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crazycat010 · 19 days ago

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What am I even doing?!

Of Shadows and Stardust MASTERLIST

GOJO SATORU X READER part 2

Warnings: mentions of death, fatal car accident, alcohol abuse, slight child abuse, hitting, solitude and loneliness, reader being basically split in half between their normal version and sorcerer version, running away from home, (mostly from memories or brief references).

Word count= 3K+ words

Once again, you were woken up at the first lights by her grumbling. What was the matter with her? Ever since you’d encountered the Second-grade curses a few days ago she had been restless, muttering and blabbering mindlessly in your own mind, making it impossible to concentrate on anything and causing you the worst migraines ever.

“What the heck?! Just Shut up! I’m trying to get all the sleep I lost because of you!” You thought, yelling at her in her mind, frustrated.

“I know what we must do. I figured out a way to solve this problem!” She muttered.

“What problem? What are you talking about?” You started getting out of your bed and preparing a nice warm shower. Perhaps that would ease your senses and bring a little comfort in these painful days.

“You know what I’m referring to, ungrateful child!” She scoffed loudly. “The curses started arriving in masses at the Tokyo Central Elementary School just as you became a teacher there and started going there regularly. It’s a pattern that has been following you ever since we came in contact…”

“What’s your point?” You asked, utterly confused and completely stressed out by the whole situation. Realization however, was starting to kick in, and soon sadness followed, filling your soul like water in an empty glass.

“You and I both know it’s not a coincidence. You can try to fake it as much as you want, but we’re the problem. We always have been. Wherever we go, we attract curses, like light attracts moths. We both have known for the longest time, but you’ve decided to ignore it. Now that we’ve gotten stronger, we need to take action and do something about it!” She explained. It made sense.

Besides, you’d always known, deep down, you just had never actually acknowledged it.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!” You screamed out loud. You already knew the answer, it was just to painful to admit. How were you supposed to live like that?

“We need to escape, find somewhere quiet and without any people around. We’re threats to all living life.”

“Talk for yourself.” You said, getting under the boiling hot jet of water, trying to suppress all the emotions that were hitting you all at once.

You thought about how you’d gotten to know her.

Turbato pacis, that’s how you referred to her. It meant ‘disturber of the peace’ in Latin, the Ancient language your mother had forced you to learn during high school.

You’d never given your mother enough credit for keeping your family together while working three jobs and taking care of both you and your father for god knows how long, not until it was too late and didn’t matter anymore, anyways.

Something about you had always been different. You remember how you used to win every single street fight you got your stinky ass into with the big mouth of yours. You always wanted to help the defenseless, those whom people chose to tear the eyes away from.That’s how your mother had raised you: a brave warrior that helped the poor, wether it was with food, sweet words, hugs, or punches. You felt kind of like Robin Hood, the main character of your favorite tale. Ever since you’d been first read the story to, you’d been amazed and greatly impressed by the grand gestures of such noble-hearted and gentle man, a kind soul who stole what others didn’t need and, instead of keeping the bounties for his own poor self, he gave them away to those in need, aiding his people in any way possible.

That’s what you dreamt of becoming, a beacon of light in the surrounding darkness, justice in a pool of misery and mischiefs. However, life had many surprises prepared for you, leading you through one bad situation after the other.

Even though you never lost, you always ended up patched up by your furious mother, mad at you for your reckless behavior. You couldn’t help but pick fights with people bigger and stronger than you, which did indeed mean their downfall, but also a broken nose for you, if not worse.

You’d always fought injustice, like your mother had wanted, until the most unjust event happened to the two of you.

You were chatting mindlessly, probably about school, an ice cream in one hand and the other holding your mother, who was skillfully managing to eat her own creamy delight while balancing in her arms three shopping bags and that small black full of scratches leathery backpack of hers, where she kept her most useful belongings, alongside some money and tissues for her daughter. Your father was right behind you, busy checking business stuff on his phone. You waited patiently at the crossroad before the traffic light became green, and then you started crossing the road, as you would normally do.

Nonetheless, it was no normal or ordinary day that one, on which your mother ad been able to convince you to go shopping with her, bribing you with food.

A drunk man had decided he wanted to go outside too that random Thursday evening, and thought, why not have a ride on his new car as well?

Too much liquor in his body, he hadn’t even noticed his pants were missing, so how could he have seen the traffic light turn red at the crossroad? The last thing he saw before ascending to the skies to his long-lost mother were two women, or at least one woman and one woman-to-be, crossing the same road as the one his was driving one, before all went down.

You didn’t have the time to realize it as your mother threw herself on your small figure in a useless attempt to keep you out of harm’s way. You should have died as well, that day, but fate seemed to have other things planned for you.

The car crash was chaotically, to say the least, and it ended with the new red car crashed on a nearby secular tree, two unrecognizable bodies shattered in the middle.

Nevertheless, one of them was the driver’s, as you’d somehow and jumped your way out of the crash.The aftermath was a mix of sorrow, grief and anger driven actions, compelled mostly by your father, who had watched the whole scene unfold right under his very nose, unable to think or react.

You didn’t understand how you’d saved yourself, too shocked from all the events to even try to think hat maybe, there was a connection behind all the mysterious stunts you always pulled whenever danger came your way.

That was until she actually came out, Y/n 2.0, another way you called her.

Out of everyone, understandably, your father was the most stressed out one. He moved frantically, spending his days pacing the living room with a never-ending bottle of beer in his left hand and a picture of your mother in his right one. He couldn’t rest, eat or drink, just like you. However, being the innocent child you were, you didn’t understand what was happening, simply wanting your dada back from crazy-land.

You tried to tell him to calm down, tried to get him to sit down and have dinner with you, but before you knew it, he had dropped the picture of your mother, taken a big gulp of that golden liquid, a small amount of which fell in small droplets on his chin, and swung his big calloused hand aimed for your cheek.

You closed your eyes, preparing yourself for the hit, but it never came. Trembling, you opened your eyes to see your father’s eyes wide open in a mix of surprise and alcohol-driven rage and madness. While you covered your face with one hand, the other firmly gripped your father’s forearm, preventing a rather harsh hit.

Panicking, you quickly let go of him and ran upstairs to your bedroom, locking yourself inside and heading to the little sink to wash your face.

As you rinsed it thoroughly and then proceeded to dry it with a dirty cloth. As you did that, you couldn’t help but notice the reflection in the mirror. It was you, as usual, but the ‘other Y/n’ had black eyes, the darkest bag under her eyes and black and green tattoos, that resembled strange figures and terrorizing snakes. Her black hair had stripes of a flashy bright green in it and she wore a black long robe with green and silver accessories, very different from your worn out beige school uniform and plain black hair.

As if it couldn’t get any weirder, the reflection started talking to you.

“Hello Y/n.” It said, with the calmest tone.

You screeched in surprise, not knowing what to do, but still kept your eyes on the mirror, as you tried to learn more about her.

As you were about to discover, she’d always been a part of you, ever since you were born. However, until then, you’d always had control over her, or as she’d say, she kept quiet and didn’t interfere with your life. Nevertheless, she was still a part of your life, helping you during fights for example, but never completely taking over your body. When the incident with your mother had happened, she’s sensed your turmoil and knew something was about happen and she’d have to help you. That’s why she intervened during your fight with your father, and had now completely detached herself from you in order to protect you, leading to the creation of two Y/ns, as one could call it. She tried to reason with you that you couldn’t stay there anymore, and being the sweet and pure kid you were, you agreed, not taking the risk of hurting anybody.

That was the night you escaped, with a small backpack and a picture of your family in hand.

You didn’t know what you were to do, but perhaps that’s what made it so exciting, the thrill of a new adventure.

In time, you learned to co-exist with Enchantress, the name you usually used for her because of the power she held. She taught you all you knew about curses, and you tried to teach her about life in the real human world, whenever you could get her to listen. You became each other’s best friend, unable to rely on anybody else or trust the mere strangers that popped into your life.

After you’d gotten into a good university and found a way to live freely without the need of your father’s or any other tutor’s presence, Enchantress stepped aside, letting you live your life at its fullest. She still talked to you and entertained you with her snarky comments, but she’d actually intervened, until a few days ago…

You felt the water becoming cold and knew you had to get out of here, not only of the shower obviously, but you had to leave your job and go somewhere isolated and safe, for everybody’s sake.

That day, after spending some time in school and enjoying your last hours with your students, you resigned from your job without explanations, and started packing your bags as soon as you came back home.

What you didn’t expect that day, was a visitor, much less Gojo Satoru himself knocking at your door and seven p.m. in the evening.

“Helloooo…” He cheered, but frowned and gave you a confused look upon noticing the scattered bags all around your apartment.

“Are you moving out?”

“Hello to you too Satoru.” You said calmly, going back to stack the brown boxes one on top of the other.

He kept his frown, urging you to answer his question.

“And yes, I am moving. I should be gone by tomorrow afternoon.”

He gave you a saddened look, and only after a while you understood its meaning.

“Oh gosh, I forgot to tell you! Sorry Gojo, ehm-I mean Satoru. I really wanted to call you but I didn’t have the time. It was a pretty fast decision, if you know what I mean.” You tried to explain to the white-haired man.

“Don’t worry, I figured you must’ve been busy. But why are you moving out? And where would you be going anyways? I thought you really liked it here…” He said, looking around your apartment.

He’d visited you a couple of days after you’d first met and you’d told him about how you’d just moved in a couple of months ago and really enjoyed your new home and job.

“I did, it’s just…” You stopped yourself before you could say anything else. You couldn’t lie to a sorcerer! He’d detect it right away and then you would be in big trouble. You had to avoid talking about the reason for which you were leaving. “It’s complicated, really. And besides, there is no real matter. It just feels like I don’t belong here…” That part was true. Ever since you’d run away from your home, you felt like you didn’t fit in anywhere, and all the dangers you’d faced had only made you stronger and perhaps gave you some trust issues, and now you constantly felt alone and unwanted, though it was a minor thing, considering your real issues- Cough-cough-Enchantress-.

“What if you come teach at Jujutsu High?” He asked.

What?! He wasn’t possibly proposing to…huh?

“I mean, the kids already have teachers for sorcery stuff and everything, but there’s a lack of more…How can I say?…normal subjects? Like, they don’t know anything about Maths, History, literature, science or any of that stuff, but I know it could be really important if they don’t become actual Sorcerers or even if…I mean, they could really use a teacher like you.” He said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Surprisingly enough, you thought about it. You knew you had to get out of the city, but wherever you went, you had to get a job to survive, or you’d have to go back to the way you were as a runaway teenager, which were years you only wanted to forget about.

Besides, at the High School you’d be protected from curses and evil sorcerers and you wouldn’t bring more danger or trouble than the ones all of the students would ordinarily face.

“Don’t you dare!” Enchantress, ever the party crusher seethed. “We’ve already made this decision! We’re heading to a small village in the country where we won’t bring danger to ourselves or anybody else. Besides, you’d be living with sorcerer, which means they would find out about us sooner or later, whether you like it or not, and I’m 100% sure they won’t like us. I heard stories about people killed for this! For being like you! You can’t do this, the risk is too great, as you would put it, the cons are way more than the pros.” She tried to reason with you, though you tried to keep your mind open to every possibility.

You hadn’t made a final decision yet, so why not try?

Besides, Gojo seemed like a pretty chill guy, so after getting on friendly terms, you could tell him about your situation and you were sure that, with his kind nature, he’d help you (he did say he liked you, and you didn’t want to use his feelings against him, but, they sure would help!).

“I…have to think about it…” You told him, not giving a definite answer.

“I understand. I don’t want to put too much pressure on you, but I think you’d be a great fit for the kids and everyone there will love you. Besides, it’s a very friendly and chill environment, so you’d get used to it pretty quickly. In addition, you wouldn’t have to worry about food or a place to stay, since all of us teachers and students live in buildings on the High School grounds.”

You nodded in thought, but he began speaking once again: “Anyways, I got the feeling you’ll move out regardless, so why don’t you let me help you gather all these boxes and then we can go eat something?”

“Yeah sure, thanks.” You answered. A new feeling entered your heart, a feeling of fondness, happiness mixed with something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You had finally found a friend you could trust, so why not? Why not try to be part of something bigger, be part…of a family again.

You felt your eyes begin to tear up and, without any warning, you threw yourself in Gojo’s arms. He didn’t ask you anything or question your motives, keeping you latched onto him as tight as possible.

As soon as you felt better, you muttered with a cracked voice, in between soft sobs and hiccups: “Thank you, for everything.”

With a hopeful gleam in his eyes, he said, making circles on your back with his long fingers to soothe you and ease your nerves: “Does this mean you’ll come teach at my school?”

You simply nodded, your mind (mostly Enchantress though) screaming at you to not do it, but for once, you didn’t listen to her. For the first time in a very long time, you followed your heart, that pleaded you for a chance to be part of a family that truly loved you, regardless of who you were or what you did. You were finally free, and it felt like a weight was lifted from your shoulders as you detached yourself from Gojo, who stood in front of you with that recognizable beam of joy in his eyes. It reminded you that you weren’t in this alone, and even thought you’d just met him, he would help you throughout every step of your journey, your trustworthy friend. On this journey, you’d probably make mistakes and things would probably go wrong many times, but that didn’t matter. For the first time, you thought about what you wanted, without over caring about the consequences of your choices on other people: it was your life dammit!

Heart full of hope and joy, you felt ready ready to start this new unexpected chapter of your life!

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it. You're welcome to come check out my account and my other posts and/or make requests :) (MASTERLIST) Do NOT plagiarize this or any of my content.

Love you guys! See you soon!😘

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wirewitchviolet · 2 months ago

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Everyone hates door to door preachers.

One of the most universally hated experiences I think we're all at least passingly familiar with is having some weirdo knocking on your door wanting to tell you all about their religion. Jehovah's Witnesses are the best known for it, but they aren't the only ones who do it. Cults are big on this too, or the whole handing out flowers and propaganda at airports thing. There's a lot of variations. But it doesn't matter what they're trying to sell you on, point is nobody wants anyone to try and convert them to their religion when they're having their morning coffee or trying to catch a plane or whatever.

So the obvious question to ask is, don't the people who send them out to do this know they're just going to tick people off and these people are most likely going to just be shouted at and have doors slammed in their faces? And the answer to that question is, they absolutely know that's what's going to happen, and that's the point. Send out the fresh recruits to do something that is definitely going to make people angry at them. They come home after a day of everyone in the world besides the people who sent them out to do this telling them to go to hell so now they fear outsiders and are going to be way closer to the ones who sent them out to harass people.

Anyway, the leaders of weird religious groups aren't the only ones who know that trick. It's also the whole scam for people who claim to teach guys how to get women to be into them and various other bits of life advice. You can make a hell of a lot money selling books or ads or seminars or whatever preying off desperate lonely young men with intentionally terrible advice that's going to leave them even more isolated and lonely than helping them get happy fulfilling love lives. The former's gonna keep coming back asking for more tips since the last ones really didn't work, and the latter's gonna just be making out with their new hot girlfriends and have no reason to come back for more.

So yeah, cards on the table, I'm not here today to go off about religions weirdos, I'm here because all week long I've been seeing increasingly ridiculous discourse about "a crisis of masculinity" with grifters shouting outright lies about how mean people are to 20 year old white guys or whatever (which they're doing to scare those 20 year old white guys out of actually talking to normal people) and other people trying to say helpful things and not really getting how grifters are out there intentionally giving the worst possible advice to people.

So just to try something a little different, I'm going to try and spend the rest of this post giving actual genuine advice to these 18-30 year old straight white guys everyone's talking about as this lost generation or whatever. Teach'em how to end up with women being into you and be a proper man and all that. This isn't exactly the kind of blog that crowd is generally going to be looking at, but hey people might share this around. And again, basically everything I am going to say here is going to run completely counter to a bunch of stuff you've been hearing forever, but again, that's because con artists have been intentionally teaching the opposite of what you should do for years, I'll try to explain all the actual logic here as I go.

Now then, I already largely covered this point, but you need to learn to recognize creeps who are trying to exploit you. If people are trying to get you all riled up about stupid pointless garbage like the demographic makeup of a movie's cast or something, that's them doing the thing trying to send you door to door talking about religion. They want you to harass people, so those people hate you, and they maintain their captive audience. And like, one of the main things that got me to write this was seeing some total freak ranting about "young men going to school and having their teachers tell them they're evil and probably secretly girls" or whatever the hell. That's not actually happening, you should know that's not actually happening, and you should recognize when someone's busting out that sort of ridiculous strawman that they're trying to manipulate you.

Next point, money. The big common myth is you need to have a whole lot of money to impress women, and from there people will push you into whatever, but it's really less about having a lot of money and more about stability. Like if you want someone to marry you, and you want to be the "breadwinner" and all that, you need to show you're winning enough bread for everyone to eat every day. New fresh daily bread. If you bring me 200 loves of bread today and then none for the next 3 months that's not gonna work out. That's gonna go moldy before I eat it. This metaphor is getting away from me here but like, you want me to settle down and marry you and have kids, I just need to know this house you want to move me into is one where I don't have to worry about getting thrown out for a missed payment and there's going to be food and whatever extra cash is needed for the whole kids thing. So, have a job you're still going to have in 30 years and be making the same amount of money from. If you're trying to take big risks for more cash by gambling/playing the stock market/getting into crypto/whatever new thing suckers people in, you're risking that security and like... this is maybe the single biggest reason I see cited for breakups/divorces.

So short version, have an actual steady job, don't gamble.

Another biggie- So much BS dating advice is some variation on this concept of women never giving you straight answers or otherwise being deceptive or not even knowing what they want, or being like alien robots you can hack with this one trick and.. yeah that's all lies. Women (and everyone else) in fact very much dislike being lied to or manipulated as a general rule! This one's pretty basic!

While we're on that subject though, don't try to go places to "meet girls." There's this super dumb idea that there are Things Guys Like and Things Girls Like, and people get stuck in this thinking. So I dunno, let's say you're way into some particular video game or TV show or working on cars or whatever. You make the mistake of thinking that is a Guy Thing, so no girls will ever be into it, you never discuss it around girls, and then you go looking for girls to date in some space you otherwise wouldn't really want to spend time otherwise. That's just dumb. There are, in fact, girls who are totally into whatever it is you're interested in, I promise, and if you get into whatever social scene is attached to it, you're probably more likely to meet someone you click with, and it's MUCH more likely that should you click with someone you continue enjoying the same stuff and don't end up as one of those couples who hate each other's hobbies. Of course this does require following the trickiest bit of advice I have.

Don't be a creep. Don't use pickup lines or invade personal space or get pushy or anything else like that. Like if you're at a point with someone where you're very clearly into each other OK sure get all flirty or whatever but if that is NOT plainly the case, don't ever act around some girl in a way that'd creep you out if some random dude started doing it to you. That said...

The whole "chivalry is dead" thing? Yeah that's a lie. Again the whole pickup artist crowd rants all the time about how women don't want you to get doors for them and all that all the time, but again, as long as you aren't being a total creep about it, no please do hold doors open for women if they happen to be right behind you. Hell do it for guys too. Especially big heavy doors if people are carrying stuff. We all appreciate not touching germ-y door handles or having people offer to help carry heavy stuff. Things like pulling chairs away from tables is dumb and a little creepy because that's a trivial thing to do for yourself, but yeah, do tiny favors for people as much as you can. Nice pro-social behavior, everyone likes that.

And kind of on the same note, this is another one that really pushes hard against people teaching you to do the opposite of what you should, but don't ever worry about whether something "is gay." It's the most pathetic off-putting thing in the world and nobody wants to deal with your stupid irrational insecurities. If there's any lack of clarity here, I'm not talking about literally being gay (although, honestly yeah don't have hangups about that either, that's just not the focus of this post is all). I'm talking about all the stupid arbitrary things guys manage to talk themselves into rejecting because their brains have been cooked by peer pressure and/or pickup artist scams into thinking they aren't "properly manly" or whatever.

First of all just buying into the whole concept is just... really immature and pathetic. Don't let other people tell you what you're allowed to be into like that. Own your interests. But also, I swear, all the stuff people go around declaring is "gay" is generally good stuff that'll make you a better person, and being a better person is, if I missed it, also good for your love life, by the way. So just quick-firing my way through a few of these...

"Being kind and considerate is gay!" We already covered this one. Nah, being nice is just all positives. How is that not just inherently self-evident?

"Cooking is gay!" If you want to be treated like a proper adult, and impress other people, knowing how to feed yourself is a pretty basic thing, and if you learn to cook well, you can cook for other people, which people generally tend to agree with.

"Personal hygiene is gay!" OK so like basic sanitation stuff is again, such an incredibly basic responsible adult thing to practice and you seem like some kind of helpless baby if you don't. Also, you know, sweaty clothes stink, stains in your underwear are disgusting, and so on.

"Fashion is gay!" Not sure how people get the idea that looking cool and stylish has any sort of downside to it.

"Masks are gay!" If you are sick, or you have been around people who are sick, and therefore have potentially caught something from them that hasn't manifested yet but may be contagious, covering your mouth and nose around other people is a basic respectful and responsible thing to do and shows you are a responsible adult interested in others' well-being. And I can't think of any downside that doesn't seem like you're just some sort of whiny adult-sized baby, which nobody wants around.

"Caring about the environment is gay!" OK again, there's all the basic decency and maturity angles here, but since I'm aiming this in particular at like, heterosexual guys who want to get married and have kids and all that, let me again remind you about the importance of the whole stability thing. Whatever woman you're hoping to land and have kids with is going to want to have a stable home environment that's nice and comfortable and still going to be there decades later. If your nice home is going to flood from rising ocean levels or become unbearably hot/cold from climate change or you can't freaking eat because such and such's climate has been too wrecked to get it anymore, that's going to suck in the longterm, and if you don't care, well you're a shortsighted loser and that's a big ol' turnoff.

"Liking that She-Ra reboot or whatever is gay!" OK if you are into a show, and it seems like a "girly show" maybe find some of these girls who are into the "girly show" and you can bond over how much you both like it?

I could keep going, but the pattern should be obvious here. For real, it's always stuff it's good to like that some idiot starts claiming "is gay." It's never "driving ridiculous oversized pickup trucks is gay! Think about it, they've got this really wide stance and they're all about taking big loads in the rear!" or "liking Donald Trump is gay, look at all these dudes kissing the ass of their big strong daddy!" or something.

For real though the big dumb pickup truck thing is another one of those things where people have somehow been convinced it's manly when it's actually pathetic. Same with massive SUVs and jeeps and such. There's no actual practical reason to have one of these things. There are situations where it's practical to own a truck, if you actually have some professional reason to... well pack big loads into the rear of it to haul places, but the "manly" ones all suck at that (especially those stupid ugly "cybertruck" abominations. All those giant tailgates way off the ground do is block people's views on the highway, tall vehicles in general are just tip-prone, and while I have no interest in shaming people for their anatomy, the whole "big vehicle to compensate for a 'small penis'" in at least the metaphorical being an insecure little baby sense has been around since before you were born for a reason. If you do have a job where you need to like haul lumber around you get either an old school truck from before they started making them all oversized baby toys, or go for one of those new (or at least, soon to be approved for the U.S.) kei trucks. They're practical and efficient and can get into small spaces and get good mileage and such. Women will be impressed by your practicality. And also think your truck is cute.

Oh and that reminds me of this thing that was making the rounds not too long ago!

I don't know where the hell the idea came from that women find the bodybuilder look attractive? Like sure, everything is SOMEBODY'S fetish, and on an intellectual level I can appreciate the concept of body building on the same level as like being a contortionist or getting full-body tattoos or hundreds of piercings. Just using your body as a canvas and all. But aesthetically, no it's just really gross having a body that looks like a skeleton with a bunch of weird arbitrary round lumps stuck to it and vacuum-packed skin, sorry. And intellectually it's even more off-putting because I know that getting a body like that requires some combination of taking steroids, which have some nasty side effects, messing your diet up, and depriving yourself of water. Real unhealthy stuff you're probably doing to compensate for insecurities.

And hey, speaking of "being strong" and security, a lot of men get hung up on this sort of thing because they "want to be able to protect their families." And like, hey, sure, you want to maintain a level of general physicality where you'd be able to physically carry your loved ones out of a burning building, that's cool, that's practical. But your potential future wife is never going to be attacked by a weight bench. There's a limit to what's practical. And some guys get the idea that they need to own one or more guns, to "protect their families" from... their neighbors arbitrarily deciding to become murderous or something? That one's gonna be an active turn-off. You clearly can't properly assess real threats vs. goofy fantasy scenarios (and you might also be a massive racist or something). The only things anyone really needs protecting from these days are fascism and unchecked capitalism. And like... hey sure, personally I'm asexual but remove those threats from my life and I'll go on a date at the very least. But yeah, getting shredded? Stockpiling munitions? No, those are actively hurting you, dating pool wise.

And... I guess I accidentally saved the best for last maybe but like... don't be afraid of women? So many guys just get a weird complex where they're afraid to even talk to girls, just generally, in their day to day lives? Get out of your head about that. We are normal freaking human beings just like you. You can just have normal conversations with us with no special preparation. Really. The whole treating women like an alien species thing is one of those pickup artist lies to keep you desperate. It's fine.

#dating advice #basic human decency #are the straights okay #ok i know my regular audience calls stuff gay in a positive way but please bottoms don't all run out and buy big awful pickup trucks ok?

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zaebeecee · 1 year ago

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Fight and Flight ••

Pre-RadioDust Oneshot •

Read on AO3

•••

Based on this headcanon from @alastorsfluffydeertail. Thank you for letting me use this as a prompt, my dear, and I’m sorry I took it a bit off the rails (as I am wont to do). This is what I get for never planning anything out.

But also if anyone thinks the Hazbin Hotel residents wouldn’t prank each other, they’re wrong.

•••

When Angel Dust had first agreed to move into the Hazbin Hotel (back when it was the Happy Hotel, whose name alone was almost enough to make him refuse no matter how well he was paid for the evening), it was the first time in his entire existence in Hell that he had known exactly what to expect. The princess had a fucking stupid plan about getting sinners into Heaven and her bodyguard/girlfriend/what the fuck ever was apparently determined to help her see it out; Angel knew a hopeless cause when he saw one, and more importantly, he knew how to capitalize on it.

Of course, he had forgotten one very key detail: sinners were human at their core, and when humans spent a lot of time in close proximity, they got to know each other really well. And when people got to know each other really well, that meant bonding was basically unavoidable.

It was easy to forget the ‘human’ factor of sinners at VoxTek, particularly when someone spent too much time around the Vees. Sometimes, Angel thought of them as less ‘humans’ and more ‘evil entities that had learned how to mimic the worst of human behavior with extra capitalism’, and because of that he had kept company with them as little as possible since Valentino had showed his true colors and backhanded Angel for the very first time. But the Hazbin Hotel was not VoxTek, and the other residents of the hotel were not the Vees. They were mostly relatively normal people, when you put aside things like noble station and overlord rank, and that complicated Angel’s initial plan.

Originally, he had agreed simply to take advantage of not having to pay rent and not having to live under Val’s thumb at all times. It was a simple scheme: follow just as many rules as he absolutely had to in order to avoid getting kicked out, keep as much of his drug usage off the property as he could, and bat his eyes and make super sappy apologies about ‘trying his best’ whenever he got caught. It would have gone great if not for one tiny little hiccup.

He liked them.

Damn them to a lower ring of Hell, but Angel liked the fuckers, and it wasn’t long before he realized that they were becoming friends. Of course, they were also a bunch of pricks who’d been punished with eternal damnation for the crime of being assholes in life, so with friendship came the inevitable bullshit of having asshole friends. This, frequently, meant pranks of varying degrees of severity and creativity.

In Angel’s defense, he didn’t start it. The whole thing began when someone (who was never actually identified) convinced all of the Egg Bois that they were named after different members of the Rat Pack (to go with Frank) and that Pentious really loved being serenaded with ‘Ain’t That A Kick In The Head’ at all times. It had started out kind of funny—the Egg Bois couldn’t keep time with each other and it got even worse when they tried to manufacture their own Dean Martin impersonations—but it had quickly grown into the absolute worst thing Angel had ever had the displeasure to suffer. Husk, accurately, determined that it was “proof of Hell’s eternal punishment”. Eventually, Charlie helped Pentious right them, but it was way, way too late.

The war was on, and it quickly spread to everyone in the hotel without mercy. And, unpredictably, it seemed everyone was in on the game in one capacity or another.

Everyone had their own weak points when it came to getting ‘punk’d’, as Vaggie called it with an impressively straight face. Charlie could be convinced of just about anything if you said it with enough conviction, and Husk was alarmingly easy to gaslight if you could rearrange or abscond with his bar equipment when he wasn’t looking. Niffty was, of course, weak to cleaning pranks (but they had quickly determined the Stabbing Threshold, which was the point where it wasn’t funny anymore and she would legitimately gut someone), and you could do a million things to Pentious if you got into his lab, as long as you didn’t break anything. Angel was particularly proud of the time he got Vaggie to fully arm herself and go all the way up onto the roof of the hotel to ‘challenge an intruder’ who ended up being a hellsquirrel, but she had gotten him back by coming into the kitchen while he was cooking, staring him dead in the eye, and breaking all of the spaghetti before he could stop her.

And Alastor? Well, no one could get into his room, or his radio tower, or even find him if he didn’t want to be found, which rendered him immune to most forms of planned tomfoolery. But when he was there? He was easy, because he was a jumpy fucker if you caught him off guard, and a single loud noise close enough behind him would send him shadow teleporting onto some other surface (the mantle of the lobby fireplace on one particularly memorable occasion).

It was fun. Or, at least, it was supposed to be fun. That was why they had a set number of rules: no staining anything Niffty had to clean (and no glitter, which was a personal rule for Angel after that one time), no making Charlie cry, no breaking Pentious’s equipment or Husk’s bottles, no fucking with Vaggie’s weapons and armor, and absolutely nothing involving Fat Nuggets. Other than that, it was open season on everyone.

Charlie was conducting one of her little trust building exercises one evening, the entire hotel (sans Alastor) her captives for the duration of the entire exercise. Cherri had made the mistake of showing up just before it began, and curiosity had roped her in; now, she was sitting next to Angel and watching Charlie coaching Vaggie and Husk through some kind of role playing exercise with an open sort of fascination.

“Is it always like this?” Cherri murmured, leaning on Angel’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Angel whispered back. “I got no fuckin’ idea how this’s supposed to get us redeemed, tho, all it’s ever done is made me hate kids.”

Cherri snorted. “Why isn’t Radio Face here?”

Angel rolled his eyes. “He’s the hotelier,” he said, exaggerating Alastor’s transatlantic delivery and overly precise French pronunciation. “He don’t gotta participate, apparently, because he ain’t up for bein’ made better or whatever. Come to think of it, I ain’t seen him in a few days. Think he’s been out.”

Like Angel had spoken a cue, the radio on the lobby table made gentle static noises, and a couple of the lights flickered, just slightly. Everyone stopped, glancing around, because that meant one thing: Alastor was nearby, and he was either very angry or very tired, and either way it meant he wasn’t checking his power as much as he usually did. It had freaked Angel out the first time, but eventually, he learned to interpret it as a sign that Alastor was returning after a long bout of ‘personal business’ and probably wasn’t going to be bothering any of them.

Cherri grinned. “I’m gonna fuck with him,” she said into the silent room.

Angel let out a single barking laugh as Charlie said, “Oh, no, don’t, he’s probably exhausted.”

“That’s the best time to get him,” Husk said reasonably, immediately discarding the script he’d had thrust on him as soon as he noticed that Charlie wasn’t focusing on him anymore. “He’ll probably be too tired to actually retaliate.”

“Besides,” Pentious said, “he hasn’t exactly held back with anyone else. I’m still positive he started this. I just need to prove it,” he hissed, hunching over his clasped hands and rubbing them together.

Niffty patted the table with her palms a few times, grinning brightly. “I wanna see Cherri scare Alastor~”

“You can’t scare Alastor,” Angel said with a disbelieving snort. “Startle him, sure, but scare? Bullshit.”

Vaggie sighed. “Do I need to prepare damage control?”

“Relax, I’m not gonna cause property damage,” Cherri said. “I just wanna get the bitch back for what he did to my stuff last time I was here. I’m still finding ticker tape everywhere, even in my own goddamn apartment.”

Charlie looked uncomfortable, but of course, she was always the most hesitant when it came to their petty little game. “Okay, I guess that’s fine,” she said reluctantly. “But don’t overdo it, okay?”

Everyone waited with bated breath, Cherri tossing a small bomb over to the corner near the front door. It was only a few seconds before they heard the click and Alastor stepped in, looking as though he had been through the wringer and was doing his damndest to hold it together. He didn’t even notice any of them, shutting the door behind him and immediately beginning a slow beeline for the stairs.

Angel had only half a second to form the thought that it might not be a great idea after all when Cherri clapped her hands sharply and the little bomb behind Alastor went off with a loud crack and a spark of bright pink light. The sound Alastor made wasn’t quite a scream; it was really more of a startled yip, a high and animalistic noise that hurt Angel’s ears with its sharp edge. He bolted instantly, dropping his microphone staff along the way and running blindly straight into a wall. There was a loud impact as he collided with the immovable structure of the hotel, the sound a little weird and followed by a series of loud yelps. Almost immediately, everyone could see exactly what happened: in his alarm, Alastor’s antlers had expanded, and they were now stuck pretty firmly in the wall.

Cherri was the first one who laughed, but she wasn’t the only one. Angel had to admit, it was funny, watching the big bad Radio Demon struggle to unstick himself from a wall, of all things. The laughter was contagious, spreading through the group in a rippling wave. In moments, the only one who wasn’t laughing was Charlie, who dropped her own script pages and ran straight over to try and help Alastor liberate himself.

Angel leaned forward as Cherri slapped his back in her laughter, and he rubbed a tear of mirth out of his eye, looking over to where Charlie was failing to even approach the struggling overlord. Angel watched as he took a swipe at her with a clawed hand, ineffectually scrabbling at the wall with the other and kicking the baseboard in an attempt to extricate himself without retracting his antlers.

The moment Angel heard Alastor’s distressed keening noise, he realized Alastor couldn’t retract his antlers. He wasn’t just exhausted, he was panicking and…

Humiliated.

Angel jumped to his feet, guilt smothering his amusement like a bucket of water on a birthday candle. “Shut the fuck up!” he yelled over everyone’s cackling, his unusually sharp tone enough to startle all of them into a silence that highlighted the way Alastor’s breathing had become high and far too fast. Angel didn’t bother with any admonishment, instead running over to where the other sinner had trapped himself and taking Charlie by the shoulders. “Move,” he said, not taking his eyes off Alastor.

She looked up at him. “But— but he’s—!”

“I got it. Move.” As Charlie backed off, Angel approached, trying to put himself in Alastor’s line of sight. His sclera had gone entirely black and his smile was tight and stressed; Angel couldn’t actually see, but he was pretty sure Alastor’s irises had turned into radio dials. “Hey, Alastor,” he said gently, immediately bending backwards as the overlord took a vicious swipe at him, too. “Whoa, whoa, big guy, it’s okay.”

When Alastor put both of his hands on the wall and ineffectually shrugged with a cry that was almost pathetic, Angel took the opportunity to swoop in, hoping Alastor’s physiology was as close to human as it looked and that this didn’t get him gutted. He pushed one hand up into Alastor’s hair from his nape, cradling the back of his head with his palm and gently pressing his fingers into the bases of Alastor’s antlers. A second hand cupped the back of Alastor’s neck, thumb and forefinger immediately seeking out the pressure points at the base of his skull. His third hand went to Alastor’s back, stroking down his spine before lifting and repeating the motion as though he was trying to calm a stressed animal. And his fourth hand just rested on Alastor’s shoulder, primarily so he would feel it if the Radio Demon lashed out and could attempt to evade if necessary.

“Hey, Smiles, it’s okay, it’s just me,” Angel said as soothingly as he could when he felt Alastor’s muscles growing so taut that he feared the other demon would snap into pieces. “Shh, it’s okay, ain’t nobody in here gonna give you any shit, I promise. And if they try, I’ll kill ‘em for you, or at least hold ‘em down while you kill ‘em, okay?”

Angel kept up his gentle touches, leaning close to murmur low enough that only Alastor could hear him, and silently marveled at the fact that he was touching Alastor and Alastor was letting him. His hair was soft, and his coat was clearly made from expensive material, but even through the thick cloth Angel’s fingers could have counted his ribs and each individual vertebrae. And slowly, in response to his touch, Alastor actually began to relax. His breath slowed, his smile grew less tense, and with a crackle of broken plaster, his antlers slowly began to recede.

“You can rip everybody up into tiny pieces, and then I’ll help ya make jambalaya or gumbo or whatever you want outta their bits. Or I can make bolognese outta them. Whatever you’re feelin’.” That was enough to get the smallest noise of amusement from Alastor, more of a huff of breath than anything else, but with that his antlers returned to their usual shape.

As he finally freed himself from the wall, Angel made to release him, but Alastor spun to face him at an alarming speed and seized him by his upper arms. “Alastor—?!” Angel’s voice was a soft exclamation, but he froze, watching Alastor hang his head and regain control of his ragged and pained breathing.

Angel was anticipating having his arms ripped straight from his body—nobody touched Alastor, especially not when he wasn’t expecting it—but Alastor just held onto him like he was genuinely afraid Angel was about to disappear. His grip wasn’t even painful, just tight. Desperate, maybe, though with his panic gone Angel couldn’t begin to understand why. But even as he held onto Angel’s arms, Alastor’s wicked claws didn’t so much as scratch him, and his hands… they were soft.

It felt like an hour passed before Alastor’s breathing evened out, but Angel knew it was only a few seconds. Slowly, Alastor raised his head to look up at Angel, his ears laid flat against his head and his eyes wide, but no longer manic. Before, Angel had always associated Alastor’s eyes with the color of blood, but this close… they were more like deep garnet set into rich ruby. For the eyes of a mass murdering serial killer, they were almost alarmingly warm as they caught Angel’s gaze and held it.

“…thank you, Angel.”

The words were spoken so quietly Angel wouldn’t have heard them if Alastor hadn’t been mere inches from him. Before he could even consider formulating a response, the shadows Alastor so fondly called his friends swirled up from the ground, wrapping around his body and pulling him into blackness. It was his hands that pulled away last, gently releasing Angel’s arms and leaving trails with fingertips that made the spider’s flesh tingle. For the briefest moment, Alastor’s shadow remained, and Angel thought it was watching him with something that felt like wary curiosity before it too vanished.

Angel stared at the broken wall and the plaster that littered the carpet as Charlie stormed back to the group, lighting into them for being mean and immediately beginning to lay new ground rules, but Angel barely heard a word she said. He folded his arms and placed his hands where Alastor’s had been moments before, like he could still feel the other sinner holding onto him like a lifeline, and marveled at his own foolishness.

When, he wondered, had he started caring this much about Alastor’s wellbeing? When had Alastor decided that Angel Dust of all people was worthy of breaking his five foot rule, even in such extraordinary circumstances? When had Angel determined it was worth risking his own health and safety to prevent Alastor from hurting himself?

And, most importantly, what was he doing thinking about Alastor at all?

•

The next evening, Angel was in his bedroom cleaning his toys when a dome of shadow manifested on his floor mere feet away from him. He squealed in alarm, launching himself backwards and tumbling off the other side of his bed to land in a graceless heap on his floor. Swearing he could hear something giggling somewhere around him, he grabbed his comforter and hauled himself up, leaning on the mattress with his arms and peering around suspiciously.

The shadow was gone, and Angel didn’t see any threats or blood or threatening animal corpses. He did, however, see a plate sitting on his floor. That plate held a stack of some kind of pastries and a folded card with his name on it.

“…the fuck…” Angel muttered, clambering over his bed and hopping down to land beside the plate. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the plate was full of freshly-baked beignets, generously covered with powdered sugar and still so warm that the sugar was beginning to melt. He picked up the card and looked at the delicate penmanship spelling out ‘Angel Dust’, then flipped it open, taking in the simple message written so beautifully.

Tell no one. You know what will happen if you do.

Angel felt himself actually smiling in a way that he hadn’t for a very long time, folding the card again and pressing the corner to his lips. He considered for a moment, then glanced at a nearby shadow. “You can tell him I ain’t gonna let anybody know he baked somethin’ for me like a sweetheart.” He didn’t see Alastor’s shadow, but he heard another giggle and he knew it was there.

He picked up the plate and carried it to his bed, opening his bedside table drawer and slipping the note in with a few other belongings that he didn’t want anyone else seeing but liked having on hand. As he laid on his bed, petting Fat Nuggets and nibbling on delicious baked goods and texting with Cherri about how Alastor had apparently gotten into her apartment and hidden all of her explosive components around the city, leaving only a very obtuse list of scavenger hunt-style clues… Angel wondered if he was starting to remember what being happy felt like.

•••

#my writing #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #radiodust #hazbin radiodust #radiodust fanfic #queerplatonic radiodust #pre relationship #hazbin charlie #hazbin vaggie #hazbin cherri bomb #hazbin husk #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin niffty #writing prompt #hazbin headcanons

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cerastes · 1 year ago

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As someone who hasn't touched it yet- how does IS4 stack up? How's first impressions been?

Ok, let me give my thoughts on IS4, now that it's been a week!

TL;DR -> This Rocks, I love it.

IS4 is far, far more polished than IS3. I feel a bit bad blasting and slamming IS3 so much, but the bottom line with it is that it's just very very flawed in ways that really make it hard to revisit it in the same way IS2 is always a fun romp.

If I had to point out flaws with IS4, it'd be that, on a personal level, I wish it had a few more Normal Arknights Maps. The vast majority of maps in IS4 are pranks and checks of some sort. This isn't necessarily a negative, but I do like playing some Tower Defense more frequently than what IS4 allows, since it's always got me worried about "oh god my team lacks X, Floor Y's Map Z checks X, if I get it, I'll D I E " so I try to go for my super tried and true team instead of daring to experiment all that much. This will eventually pass, but it's been a Thing for me.

Besides that, though? I just have a lot of good things to say about it. The systems feel like they were thought out this time: The Fordartals (sp?) system allows for a lot of player expression, agency, and just in general fun in a way the Light system of IS3 can simply never hope to compare to. About the only thing the Light system did right was the way it worked thematically: If you wish to confront The Corrupting Heart, you really, really gotta go in the dark, and for the best possible chance against, Izumik, Mizuki must find the Light again and be filled with hope. Yeah ok sure, thematically, these work, but the gameplay component sucks ass, because Light exists almost exclusively as a form of punishment and in basically no way as something you can use. It opens some roads, sure, but that Rogue Trader and Wish Fulfilled node are not worth having 9 out of you 11 Operators with Metastatic. Speaking of Metastatic, the single worst thing Arknights has done, even if you are maxed out on Collapse in IS4 and are packing four fully upgraded maluses, THAT STILL DOESN'T COMPARE to how bad Metastatic was. Let that sink in.

The endings are no longer RNG! Absolutely wonderful!

Eik is the first IS 2nd Boss I can say I think is good! Frozen Monstrosity was just annoying, Big Sad Lock is incredibly static, and The Last Knight, in my opinion, is the single worst and most boring boss in the entire game, not even just the game mode. Eik is like if The Last Knight didn't suck: Same principle, but done in a way that is actually not snooze-inducing. Mind you, the principle of the fight is still not something I enjoy, but unlike The Last Knight, that's wholly a me thing, as opposed to being an objectively awful and boring fight (like The Last Knight, the worst and most boring boss in Arknights).

Even though I said I'd like some more normal maps, the maps are good, to be honest! I can't think of any Fire and Water Unions or Out of Controls.

IS4 is the Smash of Arknights: (Almost) Everyone Is Here! Brush up on your gimmicks from various events, because they WILL appear.

The Midboss philosophy in IS4 is lovely, in my opinion: It's low HP bosses who can quickly fuck you up in their own way, be it stun, immense conditional damage, or simply supporting their team so well that you get overwhelmed. The Variant stages for the bosses are entire new maps, so that's also cool.

Collapsal enemies are congruent with the map design: Collapsals can be very quick, with a caveat: Normal Collapsal mobs speed up after they get hit, Casters speed up after not attacking for a bit, Aerials are fast but always have many loops and never directly go to the point until after a while. Shattered Champions are the exception, and they can either loop a while or just go straight for the jugular, making them apt Elite units for the faction.

There's much more I could say more concisely, but really, just try the game mode, get your ass kicked a bit, learn it, and then you'll see how coherent the design of IS4 is in terms of systems, maps, enemies, and features. Sorry, IS3, but you got your ass absolutely kicked like I did on my Waves 15 runs when you'd give my 2 main DPS units Metastatic on Floor 5.

#arknights #bricelar

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not-poignant · 10 months ago

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The latest UtR update on AO3 got me hooked and I could no longer constrain myself and had to read the other chapters on Patreon. Now I need to know: does Lucien have any redeeming character traits in the series or can I add him straight to the list of characters that deserve the worst? That attitude of his towards Faber made me so mad lmao

Hi anon!

This actually reminds me of the ask I got recently about how awful Augus is as a character and how it's impossible to consider him through a positive light after reading Falling Falling Stars. Because that's how he seems if you've never read him in anything else of mine!

My narrators are unreliable, anon. We only ever see Lucien very briefly through the jealous eyes of an insecure man.

(Spoilers for a future brief verbal encounter between Lucien and Faber in Underline the Red).

Lucien is an extremely vulnerable omega who is in an institution that has temporary custody of him. They control what he eats, what he does, whether he leaves or not (i.e. he's functionally imprisoned), who fucks him, if he gets to see anyone else, if he can talk to his partner and family back home and how often. He has significant psychiatric issues around his own insecurities re: jealously and his partner, and he clocks Faber as being in love with Caleb, and he's right.

And that's incredibly unethical of Faber, honestly, to not have disclosed any of this to Dr Gary (like Dr Gary will be right to consider firing him over this in the future). It puts Lucien's mental health in direct and severe jeopardy, and is ironically likely what causes his relapse that causes Caleb to suggest domestic discipline in the first place (oh, Faber, the irony).

Because Lucien's there to learn that actually a lot of his jealousy and insecurity is unfounded. Instead, he learns the opposite, that no matter who he bonds with, someone else is there loving his potential partner while he perceives himself as having very little control (and in the case of Hillview - this is true, all he has are his words).

He's a chronically disabled omega who needs a disability aid (walking stick) to get around, he's a second class citizen, he's agreed with his partner to stay at Hillview because they both recognise how sick he's getting.

Faber is not a mental health patient/omega like Lucien is. He's a staff member who is nursing unrequited loved to an alpha companion, that he's refused to disclose, while still interacting with Caleb and his omegas. Imho, while Lucien is very good at lashing out, he's not wrong to, and that's why Faber fully acknowledges what Lucien is saying and listens to him, and basically never interacts with him again, and avoids Caleb where possible.

Lucien's mean about it, but Lucien is right re: Faber trying to hide his feelings because he knows what will happen if people find out, and that it's also wrong/unfair to put Lucien in that position.

And Faber knows that.

So yeah. The reader is meant to hate Lucien on a surface level, in the same way that Faber does.

But consider that Faber also sometimes seems to hate all omegas. He finds the smell of their heats disgusting. It's actually pretty normal for people to go through a phase of rejecting the thing that they are, if that's something hated in society. Faber's oscillating mixed feelings of bitterness, resentment and cutting attitude is actually mirrored in Lucien.

Faber has thought extremely savage, scathing and unforgiving things himself to the people around him (and himself). Lucien responds to Faber like Faber is an omega (something Faber doesn't recognise yet), because Faber...kind of acts like one in moments like that. (Efnisien also picks up on this, Faber is not great to him in the beginning of Underline the Black, in a very specific way designed for Efnisien to pick up on, and for Gary to miss. Faber behaves jealously, and constantly suggests to Gary that he should get rid of Efnisien, before he finally adjusts to the absence of Gary in his life. Faber is possessive and manipulative!)

Lucien ultimately doesn't need any redeeming characteristics because he's a victim who is at Hillview to heal and Faber is jeopardising that. We can hate him, but that's just the fact. He didn't try to kill Kadek when he arrived at Hillview, he hasn't tried to destroy memories of James, things Efnisien has done even though we love him all the same (ideally). Lucien felt understandably jealous/insecure (literally the thing he's at Hillview to be treated for, safe from people who will be in love with his lover until Faber) and he lashed out meanly.

If a staff member of Hillview can't handle some rude words, they shouldn't work there.

But yeah, I like the Lucien and Faber encounter because they are both extremely similar people in some ways. They are both bitter, jealous, resentful people capable of very scathing thoughts (and words). The only difference is that in that moment, Faber is the recipient and we feel bad for him. I mean, I do feel bad for him. Faber is in a bad place psychologically, it's a horrible thing for him to experience.

If we were getting Lucien's story from his perspective, and saw the panic attacks he had afterwards, and the regression he went through, etc. it might be different. But it doesn't have to be! Lucien in that moment functions as a reality check for Faber, and a very effective one at that. We're meant to hate him, but also meant to understand that Faber's love for Caleb is not as subtle as he thinks it is in the sense that - omegas can see it for what it is.

I personally like the one moment where we see that Lucien might have a heart when Faber admits his parents are dead, and we can see that he doesn't react with savage satisfaction, but like Faber broke the narrative he'd built for himself in his own insecure, jealous, scared mind.

#asks and answers #underline the red #faber castle #lucien beaumont #efnisien ap wledig #dr gary konowalous #i've been writing for a long time now and generally speaking #if i want readers to hate a character they will #even if i really like that character #i really like lucien even if he can be a mean-spirited little goblin #when he's terrified of his future and potential security #but idk anon many of my characters #can be mean-spirited little goblins #efnisien introduced himself in this series with a panic stabbing #gary was a dickhead who imprisoned him until he pissed himself #no one here is a good guy #we just get to feel like they are when we read from their perspective #i love meaty characters so much #administrator gwyn wants this in the queue

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legacyofthedamneddsaf · 1 year ago

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Hey hey! First off, I love this AU to absolute pieces. It's so damn fun to watch/learn about.

Second of all!! Is it okay to have everyone's pronouns and/or identities?? I just wanna know, not just for the sake of curiosity, but also so I don't misgender them when rambling about the AU(/pos) to some people

mod talk under the cut!

Sorry this is so long, they're all just terrible and complicated people who have horrible messy relationships with everything. They require intense explanation!!

Legacy: he/him. Also responds to it/its, but wouldn't necessarily label himself that way if asked. Otherwise, he doesn't care much for labels. OOC, he's acespec but doesn't put many restrictions on who he's interested in - he's kind of a slut that way.

Dave: he/him, although he doesn't care too much. Like Legacy, he's unlabelled. His standards are basically "anything that moves," but he's pretty arospec - the only person he'd consider maintaining a serious connection to is Legacy.

Henry: will only accept he/him, he finds anything else very disrespectful. He's bi, but he's not really interested in romance or sex right now, he's too married to his research. (And, like, his dead wife, also.)

Peter: he/him. He actually labels himself! He would call himself transheteroflexible, he just doesn't talk about it all that much. He's got bigger issues.

Blackjack: responds to any pronouns, but if you asked he'd say he/him. He calls himself gay as an umbrella term, but doesn't have any more specifics than that. OOC, he's probably on the arospec!

Dee: she/they lesbian. (she's just like me fr!) She gave a lot of thought to this while she was distracting herself, so they would actually describe themself that way! I personally think she worries a lot about counting as femme or butch while also not having the best conceptualization of either identity. But at least we have lesbians in this godforsaken world.

Jake: if you ask, he'd say "he/it," but he only uses it/its in the fucked up way where he feels like if he chooses the dehumanization then it's totally fine and he actually doesn't care. So, out of canon, he/him! (note: I'm absolutely not saying it/its is inherently dehumanizing, both the other mods use it/its!! I just think Jake has problems in his mind.) He's really repressed about his sexuality, he's (regretfully and messily -s) been with Legacy but his emotions on that are so complicated he tries and fails to absolutely never think about it again. What he has going on with Roger is a lot less fucked up, but he's still weird about it. I don't think he'd call himself any kind of queer, but he's probably bisexual.

Roger: he/him, but he's dabbled with she on occasions. He thinks he's completely romantically destitute and nobody will ever love him, so he hasn't bothered with putting a name to his sexuality, but he's the kind of guy to say "everyone likes men, that's normal!" He is in for some incredibly eye-opening months with the Damned for sure.

this emotionally stunted man is going to go the fuck through it in possibly the worst time and place for it. oh well! -s

Harry: he/him, he'd call himself bi. He knows this because he had a thing with Joe, and he assumes that attraction to women is a universal constant even though he personally leans heavily towards men.

the ancient greeks would like this guy i think -h

Steven: he/him, gay, he's probably the only person here other than Dee to have a solid concept of their own identity! Shoutout to Steven for being uncomplicated

and that was "2 ppl who dont really label themselves or have strong ties to their queer identity try to figure out how a bunch of other ppl would feel about theirs," as translated by arden. you could say that we write what we know -s

yeah, the mods are all different flavors of aro/acespec and genderweird. it's all so difficult forever

#ask #mod post #//#also hi! im arden!! i guess i live here now!

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r0s3s26 · 1 year ago

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Matchup Trade for @jae-pudding Your match is…GOJO

<3 Gojo is deadass perfect for you

<3 Like you both having the same zodiac sign is super helpful in the way you interact

<3 If you both were together in highschool you would be MENCIESSS

<3 Like always in trouble but you don’t give a fuck

<3 Now back to the present

<3 You both would be the biggest bullies to each other like constantly giving each other the worst nicknames ever

<3 Also the biggest disruptors in the class all the damn time

<3 He would also bring you to group outing with his students, always trying to socialize

<3 The non-clinginess works for the both of you because he is away in missions almost all the time or spending time with his students, so he likes that you don’t need to be attached at the hip to know that he loves and cares about you

<3 I see Gojo as a dog person, so lots of puppies, but like bigger breeds of dogs like pitbulls, bulldogs, great danes, etc. He is the strongest and he needs an animal to represent that lol

<3 Now on to angsty shit

<3 Now

<3 Gojo can be a pretty loud person

<3 So he had to learn to quiet down when needed and to match the energy of ether you or the situation

<3 Also

<3 His life is insane, and unscheduled that he would absolutely have to cancel on you more than actually being able to follow through with plans, which could cause issues for the both of you

<3 I do not think you would fully blame him because of how his life is a sorcerer and the strongest one in fact, but it would still hurt all the same

<3 But Gojo would absolutely make it up to you in any way possible

<3 When he can go on dates, most of them are movie, ether at the theater or at home

<3 If his mission wasn’t super dangerous he would bring you so you could travel to new places

<3 Matching shirts>>>>

<3 He would get you super expensive basic shirts, and you would be like “How much was this?” and he says “Ohh don’t worry about it” (You looked it up, it was 5K in american dollars)(I forget he is LOADEDDDD)

<3 Alright now on to the drabble

As a bonding activity with his students Gojo has assigned you, Yuno, to teach them how to garden….it didn't go as planned. Before the chaos started he had brought up the idea of teaching his students how to garden. His reasonings were team building and learning a new skill. You were fairly reluct at first cause you have only met them a handful of times, but you said fuck it why not. Now back to the present. You are now outside near the back of the school teaching them how to ready their pots for soil and their seeds. You decided that potting plants would be a good start rather than starting in the ground. “Alright Yuno, I gotta go sign some paperwork but I will be back shortly” Gojo says while leaning in to kiss your cheek “Ok see you soon” you reply back with a small smile”. You are now sitting in a circle with Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi with your pots for the plants filled with soil. “Now that we have our soil in our pot we will now make a small well in the soil to place our seed” You say “pfft seed” Yuji giggles, you try to ignore but Nobara turns to him and smacks him on the back of the head “Can you fucking be normal for once and not act like a 12 year old boy”, Yuji rolls his eyes at her “Whatever…..bitch” he grumbles that last part trying to make sure she didn’t hear, oh but she did. At this point you have Nobara and Yuji fighting on the ground, knocking over their pots and soil on the ground making a mess, then you see Gojo in the distance.

Gojo sees the commotion in the distance and starts to get worried, he walks a bit quicker to the scene and his face drops at the sight. He sees you trying to pull them apart the best you can’t without causing more of a mess, and then sees megumi just staring and watching them, laughing to himself. When Gojo got there he was already pulling Yuji and Nobara by the back of their uniforms and dragging them away. Once they were a good distance away he placed them back down and started giving them the worst scolding he has ever given them, “What is wrong with you two?!?, I can not leave for a second without you both acting up” “We're sorry sensei” “No don’t say sorry to me, say sorry to Yuno for disrupting his class that HE volunteered to do for y’all” “Yes sensei” they bow and walk back over to Yuno. Once they get back to the gardening area they bow and apologize to you for making a mess everywhere “Thank you for apologizing” you say with a soft smile Gojo then takes your hand and leads you away from the kids “There gonna clean up everything, don’t worry about it” he says ending his sentence with a hand around your waist and a kiss on your cheek.

(Authors Note: I hope you like it, sorry it took a bit lol)

#anime #jjk matchups #jjk hcs #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader

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climbthemountain2020 · 8 months ago

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Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 21

Ch. 21 | Ao3

We're getting creepy for Halloween. Enjoy!

Love as always to the incredible @popjunkie42 and @witch-and-her-witcher for being the absolute best!

The next few days passed with unsettling quiet, the routine becoming normal again, though Feyre knew better than to allow herself to ease into the false calm. Quiet meant Amarantha was distracted, plotting, and Feyre was worried she knew what she was busy with.

“There’s no use worrying about it, darling. You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like this.” She stopped, throwing her hands up with a frustrated sigh.

“How can you not worry, knowing what you know?” Feyre was certain, just as she knew Rhys was, that with one task left, Amarantha was ready to make this an unwinnable battle for Calla. For all of them.

He stood from where he’d been sitting by the fire, holding her arms in his hands as she let a breath leave her, closing her eyes and trying to recenter herself.

“It isn’t that I’m not worried. It’s that I know the worry won’t change it. We can’t possibly know what’s coming, and we’ll drive ourselves mad trying to guess. If the worst is to happen, I plan on treasuring every single moment with you until we must face it.” She knew he was right, knew this made sense, but it had been four days now, and she still hadn’t been able to find Calla.

She’d thought, perhaps, Tamlin had managed to get her out somehow. But he had come back to court the last few nights, and Calla had remained missing every time Feyre had Rhys winnow her down to check.

“I know you’re concerned about many things, but all we can control is what we can actively do. We can’t guess her moves, and we cannot prepare Calla for something if we can’t even find her. Perhaps she did manage to get out.”

Feyre shot him a look. “You know damn well Amarantha would not be this calm if this were the case.”

“Yes, I know. We can see if Tamlin is willing to talk again tonight, if he’s got any new information.” She winced, hating to think of what he must be acquiescing to if he had information and Amarantha was mostly leaving Rhys alone.

“Come. Spar with me. Let’s distract you.” This had become one of her favorite ways to pass the time since she’d come here. The training she’d done in Spring with Andras and Lucien had made her strong, taught her the basics, but Rhys had a different style of fighting. Learning it had been a challenge in itself, but she’d welcomed it with open arms. She felt faster, stronger, more cunning in her movements. The confidence that had bloomed within her back in Spring was increased tenfold every time she landed a shot on him. And Rhys didn’t go easy on her, always pushing her, goading her, encouraging her in every way to be her best.

She watched as he pushed the table and chairs to the wall with his magic, a mindless flick of the wrist to clear the space as she prepared. He was able to alter many things that way, and every time he did, she was reminded that his magic was ancient, and he was centuries old. He’d had half a millennia to practice, to hone his skill. Rhysand was dangerous, powerful–and her heart fluttered as always to know that he would never use any of it to cause her harm. He focused on her, circling around and making her follow the same pattern as he smiled like a wildcat. He removed his shirt as he advanced,the buttons undone one by one. She could see as he moved the fear he might instill in others, but as he pulled the shirt from his back, revealing his muscled forearms and leaving him in nothing but a pair of trousers, her body felt nothing remotely like fear.

“Focus, Feyre.”

“Oh, I’m focusing.” Rhys laughed in response. It was easy, this connection between them. It always had been since the night they’d met, their back and forth as second-nature as breathing. She’d never had to try to be someone else, and now that she knew who he was, embraced him for everyone he’d ever had to be, there was nothing left between them but understanding and knowing and love.

She struck out, her hand hitting nothing as he dodged.

“Your mind is elsewhere, Feyre.”

She deadpanned, “Just our lives at risk and your naked torso in front of me, but what could possibly be distracting?”

He laughed again, then quicker than lightning, moved to sweep her feet. He almost had her, her last second leap the only saving grace. She didn’t let her feet touch all the way down before she was striking again, a jab to his throat. He moved like the water of a river, as though his entire body were rippling around her.

It was frustrating how good he was, but she wanted to learn from the best. It was just a bonus that she got to spend the time looking at him, too. He faked, then struck again, missing her closely enough that she felt the whoosh of air. She was back in moments with a countermove, and he spun elegantly away from her this time, a mocking bow as she growled with frustration. But the challenge in his eyes and the grin on his face sent a little thrill through her stomach.

She would gladly welcome this distraction.

+++

Another day passed before a servant was sent to their room with a letter.

This time, it was a summons just for Feyre, demanding she resume her chores as all lesser fae were being called to help. Their eyes met over the parchment, both thinking the same thing: preparation for the final trial.

If she was tasked with cleaning the area meant for it, then perhaps she could get some intel on what might be coming. She scoffed at the thought as soon as it finished flitting through her mind– Amarantha would never be so stupid as to allow something like that. But maybe Amarantha was still underestimating her abilities; if so, she might be careless enough to slip. Or it could all be another trap. The exhaustion of living on edge was wearing at Feyre’s soul, the inability to ever get ahead of things keeping her constantly tense.

She dutifully dressed and followed the guards, passing the nightly court room and moving down the halls as they wound further and further through the mountain. She was led through confusing hallways and stairwells she’d never seen to a new part of the mountain, and when they entered through the towering double doors, she was amazed to see a room of enormous proportions, perhaps even larger than the one where court was held. The walls were similarly gilded, no portions here made of stone, and the high ceiling far above was painted with figures of angels and devils and winged figures riding into battle amongst horses. It was light and airy beneath the glow of the three massive chandeliers, Feyre relaxing a bit with relief to see none of them contained spikes.

There was a thin coating of dust on everything, and as Feyre took it in, she realized that there were figures already working. The lanterns on the walls cast a light upon the fae scrubbing the floors and dusting the walls and sconces. Feyre was certain this was where the third task would take place, but she couldn’t even chance a guess on what it might be. The guards threw a bucket and rags at her feet, the water clear this time, of course.

“Clean.” And with that gruff command, the guards were gone. Over time, more fae filtered in as Feyre scrubbed, their own buckets sloshing with water across the floor. It wasn’t red marble like the typical court, but a lovely white inlaid with splashes of gold, just like the colors across the arched, high ceilings. This room was so markedly different from the other spaces contained within this massive mountain. This was a place that sang of light and spirit, not torture and depravity. There was a dais, raised far above the floor, near the far wall, but that’s where the similarities stopped. Behind the throne, the entire wall was draped in heavy velvet curtains, a fabric so rich and dark and mismatched with the rest of the room that it caught Feyre’s eye. Perhaps that was where the task lay. Perhaps she could sneak a peak before the guards returned. The quiet of the room felt strangely calming, the buffer of it and the lack of horrific memories setting her at ease in a way that court never could again.

There was a sudden commotion from the hall. It was the sound of guards laughing, and she could hear the taunt in their voices. The other fae in the room turned, too, as the three forms rounded the corner.

Hey eyes immediately sought out Calla being dragged between the two guards. Just like with the last task, she looked dirty and wild, but when she looked at Feyre, it felt like ice moved through her veins. Calla’s eyes were sunken, dark and hollow while they searched Feyre’s face, as though they were looking for something familiar to latch on to and found nothing.

The guards led her away to the other side of the room, brutally dropping her to her knees beside a bucket of water and shoving her by her back to the floor before they left. As soon as Feyre trusted the guards were gone, she began to shift closer and closer to Calla. She continued cleaning the floor as she went so as not to raise suspicion, her knees dragging through the wet puddles beneath her. Calla didn’t look up once, the rag in her hand her only focus.

There were so many servants now, scattered throughout the hall, that she doubted she or Calla would be noticed as she moved. The guards had gone entirely out of the room, remaining in the hallway with doors open. Feyre could hear their laughter–they weren’t concerned with the people inside. It’s not as though they could escape.

Calla’s back was bowed, the knobs of her spine visible through the tattered fabric that clothed her as she scrubbed the floors. As Feyre carefully circled to the front of her on her knees, she could see Calla’s skin beneath the curtain of her hair, dirtied and sallow, her sunken eyes hollow as they rose to meet Feyre’s.

“Calla…” The word was a whisper, a plea. How could it have possibly gotten so much worse? Calla didn’t answer, didn’t speak, just trained those eyes on Feyre’s shocked face in front of her. Had she not been eating? Sleeping? Feyre remembered the faces of those forgotten families in the villages that she’d tried to smuggle food to, the pleading and desperation in their eyes as they begged anyone for a scrap that might sustain them or their loved ones for just one more day. Calla looked just like them, except there was nothing in her eyes, no desperation, no pleading, no will left to fight.

“Where have you been, Calla? We looked for you. I looked for you.” She was soft with her words, her tone meant to be gentle and coaxing. But Calla didn’t register them, her hand still spinning aimlessly across the floor with the wet rag.

“Calla–” she stopped short as Calla’s eyes snapped up, looking every bit a wild animal caught in a snare.

“What?”

“Where have you been?”

A snarl teased at the edges of Calla’s lips, reminding Feyre of a frightened dog. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean that I’ve come to find you so many times since the trial and you’ve been gone every single one. So where have you been staying?”

“I’ve been in my cell.” Her eyes weren’t empty anymore, but they weren’t all the way there, either. They looked frantic, she looked frantic. The frenzied energy around her making her seem insane as she held Feyre’s stare, as though daring her to push.

“I checked your cell. I checked it more than once. You weren’t there.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Feyre.” She bit the words out, tossing the rag into the water so that it sloshed over the side and hit Feyre’s knees. She tried to turn away as she fished it back out, slapping it back onto the marble with more force than was necessary. Feyre shuffled around her once more, desperate to help.

“We thought you’d gone somewhere with Tamlin, but then he was in court again. I was worried, I–”

“ Tamlin?” She all but spit the word as she turned. It was the most emotion Feyre had seen from her, the fire dancing in her eyes one of fury. “No. Your other High Lord hasn’t given a shit about me since before we came here. Maybe not even before that. But you know that, don’t you?”

“Calla, I–”

“No. No. Enough. They are your friends. They always have been.” The words felt like a slap to her face, the pit in her stomach yawning wider and wider as the chasm between them grew.

“You were our friend, too.”

The laugh from Calla’s mouth was mirthless. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but you know it isn’t true. Look me in the eyes and tell me you’d all have taken me in if it weren’t for the curse. Look me in the eyes and tell me that, even before Spring, you’d have given me the time of day.” Her eyes were crazed, her breathing erratic as the words poured out, filled with spite and pent up rage. “I’m not like you all. I’m entirely human, entirely insignificant. If you hadn’t needed me for that last bit of hope against Amarantha, tell me you wouldn’t have left me to rot without another thought.”

“I wouldn’t have, Calla. I thought you thought better of me.”

“How could I? How could I possibly? You abandoned me here. You all abandoned me the second that you could!”

“Calla, please. I am trying to help you. Tell me what to do to help.”

“You and your High Lord just keep minding your own business. You’re good at that.” Finally, Feyre saw red.

“Where have you been ? I have been with you every second I could, saved your life twice over–”

“And your privileged High Lord heals you while he sleeps soundly with Amarantha’s body under his at night and pets you in front of a crowd.” She spit the words like they were a foul taste on her tongue. “Don’t think the guards don’t talk, Feyre. I hear plenty.” Feyre was losing control, the rage in her mind overpowering any generosity or kindness or need for Calla to understand.

“You know nothing about what Rhys has or has not done.” Her kind and soothing words were gone.

“Go back to your comfortable quarters and spread your legs for him, Feyre. Keep telling yourself that you’re sacrificing for the greater good.”

Feyre was reeling at the words, her head swimming with the lack of understanding and her anger at who Calla had become. She was done feeling guilt about this–she had risked her life, Rhysand’s life, Lucien’s life, Tamlin’s life to save Calla. She had done it because she’d thought they were all in this together. The echoing sound of the whip cracked through Feyre’s memories, making her back twitch and jump beneath her clothes.

“You have no idea what I’ve risked–what we’ve all risked–to keep you safe.”

“Oh, save it. Don’t preach to me, Feyre.”

“I’m not preaching . But you don’t get to sit here and tell me that we’ve abandoned you when we’re living our lives around making sure you win.”

Calla whirled at that, and Feyre did visibly draw back then. Calla looked ready to attack, to maim, to kill. The intent in her eyes held a deeper anger, a resentment that Feyre knew would allow no room for air to breathe as Calla pointed her finger at Feyre’s chest.

“For you. ” Her voice was a rasping whisper. “You’ve made sure I survived for you . Not for me.”

“No. We cared about you, Calla.”

"I don’t care, Feyre.” The anger was dying out of her now so quickly that it gave Feyre whiplash, the exhaustion dragging Calla’s shoulders down as though each next breath was too much. That flame in her eyes burned lower and lower until it was entirely gone again. “You owe me nothing, so you can stop trying to help. I never want to see any of you again. Can’t you just let me die with peace? With anything left of my dignity?”

Even after it all, Feyre hated how much the words hurt. “There’s still a chance, Calla. It isn’t over yet.”

Calla started to laugh then, a cackle that broke out of her chest like the shattering of ribs. It sounded like the call of a mountain cat, like the brayings of a dying foal, like the devastation of every bit of soul left in her body. For as mortal as she was, the sound was nearly inhuman. Calla laughed, eyes wide with disbelief and tears, her mouth cracked into a facade of a grim and horrifying smile, stretched too wide, forced too hard. As Feyre beheld her, she knew without any fragment of doubt that Amarantha’s tasks had done what she’d intended them to.

Calla as they’d known her was wholly gone.

Her laughter screamed out over the floors, the howling of it calling all of the eyes of the servants to look at her and summoning back the guards. As much as she hated to do it, Feyre turned her attention back to her rag and bucket, pretending to be unaware as the guards returned and hefted Calla up beneath her arms and proceeded to drag her from the room as she laughed and laughed and laughed.

The sound filled Feyre with horror, the reality of it all setting in on her.

Calla was gone. Amarantha had broken her, just as she’d hoped.

Feyre risked a final glance at Calla again as the guards pulled her through the doors. She wasn’t struggling against them, simply letting them drag her body away. Her laughter was dying down, and she made sure her eyes were locked with Feyre’s.

“I’ll never see the sky again.” She said it as though it were a fact, as though she were reciting something as simple and accepted as the sun rising.

And as they pulled her through the doors, the light hit her just the right way for Feyre to see her face streaked with tears.

+++

Rhys’s arms were firm around Feyre as she cried.

“She hates me.”

“She shouldn’t.”

“How can she see me as her enemy?” Rhys collected her into his arms and moved them to sit on the small chaise near the fire.

“She can’t see it right now, darling. This is not a strike towards you. Amarantha had a goal, and she accomplished it by isolating Calla. You did everything you could to help her.”

“Did I? Truly? I fear deep down she’s right. She’s right, and I abandoned her. We all did.”

“What else were you to do, Feyre? Disobey Amarantha and sleep in the cells with Calla?” Feyre sniffed. She knew he was right, but it was impossible for her to not feel responsible. She was rethinking every single action she’d taken since being brought here.

Calla’s words haunted her.

You abandoned me here.

Look me in the eyes and tell me that, even before Spring, you’d have given me the time of day.

Would she have? She liked to think so. She had always helped people where she could. But there was no way to truly know, not now that everything had passed between them.

“Feyre, I know you don’t like the idea, but I think it’s time.” She knew without asking what he meant. It was time to wipe the information about them from Calla’s mind. She nodded, the tears already falling from her eyes in heavy drops.

“Have you looked yet?”

“No. You weren’t comfortable, so I refrained.” She loved that he had, loved that heart of his that beat for her. “But I fear it is time.”

“It feels like such a breach of trust. She’s my friend– was my friend.” The words felt hollow now, meaningless.

“Whatever she once was to you, she is not that anymore, love.” He was right, she knew he was. It’s not as though he would be hurting her or erasing who she or any of them were. Calla would still likely hate her the next time she saw her. They would just be removing the information about Rhys being the reason Feyre had come, the information that she wasn’t his prisoner, but his betrothed. They would need to remove her knowledge of Feyre’s magic, as vague as it was. Calla had made it clear that there was nothing left from whatever had once been their friendship.

So, why was this still so hard?

“Is it worth risking our lives to stay out?” Rhys asked. “She will never know. We have to do what we can to keep ourselves safe, Feyre.” She looked at him then, a curl slipping down his forehead and over his eyes as he looked down at her. She knew if she said she wasn't comfortable, that he would leave it alone. Knew that this decision was hers and hers alone. He loved her enough to trust her to make it, and he trusted her enough that she would move heavens to keep him safe.

She breathed in deeply, then exhaled, letting the doubt and guilt go out with the air from her lungs. “You must be the one to do it. I can’t bear it.” She felt even more shame that she couldn’t do it herself, would make Rhys do her dirty work and add it to the growing pile of things he felt guilty over.

“For you, Feyre, I will. I can go into her cell while she sleeps tonight after we return from court. She won’t even know that I was there.”

It was not what she’d wanted. It was not what she’d hoped. But it was for the best. And Rhys would be meticulous; he would be gentle and kind.

As they prepared for court, Feyre kept reminding herself that this was the best course of action. This was the right thing. They were fighting a war here beneath the mountain; the outcome would affect everyone for their rest of their lives, not just them.

And in a war, Feyre knew, sacrifices must be made.

+++

As soon as she realized the crowd was being rerouted from the traditional room where they held court, Feyre knew something was wrong. She could see the bodies being herded from the towering doors ahead of them, closed, for once, and casting the hallway in a darkness that felt appropriate for this place.

She and Rhys moved with the crowds as they swerved left, and it wasn’t long before she put together where they were going.

They’re taking us to another ballroom closer to the surface. The one they had me cleaning yesterday.

She didn’t dare look at Rhys while she sent the thought to him. Though they moved with the body of the crowd, everything felt like a risk now, every movement, every breath a gamble.

Describe it to me.

The room was lighter, paintings of angels and war in pastels on the high ceilings. The walls were ornate and gilded. It was bigger than our normal one.

Did it have windows floor to ceiling?

No. She hadn’t seen anything even remotely like that here. The only time she’d seen the sky had been that night with Rhys. Though neither of them moved physically closer, she felt him receive the thought, and that tender brush of his mind swept against hers.

The walk was just as endless as it had felt the day before, and she could hear the crowds’ confusion and excited murmurings around them as they wound up and down the slopes of the hallway.

You don’t think it’s another task, do you? Already?

It seems too soon. He paused. I wouldn’t put it past her, though. It would make sense to not give her much time to recover.

Feyre clenched with his admission, her jaw already tense and her spirit weary. If this was another one, then it would end tonight. One way or another.

She fought to pull a breath, the swell of bodies around her now suddenly feeling far too close, too claustrophobic. She thought she’d seen the coppery glimmer of Lucien’s hair up ahead, and she tried to hold on to that, to find him again instead of letting the panic wash over her. Rhys’s hand brushed against hers, lost in the darkness of the sea of people. A risk, and yet he’d taken it. The air whooshed from her lungs as the towering doors ahead came into sight.

Stay close, darling.

Always.

She was shocked at the number of high fae already in the room, the mass of them visible as they closed the distance between them at the doors. Finally, Feyre took in her surroundings and gasped.

It was the room from the day before, but utterly changed. In front of her was the widest expanse of windows she’d ever seen, the wall of dusty velvet curtains pulled back to show an absolutely breathtaking view of the night sky and the mountains in the distance. She could count every star, reach out and touch every galaxy. She didn’t need a mental link with Rhysand to know he was thinking it, too.

Home.

If they could make it through tonight, it could be theirs.

The view was ruined by the glossy red hair of Amarantha, unmissable against the navy and black backdrop as she perched on her throne, Tamlin in a smaller throne by her side. He was stone-faced, as always, his chest moving up and down the only indication that he was even alive. Feyre almost thought to push in, see if he was alright, but if this was the third task, she wanted to save her magic. She remembered what he had said about Amarantha and not knowing whether or not she could detect the magic of others, and it further affirmed her choice.

She let her eyes fall back on Amarantha, her dark gaze set upon the crowd, a predator searching for her prey. A flick of her wrists had the guards moving again, coming forward to shuffle the incoming crowd into a circle, an opening forming in the middle just in front of the dais. The crush of bodies nearly overwhelmed her again as they all moved together, fae parting around her and Rhys until they stood just a row back from the opened hole in the center of the room, stretching wide and ominous before them.

The second she caught sight of Calla through the throngs of fae, she knew she had been right. Whatever this was, it was the third trial. No matter the outcome, things would end tonight.

Rhys, Calla is here.

He held her hand then, sandwiched between their bodies so nobody could see, giving it a small squeeze before dropping it back down. His presence at her back made her racing heart feel more at ease. They were a unit, a team, and whatever happened in court tonight, she knew that both of them would do all they could to save Calla – to save everyone.

Calla was brought before the dais in the center of the cleared circle, Amarantha staring down at her with a look of blatant distaste.

“Welcome, human. I hope you had a chance to rest since we last met. Though I can’t say you look much better.” Her words were delivered with a sharp and self-satisfied smile, her fangs glinting in the golden light of the room. Tonight, the crowd was near silent, the pressure of this final task–their deciding moment–weighing down upon all. Feyre heard no money changing hands, no leering taunts or mocking words. Other than the occasional hushed whisperings, the room was quiet as they beheld the human girl, wasting away before their eyes.

Calla stood in front of the throne, her arms at her sides, just as dirty and demolished as she’d appeared the last time Feyre had seen her here. Instead of Amarantha, Calla was staring at the sky behind her, her eyes wide and glossy in the light.

She looks exhausted, Rhys muttered in her mind, his voice both surprised and aghast. What happened?

This is exactly what I meant.

She may have won the tasks, but Amarantha has broken her.

Feyre swallowed his words like a mouthful of burning coals, feeling the lump of the truth make its way down into her chest.

She’d known earlier, known when they’d spoken, known when she’d told Rhys, had probably known even before that.

Calla was gone. The person she used to be entirely replaced by this shell of a human.

Feyre felt more resolved in the knowledge as it swept over her, but it only doubled down her intent to help. She would get Calla out of here. She owed her that much, even if she never spoke to her again.

“Today is our final task, one left to prove that a human is worthy of loving a fae.” She let her hand dance over Tamlin’s arm, and it didn’t take much to see him fighting the urge to pull away. Calla did not react, still had not looked away from the stars. Amarantha was losing her patience as she glared down at her. “Or have you forgotten that’s why you're here? Have you given up on him so quickly?” It left Amarantha’s mouth as a growl through gritted teeth. Calla’s eyes shifted slowly to Tamlin, taking him in, then closing them as though she were thinking.

“See how easily these mortals give up on us? But a blink in our lifespan, and hardly worth it, even then,” she scoffed. “Very well. Let’s see how much you care about those you claim to love.” She turned her head to scan the crowd. “Rhysand, bring me your toy, please.”

Feyre felt him freeze behind her, the steady wall of him going entirely still against her body. Across their bridge, he was a storm of emotions, everything hitting her at once as the rushing in her ears drowned out everything else. Above all, she felt fear. His or hers, she wasn’t sure, but it was terror, pure and undiluted that coursed through her veins. The crowd was parting in front of them, the fae stepping away one by one as Rhys began to move, and like a moth to a flame, she followed.

“There you are. Well, this certainly will be entertaining in that outfit.” Feyre heard everything as though it were happening far away, somewhere else. She begged that it was, that this might only be a terrible dream.

“Tonight we’ll see if that human loyalty applies to friendships, since clearly it cannot sustain romance. Rhysand, take off her leash.” He clicked it slowly from her neck, as though every second he stretched it out was another she was safe. She had wanted to be involved, wanted to help Calla, and now here she was with a front row seat. She stood in the circle, Calla only mere feet away, her haunted eyes on Feyre now as Rhys stepped back.

I love you.

Do not say goodbye to me, Feyre.

“For your third task, you will fight–” she turned to Feyre, “ –remind me your name, dear, I didn't bother to recall.”

Feyre hesitated. Names held power, especially in stories of the fae world. If Amarantha didn’t know hers, was that for the best? Should she give her a fake name to protect herself?

Feyre swayed on her feet, not looking at Amarantha, but at Calla. Their eyes were locked, and in that moment, they both seemed to understand where this would go, how this had to end. Calla’s eyes were no longer empty, no longer that dead, hollow gaze, but filled with desperation, a will to survive at any cost. And Feyre watched as Calla’s lips finally moved.

“Her name is Feyre.”

“ Fey-ruh ,” Amarantha rolled the name in her mouth. “Well, Feyre, it seems the friendship might already be falling apart. It’ll make for a good show.” And that’s how Amarantha viewed it: a fae fighting a human would be fun entertainment for everyone, and the people beneath the mountain would go on living their lives tomorrow as though nothing had changed.

Feyre braced herself, the air cold on her arms and legs, the useless scrap of a court dress hanging around her body. This was happening. There was no way out, and there was nothing else to do.

“Calla, your third task is to fight your friend Feyre here. If you succeed, all the tasks will be completed, and you and everyone else will go free.” A collective rush of air sounded around them, the crowd seeming to all inhale at once in near silence, afraid to curse the possibility. “If you fail, unfortunately for you, this all ends tonight.”

Calla remained still in the circle, the question perched on her lips.

“Go ahead, human. Ask.” Amarantha leaned forward as she whispered the word so quickly it sounded like the hiss of a snake.

“How do I win?” The smile on Amarantha’s face could have poisoned blood.

“You kill her, my dear, of course.”

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