like Grimmjow to be his fraccion.

-So when he sees you picking fights with Nnoitra or getting angry by what Grimmjow had said about you he would just think of you as an idiot. 

-And oftentimes will pull you away from any confrontation. Which, he isn’t happy about it at all. 

-And of course, he would verbally scold you for being like this. 

-This would lead you to roll your eyes and give a sarcastic remark to him. Which he loathes greatly. 

-Though, you are entertained when you can  get a rise out of him, though subtly there are a little details where you notice.

-Such as the clear annoyance in his voice, his fist clenching, scoffing and an eye roll when he is very not pleased.

-You knew his “no feelings” mask was cracking because like it or not - annoyance is still a feeling. 

-And the look on his face when you tell him this- was priceless. 

-Of course he would try not to show his anger but he can’t help it. You’re just soooo annoying. 

- But what made him finally realized your true value was when Aizen said, “If you truly don’t want her to be your fraccion then you are capable enough to kill them.  It’s your choice.” 

- Obviously, he hesitated. And that made him do a lot of self-reflecting which means, he alot of distance from you. 

-So then he started to think about your worth besides your powers. 

-Your quirkiness, how you are good at taking orders,  your over all positive presence makes him feel slight better. Along with your smile. 

-You were a great fraccion, but he wouldn’t tell you that to your face. 

-So, he decides to keep you alive and to be your fraccion, not knowing he was developing feelings for you.

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-With a s/o who is very loud and obnoxious I can expect them to be more dominating. 

-Which I think for once Ulquiorra would not mind especially since during the day he is always the sensible and responsible one. 

-plus his lack of knowledge with sex and intimacy does not help either. 

-So you will basically get a very submissive Ulquiorra in the long run. 

-Which took a bit of time and trust to let you do this because he always thinks of himself as the boss and gives all the demands. 

-But once he sees you in his place he definitely values a lot more now than he did before. 

-The way you tease him but also praise him makes his head foggy. 

-How your light touches and words of comfort when he feels very uncomfortable and vulnerable. 

-You remind him that it’s okay to have these feelings and for him to trust you. 

- And he does. Though it does take him some time. 

-Compliment him and tell him how much of a good boy he is when he does. This makes him even more encouraged to let everything and get into his headspace.

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[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Space Oddity, Part 1

In my ongoing quest to write more self indulgent reader inserts, I present to you: Weird Reader.

Sorry guys, but in school I played with the girls who pretended to be Warrior Cats, and ate lunch with guys who unironically did the Naruto run. The only thing separating me from this reader in this story is the fact that I mask in public and unmask at home.

***

“You want me to play D&D with you guys?”

You watched with suspicious eyes as Mike Wheeler and Dustin Henderson nodded frantically, stirring the sweet, syrupy dessert of fruit cocktail in your lunch tray compartment. Staring at you was like staring at a taxidermy raccoon: you were dead eyed, but still positioned as though you could jump out and give someone rabies.

If he had been asked at gunpoint, Mike would have admitted that you were a last resort choice.

“Yeah…” Mike said cautiously, trying not to stare directly into your eyes.

Dustin smiled, leaning forward.

“You like D&D, right?” He tried, hopeful.

Everyone they had asked in Hawkins High had so far said no to subbing in for Lucas Sinclair, and Mike had balked at the idea of even thinking of asking you when they got rejected for the fifth time. You were even worse than the freaks of Hawkins High. The collective student body had come together as one to declare that you were a weird, mean bitch.

“I like what I’ve heard of it…” you mumbled, “I never played it before…”

Dustin’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Really?” He asked, his geometric pattern button up nearly dipping into his open can of chocolate pudding, “Never ever? So you’d need to be taught?”

Before you could venture an answer, Mike pulled him back.

“Could you-… Could you just excuse us please? Thank you.”

You nodded slowly while Mike dragged Dustin away to a corner of the bustling lunchroom. While they conversed in hushed whispers, you sat there alone, the students sharing your space giving you a wide berth at the head of the lunch table.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Mike hissed at Dustin, “You’re going to ask The Bitch to play, and she’s never even played D&D before?!”

Mike knew the stories. Robin had once asked to borrow a pencil from your jubilee of pens you kept in the pocket of your shortalls. Reluctantly you agreed, and then you had a meltdown when she took the flat contractor’s pencil with the He-Man sticker on it. Steve had told any of The Party who would listen about his encounter: even Eleven could perfectly recite the story about the weird girl who had flat tired Steve in the hall every day at 9am when he walked by Mrs. Click’s class, ruining the backs of his brown suede moccasins so often that his mom stopped replacing them after a while. His description of the perp matched you exactly.

Even Mike on his first day of school had been subject to your oddities. A casual lunchtime stroll found him tripping over a trap, made of plastic milk crates and dead branches you’d constructed by the football field. The encounter ended with him being subjected to your twenty minute screaming lecture on why it was rude of him to wreck the “houses” you’d made for the skinks that darted around the concrete walkways.

Mike Wheeler hated you because of reputation, but Dustin knew better than to fall victim to heresy. He had seen the drawings of dragons, daleks, dinosaurs, wolves and mermaids on xerox paper you had left behind once in the lunchroom. When he found you to give them back (you didn’t say thank you), he’d been gifted with a drawing a day later in his locker: a very detailed Spock giving the Vulcan salute, “Live Long and Prosper” written underneath in bubble letters above your loopy cursive signature. He still kept it taped to his Geometry folder.

“Dude, yes! Chill out!” Dustin hissed back, looking at you fondly from a distance, “You remember what Eddie said? ‘Find the little lost sheepies that need us’. Look at her, man. Doesn’t that scream little lost sheep to you?”

They turned to look at you simultaneously. After looking both ways to check the coast was clear, you commandeered Dustin’s abandoned chocolate pudding. Spooning the syrupy peaches, pears, pineapple, and single half of maraschino cherry of your fruit cocktail inside, you mixed the chocolate and fruit together. Lathing up the leftover pudding with your tongue, the spoon was licked clean before you tossed it vaguely into an indignant girl’s creamed corn, but she was too afraid to yell at you while you were armed with chocolate.

With great relish you began eating your concoction with your fingers.

Mike grimaced while Dustin just laughed.

“She’s perfect.” Dustin gushed, “And you should see her drawings, they’re badass!”

“Just because she’s a gross weirdo who’s good at drawing doesn’t mean she knows jackshit about tabletop games!” Mike growled, nearly gagging when he saw you mop up the leftover pudding in the can with your bread roll, “You bring a beginner into Hellfire Club, Eddie’s gonna blow a goddamn gasket! He’s already on the warpath because of Lucas’ championship game tonight, can you imagine what he’ll do when we bring in The Bitch?!”

“Mike, relax. Eddie’s not going to know she’s a novice. Everyone still flips through the handbook, they won’t notice if she does it. We’ll give her a crash course, I’ll even let her borrow my Player’s Handbook so she can come in looking like she at least knows the basics. And if Eddie does get pissed we can just… ease him into the idea that a succulent babe wants to play with him.”

Dustin made the shape of a curved figure with his hands, while Mike looked ready to punch him in the groin.

“You think he’s going to fold for a fat girl?” Mike snarled.

“… Shut up Mike,” Dustin said, immediately protective of you, “He’s going to fold for a cute girl. Look at her! Soft arms, round face, thick thighs… Eddie’s gonna lose his goddamn mind, man! That’s like his ideal type.”

They continued to argue back and forth, finally coming to a grudging resolution when Dustin dragged Mike back by the shirt to your lunch table.

“If this goes to shit, I know where you live.” Mike hissed quietly.

“Shhhh!” Dustin slapped Mike’s arm before looking back at you with a dopey grin.

You were staring down both of them, eyes flicking from Dustin to Mike. The empty pudding cup can was sitting exactly where it had been once full before, but the pop top was gone, and you were pretending like you hadn’t just gone to town on an unholy concoction.

“I made a decision.” You said suddenly.

The two freshmen looked at one another, before leaning in closer. Mike looked skeptical, but Dustin’s grin was nearly splitting his face in half.

“I’ll play with you guys.” You said after a few seconds.

Dustin couldn’t help but fist pump into the air, nearly tipping over backwards on his chair while Mike just grimaced like he was about to puke. An imperfect smile with chocolate teeth flashed at the boys, and you were just about to speak when Mike stopped the party.

“Okay, listen… if you’re going to play, you’re going to have to put in the work, it’s not like playing Monopoly.” He said, staring you down, “This is serious shit.”

You closed your mouth, head tilting to the side.

“Oh… I thought it was like, making your own characters and pretending to be them and stuff.” You said.

“It is, but it’s a lot more nuanced than that. Our Advanced D&D campaigns are different. We play very combat heavy sessions, we use actual strategy in battle. It’s not a goddamn tea party.”

“And Eddie takes the rules very seriously…” Dustin chimed in, “So we’ll have to familiarize you with the basics.”

“Eddie!?”

Both boys jumped back as you banged your hands on the table, getting up close and nearly crawling on top over to them. The students sitting next to you collectively jumped, the metal legs of their chairs scraping and making a horrid screech against the linoleum flooring.

“You mean… you’re talking about Eddie The Freak, right?” You hissed under your breath.

“Eddie Munson.” Dustin corrected, frowning when you called him a freak, “He’s the dungeon master of our club… of Hellfire Club.”

Your eyes widened, and your chest began to rise and fall rapidly.

“You’re right though. That is the very same freak.” Mike cut in, lowering his pitch hoping that feeding into the negativity would scare you away, “He’s a dick to newcomers. You might get the boot if he finds out we brought you in without having any background knowledge of D&D.”

His words made you shrink back, looking at your lunch tray and the little mess of chocolate you’d unknowingly splattered on your clothes. Dustin could have killed Mike, while the latter just looked smug.

And then… you began to giggle.

“Okay…” you smiled.

“Okay?!” Mike and Dustin repeated.

Mike managed to speak up while Dustin was still picking his smiling jaw up off the floor.

“You’re sure you still want to play?” Mike asked, panicking as he pulled out all the stops to get you to quit, “Eddie is not a patient guy with new players, he’s going to rip you to pieces and sacrifice you to the devil!”

You nodded quickly, breathlessly hyperventilating.

“Yeah…! I… If Eddie Munson is running the game… I really wanna play.”

Dustin gave a high pitched giggle of his own and shook Mike’s shoulder, absolutely loving the way your face broke out into a goofy grin. You didn’t even flinch at Mike’s attempts to scare you.

“You got a thing for him or something?” Mike ventured cautiously.

“Yes.”

You answered so unabashedly, with no hesitation, that for a minute it actually endeared you to Mike. Who knew that The Bitch of Hawkins High was actually a human being with wants and needs?

“Wait… are you serious?” Mike asked.

“Uh huh…”

You giggled, biting your lower lip and covering your burning face.

“I think… I think he’s really hot…”

If they had been drinking Tab, they would have spit the liquid out all over you.

“You think Eddie’s hot?” Dustin wheezed.

“Yeah… um… I’ve had this like monster crush on Eddie since I was in fifth grade. He did like this talent show and played the guitar real good, and he’s all loud and funny and crazy and I think he’s got a real charming smile…”

The cadence in your already deep contralto was lilting into a mezzo soprano the more you talked about their sadistic dungeon master, and you were rocking side to side in your plastic chair while Dustin and Mike just watched you make a complete ass of yourself.

This probably would have turned into two hours of blabbing, had not Mike refocused you and Dustin and begun to actually lay out the basics of TSR’s Advanced Dungeons and Dragons. No time to lose, back to business. If you were going to play with Eddie you had a lot of catching up to do. They had a spare set of dice, and Mike helped you roll for stats as Dustin began to write out a crude character sheet for you based on your imaginative ideas.

“We can probably make you a character very quickly.” Mike said, flipping through his own Mead Composition notebook as he checked past characters that had died valiantly in battle, “I have one you can use. Barbarians are stupid easy for first timers since you’re just hitting shit with a sword-...”

“I want a character based on my story I’m writing!” You exclaimed, and then you subjected Mike to your brief (lie) synopsis of one of many witchy characters who was cursed by a dark goddess.

It took a lot of adjusting and words that held no meaning to you, like “Domain of Trickery” and “Cleric of Shar”. The two freshmen helped you settle on a character that would be deemed useful for Hellfire’s campaign, and made sure to force feed you every rule and spell that Gygax and Arneson had conceived for your chosen class. True to his word, Dustin let you borrow the Player’s Handbook he carried with him at all times when the bell to conclude lunch rang out. You took it with promises that you’d give it back when you met them outside of the drama room later after school, already burying your nose in the pages when you walked off to your class.

The boys saw a different side of you that possibly no one else in the school ever had: a familiar side, a human side. A side that was brutally honest and sometimes a little mean, but just as vulnerable and relatable as anyone else. A consensus had been reached during their shared English class: you were definitely weird, but actually pretty smart and imaginative. Possibilities of keeping you on as a permanent member were being discussed when Dustin and Mike found you hiding behind the lockers just outside the drama room around three pm.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked.

You shook your head, clutching your fat trapper keeper to your chest and handing Dustin back his Player’s Handbook.

“Eddie’s in there…” you muttered, chewing on the spine of your trapper keeper covered in duct tape

“Yeah, he usually gets there with Jeff, Gareth and Frank really early, to set up the map and the dice towers.” Mike nodded.

From the rectangular slat of a window, one could see Gareth and Frank meticulously setting up Jenga pieces and miniatures on top of a slab of butcher paper marked in sharpie, janky cindrilical tubes painted to look like castle towers were set up at each place at the table (the dice towers, fashioned from Pringles cans, cardboard, glue and paint). Eddie and Jeff were deep in conversation, plugging in lamps and electric candelabras left over from the drama club’s last production of ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Inside the mood was almost holy, reverent (or like Eddie liked to call it: a softcore porn on Valentine’s day mood), and the boys couldn’t help the eagerness as they went to the door.

You, however, stayed firmly planted behind the lockers.

“What are you doing?!” Mike hissed, “Come on! We’re gonna be late because of you!”

“I don’t wanna go in…!” You snapped back, suddenly shy.

Mike looked at Dustin, ready to destroy him, while Dustin tried to talk you down.

“Hey, hey! Come on, it’s okay. Don’t worry! You have a good character, and if you need help you can just sit with me and Mike-…”

“But what if he doesn’t like me?” You protested.

“I swear to you on my mother that Eddie is going to love you.” Dustin said, trying to calm you down, “You’re great. You actually came with a character to play, and he’s going to be so happy that a girl is showing interest in his hobbies.”

You were about to turn tail and leave when you felt an iron grip around the meat of your bicep, pulling you forward with an unnatural strength born entirely of Nerd Rage.

“Oh hell no!” Mike said, pulling you kicking and protesting towards the door, “You’re not doing this to me right now god dammit! You’re going to get your ass in there, and you’re going to play! I didn’t sit through lunch listening to your weird edgy character backstory just so you could pussy out at the last minute! Now get your ass. In. NOW!”

With a harsh shove, you flew into the drama room – tripping on your own two feet trying to catch yourself – and spilling the contents of your trapper keeper all over the ground. Strong hands caught you before you face planted into the floor, holding you steady.

“Easy, easy!” Called out a familiar voice, “Goddamn... What the hell was that for, Mike?! You could’ve broken her nos-…”

Eddie Munson’s voice trailed off, and the boys watched as their fearless leader, their metalhead bard, began to stare open mouthed slack jawed at you.

“You told us to find a lost sheep.” Mike snarled, “So here she is.”

[sampofan28]

(apologies it wouldn't let me save this in better quality)

No but okay I want to start a discussion about this lightcone, because it feels very important to me, but also I don't have a solidified idea of what its trying to symbolize/tell us. Like the puppet imagery is a very specific choice, and in retrospect you could argue it has to do with the way Sparkle puts up a fake persona/Aha themselves controls her (i think, im not big into Sparkle lore so correct me if I'm wrong.) But like, then we go to the Sampo puppet. So is he controlled by Aha? Or was he? Or is it about the fake persona he also puts up? Also I think it's important to note the details of their outfits: Sparkle's puppet is in her normal outfit, and Sampo...is in a suit? He doesn't have his grey hair? To me this implies this is what he looked like when he was last with the Masked Fools closely OR this puppet was made a while ago. WHICH IS SO INTERESTING.

ALSO THE DESCRIPTION IS RLLY CRYPTIC. Here it is copied over: "-Who witnessed his death?" -Me! I spied it with my little eyes! -Who took his blood? -Me! I used my little saucer! -Who dug his grave? -Me! Using my chisel and shovel! The wise uses all techniques in their arsenal, the sovereign soothes their heart with power, the hero views themselves to be righteous, and the fool laughs ceaselessly- "Now let us welcome Ms. Sparkle to bring us the performance of the years-Penacony's Night of Fright!" SO LIKE COPYING IT OVER FROM IN-GAME MADE ME REALIZE IT MENTIONS PENACONY??? AND ALL THE LIGHTCONES TAKE PLACE BEFORE WE GET THEM SO??? HAS SHE BEEN IN PENACONY A WHILE OR JUST A BIT BEFORE WE GOT THERE? I MEAN THE LIGHTCONE ITSELF HAS LIKE A WHOLE GROUP OF MASKED FOOLS WATCHING SO I IMAGINE IT HAD TO BE A WHILE AGO WHICH IS JUST FASCINATING. Also whose the he their referencing??? Immediately I think Sampo but I guess it could be someone else, or not representative of anything and just meant to be her being a bit of an oddball, BUT I DONT KNOW IT FEELS DEEPER THAN THAT TO ME. This lightcone stays in my mind a lot, LIKE EVER SINCE IT WAS LEAKED I THINK ABOUT IT SO MUCH. It also has some of my favorite lightcone art in-game im not gonna lie, its just so funny. (Also I love Sampo wearing a suit and dancing. This is not relevant to any analysis I just need to say it.) ANYWAYS I WANT TO HEAR SOME OTHER INTERPRETATIONS/TAKES ON THIS LC SO PLEASE GIMME ANY TAKE YOU HAVE :)

[ardienothesieno]

SPECULATING ABOUT THE WATCHER

Wanted to make my own analysis post, as I've seen some comments on other sites pointing out things but nothing here so far... AND I AM TOO DEEP IN THE BRAINROT TO NOT ANALYZE THIS EVEN JUST A LITTLE BIT. SO.

I would like to mention that I have not played any modded regions! So if there are certain details that I make note of in the screenshots that have explanation in their original mods, please feel free to correct me!!

STARTING OFF WITH THE TRAILER:

Rot tendrils. Rot tendrils on the ceiling... just casually... that's totally not concerning...

The blue lizard only has two toes on each foot!

The background of this first shot looks like it might be on an iterator structure? There are some support beams but other then that it's just clouds.

The spears that the scavenger is carrying are kind of weird... for one, they're white. And one of them has a large, almost pinecone-shaped tip.

Also they have a crack in their face/mask.

what the pole plant doin

The Watcher doesn't seem to have a nose? That's probably just an art style thing, but I thought I'd mention it. Also their eyes are glowing.

Even the title font has implications. whoa.

For one, more rot. The rot has now made a double appearance and that probably guarantees its significance here...

And plants... Leaves and some vines.

The way that the black screen transitions to a white one is very rot-esce to me. Rot triple appearance...

There seems to be some graffiti on the right side of the final shot? It's obstructed by the visual effects in the foreground, however.

Once again Watcher is depicted without a nose BUT THAT'S NOT IMPORTANT BECAUSE THIS SCREEN HAS IMPLICATIONS

Watcher is floating. Normally I'd mark this off as "cool title screen choice" but they're also surrounded by ECHO PARTICLES.

And the warping around the Watcher and the title? THE OUTMOST RIPPLES HAVE GOLD VEINS RUNNING THROUGH THEM. THE VOID IMPLICATIONS...

And this might be a stretch but the palette of this final image is black and gold... void colors...

OKAY THATS MOST OF THE TRAILER

ONTO THE STEAM DESCRIPTION:

Rain World: The Watcher is a DLC expansion of Rain World. Journey beyond to something, somewhere only ever glimpsed. When the world beneath your feet cracks and crumbles, will you hold on to all you once knew? Or dive into the unknown? The wilds that await will be unlike all that's come before. Unknown creatures stalk and climb and dive and hunt. New breeds rip and pluck and burrow and hide. Predator and prey redefined. And through the middle of it all, a lonely lost slugcat trying their best to outlast the ravages of a warped world.

Do... do I even have to say anything?

THE VOID IMPLICATIONS!! HOLY MOTHER OF SCUGS THE *VOID IMPLICATIONS!!!!*

"Journey beyond to something, somewhere only ever glimpsed. When the world beneath your feet cracks and crumbles, will you hold on to all you once knew? Or dive into the unknown?" YOU READ THIS AND TELL ME THIS DOESN'T HAVE VOID SEA VIBES. Journey BEYOND to something, somewhere only ever glimpsed... it feels very void-y to me. And the talk about the world beneath you crumbling-- holding on to what you once knew or diving into the unknown?? If this somehow ISN'T related to ascension I would be shocked

"And through the middle of it all, a lonely lost slugcat trying their best to outlast the ravages of a warped world." This line about the world being warped, as well... I'm thinking this DLC might either have to do with Rubicon, or have to do with the encroach of the void sea consuming the world from below.

Other then the void implications, it sounds like we'll be seeing some new creatures that could completely redefine the game. I'm excited to see where that goes.

OKAY. SCREENSHOTS. LETS GO.

I know these are from pre-existing mods, but I'm completely unfamiliar with said mods and don't know if any of this means anything. Just wild speculation, pretty much.

Gonna start with these two because they're kinda visually similar. On the left we have desert!!!! Cacti!! Cactuses!!!!! I've seen lots of people calling the image on the right snow, but that doesnt feel right to me. We saw snow in Saint and I do not remember it looking like... that. The first thing that comes to mind for me is Kingdom's Edge from Hollow Knight, and the drifts of ash that pile up there? If this is the case then it confirms several of my lore theories and I would so love that to be the case. There's also a collapsed structure in the back of the "snowy" image, which looks to me a bit like a train car?

Also I've now seen several people calling these milk... and I can't unsee it now...

I've been told by several sources that these screens are from preexisting mods! I think these are from Stormy Coast, Coral Caves, and Aether Ridge? At least that's what I've picked up from searching through other discussions. I don't have too much to comment on here! I think these rooms are cool, and I really like the fans in the Aether Ridge room!

...oh no... acid region..? I don't know why, but this room gives me Shoreline vibes. Also I do not think bubble fruit are supposed to grow that perfectly--

And finally... what I think has the possibility of either being a huge lore thing, or a complete false alarm. Well for starters it's purple

But there are no iterator cans in the background. We're above the clouds here; in every above-the-clouds show from the base game and Downpour, you can see iterators and communication towers off in the distance. There's nothing here. And I don't think this takes place near or after Saint, because there's no confirmed snow. And I think a lot of these structures would be far worse for wear if this were so far in the future that the planet has warmed again. So. Uh. That's pretty odd.

Again, these all might be from mods that I am unfamiliar with, so please correct me if I'm misinterpreting anything!!

AND THAT CONCLUDES MY ANALYSIS FOR NOW!

tl,dr-- This DLC is gonna be crazy. Also void

[vampireghostlawyer]

Foreshadowing of Daan's fate in Termina Compilation

The reveal of Daan becoming Pocketcat was one of the things that made me so wholly obsessed with Termina and now, after playing it a few times and analyzing the wiki and party talks to hell and back, I've found a few pieces of foreshadowing (some minor and some more blatant) and I wanted to compile them.

1.) Battle sprite

This is one is probably the most obvious, so I'm including it first. In Daan's enemy battle sprite, he is posed very similarly to Pocketcat. Both are faced slightly to the side of the player, with one leg bent in the front, and a hand in their pocket.

2.) Fashion Choices and Dialogue

Daan and Pocketcat are likely nods to the dandy archetype. They both put a lot of emphasis on their clothes and appearance (Daan makes constant references to his shoes and clothes throughout the game, and Pocketcat has multiple dialogues about contestants' clothes as well as his own). Each of them are overly polite and follow traditional etiquette to the point of comedy, and even in situations where it doesn't make sense to do so. Daan will continue being civil to the player, even when he is made furious through talking in battle, and Pocketcat will spend his entire fight doing the same. They speak in surprisingly similar ways, with both using a copious amount of vintage slang and queer-coded linguistics mannerisms.

Also, if Daan transforms, he will continue wearing some of his own clothes as Pocketcat. This one is so obvious I hesitate to include it but I figure I might as well. Specifically, he will unbutton his jacket and wear Daan's vest underneath, as well as his pants and boots. Interestingly, Pocketcat also becomes a shade paler when he transforms into Daan, but I'm not really sure why or what it signifies.

3.) Selfish Artists Karin parallel

Daan and Karin are pretty obvious foils to each other, which serves as the basis for a lot of their bickering in game. They have inverse backstories, inverse motives, and inverse personalities.

When speaking with Pocketcat in the museum, the player may hear a long dialogue of his about the three types of artists/people he sees in the world.

This has multiple meanings, both narratively and in terms of giving the player hints about what to do next, but there are some pretty strong ties hinting to the Daan and Karin parallels in the story. Karin's largest fears (and eventual transformation) can be seen pretty clearly in his description of the extroverted artist, while Daan could be either the introverted or third artist.

4.) Conversation with O'saa

This one is relatively minor, but if you have both Daan and O'saa in your party in the museum's ballroom (near the Pocketcat), O'saa will become puzzled by something and Daan will ask him if a "cat's got his tongue." This is, of course, a common idiom, but considering the time and place where it happens, it seems like foreshadowing to a certain extent.

5.) Pocketcat's Usual Victims

The implications that Pocketcat is a pedophile are honestly so blatant that they aren't really implications. We know that he targets vulnerable children, particularly in Rondon, and finds sexual gratification in it. We also know, through Daan's backstory, that he suffered multiple instances of CSA. Pocketcat has a special interest in people who he sees as malleable, likely blank soul types like Daan. Considering Daan shares two features that Pocketcat targets (both a blank soul, as well as his past), it becomes more obvious that he is a possible future victim/host.

6.) Rher Identity and Mask

Speaking of Daan's blank soul, Rher's book, The Truth Under Moonlight, details a philosophy about people not having a true self.

Pocketcat is not only a servant of Rher (so he likely follows Rher's beliefs), but he seems particularly devoted to the idea of not having a true self, or only having a true self that can only be revealed by outside forces and not oneself. One of his arguments to Daan during his transformation revolves around a secret truth about Daan that has existed for years, as well as he seems to take on traits of the hosts he inhabits, such as their clothes or subtle mannerisms. Even his mask is a symbol of a lack of identity.

Combining all of this with the knowledge that Daan has a blank soul, and seemingly struggles to understand himself (as he often contradicts himself and presents himself very differently to certain characters), it seems like another nod to the fact that Daan is the sort of victim Pocketcat would target.

7.) Meddling and Daan's Connections to the Occult

Part of Pocketcat's purpose as a servant to Rher is how he meddles with the future of people who may harm Rher, or bring other gods more power. Daan's lifelong connection with Sylvian, as well as his connection to and research of the Sulfur God, would both make him a target of Pocketcat's meddling.

Additionally, Daan's past with the occult makes it clear that despite his aversion to the gods and religion, he has experience with them and helps build a relationship to the player between him and the godly creatures in the game like Pocketcat.

8.) Daan's Pants

Both Daan and Pocketcat wear tight, distinctive pants (by 40s' standards, at least lol), and Pocketcat even comments on and expresses an interest in Daan's pants. Obviously, post transformation, he also wears Daan's pants.

9.) Promise to Olivia

The player can promise to take Olivia to a club after they escape Prehevil and she asks them to dance with her (I don't have a screenshot and it's not on the wiki, I'm sorry 😭). Obviously, this technically could happen with any playable character, however it points towards her eventual death at Pocketcat's hands.

In certain circumstances, Pocketcat will kidnap Olivia and forcibly take her to the dance at the museum, where she will moonscorch and transform into the mechanical dance. Imagining this conversation happening with specifically Daan out of all the playable characters makes Pocketcat's sudden obsession with forcing her to go to the dance and become a dance make a lot of sense, and is especially insidious.

This also only happens if both Daan and Olivia are alive, but not part of your party (according to the wiki).

10.) Game Mechanics

Probably my absolute favorite foreshadowing of Daan's transformations are the parallels in game mechanics and combat skills between him and Pocketcat. While Daan is a healer, primarily meant more for magic and healing than combat, his most well known and powerful skill involves amputation (magna medicinal). Pocketcat's main attack is a dismemberment attack targeting a limb of choice, mirroring not just the amputation, but also Daan's ability to choose which limb he's sacrificing.

Additionally, Daan's healing and loving whispers ability works through him whispering comforting (and possibly sexual) things to another party member to heal them. Pocketcat's B attack is a version of healing and loving whispers which harms the recipient by saying offensive and perverted things to them.

11.) Game Mechanics Part II

In addition to their combat skills talked about above, a common (and I believe, intended) strategy for Daan's character points towards his possible future as a host for Pocketcat.

Because of his Magna-Medicinal ability, many players keep Daan alive for a period of time exclusively to use for reviving other characters. Basically, keeping him in the party and removing all his limbs via magna-medicinal to buy 4 extra lives for other characters.

I think this primarily serves as an example of Daan's core character and backstory, where he has been taken advantage of, abused, and used as a sacrifice his whole life, however I also think this hints at his transformation.

Based on our tentative understanding of how Pocketcat works, he takes human men's bodies as hosts and inhabits their bodies to keep himself immortal. Daan's mechanics encouraging you to essentially do the same to him point towards why he is eventually willing to allow Pocketcat to do the same to him.

---

Those are all the ones that I can think off off the top of my head, but if I remember more, I'll add them. ^^;;; I wrote this all at 3am so im sorry if some if it makes no sense

[piss-pumpkin]

Reflections (Hunter/Golden guard x reader)

Tw- Mild panic attack description (I kept it pretty vague don't worry) Also Lilith is still a villain in this, but like Hunter is in the middle of his redemption arc 

3.2k words

~a world on which one can see their soulmate in the mirror~

You were quite familiar with the mirror in your bathroom. Each morning, you saw the face of a rather cute guy, and this morning was no different. As you brushed your teeth, the red eyes of a boy you didn’t know stared back at you through the glass. Sighing, you indulged in what had become your routine as soon as you saw him. Putting your toothbrush down, you pushed up to sit on the counter, inches from the mirror. You checked every angle, examined every detail, and did your best to memorize every scar and every pore to ensure that if you ever saw him, you’d know.

You carefully traced where his biggest scar was on your own face. His hands were scarred too. You wondered what he could have done to get that, or the bags under his eyes… you traced the shape of those too.

                                                       …

There were no mirrors in the emperors castle. Belos made sure that nobody was distracted, nobody could look and wonder, and his little Golden guard wouldn’t have anyone to hope for.

But his logic was faulty. At night, when he was sure nobody would see, the castle halls devoid of any life, he carefully took off his Golden mask, and stared at the reflection. In the dim moonlight and gold tint of the metal, he saw them. His soulmate. That’s what comforted him whenever his uncle lashed out. His eyes fell of their face again, and he smiled softly. One day he’d meet them. Maybe he’d even get them to join the emperors coven, and work side by side with his soulmate. Things would be better then.

                                                     …

The Golden guard was to accompany Lilith on a quick mission to snatch her sister. Walking together, they always had an air of power and authority, the two highest ranking members of the emperors coven. The citizens of the boiling isles didn’t know how childish the two really were together.

“Just stay behind me, Golden brat,” Lilith whispered as they approached Eda’s market stand. She was walking fast, trying to keep the Golden guard out of her sight line.

“You know I can report you to my uncle for insubordination, right?” Hunter threatened. The lighthearted tone of his voice was meant to be menacing, and Lilith was not immune, despite her status.

She huffed, “let’s just get her and get on with it.” She slowed down her pace so that Hunter walked beside her. “There, over there,” Lilith pointed to the stand. The grey haired owl lady was trying to drum up some business… and she wasn’t alone. While Eda stood on the table yelling at passing witches, a younger witch manned the till, taking money from the poor souls the owl lady was scamming. Hunter squinted through the thin eye holes of his mask, they seemed vaguely familiar. He couldn’t place from where.

”Alright Golden guard, I’ll talk to her while you go behind… only attack if I can’t convince her, okay?” Lilith sighed, ever hopeful. Hunter nodded, and stalked behind the curtain, listening in on the conversation.

He had never assisted Lilith in the missions to recruit her sister, but he’d heard from Steve that it was always the same. They talked, Edalyn refused, and Lilith inevitably failed. It was happening again, and the Golden guard leaned on his staff as he waited, eavesdropping on the argument.

“Edalyn just come with me, we can cure your curse together,” Lilith sounded desperate.

“I’m doing just fine in my own, Lillie,” Edalyn huffed, “if this is all you came to say, then you can leave!”

Another voice spoke from the other side of the curtain, “You aren’t welcome here anyway, coven head.” They sounded cold and quiet.

”You tell her’ Y/n!”

Lilith grumbled. She sighed before speaking, “Then I have no choice but to take you by force, Edalyn.”

That was his signal. Hunter crept out from behind the stand and placed his staff, alight with magic, against the back of the owl lady. With a smirk in his voice, he chirped, “This should be relatively painless if you don’t move.”

Before the owl lady had time to react, her apparent partner in crime did. In a blink the Golden guard felt the ground shake behind him, and before he could look, he was struck behind the head by a whip of vines.

Hunter stumbled forward, and Edalyn lunged at Lilith, owl staff in hand. She swung the staff and released a blast of magic toward Lilith, “You know you can’t beat me, sister!”

Teleporting up to his feet, the Golden guard swung his staff swiftly, barely sparing a glance at his attacker. Though when they blocked with a wall of lush green foliage, Hunter had to look at them proper, to counter their movement. And look he did. As his eyes fell on the face of the wild witch, he stumbled. He didn’t teleport out of the way of their strike, instead letting their vines knock him off balance.

For a split second he thought he saw himself. But no. It wasn’t him, it was them. Them, who he’d seen before, who he felt he knew, in a strange way.

They moved quickly, kicking him to the ground and standing over him as they grew vines to trap him there. His reflection, standing over him. His soulmate. He felt himself blushing despite himself as he looked up at them. Hunter silently hoped Lilith was better at her job then he at his.

                                                         …

As luck would have it for Hunter, his hopes were correct, however unlucky for you.

The prison cell was dark. It was dark, and the air smelled like mold and moss despite how clean everything else was in the castle.  

You patted yourself down as you paced the cell, checking each pocket. No elixir, and Eda’s time was running out. Usually you had a bottle on you, for situation me like these. Today though, nothing. “Oh, Titan, Eda, I’m so sorry,” you said, stepping closer to her and sinking to the ground beside her. “I should have had something.”

”Oh Titan no, this isn’t your problem,” she put a hand on your shoulder, “and I’m sorry you have to deal with it so often.” She sprouted a few feathers from her neck.

You winced, and stretched an arm out toward her, “Eda, try not to move so much, you’ll make it worse.” You weren’t sure what you were reaching for.

”Chill out, Kid,” she reached to take you hand, but stopped when she heard. A creak, and a crack of light began to shine through the room, the basement door was open.

Neither of you could see, but you heard. Somebody was walking down with haste on the damp stairway to the cells. You silently looked to Eda, both of you formulating a plan of escape.

Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness long ago, and you saw the figure approaching clearly. The Golden guard. You once again looked to Eda, but his voice drew your attention.

It was shaky. And quiet. He seemed almost scared. “There’s… been a change of plans. You two are free to go.” His words echoed around the empty dungeon.

Once again, you looked to Eda, who seemed just as confused as you.

“What do you mean,” she asked. “My sisters been hunting me down for ages, and now that you finally got me, you’re letting me go?”

The Golden guard shrunk and clutched his staff. “Yes,” he said, reaching for his pocket. You could hear the keys jingling inside. He fumbled with them a moment before bringing them up to the lock.

Eda whispered beside you, and nudged you with her elbow, “This is weird, right?”

The Golden guard hesitated before he put in the key. Silently and subtly, you pointed at him. Eda’s eyes followed. The Golden guard had stopped, and stared at the lock. Or that’s what it looked like. The mask didn’t give away any emotion, or where his eyes were pointed.

A small sigh could be heard from inside his mask, and he rested his head a moment on the bars of the cell just above the lock.

Despite his… everything. Despite the grievances the Golden guard had caused you, you felt curious. Maybe even compassion. He seemed so… defeated. You moved to the edge of the cell where he stood, only a few inches and the bars separating your. “Golden guard… are you alright?” You asked quietly. He sighed again. The dim light reflected your soulmate in his mask.

“I’m… I’m alright. Thanks for asking,” he muttered. This is not what you expected from the Golden guard, after everything Eda told you.

“Uh, okay, then- I guess…” neither of you moved. You didn’t dare to. “C-can I ask why we’re being released?”

He shuddered. Eda hissed behind you, “How bout we don’t ask questions and just get out of here!” She had more feathers then last you looked.

The Golden guard shook his head, “No, no, it’s… there’s been a change of plans, that’s all.” He turned the key, and the cell door creaked open. The room was strangely silent. Very few witches were held in the castle, most inhabited cells in town. But Eda was special, and you were both placed in the belly of the beast, alone. The creaking echoed throughout the space.

Quickly, you turned back to help Eda, who was using most of her energy to keep the owl beast inside. You scooped her up and swung her arm over a shoulder, helping her walk out with haste as you followed behind the Golden guard. Eda’s hair tickled the side of your cheek as you moved to whisper to her, “Is this really the same Golden guard that we… feared?”

”I don’t know, but I don’t see anything good coming from asking him,” she shuddered a few feathers sprouting from her neck. “Let’s just… take this one. I’m not in the condition to fight our way out, Y/n…”

You glanced back to the Golden figure you were following. His cape flowed with his stride, and stopped with him as he halted in front of the dungeon door. Light crept through the underside of it, and you could hear the echo of a sigh under the boy’s mask.  

He was slow in his motion, unsteady even. You looked at Eda, finding her eyes on yours in similar expression. Silently and telepathically, you recognized the… sketchiness of the situation. He was too scared. It was practically radiating off him, his composure was wrong.

The door opened slowly, and as soon as it was, the Golden guard rushed through. As he entered the hallway, his head was on a swivel checking left and right for… anything. There must have been an understanding between the three of you, because you and Eda stayed in the shadows of the doorway until he gave a nod, a signal for you to follow.

He looked at the two of you as you hobbled out with Eda on your shoulder. His voice didn’t paint an optimistic portrait of your escape plan. “You can’t run like that, can you, Owl Lady?”

“That would not be a good idea, no,” she whispered.

He took a deep breath, and rolled his shoulders. “Okay… let’s just get moving.”

He took off walking at a brisk pace down the corridor, and you linked with the owl witch as quick as you could behind, hallway after hallway.

Then footsteps. The Golden guard didn’t hesitate, he stuck his arm out in front of you, signalling to stop. Neither you nor Eda moved, Titan, you barely breathed. Shallow, quiet breathes as voices grew louder with the coming footsteps. The Golden guard muttered under his breath, “Kikimora… we have to hide.”

Before you could think, he grabbed you by the free arm and teleported in a golden flash to a nearby door. Unlocked. Lucky. It was dark, and empty, and the Golden guard closed it quickly behind you.

He positioned himself directly next to the closed door, ready to jump anyone who might enter. With a silent movement of the neck, he gestured for you and Eda to stand beside him. Where you were easily protected.

The footsteps were just outside. Their walking shadows danced under the door, and you may have heard their words if your heart wasn’t pumping in your ears. It was as if time was frozen, and you were acutely aware of your spine for reason beyond your comprehension. In that moment you were fully aware of the mild back pain sitting in that cell had given you. The curvature of a spine was a strange thought too. You pressed your back against the wall to try and correct your posture. Your breathing grew shallower, barely any air making its way to your lungs. Spinal fluid is strange, how did spine have juice in them, how odd. Your back hurt, and the shadows underneath the door were blurry. In fact, once you looked up you realized most things were blurry, with black encroaching on the edges of your vision.

Eda’s voice was faint in your ear. She was beastly, and nearly too weak to talk. She pointed at the Golden guard.

“Y/n? Are you still with me?” His whispering sounded far away. “Y/n!” He hissed as he came back into focus. “Y/n, it’s okay, breath.” You breathed. Your head had grown heavy, and tilted on its axis slightly as you looked at his mask. Your vision was clearing as your eyes focused.

“I’m… okay,” you muttered. “Slight… panic attack, maybe.”

He nodded, and took your free hand while he watched and listened for the people passing. You thought about that instead of your spine, with your head rested on the wall for support.

”Okay, the coast is very much not clear, I don’t think we can leave that way,” the Golden guard said, pointing at the door. He looked at Eda, who had recoiled into you, more of her weight falling on your shoulder. “Titan, she can’t walk much further can she?”

Eda tried to say something, an effort she quickly gave up. You shook your head, “I don’t think so, no.”

He sighed, and ran his gloved fingers through his hair anxiously. “Okay, uh, new plan then. Can you guys… keep a secret, perhaps?

”Um..” his mask gave nothing of his expression away. “I.. I think so, yes.”

He let go of your hand, and started to pace in a small circle while he fidgeted. “Okay, well, we are close to my room, which has a… method of escape in it.” His fingers tried to itch at his hands as he thought. “Maybe he’ll hear us from here.”

The Golden guard rushed to the window, opening it and leaning half his body out. He lifted his mask to speak. Awkwardly, you turned away still holding Eda, avoiding looking at his face. It felt disrespectful. He whisper yelled something, aiming and enhancing his voice by cupping his hands around his lips. You couldn’t make out his words.

As he crawled back in the window, your back still turned, you had to ask. “Uh, Golden guard, why are you doing this for us?”

His lie didn’t last long in your mind, he knew it was weak. Emperor Belos hadn’t had a change of plans, it was just him. “Well…” You felt a hand on your shoulder, “I… have too.”

You maneuvered Eda around as you turned to face him. What met your eyes was… you’re face? No. No, not your face. His. His unmasked face, which was also, somehow, the face you saw in the mirror every morning. You’d grown to think of it as your own. Your hand moved by pure instinct to trace where his scar is on your own cheek as you looked at him, mouth agape.

”Y/n, uh, I’m sorry…” he muttered. Titan, for what? You wanted to ask, but you mind was swarmed with every emotion, frozen. The thing to break you from your trace was a bird. A small cardinal stopped rested on the windowsill.

The Golden guard looked over, his eyes alight with pride, “Palisman! You came!” He teleported over to pet the bird, and in his hand it turned to a staff. The golden guard whipped his head back to you and Eda, “You can fly down with him, get far away from the castle and get her some help.”

Still overwhelmed, you nodded. You moved with a start as quick as you could with Eda in her condition. He handed you the staff when you stopped in front of him. His eyes were a little different in person. When his face had your expression he looked a lot different.

“Golden guard… what’s your name?”

“Hunter,” he muttered, fist clenched at his side. He looked to the floor. “And… sorry again. For… all this.”

You found it in you to smile, “Thanks for this though,” you say, waving the staff slightly in your hand. “We… really appreciate it, Hunter.” You found yourself avoiding his gaze, looking instead to the wooden bird.

He was still looking down, avoiding your eyes as well, but you could see him blush. His ears gave it away. “Yeah… anytime, Y/n.”

You started to speak, but felt Eda shift on your shoulder. She needed elixir, badly. Lips pursed, you turned back to Hunter, “We have to go, like, now.” You paused before starting for the window. “I’m glad I met you… we’ll see each other again, yeah?” you smiled back at him before shifting the staff between your legs and putting Eda’s weight on it.

Hunter nodded slightly, then eagerly, meeting your eyes again. His face reddened further. “Yeah, I hope so…” he balled his fists at his sides and looked down again. “Also, uh…”

A scream could be heard down the hall. A faint cry for guards from a woman’s voice, Lillith’s, you presumed.

The Golden guard looked at the door, then back at you. He teleported closer to help hold the staff as Eda shifted her weight, the two of you nearly out the window. He looked frantically back at the door again. “Okay, you guys leave, also, Y/n, you’re really pretty and I love seeing your face every night, okay bye.”

He sputtered it his words just as you were pushing off the windowsill, giving you no time to react. You could feel the heat at your cheeks as you sped through the air, flying as fast as you could back to the owl house.

When Eda  inevitably recovered, you’d have to see him again. Maybe commit a crime or two, that would get his attention.

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Mlekragg

Unsurprisingly, multiple people read the entry and immediately clocked what this was. (Thank you for not actually making a guess in text, so that people who don't recognize it are able to work without that preconception.) I didn't want to leave it out, because the mythological ones are fun, but unlike some of the others, the modern conception of this beast is pretty much exactly what the bestiary says.

Anyway, as always, if you don't know what I'm talking about, you can find an explanation for this whole thing at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting. If you want to join in, the new entry for each week is tagged with "maniculum bestiaryposting" so it should be findable. This week's entry can be reviewed here:

Below the cut you will find the drawings responding to it, in roughly chronological order:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) decided to branch out in an unusual direction with this one, in order to avoid drawing the creature they'd identified from the entry and also have some fun with it. I just think this is some quality creature design. Love the mask-thing, love the springy tail, and that's a really good rendering of a cuttlefish face IMHO. There's a really interesting explanation for all of these features, what inspired them and how it all works together, in the linked post, which you should go read.

@moonygryffin (link to post here) took a more direct approach, with the twist that the creature here is modeled on American fauna rather than ones the medieval Europeans would have been aware of. The body is a mountain lion, and the man-like head is a golden-headed lion tamarin, which of course comes with its own mane. I enjoy the choice to not use a lion lion, but rather two animals with "lion" in their name; also I've always thought lion tamarins were very cool-looking. For more details -- and an example of an attempt by MoonyGryffin to draw the same creature several years ago -- see the linked post. (Also thank you for providing alt text.)

@sweetlyfez (link to post here) has made an attempt to take the entry literally without drawing the creature she has recognized, which is a challenge considering how specific the description is. I think the decision to give it flea legs to help with that exceptional jumping is clever. SweetlyFez describes the result as an "awful creature" and... honestly I can't argue, I wouldn't want to be anywhere near one of these. In fact I think I'm going to wrap up this commentary and scroll down so I don't keep making eye contact with it.

@pomrania has also decided to go the route of "let's get weird with it", and avoided the literal interpretation by re-analyzing the word "has". This is similar to that style of joke one hears now and then -- you know, "he has the heart of a poet... he keeps it in a jar at home." (Incidentally, props to Mary Shelley for being perhaps the only person who could make that claim and not be kidding.) So this creature has the face of a man and the body of a lion, not in the sense that it was born with them, but in the sense that it keeps them as possessions. Very clever, and the underlying creature design is also fantastically creepy in my opinion.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) mentions that she didn't recognize the description, and has given us this really cool-looking, rather menacing creature in their excellent medieval style. (This is why I insist on not naming the beasts even when it seems clear what it is -- this amazing piece of art might have looked entirely different if someone posted a spoiler.) I'm really struck by how it simultaneously looks like a patchwork sort of creature (different front & back legs, etc.) but all flows together into a cohesive whole. Just really well done, I think. (Also, thank you for including alt text.)

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has drawn the creature mid-leap, showing off its jumping prowess by shooting straight up into the air. I think this drawing does a very good job at combining human and lion anatomy to make something unsettling -- and the inclusion of the skull diagram up in the top left points to the amount of thought that went into this. As always, please check out the linked post for a detailed discussion of the design. (Also, thank you for including alt text.)

@strixcattus (link to post here) has drawn one that's oddly cute, and looks a bit worried. However, according to the description they've written in the linked post, this reaction on my part is probably going to get me killed, because apparently they're still quite vicious. I like it, though -- and, as always, I urge you to go read the linked post for this one.

On to the Aberdeen Bestiary... oh, we can't, actually. This is another missing page. So here's the illustration from the Ashmole Bestiary instead:

So, first of all, this is indeed the manticore, and I'm sure most if not all of the people who said they had guessed it got that correct.

Second, we can also note that all the artists who said something along the lines of "well we know about the issues of drawing medieval scorpions, so the scorpion-tail description doesn't need to be literal" were also correct there. Apparently this time a scorpion tail is just spiky all over, which I have to admit does look kinda cool.

Now let's address the elephant in the room. WHAT is that thing on its HEAD? My best guess is that it's meant to be a crown -- medieval art often sticks hats on nonhuman creatures with human faces, almost as if the artist wants to make sure you know it looks like a human head on purpose. I don't see crowns that often, though; usually it's just a cloth hat. (The one in Bodley MS 764, where I got the text for this entry, is clearly wearing a Phrygian cap.) I find myself unable to see it as anything but a daring hairstyle that is absolutely not working for it, though.

Anyway. The manticore is an odd one in its continuity here -- a lot of the mythical creatures in the bestiary have been changed, reinterpreted, or forgotten in the intervening centuries. I think maybe the manticore happens to have hit that sweet spot where it's popular enough that people remember it, but not so popular that it gets excessively telephoned through widespread transmission. I think a couple people noted that the Standard Fantasy manticore is more or less spot on to this description, and indeed, I can only think of one change:

(Art from the Magic: the Gathering card "Crimson Manticore", artist Daniel Gelon)

At some point, those bastards got wings. It's not universal at this time, but if you do an image search for "manticore", the majority of the modern ones are winged. I'm not really sure where that came from.

(Side note: I tested this by doing a Google image search, and one of the top results was a particularly odd-looking image, so I clicked on it out of curiosity. It was at the top of an... article? on a webpage I'd never heard of, and the opening of said article included the sentence, "In medieval bestiaries and art, the manticore was depicted with unique features such as paws, teeth, and fur." You don't say there, bud.)

Interestingly, the D&D manticore is slightly different from the description in an additional way.

Instead of a scorpion tail, it has a tail covered in spines. This has apparently been part of the D&D manticore since the beginning -- the above image is from 2e, but the 1e version had the same tail. (I just didn't use it because it's not as clear in the picture.)

Now, scroll back up to that Ashmole Bestiary image. The one where the tail doesn't really look anything like a scorpion's. Looks... similar to this in broad concept.

I doubt that Gygax or Arneson or whoever designed that aspect of their manticore after one bestiary image, so I popped over to bestiary.ca to see what else was out there. Out of the 38 medieval manticore images collected on that website, there are only two with a tail covered in spikes: the Ashmole manticore and one other that's clearly just a less-skilled artist working from the same image (it also has the same hat). Looking at the text sources, though:

"...it has a tail like a land scorpion, in which there is a sting; it darts forth the spines with which it is covered instead of hair..." -- Aristotle, De animalibus

"To the end of its tail is attached the sting of a scorpion, and this might be over a cubit in length; and the tail has stings at intervals on either side." -- Aelianus, On the Characteristics of Animals

Okay, that's the D&D version, mystery solved. New question: is it a coincidence that the Ashmole illustration fits Aelianus's description? Remember, the page is missing from the Aberdeen bestiary and the Ashmole bestiary isn't translated. The text comes from Bodley MS 764, which does not have a spiky-tailed manticore. My Latin is terrible and I'm untrained in palaeography, so I can't tell whether the entry there preserves the spiky description.

If any palaeographers out there want to solve this one for me, it's Bodleian MS Ashmole 1511, f.22v-23r, available digitally here. (I'll put some screenshots below, but I expect it's easier to zoom properly on the library's digitized manuscript.)

Okay, that's all I've got. Enjoy your week everyone.

[foundationsofdecay]

Thinking again about this post that @a-s-levynn made a while back, as well as @moonchild-in-blue's and @tonguetyd's comments there, about Vessel and the mask's own identity and the idea of the person Vessel used to be before meeting Sleep, this nebulous Him that we hear in intermissions during rituals, was "cocooned" inside a body that was no longer his and is experiencing this all as a spectator, and that Vessel kills the current version of himself that he's become, a spiritual suicide of sorts. How that was done so that He, without the influence of the mask and by extension Sleep, can move forward and start anew even after being irrevocably changed by what He's seen, and Vessel finally obtaining that "redemption, eternal ascension, setting [him] free" that was described in "Ascensionism".

I'm especially thinking about the funeral pyres reflected in Sleep's eyes. This could imply the fates of past vessels of Sleep, or it could imply that Vessel is dead in all ways but physical, or perhaps it could be a promise of Vessel's demise, burned alive and left to turn to ash - or are "those eyes like fire" and the raging flames within doing much, much more than that?

To add a very belated addition to the discussion, I want to bring up something regarding the lyric "I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre." In fact, it is going to be the focus of this entire post. In continuing with this idea of the death and rebirth/resurfacing and possibly rebuilding of the self, and identity fractures that I described in great detail in this post on DYWTYLM, it's important here that I start off stating that there's two underlying assumptions that I'm making, which first is that He and Vessel are both the insect at first, their own selves tangled as noted by Levynn but capable of separation under the right circumstance, like a fantastical version of plurality where they can separate physically while still being connected as parts of a whole. My second assumption is that Vessel meets his death voluntarily, and Sleep is involved, regardless of whether or not Sleep is actually the one to do the job.

I'm using these as bases because in my interpretation of this theory, Vessel has to die, and that even though the two of them connected in mind and soul and often body, He is ultimately able to survive and live on, which requires physical distinction. This separation is in accordance with descriptions in the same song we've been discussing of Vessel fighting back against Sleep. Vessel, who used to fight Sleep's enemies "to let them know that they contend with [him]", now turns the blade against Sleep, his new enemy that he faces for Him. Perhaps this is a show of both his anger and his newfound devotion, a final attempt to damage Sleep to whatever extent he can while he has the chance, not with any hope of surviving but to give Him the best chance to carry on, since Vessel knows firsthand how much Sleep struggles in a weak enough state.

Describing Him and Vessel as a winged insect is a very interesting choice, which is what I ultimately want to focus on here and dissect. What kind of insect would that be, I wonder? I don't recall if there is official artwork depicting that, but without anything official as reference there's a near-infinite number of possibilities to choose from - flies, mosquitos, cicadas, bees, wasps, butterflies, moths, beetles, the list is endless - all with their own symbolic interpretations and impacts on this original theory and extrapolations. I would need an entire separate post to go over all of that, though - imagine examining just the different eyes that vary from species to species! - so I'll just go into one possibility and leave the rest as an open question.

One major question I have about this winged insect, and about Sleep, is this: Does Sleep still have eyes looking in other directions like we had seen several times in previous songs, or is Sleep's attention all on Vessel now, "[taking] aim at him for once" like he used to ask for?

See, there's an inherent contradiction here, going back to the labeling of a pyre. Sure, it's said to be for a funeral, but it's never explicitly stated who it's intended for. Not only that, but we also questioned at the end of the first paragraph if there is something else to be said about the fire and its behavior, what all Sleep is doing with it and plans to do with it. That's the thing about fire - perhaps it's been created and cultivated for a specific purpose, as part of a funeral in this case, but when you take a look at how Sleep has historically behaved, and the kind of language we see used to describe this behavior and motivation, there's other themes that comes up that give Sleep's fire another layer of meaning.

For fire doesn't just burn, it consumes. It has an endless hunger, latching onto anything it can grab hold of that can fuel its existence, taking and taking until there is nothing left. There's a sort of joy in that, a celebration, bursts of light and sound coinciding with the addition of more fuel, greater the more powerful that intake is over time and growing wide and tall in the most ideal circumstances. When the fire is weak, a breeze could snuff it out, but even a pinch of smoldering ash can manage to survive and grow into something that can lay waste to forests and home and towns, nearly apocalyptic when watching it as it razes thousands of square miles and jumps across roads and rivers. It, too, can rush and flood you, and swallow you whole.

Before Vessel, He discovered Sleep in a state like that smoldering ember. Yet, with the fuel of His initial deal and Vessel's inception and overtaking of Him, with every ritual bringing worship in greater numbers and greater fervor enabling rapid growth, this is what Sleep has turned into. This is what Vessel must face, not just a powerful God but one that he fed and nurtured into this state. The fire in those eyes is extreme, but it's also not eternal. It can still be deprived of that which feeds it, and if that were to happen, even be extinguished. There's hope in that.

Throughout the story, we see Vessel always coming back to Sleep, despite the flames that threaten to lick at his skin and singe and burn. Instinctively, perhaps even compulsively, he returns to this source of light and love and fear and wonder, the flame that grows each time he's fed by Vessel's worship. Examining one of the possible winged insects, his behavior is like that of a moth, drawn to the aura and essence of this God that desires him and hurts him in unequal measure.

Recall how one of our basic assumptions is that separation between the two is possible, despite how entwined they've been from the start even as they've been drifting apart. This coexistence and indeed codependency with Him is all Vessel knows, it's quite literally his entire life next to Sleep. If you consider the admission that "it's been two days since the mainframe went down and [he's] still messed up" as a reflection of the breaking down of the connection between Vessel and Him, which we've been seeing accelerate over time in songs like DYWTYLM, with this "life like wires," severing those wires is all it would take, messy and painful as it would be.

No longer would we have "the mouth of the wolf, the eyes of the lamb," but that'd turn out to be the key to Vessel's victory, even as it sealed his fate. It's clear that Vessel would eventually get too close and be brought down by those eyes, but this time it was deliberate in a way that is fueled by something completely different than any self-destructive behavior he exhibited in the past, and it paid off. That lamb survived, by no means unscathed but still not lost.

The one thing that remained the same, persisting throughout their parallel existence that transcends life and death itself, is memory. The autumn leaves, the rain, the night. The lights of his eyes, his grin. This grief that accompanies it will never go away, will never grow any smaller, but He can break though the walls that are closing in on Him, keep running forward, become something new. Most importantly, He has to do it for Himself. He'll be alone, but the memory will always be there, knowing Vessel is just an inch apart from Him, on his own continuum.

[rosietrace]

「 Target Acquired 」

⊱────────────────────⊰

Central Character(s) ; 『 Camilla Marigold, “Gorgon” 』 | 『 Mitch Reiss, “Regressor” 』

Others ; “Thomas Cresswell”, Background Character™ /j

Mentioned ; Victoria Shard | Jiyoon Lockhart |

Pairing(s) ; Camilla & Mitch

AU ; Secret Agents

【 All Ocs belong to their respective owners and will be credited at the end. 】

Synopsis: “No one has to know.”

Warning(s): attempted SA that gets interrupted, potentially ooc, character death, ambiguous relationship (?)

[ Apologies for any out of character moments ]

⊱────────────────────⊰

⊱────────────────────⊰

“Are your eyes set on the target?”

A scoff, on the other end of the intercom. Mitch was ready to speak again, before Camilla finally replied after a momentary silence.

“What do you take me for?” she questioned, walking through the crowd of guests; seamlessly sneaking her way into the building.

“Overestimation,” Mitch shot back. Sitting atop a building not too far from the one Camilla was in, he used the scope of his sniper rifle to keep his sights on her. “You can be too confident.”

“I'm not!” Camilla snapped, speaking her truth a little too loudly. After a few questioning looks from the other guests, she cleared her throat.

Point proven, Mitch thought silently, choosing not to voice his thoughts; who knows how Camilla would react if he did.

“Just-” She began making adjustments to her earpiece, masked to look like a single golden ear cuff.

“Tell me about the target.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow, even when he was well aware that she wouldn't have been able to see it. “You didn’t listen to the debrief?”

“You think I listen to Victoria?” Camilla chortled, her hand lining the walls to place hidden cameras in between the painted over imperfections.

“Calling the Chairman by her first name.” He wasn't even the least bit surprised. What was there to be surprised about?

Camilla rolled her eyes, not replying to him— she'd rather not look like a crazy person for appearing to conversing with herself, thank you very much.

Annoyed as he could possibly be… Mitch still exposited as much as he could remember from the details given by the Chairman— wealth, power, connections.

“Thomas Cresswell. Known gamesman, presumed black sheep of an old money family with roots to the aristocracy; and a real… charmer.”

Mitch remembered what he could; the details that were given, the description of the man's appearance, and the way the Chairman crossed her office. Heels clicking against the smooth floor's surface, circling a table carrying a chess set of black obsidian and white agate encrusted pieces.

But on the topic of description of appearance…

“Dark brown hair. Cherry wood brown, green eyes,” Mitch kept his description short. Concise. Sharp. “Tall and slightly lean, but a bit broader on the shoulders.”

Gliding around the room in the most impractical stilettos possible, Camilla placed listening devices and hidden cameras in different — not so noticeable — areas of the room.

Under the table, in the hidden cracks of the light yellow walls pretending to be platinum gold; and that wasn't even getting into all the times she's snuck some into the articles of clothing of guests she'd bump into.

Several garbled, frantic and scripted apologies later, Camilla had placed listening devices in a number of guest's clothing.

Credit where credit was due… Mitch could at least see that she wasn't incompetent.

While not incompetent, inconspicuous was something Camilla was not.

No matter the persistent efforts of the disguise department, she wanted the attention and the spectacle that came with her lack of conspicuousness; her choice of clothing reflecting that insistence.

Deep, emerald green of presumably designer silks; heart shaped neckline with a bodice akin to a halter; a shawl of white fur, and slits at either side of her legs, reaching all the way up to the midsection of her thighs.

Camilla lived for spectacle, and she was everything an intelligence gatherer shouldn't be— Attention grabbing.

Mitch scowled, his sights set on keeping its focus on Camilla. He didn't hate her… but it was hard to say if he liked her or not, either.

Simultaneously good, he thought to himself, and bad at her job.

“If you're done taking the scenic route… it'd be best if you start looking for our target.”

She took in every detail of the room in her line of sight, no stone would be left unturned; there was no rest for the wicked.

“Necessity is the number of invention,” Camilla quoted, golden hair shining against the light of the crystal chandeliers hanging above, “there but for the Grace of God go I; patience is but a virtue.”

Hardly impressed, Mitch responded, “The usage of proverbs is unnecessary.”

“That's what you want to think.”

“This is an operation. Not a lesson in English literature.”

Camilla mouthed what he said mockingly, flapping her hand around and using her deepest register of voice. Far too dedicated in mocking him, Camilla was.

Not too long after, Camilla let out a yawn, emphasizing the boredom she so wanted Mitch to hear for the remainder of this operation.

“Could the target come any sooner? I have a masseuse waiting for me at the spa…”

This woman… “Worry less about your appointment and more at the operation at hand.”

She grumbled. “Seems like you make it part of your routine to have a stick up your ass, you killjoy…”

“What was that?” Mitch challenged.

He felt the feigning of innocence in a smile he couldn't even see. “Nothing.”

“Just keep to your station, Mitch,” Camilla's voice was inconsistently low, irrigated. “You're acting like I'd sabotage this operation just for existing too loudly…”

“With the way you present yourself, I wouldn't be too shocked.”

She was going to throttle him when this was all said and done.

Looking for Cresswell was, unsurprisingly, a lot more work than Camilla had originally bargained for. It felt like the man knew his every move was being watched, listened to. That he was keeping Camilla and Mitch on their toes while they tried having surveillance on him.

It frustrated Camilla almost as much as it displeased Mitch.

“You know what— Why don't you come down here? A girl needs a little help, you know.” Camilla could survey a room and tell Mitch the target was secure, ripe for the picking; she couldn't survey an entire banquet venue.

Mitch felt his eyes narrow. A subconscious decision, on his part. Every ounce of his body told him that she didn't need his help, that she was playing a role in an intricately designed mask— the way she's always been.

… But there was also the part of him that could partially understand her inner frustrations.

“You don't need my help—”

“And what if I do?”

Is that another tease? Another lie? Mitch couldn't tell. When it came to a woman like Camilla, there was no telling what went on in her mind.

Uncharacteristically, the other end of the intercom was deathly silence. So sullen that all Mitch could hear was the sound of her breathing; eventually cursing at himself after imagining her breathing in and out of her chest.

Then there was a sigh. And Camilla's voice returned.

“Fine, then. No rest for the wicked.”

⊱───────────────⊰

“Found Cresswell.”

Camilla might've made an ‘effort’ in keeping her voice low, but it definitely didn't feel well-established. The sheer inconsistency made Mitch grit his teeth.

She went around the room, cozying up to a number of guests and getting them comfortable enough to get them to answer anything about Cresswell. Even with all the listening devices and hidden cameras throughout the room; Camilla believed it didn't hurt to take some extra measures.

Find Cresswell, take him someplace in the sights of Mitch's scope, and neutralize him. No matter how much Camilla wanted to question Victoria for wanting Cresswell alive, she couldn't go against the words of her Chairman.

Right before Cresswell could take his leave from the circle of guests he'd been cozying up to, Camilla had seamlessly hooked her arm around his.

“Why hello,” a charismatic intonation emitted from the way Cresswell had greeted Camilla's unexpected presence.

She smiled as sweetly as she was capable of, even if it hurt her cheeks. “Hi… Thomas Cresswell, yes?”

“So you've heard of me?”

“You could say that. I've heard quite a bit.”

“Well, well…” for someone who just became acquainted by an individual invading in his personal space, Cresswell acted in stride.

Making a vague wave to a nearby waiter, Cresswell took two glasses of champagne from the tray and handed one of those glasses to Camilla.

Wanting to play her part authentically, Camilla took a sip. She squirmed at the taste, but didn't make too exaggerated of a face. Not in front of Cresswell.

Speaking of Cresswell, Camilla — and Mitch — took notice that his arm had wrapped itself comfortably around the small of her back.

Camilla didn't seem to mind, but Mitch… he felt a wave of unease wash over him.

For reasons his feelings couldn't quite explain, he didn't like the way Cresswell kept his colleague close. Too close.

Camilla, ever the actress worthy of an award winning trophy, looked pleasantly neutral over the sudden brush of contact. Perhaps it was better that Mitch didn't go down and intercept them— she was doing her job, why stop her?

Because it felt wrong, he began thinking, because it could send the operation off kilter.

Because Cresswell shouldn't be as close as he currently was.

Not that Mitch could do anything about it. Not from this distance, and not even if he went down there himself and intercepted whatever flirtatious back and forth they were having.

It wasn't his business on how Camilla felt about Thomas Cresswell’s charms.

⊱───────────────⊰

Camilla successfully brought Cresswell up to the rooftop of the building, looking out at the city.

From Mitch's line of sight, Cresswell still kept his hand at the small of Camilla's back. He felt his hands tighten around his sniper.

Jiyoon would've asked a multitude of questions. Maybe, maybe not; all Mitch knew that he was being unfavorable tonight. Uncharacteristic.

Unlike himself; and above all, making him uncomfortable with his current feelings. Like he was wearing skin that didn't belong to him, skin that was too loose— or too tight.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” He heard Camilla engage in more smalltalk with Cresswell from the intercom.

A brief pause came, and the two were rewarded for the patience in the silence that followed. “Yes,” Cresswell said in a drawl. “Most certainly…”

Mitch stopped. He heard it, heard the sudden hitch of Camilla's breath. And through the scope of his gun, he could see why.

Cresswell's hand wasn't at her back, not anymore. It lingered there, yes, but it lowered— and now it went to her hips.

Lower it went. From her hips, to the upper area of her thighs.

And Mitch knew where Cresswell's hands were heading for. It was wrong, disgustingly wrong.

So why wasn't Camilla retaliating? A question Mitch asked over and over again in the back of his mind.

Camilla didn't retaliate. She didn't try and stop Cresswell. She only stood, idly by, letting it happen with a wide-eyed stare directed at nothing at the ground below her.

“But…” the bastard had the audacity to keep running his mouth, now standing tortuously close to Camilla, his free hand holding her in place; his lips close to her face. “I have something more beautiful, right here.”

If Mitch didn't know any better, he would've thought she was unaffected by the way Cresswell's hands wandered. But that look…

Shoot him, a sudden thought came to mind. It repeated, over, and over, and over.

Shoot him, shoot him, shoot him…

Mitch's grip on his gun tightened, an indecisiveness taking over his entire being. Body, soul, mind; all three fighting on what he should make of the current predicament Camilla was in.

But one thing's for certain— both his head, and his heart, told him to shoot.

That's what he did in the end. He pulled the trigger.

The initial plan was to tranquilize Cresswell from a distance; and once he was unconscious, they would've taken his unconscious body back to headquarters for interrogation with the Chairman.

However… Mitch, blind with nothing but the desire to stop Cresswell from doing what he was doing to Camilla — and any young women he'd get caught up with in the future — had made a last minute switch.

From tranquilizer, to silenced bullets.

Even from his distance, his line of sight was clear as the day that hadn't quite met them yet.

He'd blown a bullet between Cresswell's dark green irises, bits of his blood splattering onto Camilla.

Camilla stood stiffly, unmoving and unblinking even with the splats of blood on her face. And uncaringly, she ran a hand through her hair, and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

“... Mitch.”

“Yes?” Mitch answered, faster than he usually would have.

There a beat that passed before Camilla spoke again, maybe two. “... Get over here, we need to dispose of the body.”

The Chairman is going to be furious, was — more likely than not — a thought that lingered through both of their heads.

Unfortunately, that was going to be a problem for them in the future; they'll deal with that when they get back to the headquarters and Victoria, as well as Victoria's assistant, and Jiyoon, will be asking questions on why Cresswell wasn't with them.

Mitch made it to Camilla's side in record time, the sniper rifle used to pull the trigger between Cresswell's eyes strapped to his back.

At it again, he thought while examining Camilla. The blood on her face, the futile attempts at cleaning up, the lack of care on her face… she was pretending there's nothing wrong.

“Hey,” Mitch called out to her, a softness in his tone. Acting as if they didn't just throw Thomas Cresswell's limp body into the incinerator.

She stared blankly at him. Completely unlike her at all. “What?”

“Are…” Mitch didn't know how else to ask but to say it straight.

“Are you okay?”

Are we okay? He asked in the back of his mind, a small thought he quickly brushed off under his personal mental rug.

Camilla stared at him for an abnormally long time. Ever since they became partners for any and every operations assigned to them, she grew the questionable habit of staring at Mitch for extended periods of time.

But they never lasted as long as right now. From the corner of his eye, Mitch also saw her hand try to… reach out.

She then tucked her hands behind her back, seemingly catching her own wrist after a quick clear of her throat.

“I'm fine,” she tried to assure Mitch of that, quote on quote, ‘fact’. “More than fine, actually. What we should be worried about is the situation with Cresswell—”

“I don't care about Cresswell, right now.”

It only took one step on Mitch's part for their faces to soon be inches apart. Gently, his hands found their way to Camilla's shoulders, grasping at them.

“Cresswell isn't going to be a problem.” Mitch seemed far too sure about that. Perhaps even more for his own good. “The Chairman won't be a problem. Neither will her assistant, or Jiyoon, or any of her other executives.”

He stared at her — or rather, their eyes stared into each other; eyes blazing in righteous intensity that made Camilla's other hand place itself on Mitch's forearm.

Despite all the protests in his mind, he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers. And despite herself, she too, did the same for him.

And they both whispered. A mantra, a promise. A secret they'll both keep and bring to their graves.

“No one has to know.”

⊱────────────────────⊰

【 Taglist / Credits 】

↳ In order of OC appearances/mentions

Mitch Reiss — @authoruio

Camilla Marigold — Me 😈

Victoria Shard — Also Me 😈

Jiyoon Lockhart — @/authoruio

|| @starry-night-rose || @jasdiary || @nem0-nee || @fumikomiyasaki || @sakuramidnight15 || @twsted-princess || @hallowed-delights / @terrovaniadorm || @mystery-skulls-ghost || @absolutelyobsessedkiya / @twistedsongstressofstarz || @valse-a-mille-temps ||

[bangtanhoneys]

BTS Wedding Series: Picking the Ring

SEOKJIN

He had spotted the ring one day while generally browsing through a jewellery website on the gaming computer, with the idea of buying a pair of earrings for your anniversary but he somehow wandered towards the engagement rings. It had been on his mind lately, seemingly every advert on the TV or on billboards hinting at the idea of couples getting engaged during the season. 

It’s not that he didn’t want to, he just didn’t know how yet. It was approaching your six-year anniversary, longer than most couples that he knew and long enough for his mother to be hinting at grandchildren. 

Jin’s eyes took in the detail of the pink stone surrounded by a halo of small diamonds, with more diamonds along the gold band. ‘Matches my mic,’ he thought to himself as he scrolled down to the description, ignored the price completely and read the instructions about the sizes. Shrugging and having no clue, he went for what he thought was the right size, paused only briefly at the checkout page and suddenly he had a confirmation for his order in his inbox. 

“There, ready to go,” he was happy with his choice and more than happy about making the right decision. If he hadn’t already got everything planned in his head, it wouldn’t take long to put plans in motion anyway.

It would lay in his bedside table for another year, the opportunity never right and never when he had the ring with him but one day it was going to happen. 

YOONGI

The sapphire glittered in the sun, the small diamonds along the band sparkling at him as Yoongi admired the emerald cut of the stone. He had left the studio two hours earlier, his mind jumbled with thoughts about music, comebacks, life, tangerines and the like. He needed fresh air and a random walk into the city (masked up and in disguise) led him towards a jewellery shop. His feet knew where to take him even if his mind didn’t.

There had been no talk of marriage, the both of you content in life as it was and seeing no need for change. Yet the sapphire ring caught his eye the moment he stepped near the window and he hadn’t been able to look away, every other option simply too boring or not enough. You were unique - enjoying the simple things in life compared to the extravagant life of an idol boyfriend, preferring to enjoy a mug of tea in the morning rather than coffee, painting the bedroom a dark navy because it soothed you rather than the traditional white. 

A moment of doubt flashed through him as he opened the door to the jewellers, patting his jacket pocket for a moment to make sure he had brought his wallet. The assistant drew his attention and he pulled the mask down enough, not sure if he would be recognised but wary of it all the same.

“I’d like to take a look at the sapphire ring in the window - middle row, fourth one to the left.”

The ring was you in every sense and so he bought it there and then. The ring stayed with him constantly and more often than not, remained locked up in the studio, ready and waiting to be placed on your finger. There was no rush and the right moment would soon spring up. 

HOSEOK 

Now he wasn’t afraid to admit that he had a little help. He had been talking to his sister, Jiwoo, at a family dinner one night about possibly proposing to you. It had been four years after all. 

“Possibly?” asked his sister. “Why possibly? You know you love her so why wait?”

“I don’t know what ring to get - every time I’ve looked, nothing has caught my attention,” Hobi admitted as he pushed around the noodles in his bowl. It had been irritating him ever since plans started to come into motion about the talk of marriage. He knew how he was going to propose, he knew where he was going to do it and he knew what he was going to say - he just didn’t have the main ingredient: the ring.

“Honestly, she’s given you enough hints,” Jiwoo laughed after finishing a mouthful of food and pulled out her phone, opened up her messages to you and scrolled through the images that had been sent. The image had been sent a while ago but it had occurred around Jiwoo’s own wedding when you were researching ideas for her and you stumbled upon a ring that you loved.

Hobi glanced at the screen as this magnificent diamond, cut into an oval shape, set on a silver diamond band. Classy, traditional and screamed you all over. “Perfect! That’s the one! Think you could order it for me?”

He didn’t mind the napkin to the head or the fact that his sister, knowing full well your ring size, ordered there and then for him and handed it over in its special box a week later. Now he could finally put his plans into motion.

NAMJOON

From earlier interviews, he always admitted he wanted kids. That hadn’t changed until recently with things going on in their lives that made things difficult, unsure, not knowing where the next big thing was going to come from or whether lift would turn everything on its head…yet again. There had been a talk with you over a late night glass of wine over the future, what the both of you wanted, what your dreams were, what his dreams were and the like. 

Children, though wanted, were now no longer a priority. You, however, were the priority and he was leaving it long enough to finally get the ring on your finger. You had been with him since early debut days, always standing by him and never once questioning your relationship - apart from the odd few times when distance and rumours became a problem but they were always solved by simply talking. 

He had been in Europe with his friend, once again to their museums and galleries for a blog for BTS. His family would be joining him at some point as well. But not you - work commitments had got in the way of you both enjoying a holiday with all your families together. 

Strolling through town, his friend mindlessly chatting in his ear, Namjoon’s eyes caught the shop. He didn’t know what possessed him but he wandered over, simply to take a look if nothing else. The ring in question was laid on a display on its own, with its history on a green card.

“‘Hybrid diamond ‘Moissanite’ is the answer to the diamond. This ring, made out of recycled gold, was designed to resemble the earth from which it comes from. The band is made out of intertwined leaves with little diamonds, to allow the marquise cut moissanite to sit perfectly on it.’

That was the ring, no two ways about it. Ignoring his spluttering friend, Namjoon made the dash inside the shop and startled both the staff by slamming his bank card onto the counter and asking for the ring in the window. 

“But sir, the price.”

“Don’t worry about that, just the ring. That’s all I need.”

JIMIN

He had the day off, which was surprising in itself, and had nothing all day apart from lounge on the couch in front of the TV. The boys were out doing their various hobbies and things to relax but since it had been non-stop, Jimin didn’t feel like moving off the couch today. He had no plans with you either since you were out of town on a work trip though the last message from you was an hour ago as you were about to go in for a meeting. 

He mindlessly scrolled through his phone, not really looking at anything as the TV played in the background. Later on, he would describe the whole thing as fate - as if something planned this to happen at the right time on the right day. 

An advert for Tiffany & Co popped up on the TV as well as his phone at the same time. There had been discussions with the team about possibly partnering up with the designer but nothing had come about it and nothing had further said, both too busy to lay down a partner contract just yet. Yet, that’s not what made him look. It was the fact that marriage had been on everyone’s mouths lately. 

The two of you were in a solid, healthy relationship that was going on for six years next month and though you both had busy careers, you hadn’t fully settled on living together just yet and the idea of marriage had certainly not popped up for the two of you but it had for everyone else. Jimin was a romantic at heart, a prince in the eyes of ARMY who would go out of his way for his loved ones…so where was the ring? Where was the proposal?

“Now is a good time as any,” he muttered to himself as he sat up on the couch and grabbed his iPad, turning it on and directing towards the website in question. He spent hours looking at rings, opening one up, reading it, looking at it then closing it again. Believe it or not, he got to the last one and there it was. 

A pear-shaped diamond surrounded by little diamonds like a halo, set on a diamond platinum band. It sparkled, just like you and it shined like a diamond (literally) like you. So it ended up in his cart, paid for and then collected by staff two months later after being specially made.

TAEHYUNG

At another city on the final leg of the tour, Taehyung and Yoongi had gone out for a bit of an exploration and some gift shopping. They always promised their partners they would bring something back from whatever city they were in, one suitcase already a bit full of designer clothes and random gifts Taehyung had spotted.

They were currently in an antiques store, of all places, just generally browsing when Taehyung made his way over to the jewellery section. There were a pair of earrings he spotted which he knew his mother would like and a tie pin his father would like as well, so the assistant working there laid them on the counter and began to bag them up while Taehyung glanced through the rings.

“Sorted?” Yoongi asked, placing what looked like a tangerine cookie jar on the counter. It caught Tae’s eye and he stared at it for a moment then shook his head. “Not yet. I just need one more thing - I won’t be long.”

The idea of proposing to you was a long held secret for him and he had not revealed it to any other members, not even his family. The idea of ring shopping in front of Yoongi-hyung, of all people, made him nervous. 

“Could I take a look at that one?” he asked the member of staff, pointing at a ring.

Art deco themed with a round garnet, surrounded by diamonds to create a ‘sun’ effect and settled on a yellow gold band. It was unique and different, yet it suited you perfectly.

“That one please,” he said as he handed over this credit card and ignored his hyung looking at him, somewhat opened mouth. “Don’t say a word,” was Taehyung’s reply. 

JUNGKOOK

If there was anything ARMY and Jungkook had in common, it was you. You were their biggest supporter, their biggest voice, their advocate, their queen. You told him all about the trending topics, all the edits, what things they wanted to see, what things they wanted the group to do. Every little secret they thought they could hide, you uncovered.

So it wasn’t a surprise during a V-LIVE that ARMY were asking about you, wondering where you are. “She’s gone away for the weekend, her best friend is getting married next month,” Jungkook revealed as he stirred the noodles in the pot. “It’s a bridal shower? No? Hen party?”

Of course, ARMY’s reaction was to ask when Jungkook was going to propose. Thank god he had a healthy relationship to the ARMY’s who wanted to know because the feed was currently blocking out the bad ones who didn’t like the idea of their idol getting married. 

“One day. One day.”

After the V-LIVE, Jungkook got a notification on Weverse and opened up the app to find an ARMY had uploaded a hand-drawn design of an engagement ring of what they thought Jungkook would buy. It took him by surprise because it was exactly what he was thinking.

Amethyst (your birthstone) at its centre, large and proud. The curved band beneath the gemstone makes the ring like an elegant crown. That was everything and anything all in one - your representation to ARMY and Jungkook: queen. 

He messaged a member of staff and asked them to contact the original designer to ask for special permission to recreate the ring by a local jeweller. It took a week but permission was granted and the ring was made within another week, then in his hands a week after that. 

[h3lfaerie]

Hey Fae! I was wondering for PoA what kind of like armor you were writing hiccup in? Is it like his HTTYD 2 armor? or like a cross between HTTYD and HTTYD: THW ? 100% you don’t have to answer i’m just curious

(also hope calling you fae is fine :))) )

Okay, first of all-

Being called Fae is now my new favourite thing. Excuse me? I am now using that. Thank you so much!!

As for Hiccup's armor, I really like to think he has a variety of gear depending on things like vocation, manner of tasks, expeditions, the freaking weather.

Normally when I refer to the black-scaled armor I'm referencing his gear from The Hidden World. Particularly in Chapter 4, when the Reader's blade gets embedded in the plating.

However, when I was originally writing that scene, I was kind of still figuring out how and where to search for concept art and failed to see that the area around his waist is predominantly (from what I can see?) cured red leather. Which would arguably warrant an injury that is... a whole lot worse than "just a graze", considering he outright leapt at the FMC from Toothless' back mid-flight and impaled himself in the process.

So, considering that it was a pretty important injury that we can see has some pretty harrowing consequences later on, I couldn't really change the placement. So I tried my best to 'alter' that particular part of his gear to have similar plating as the rest of his get-up. I mean my guy has a freaking cod-piece and chose not to wrap himself from head to toe with that obviously very durable combination of dragon scales and (likely?) Gronkle Iron?

I've noticed other members of the gang have the plating all throughout their design, without it impairing their dexterity. So, I can't really see the reason behind those big red "stab be here" areas in Hiccup's design, other than cosmetics.

So, I have done my best to describe his gear as true to canon as possible with the exception of those patches of red leather. It's quite funny actually because Astrid seems to have that very same area in her gear reinforced.

And we've seen her perform some Olympic Level Acrobatics in THW, so it doesn't seem like said design choice would impair Hiccup's mobility.

In short, Hiccup's armor (in the segments where I've described him wearing this particular get-up) is relatively true to canon with the exception of the "stab me here" patches that are instead a reinforced segment of his gear, layered on the same way we have seen on Astrid's design.

So far I've described Hiccup's outfits in detail for three very district reasons: his gear, because he got stabbed, his slutty little regalia in Chapter 5, because he got stabbed again and shirtless (no explanation necessary).

I particularly love his 'amalgamation' outfit, where he seems to have retained some parts of his armor from the second movie like the pauldrons and the gauntlets while also tying in this gambeson tactical brown tunic thing (lovely description, I know).

I can provide an even bigger info dump but I feel like this is enough for now 😂

Thank you so much for your question ❤️ As always, thank you also, for enjoying my writing.

I did not expect PoA to receive so much love and I am unbelievably grateful. I am leaving you with sexy masked Hiccup pics, because... Sexy masked Hiccup.

Love you, byeee~

P.S. Okay, but imagine him doing biker antics.

[nrdmssgs]

Darker matters (part 5)

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Angst Pairing: Nikolai x Olga 'Zhar' Samoilova Summary: The fall of Chimeras commander Warnings: Non-graphical description of an act of rape of a person below 18 y.o. (this may be triggering, I'm dividing this part with red lines for your wellbeing), swearing.

Author's note: Krueger does nothing wrong! It is not his fault, Zhar misreads him. I would never make him do anything this ugly. He cant stand treason and has every right to question Zhars choices. I didn't add the saddest part just to make things more dramatic. I needed to talk about the reasons behind Olgas constant state of fear and helplessness. I promise, the next part will be more safe and happy. Thanks: My very important people: @siilvan, @homicidal-slvt, @sofasoap and @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot. And a very special thanks to @pale-elysium for the help with language and endless support.

Blue horizon and a darkening gray wall of blizzard, slowly but inevitably descending on her. She looks the man in a mask deep in the eyes and sees a power of nature, she fled from back in Norilsk. Now that Zhar thinks of it - that mission seems to have happened so long ago - she might as well call it ‘in a previous life’. 

This man's eyes are nothing but cold wind and ice, hatred and hunger. 

Olga didn't say a word, since he opened the passenger's door and motioned her to sit down. And this seems to annoy him more with every next moment of silence. 

“You either start talking, or prepare to be thrown out.” Hoarse voice muffled by several layers of cloth and plastic, thick slavic accent.

“Spent much time looking for me?” She does her best to sound calm and collected. If this is the end of her - she at least won't make it pleasant for this man.

“Ne obol`shchaysya. Ty ele polzla.*” Zhar understands, it was not an accidental switch to Russian - he shows her, how much he knows about her. All this while she has no idea, who is she talking to.

“Nu i kak tebya zovut?*” Unable to stare into his cold eyes any longer, Olga looks down at his uniform. She is surprised to notice that he is wearing a flight suit. If it wasn't for her personal experience, she wouldn't know, this is a very unconventional choice of gear, until one needs a constant soft layer right on their skin to compensate the extensive pressure of hard shells. 

“Nikak.*”

“Nikak…” Zhar pauses and clicks her tongue. “Oni posylayut za mnoi cheloveka, u kotorogo dazhe imeni net…*”

With one swift, almost untraceable motion he takes out a knife and, swinging it in a wide arc, stops it right at her neck - where the nervous tremor of her pulse is visible on the skin. “What stops us from killing you right now, mraz`*?”

Now that is a right question, that Olga asks herself as well. 

“A few weeks ago you killed my informer on my eyes.” Cold steel presses firmer against her skin. “Then you did it again with another one… and again. You could have waited for a little and offed me in that very first car, you've burnt. Yet here I am, and I doubt, It's because Im so skilled or lucky. They need me alive. You have an order to teach me a lesson - not get rid of me.”

When she goes silent, the blade slides up her neck, slightly scrapping soft skin of her jawline and stops right under her septum.

“Why don't I leave a lesson right on this face? I could, after all, make you wish, I was allowed to kill you. Could make that guy, Nikolai, devastated…” Somehow he sounds calmer now, as if he found a solution to his dilemma and now works on the smallest details in his head.

Olga closes her eyes and sighs. There is this one idea: risky, on a verge of madness. But there is only one way to test it.

“Right inner pocket of my jacket. Keys.” The man follows her instructions and pulls out a key ring with a few keys and examines them, not moving the blade away from her face.

“House keys, not older than five years. Either someone recently replaced the doors or-”

“I bought that flat a few years ago. Still paying the mortgage.” 

The man chuckles, “Are you offering me to rob you? Bring Nikolai some trinket of yours? You really thought, I could settle on that, idiotka*?”

“No.” She finaly opens her eyes. “This place is my home. Nikolai was there, he knows it well enough. You want to scare him? Burn that place to the ground. Show him, I have nothing left - ashes behind and ahead. I'll give you the address and make sure, nobody from my former colleagues finds out.”

He scans her face for a long time, searching for any trace of a trick or a lie. But as he slowly softens his grip on the knife - Zhar turns her face back to him, and he sees nothing but eternal weariness and terror. These are not the eyes of a soldier - these are the eyes of a prey, a deer in his headlights. So he asks one last question. 

“Why help me?”

“I'm buying time. I need this meeting, this informer.” She wants to add ‘please’, but that would be the fatal mistake, so Olga bites her tongue and looks back at the snowstorm, raging in his eyes. “Out of my car. Now.”

***

“Let me check, if I got it clear.” Yegor scratches nose bridge, frowning. “You've finally got, where this Said-?”

“Sedmi. Like ‘the seventh one’ in Serbian.” Zhars eyes roam across Nikolai's office over the heads of Chimeras gatheredthere.

“Ok, you've got Sedmis location. And that is where they are keeping Nikolai. But instead of going there asap, extracting our leader and blowing the place up… We are to split and spend next week cleaning out random locations around the globe and taking pictures?” Yegor was usually the silent type, he was ok with many questionable operations of the Chimera. So the fact, that even he started asking the questions showed, how confused the whole group now was.

“You got it right.” Zhar still looks anywhere, but at them. “Tomorrow morning, each of you will receive coordinates. You go there, you clean the place, except for three people, I mentioned, you do your magic and bring me the proof of your deed done. And I-”

“And you off us one by one, while we are divided? Isn't that what Sedmi instructed you to do? Why don't you tell us our target locations right now, so there are no secrets, Lieutenant?” Krueger cuts her off, slamming his fists against the desk. 

“I can't give you the coordinates, because I will never see them myself. It's safer so, since Sedmi is tracking me constantly. Whatever info I personally gather - he may find out. So the locations will come from intel department of Chimera - not from me.” Olga ran her fingers along the edge of the table, erasing a layer of dust.

“Commander, I don't understand. Taking over their base is a hard battle, but not an impossible task. Why wait, when every day can become the last for Nikolai?” Iskra tries to keep calm, but her voice gives out her annoyance. Everyone in Chimera are on the verge, and she is not an exception.

“Because a battle is exactly what Sedmi and others are preparing for on their base. And I'm declaring a war, soldiers! Now get up, go somewhere, where you can breathe, think about the difference, and make a decision, if you are ready to be a part of it, because after tomorrow there will be no way back.” Zhar stands up and turns away from others, letting them feel, that the meeting is truly over. She hears them sighing heavily and leaving the office one by one, all while she stares at some old aviation schemes, that Nikolai patched to the wall.

She doesn't move, when the door finally closes. A quiet, almost inaudible noise - someone's soft footsteps, doesn't escape her, despite a myriad of thoughts fighting in her head.

“Have any questions left, Krueger?”

“Only one: how do you like our commander's chair? Nice and cozy for your traitor ass, Hure*?” His voice resembles a low growl, a thunder, striking right above her.

Zhar is about to turn back to him and answer, but he gabs her by the back of her head and slams her face against the wall. The world around her fades for a brief moment and white-hot sparks are flying her in the eyes. She doesn't fight back, when Krueger takes her both hands in an iron grip behind her back, doesn't protect herself even when the wall under her skin becomes unnaturally warm and slippy. Sharp pain creeps from Zhars face to the back of the head and neck. The man is hissing his insults right in her ears, but everything, she can think about now is that she already was so helpless once…

“Doing it wrong, Sebastian.”

“What did you say?” He keeps pushing her into a wall, making it hard not even to answer, but to breathe in the first place. 

Zhar feels a metallic taste spreading across her tongue. She doesn't even think straight, when her mouth formulates an answer. “Doing it wrong. Want to humiliate a woman, use her - you'll need to immobilize her legs, not her upper body. Using your weight to pin her against the wall will do the trick for head and shoulders, but if you want her to stay - you hold her thighs and press one leg behind her knee… Poor thing will never escape that.”

He lets go and almost jumps away in disgust. “Hast du den Arsch offen?! Du bist doch nicht ganz dicht! Was denkst du von mir?! Ich bin doch nicht pervers! Hat man dir ins Hirn geschissen?!*” 

As he rushes out of Nikolai's office, leaving Olga alone, she slowly slides down the wall and ends up curled on a floor. 

She knows, it's embarrassing to stay like that, when any soldier can enter this room anytime, she understands, she must be better than this. A hopefully temporal leader of a private military company, an ex-141, a Lieutenant, got recognized by no lesser than John Price… One moment she is ready to declare a war to a criminal syndicate, but then she is on the verge of tears, because her subordinate wasn't happy with her decisions. Embarrassing. Pathetic. Helpless.

The word ‘helpless’ keeps reappearing in her mind from the very first day, when she lost Nikolai. She kept pushing it away, but now, laying on the deepest bottom, she grips this word, this feeling, and searches, what triggered it a long time ago. 

She felt like this before. Many years ago, in a previous life, when she still lived in Russia. Olga was still a teenager. A happy child, a spark of light despite having lost her mom and brother to street riots and the FSB suppressing them. She still had her dad, her friends, classmates, uncle Shura - not a real uncle, just an old friend of their family. As long as Olga remembered herself - he was always around: on every celebration, on family gatherings, even on her moms funerals. He helped her so much, was always there for her, always knew, how to make her laugh, told her heartwarming stories from his and her father's youth, had this giant for that time library in his flat. It was only natural, that she spent much time in his place after school, before her father came back home from work. Uncle Shura was always the safe person for Olga and her family. A friend.

Maybe that's why her brain just shot down, when it happened. The evening was so trivial - she did homework, sitting in his library, he was reading a newspaper, or maybe just listening to the radio. They were lazily chatting, laughing, Olga asked him something, and he pointed to a book on a far shelf in the corner. 

When he pressed her against the shelves - she thought, it was some prank. And then her mind went blank. 

She should have fought back, she should have not let him do it. Unkle Shura wasn't a big guy, nor was he fit or sporty. She could have escaped. Olga did nothing. Her body froze, every muscle clenched in a desperate attempt to become smaller, to hide. She only heard her own laughter and a phrase ‘this is so foolish, so silly’ being repeated on and on. She laughed and didn't move a finger. 

Not until he stopped, helped her readjust her clothes and asked if she's ok. 

Olga never told anyone. Not even to her dad, not even after so many years. This episode was buried too deep to bring it to the surface. But it never left her, not even now, when she admitted to herself, it really happened, and never was ‘just a nightmare’.

Slowly raising on her knees, she reaches Nikolais desk drawer. Zhar hates her body and her mind for keeping failing her. She needs to stop this flow of memories right now. Olga needs a human voice to keep her from giving up.

The screen of a burner phone turned on and an empty number entry field appeared before Olga’s eyes. Mentally going through who she could call, she brushed aside one name after another. 

Price is forbidden - he will understand that something is wrong and will rush to help his best friend, and this could cost Nikolai his life. Johnny's a nice guy, but he'll instantly tell everyone she called. Laswell... No, too risky. Kyle is too precious to drag him to this dirt. Ri- no, she's off limits.

Zhar cursed under her breath: never before she was so desperate to hear anyone's voice and felt so alone. There was nobody around, no one, she could call. Her finger pressed one digit mechanically, then another one. She didn't even look on the screen anymore.

“Darker matters, you said? Should have listened to you sooner, Lt.” She mutters to herself, pressing the last digit and bringing phone to her ear.

In a deafening silence, a sound of a first beep seems too loud. But as the beeping continues, Zhar grows accustomed to it. She flinches, when she hears a familiar voice. It takes her a few seconds to muster a greeting.

“Its Olga. Can we talk for a minute?”

Ne obol`shchaysya. Ty ele polzla. - Don't flatter yourself, you barely crawled.

Nu i kak tebya zovut? - So how do they call you?

Nikak. - No name

Oni posylayut za mnoi cheloveka, u kotorogo dazhe imeni net… - They send a man after me, and he doesn't even has a name...

mraz` - scum

idiotka - idiot

Hure - bitch

Hast du den Arsch offen?! Du bist doch nicht ganz dicht! Was denkst du von mir?! Ich bin doch nicht pervers! Hat man dir ins Hirn geschissen?! - You lost your mind? You are nuts! What do you think of me?! I'm not some pervert! Are you completely brain fucked?!

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