#but with every real and courageous story of a victim speaking out I feel like you get 3 falsified or dramatized stories from various people | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rphelperblog · 2 years

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Beautiful YA Book Quotes

inspired by @enchantedwritingdesk - feel free to edit or change pronouns for rp purposes- varied subjects of quotes all considered beautiful written by critics in the realm of Young Adult books of all genres

“You may be born into a family, but you walk into friendships. Some you’ll discover you should put behind you. Others are worth every risk.”

“If you have two friends in your lifetime, you’re lucky. If you have one good friend, you’re more than lucky.”

“Don’t get stabbed. It makes everything awkward.”

“We who have means and a voice must use them to help those who have neither.”

“Broken isn’t the same as unfixable."

"Some walks you have to take alone."

“Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry.”

“Ah coffee. The sweet balm by which we shall accomplish today’s tasks.”

“Brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared. It means you go on even though you’re scared.”

“Don’t get stabbed. It makes everything awkward.”

“You should eat a waffle. You can’t be sad if you eat a waffle”

“Making a decision isn’t about knowing every potential consequence. It’s about knowing what you want and chasing a path that takes you in that direction”

“When I read, I feel emotion all on my own. Emotion no living person is making me feel.

“The real courage is in living and suffering for what you believe.”

“I think that maybe forgiveness is like change—it comes in small steps.”

“People really are like houses with vast rooms and tiny windows. And maybe it’s a good thing, the way we never stop surprising each other.”

“Even in its first faint traces, love could alter a landscape. It wrote unimagined stories and made the most beautiful, forbidding places.”

“I am coming to terms with the fact that loving someone requires a leap of faith, and that a soft landing is never guaranteed.”

“If you want to rebel, rebel from inside the system. That’s much more powerful than rebelling outside the system.”

“The measure of a man is not how much he suffers in the test, but how he comes out at the end.”

“Sometimes, when people get treated as less than human, the best way to help them feel better is to simply treat them as human. Not as victims. Just you as you.”

“We can’t know what’s going to happen. We can just try to figure it out as we go along.”

“Books are easily destroyed. But words will live as long as people can remember them.”

“What is the point of being alive if you don’t at least try to do something remarkable?”

“The funny thing about armor is that it doesn’t just keep other people out. It keeps us in. We build it up around us, not realizing that we’re trapping ourselves.”

“Take care not to listen to anyone who tells you what you can and can’t be in life.”

"Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story."

“When people don’t express themselves, they die one piece at a time.You’d be shocked at how many adults are really dead inside—walking through their days with no idea who they are, just waiting for a heart attack or cancer or a Mack truck to come along and finish the job. It’s the saddest thing I know.”

“Sometimes the best way to find out what you’re supposed to do is by doing the thing you’re not supposed to do.”

“Our private tastes in books showed a hint of our secret selves.”

“Hope can be a powerful force. Maybe there’s no actual magic in it, but when you know what you hope for most and hold it like a light within you, you can make things happen, almost like magic.”

“I feel like I need to speak out, because if no one speaks out, if no one says, this is me, this is what I believe in, and this is why I’m different, and this is why that’s okay, then what’s the point? What’s the point of living in this beautiful, great melting pot where everyone can dare be anything they want to be?”

"The universe is bigger than anything that can fit into your mind."

“Time comes to us softly, slowly. It sits beside us for a while. Then, long before we are ready, it moves on.”

"I can't seem to be a pessimist long enough to overlook the possibility of things being overwhelmingly good."

"You could rattle the stars. You could do anything, if you only dared. And deep down, you know it too, and that's what scares you the most."

“Just because you can’t experience everything doesn’t mean you shouldn’t experience anything.”

"Things were rough all over but it was better that way. That way, you could tell the other guy was human too."

“Each of us must confront our own fears, must come face to face with them. How we handle our fears will determine where we go with the rest of our lives. To experience adventure or to be limited by the fear of it.”

“We are, largely, who we remember ourselves to be. That’s why habits are so hard to break. If we know ourselves to be liars, we expect not to tell the truth. If we think of ourselves as honest, we try harder.”

"Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels, but old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young."

“Words are how others define us, but we can define ourselves any way we choose.”

"I know that the whole point—the only point—is to find the things that matter, and hold on to them, and fight for them, and refuse to let them go."

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

“I believed, and still believe, that you can build your dreams brick by brick. That you can accomplish anything with persistence.”

”A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” I really hate this expression. I bet fish would totally want bicycles.”

“It was impossible to feel alone in a room full of favorite books. I had the sense that they knew me personally, that they’d read me cover to cover as I’d read them.”

"And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good."

"Child, no one is ever ready for anything. I would never doom you to that. What sort of adventureless life would that be?"

"The words were on their way, and when they arrived, she would hold them in her hands like clouds, and she would ring them out like the rain."

Maybe who we are isn't so much about what we do, but rather what we're capable of when we least expect it"

“She delighted in the smell of the ink, the rough feel of the paper between her fingers, the rustle of sweet pages, the shapes of letters before her eyes.”

“It’s amazing how the more you read, the less you know.”

“Our private tastes in books showed a hint of our secret selves.”

"It's a lot easier to be lost than found. It's the reason we're always searching and rarely discovered--so many locks not enough keys."

"As long as there is love and memory, there is no true loss.”

"Because sometimes chance and circumstance can seem like the most appalling injustice, but we just have to adapt. That's all we can do."

"Books are my friends, my companions. They make me laugh and cry and find meaning in life."

"I'm done with those; regrets are an excuse for people who have failed."

"Becoming fearless isn't the point. That's impossible. It's learning how to control your fear, and how to be free from it."

"Don't be afraid of death; be afraid of an unlived life. You don't have to live forever, you just have to live."

"We believe in the wrong things. That's what frustrates me the most. Not the lack of belief, but the belief in the wrong things. You want meaning? Well, the meanings are out there. We're just so damn good at reading them wrong."

"There's no shame in fear, my father told me, what matters is how we face it."

Why would you be given wings if you weren't meant to fly?"

"People never really died. They only went on to a better place, to wait a while for their loved ones to join them. And then once more they went back to the world, in the same way they had arrived the first time around."

"I wanted a love thick with time, as inscrutable as if a lathe had carved it from night and as familiar as the marrow in by bones.”

"You can never visit the same place twice. Each time, it’s a different story. By the very act of coming back, you wipe out what came before.”

"Goodbye, I say, goodbye, as I disappear little by little into the middle of the middle of my own spectacular now."

"People find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right."

“You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world, but you do have some say in who hurts you."

“I trust you to find the good in me, but the bad I must be sure you don’t overlook.”

"We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken."

“It's like being in love, discovering your best friend.”

“Sometimes there’s beauty in the tough words. It’s all in how you read them.”

"But if I'm it, the last of my kind, the last page of human history, like hell I'm going to let the story end this way...Because if I am the last one, then I am humanity. And if this is humanity's last war, then I am the battlefield."

"If there's one thing I've learned, it's this: We all want everything to be okay. We don't even wish so much for fantastic or marvelous or outstanding. We will happily settle for okay, because most of the time, okay is enough."

“I wonder what it’s like to have that much power over a boy. I don’t think I’d want it; it’s a lot of responsibility to hold a person’s heart in your hands.”

"Grief and love are conjoined, you don’t get one without the other. "

“You need to be yourself, but you also shouldn’t feel like you have to fight everyone, even yourself, to be it.”

“I bet you could sometimes find all the secrets of the universe in someone’s hand.”

“Break my heart. Break it a thousand times if you like. It was only ever yours to break anyway.”

"Doubt everything at least once. What you decide to keep, you'll be able to be confident of. And what you decide to ditch, you will replace with what your instincts tell you is true."

"Home isn't where you're from, it's where you find light when all grows dark."

“There are times when the world is rearranging itself, and at times like that, the right words can change the world.”

“We all bear scars ... Mine just happen to be more visible than most.”

"But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there."

"Just as a river by night shines with the reflected light of the moon, so too do you shine with the light of your family, your people, and your God. So you are never far from home, never alone, wherever you go."

"You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present."

"When she jumped, she probably thought she'd fly."

"Things are rough all over."

“I think you can sort of slip out of your life and it can be hard to find a way back in.”

“To make a thing as simple as an apple pie, you have to create the whole wide world.”

"That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt."

"All those other things, they are the glass that contains the lamp, but you are the light inside."

“And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.”

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sitp-recs · 3 years

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hi :) i simply adore your blog and your fic recs are so spot on, you’ve made me fall back in love with drarry and hp. I rly love reading a fic before I go to sleep but I end up picking a 70k word one and end up staying up much longer than I wanted to so could you possibly recommend me any fics max 15k words, with a happy ending pls i need the cuteness to help me sleep 🥰 Thanku so so much xx

Hi anon! Thanks so much, I’m thrilled to know I had a small part in making you fall back in love with Drarry, that’s amazing! And what a mood lol I used to pick long fics before bed too, it’s a mighty trap 😂 I’ve read many short fics in the last year so I decided to go for these delightful and not-as-popular shorts, with excellent build up and happy endings. Perfect bedtime reads in my opinion! I got a bit too excited with this list so I’ll call it 31 Bedtime Reads! One for each day of the month ;) enjoy!

The Long Fall by @tackytigerfic (2021, M, 3.6k)

It's supposed to be a simple house renovation, and maybe it's just the paint fumes, but Harry is feeling dizzy around Draco Malfoy. And what's the real meaning of family, anyway?

oxygen by @maesterchill (2020, T, 4k)

Draco doesn’t smoke. Except when he needs to breathe.

A Charitable Christmas by Alisanne (2017, E, 5.6k)

Hermione’s plans to raise money for war orphans do not meet with Harry’s approval. Fortunately, Draco steps in to help him come up with a much more enjoyable strategy.

Harmony (Left-Handed Melody Remix) by mindabbles (2010, M, 5.8k)

He is the last person Draco was expecting, but then again, this is not a place Draco ever expected to be.

Vintage by momatu (2017, T, 7k)

Of all of the vineyards, in all of the regions, in all of France, Draco's blasted editor sends him to Potter's...

Our Ordinary Days by Lomonaaeren (2012, M, 8k)

Two men, both fathers of sons, meet in a bookshop. And the rest is the kind of history that doesn't make history.

Ice Snakes, Glow-worms and Wolverine Stew by khalulu (2015, M, 8.4k)

Harry Potter apparently wants to talk to Draco about something, but odd events keep getting in the way of that conversation – and bringing them closer together.

The Page Eleven Wars by fireflavored (2010, E, 8.5k)

In a gossip-hungry post-war Wizarding World, Rita Skeeter has a wildly successful column in the Daily Prophet known as Page Eleven. Naturally, her favourite targets are the poster boys of the two sides of the war: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

Blind Date by JosephineStone (2016, T, 8.6k)

Draco’s been working with Harry for years when another one of his relationships goes stale. He has to be married within a year, and though the WizNet has burned him in the past, Draco finds a new possibility in man as desperate to marry as he is.

Stories in E Minor by @huldrejenta (2014, E, 8.7k)

Draco has found his place in the Muggle world. He's got his music, he's got his neighbours and he is content. Until a certain someone from the past enters his life again.

Life goes not backward by @shealwaysreads (2020, T, 8.8k)

Harry still isn’t used to gifts, but this one is different. A story of coming home, finding safe ground, and the wild courage of putting down roots.

Til Our Compass Stands Still by china_nightingale (2018, M, 9k)

Harry and Draco eventually realise that things don't always go to plan, even if it's a plan they've been carefully crafting to keep themselves safe from each other.

The Interest Here by disapparater (2015, T, 9k)

Draco has his own morning show on the wireless, which he loves; an ambitious assistant, whom he needs; and days in The Tea Shop, where he relaxes. He also has a new caller on the show, whom he finds bloody annoying.

Tidings of Comfort series by @blamebrampton (2012, G, 10k)

When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. Luckily for Draco Malfoy, London has places where the tired can rest and recover.

Sweet Indulgence by @the-sinking-ship (2020, E, 10k)

It doesn't matter that Marcy from Accounting is dancing on the tables, Shacklebolt is wearing antlers, and Elliot from Transportation is on his third round of Mariah Carey on karaoke because all the free champagne in the world won't salvage the Ministry Christmas party for Draco if Potter doesn't show up soon.

Settle in in my slow-burning heart by orphan_account (2015, NR, 10k)

Five years after the war Draco is working a tech developer job in the Auror Office, and it's all great except this one thing: Harry Potter works there, too.

Adventures in Truth and Texting by @fluxweeed (2020, E, 11k)

Former Death Eaters are being targeted with a Veritaserum curse – it’s permanent, and makes victims speak aloud their every thought. Luckily, it’s easier to control when writing.

fine i'll hold my breath / til i forget it's complicated by teatrolley (2015, NR, 11k)

Harry and Draco become friends with benefits, and Harry thinks it's more complicated than it actually is.

Rebuilding Draco Malfoy by khasael (2011, E, 11k)

Draco wants to do something to get his life back on track, but no-one seems to be taking him seriously – until he finds himself in an Auror training session led by Harry Potter.

Cold Like Fire by QueenofThyme (2012, M, 12k)

Head Auror Harry Potter had no problem with mandatory consent training for his team. He’d actually been looking forward to it, that is, until he discovered who the teacher was.

What’s My Age Again? by @lazywonderlvnd (2018, E, 12k)

Harry Potter has had enough of pleasing the public, and his reckless tendencies are finally getting out of hand.

Title of Their Sex Tape by @cibeewastaken (2020, T, 12k)

What are the Wizarding world's most elite law enforcers doing when they aren't catching criminals? It seems Auror Malfoy is often caught throwing food into Auror Potter's mouth when he's mid-yawn.

Kill, Fuck, Marry by @lettersbyelise (2018, E, 12.6k)

Harry and Draco unexpectedly meet again on Draco’s birthday, years after their last encounter.

The Year of Non-Magical Thinking by whiskyandwildflowers (2018, E, 13k)

“I don't know what I'm going to do, Potter. I'll think of something. So will you. But this is my journey to self-actualization," Draco managed to smirk. "You can fuck off and get your own."

Evolution by @potteresque-ire Pie (2013, M, 13k)

Draco Malfoy was condemned to live a Muggle’s life for his three-year probation. His wand was locked away, and he was forbidden to set foot in Wizarding Britain until Hermione Granger secured a job for him in the Aurors’ stock room.

Plan Alphabet by @xx-thedarklord-xx (2019, T, 14k)

After realizing that his feelings for Harry were unfortunately real, Draco embarks on a foolproof—yes, Longbottom, foolproof—plan to woo Potter.

Countdown by dysonrules (2013, M, 14k)

When the Wizarding world is plagued by random outbreaks of Dark Magic, the Ministry assigns Curse-Breakers to assist Auror teams on their missions.

All Roads Lead Home by @dracogotgame (2015, G, 15k)

Draco is strong-armed into spending the first Christmas after the War with the Weasleys. And Harry Potter.

Espresso Patronum by @tasteofshapes (2020, T, 15k)

When Draco reappears five years after the war and opens a wildly popular coffee shop, Harry’s pretty sure that Draco’s Up to Something. He just has to prove it.

An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy by 0idontknow0 (2014, E, 15k)

Someone should give Potter a better rogering than that sorry sod had. The man had saved the bloody world—okay, mostly Europe—the least someone could do was give him a proper shag.

Turn and Face the Strange (time may change me) by @punk-rock-yuppie (2019, T, 16k)

Draco and Harry and how their relationship—and themselves—change over the course of eleven years.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #bedtime reads

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idreamtofmanderleyagain · 3 years

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Hot takes about Severus Snape are a wierdly decent glimpse into how a person with progressive values analyses things. Literally every time someone talks about Snape, it’s like this tiny window into how one-dimentionally people actually think.

Recently saw a twitter post that was a fantastic example. Here’s how it goes (paraphrasing):

Person A:“Snape is POC and Queer coded, that’s why you guy’s hate him uwu lol.”

Person B: “Actually I hate him because he was mean and abusive to children under his care uwu but go off I guess lol”

Both of these takes are designed to be dramatic and/or reactionary. They each use partial truths to paint very broad strokes. These are get-em-in-one-hit quips. This is virtue signalling, if you’ll excuse that loaded phrase. Nobody had a substantial conversation, but now everyone who sees their statement knows the high ground they took.

At least a hundred other people chimed in to add their own little quippy hot takes into play, none of which add anything significant, but clearly made everyone feel very highly of themselves.

So many layers of nuance and complex analysis is completely lost in this kind of discussion. On tumblr, you get more of this kind of bullshit, but you don’t have a word count limit, so you guys just spew endless mountains of weak overblown evidence backing up your bullshit arguments, none of which was really about engaging in a real conversation anyway.

Here’s the thing about Snape.

He is a childhood domestic abuse victim. His abuser is a muggle.

He becomes a student at a magical school that takes him away from his abuser and immediately instills in him the idea that being a part of this magical world is a badge of self-worth, empowerment, and provides safety and security - provided that he keeps in line.

There is a war is being waged in that world over his right to exist (he is a half blood).

He is a marginalized person within the context of the narrative, forced to constantly be in the same living space as the children of his own oppressors who are being groomed and recruited into a hate group militia (the pureblood slytherins). They are in turn trying to do the same to him.

He is marginalized person bullied by children who are also part of his oppressor group, but who have “more liberal” leanings and aren’t direct about why he’s being targeted (the mauraders are all purebloods, Sirius, who was the worst offender, was raised in a bigoted household, the same one that produced Bellatrix.).

He had a crush on a girl who is a muggleborn, and therefore she is considered even lesser than him and carries a stigma to those who associate with her. That girl was his only real friend. In his entire life.

For both Snape and Lily, allying themselves to a pureblood clique within their own houses would be a great way of shielding themselves from a measure of the bigotry they were probably facing. There would have been obvious pressure from those cliques to disconnect with one and other.

Every other person who associates with Snape in his adulthood carries some sort of sociopolitical or workplace (or hate cult) baggage with their association. Some of them will physically harm and/or kill him if he steps out of line. He hasn’t at any point had the right environment to heal and adjust from these childhood experiences. Even his relationship with Dumbledore is charged with constant baggage, including the purebloods who almost killed him during their bullying getting a slap on the wrist, the werewolf that almost killed him as a child being placed in an authority position over new children, etc. Dumbledore is canonically manipulative no matter his good qualities, and he has literally been manipulating Snape for years in order to cultivate a necessary asset in the war.

He is a person who is not in the stable mental state necessary to be teaching children, whom has been forced to teach children. While also playing the role of double agent against the hate group militia, the one that will literally torture you for mistakes or backtalk or just for fun. The one that will torture and kill him if he makes one wrong move.

Is the math clicking yet? From all of this, it’s not difficult to see how everything shitty about Snape was cultivated for him by his environment. Snape was not given great options. Snape made amazingly awful choices, and also some amazingly difficult, courageous ones. Snape was ultimately a human who had an extremely bad life, in which his options were incredibly grim and limited.

In fact, pretty much every point people make about how shitty Snape is as a person makes 100% logical sense as something that would emerge from how he was treated. Some if it he’s kind of right about, some of it is the inevitable reality of suffering, and some of it is part of the cycle of abuse and harm.

Even Snape’s emotional obsession with Lily makes logical sense when you have the perspective that he literally has no substantial positive experiences with other human beings that we know of, and he has an extreme, soul destroying guilt complex over her death. Calling him an Incel mysoginist nice guy projects a real-world political ideology and behavior that does not really apply to the context of what happened to him and her.

Even Snape’s specific little acts of cruelty to certain students is a reflection of his own life experiences. He identifies with Neville; more specifically, he identifies his own percieved emotional weaknesses in his childhood in Neville. There’s a very sad reason there why he feels the urge to be so harsh.

Snape very clearly hates himself, in a world where everyone else hates him, too. Imagine that, for a second. Imagine total internal and external hatred, an yearning for just a little bit of true connection. For years. Imagine then also trying to save that world, even if it’s motivated by guilt. Even if nobody ever knows you did it and you expect to die a miserable death alone.

There are more elements here to consider, including the way Rowling described his looks (there may be something in there re: ugliness and swarthy stereotyping). These are just the things that stand out the most prominently to me.

J.K. Rowling is clearly also not reliable as an imparter of moral or sociopolitical philosophies. I don’t feel that her grasp of minority experiences is a solid one, considering how she picks and chooses who is acceptable and who is a threat.

All of that said, this is a logically consistent character arc. Within the context of his narrative, Snape is a marginalized person with severe PTSD and emotional instability issues who has absolutely no room available to him for self-improvement or healing, and never really has. And yes, he’s also mean, and caustic, and verbally abusive to the students. He’s also a completey miserable, lonely person.

There are elements in his character arc that mirror real world experiences quite well. If nothing else, Rowling is enough of an emotional adult to recognise these kinds of things and portray something that feels authentic.

In my opinion, it’s not appropriate to whittle all this down by comparing him directly to the real world experiences of marginalized groups - at least if you are not a part of the group you are comparing him to. There have been many individuals who have compared his arc to their own personal experiences of marginalization, and that is valid. But generally speaking, comparing a white straight dude to people who are not that can often be pretty offensive. This is not a valuable way to discuss either subject.

Also, I believe that while it’s perfectly okay to not like Snape as a character, many of the people who act like Person B are carrying Harry’s childhood POV about Snape in their hearts well into their own adulthood. And if nothing else, Rowling was attempting to say something here about how our perspectives (should) grow and change as we emotionally mature. She doesn’t have to be a good person herself to have expressed something true about the world in this instance, and since this story is a part of our popular culture, people have a right to feel whatever way they do about this story and it’s characters.

The complexity of this particular snapshot of fictionalized marginalization, and what it reveals about the human experience, cannot be reduced down to “he’s an abuser so he’s not worth anyone’s time/you are bad for liking him.”

And to be honest, I think that it reveals a lot about many of us in progressive spaces, particularly those of us who less marginalized but very loud about our values, that we refuse to engage with these complexities in leu of totally condemning him. Particularly because a lot of the elements I listed above are indeed reflected in real world examples of people who have experienced marginalization and thus had to deal with the resulting emotional damage, an mental illness, and behavior troubles, and bad decisions. Our inability to address the full scope of this may be a good reflection of how we are handling the complexity of real world examples.

Real people are not perfect angels in their victimhood. They are just humans who are victims, and we all have the capacity to be cruel and abusive in a world where we have been given cruelty and abuse. This is just a part of existing. If you cannot sympathise with that, or at least grasp it and aknowledge it and respect the people who are emotionally drawn to a character who refects that, then you may be telling on yourself to be honest.

To be honest, this is especially true if you hate Snape but just really, really love the Mauraduers. You have a right to those feelings, but if you are moralizing this and judging others for liking Snape, you’ve confessed to something about how you’ve mentally constructed your personal values in a way I don’t think you’ve fully grasped yet.

I have a hard time imagining a mindset where a story like Snape’s does not move one to empathy and vicarious grief, if I’m honest. I feel like some people really just cannot be bothered to imagine themselves in other people’s shoes, feeling what they feel and living like they live. I struggle to trust the social politics of people who show these kinds of colors, tbh.

But maybe that’s just me.

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smolcobie · 3 years

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Hyunjae | Butterfly Effect

↪ Summary: After a dangerous fire, Hyunjae is unable to hide his feelings for you.

Word Count: 3,5k

Warnings: Suggestive | Fire | Friends To Lovers | Heavy Making Out

Genre: Hyunjae x Reader | HYUNJAE FIREFIGHTER AU | Female Reader

Dedicated to my fav deobi friend @santacruz-sand <3

Human beings are known for their daily mistakes. We used to say that every day we make a mistake, some don't make that much difference, others can change the course of your life, better known as the butterfly effect. Each action has its reaction, gradually shaping the path you will take in life.

Some say that this is fate, that no matter how much you try to escape, it will happen. Others prefer to believe that you create your own destiny. I didn't believe in any of these theories, in fact, I always preferred to think that it is easier to do your best every day than to be disappointed by the path you took because you thought that this was your destiny after all.

The greatest example that my theory was real, was seeing how my best friend lived. Every single day he left early, before the sun came up, and came back when it was night. Being a firefighter required perfection in his form, discipline, punctuality, courage to face his fears, and a lot of willingness to risk his own life for the benefit of society.

I watched him cautiously, analyzing his ways and manners. The way he slammed the gate hard to make sure it was locked, or how he sighed and gave a silly smile when he managed to do something he liked, but what I liked most was the way he struggled every day to cheer people's lives.

- ▪︎ -

"[NAME], do your best every day and no one will have the courage to speak ill of the way you live." He said with his red cheeks and heavy eyes from the soju he drank.

"What are you talking about? I live very well, you're the one who lives next to my house and keeps risking your life." I laughed, fixing up his fringe that was messy "You're already starting to get drunk, let's go home." I got up pulling on his shirt and he made a weeping face.

"[NAME], why are you so mean to me?" He said slyly and I lifted him up with all my strength hugging him around the waist "Hyunjae, come on, you need to rest." He sighed and started walking making a pout on his lips.

"Stop pouting, you know you need to rest. You work a lot and when you take a break you want to drink soju and philosophize about life with me." I commented while walking down the dark street.

"But you are my best friend, you have to listen to me." I laughed at his comment "If you paid me I could even quit my job, after all, listening to you is all I do." "That's why I love you." He chuckled and put his head on my shoulder as I opened the door to his house, after entering the password.

"I love you too, so go to sleep." I tossed him on the bed and he smiled happily hugging his soft pillow.

- ▪︎ -

It was almost always like this. Hyunjae coming to my house to vent about life, I laugh while making some cards to post on my Instagram and the company. Being a calligraphy artist was a happy part of my life, being able to decorate bookstores, houses, gifts was something that gave me the strength to live.

Hyunjae was such an essential part of my life, that I only realized when our mutual friend asked why we lived so close to each other. My first thought was to think that it would be easier to go out, have fun and talk. My second thought was that I was completely in love with him, and I didn't want to admit it.

It was complicated, an old love that I knew had no way out, but nothing was going to change because I couldn't find any nice guys. I lived with Hyunjae and I had already accepted my condition. Romance went from something I dreamed of as a teenager, to something I value as an adult, but not as much as my sanity.

It was easier to live with Hyunjae than having to go on blind dates with bizarre guys that our friend Sunwoo arranged (probably from the deep web). And I keep ignoring my feelings, being inspired by its way of life.

That day was more beautiful than usual. The sun was shining brightly, the sky was clear and blue, the traffic seemed calm and the weather was perfect for an outdoor meeting, perhaps a date in the park. The subway was surprisingly empty, although it was very early, and I was completely rested.

It seemed like the perfect working day. I had made many cards at the company, sent some orders by mail, and placed new orders for a major literature event that would take place at the company. Lunch was great and our boss was in a good mood telling stories from when she was in college.

The day had gone well, my colleagues finished their jobs earlier than expected so we were able to go out early and eat fried chicken in a new restaurant near the company. I returned home happy and completely shocked at how perfect my day had been.

I got home and changed my shoes. I took a relaxing bath while listening to the news of the day through my radio hanging from the bathroom sink.

"URGENT NEWS! THERE IS A FIRE IN A BUSINESS BUILDING LOCATED IN THE GANGNAM REGION, MANY ARE THREATENING TO JUMP THROUGH THE WINDOWS. SOURCES CONFIRM THAT THE FIRE STARTED BY THE BAD WIRING THAT HAS NOT BEEN CORRECTLY REPLACED. THE FIREFIGHTERS HAVE JUST ARRIVED AND ARE PREPARING TO RELEASE THE PLACE AND REMOVE SURVIVORS. ”

I immediately turned off the shower, drying myself quickly, putting on any clothes, and going to the living room to turn on the TV and see the news.

All the channels were talking about the fire. It even seemed ironic, as I had a great day, and now a building near my company was on fire, and I had to see desperate people on the TV screen.

My heart stopped and my eyes lit up when I recognized Hyunjae running away with a long sheet and other men helping him from afar. This was apparently what he was supposed to do, try to stay calm and help people in a tragedy that could cost their lives.

“FIREFIGHTERS MOBILIZED QUICKLY AND SURVIVORS ARE GETTING TO THE GROUND SAFELY. THE FIRE HAS BEEN CONTROLLED AND WE HAVE NO NEWS FROM ANY VICTIMS IN SERIOUS STATE UNTIL THE MOMENT-” The woman turned and the cameraman filmed Hyunjae leaving the scene with a woman unconscious in his arms “THIS YOUNG BRAVE MAN REMOVED THE LAST VICTIM FROM THE LOCATION. AMBULANCE HAS ARRIVED AND WILL TREAT EVERYONE IMMEDIATELY. ”

I closed my fists tightly, my mouth dried and my heart sped up. Hyunjae had entered that burning building, risking his life, to save another one.

The fire subsided until it was extinguished. Reporters were still talking about how the police were already investigating everything and how fortunately no lives were lost and the victims had only minor injuries. I sighed with relief and sent a message to Hyunjae, congratulating him, but mostly asking how he was doing.

Me:

[Are you okay? I just saw it all on TV, I'm so worried!]

[I am proud of you, you were amazing.]

[I hope you're all right, send a message when you see this.]

Received.

I sighed and laid down on my bed covering my eyes trying to remember that he was fine.

"Nothing happened."

"Hyunjae is fine. No need to worry."

I was trying to convince myself that he was fine, alive, and doing his job, but my heart couldn't calm down. I decided to take a light tranquilizer and lie down again.

Maybe he would answer me in the morning, I would wait patiently and everything would be fine.

I turned on some drama on TV while I was busy watching cute animals on Youtube to pass the time. After a few hours and having a quick nap, I was surprised by the ringing of my cell phone and saw that it was Hyunjae.

I got up and answered quickly.

“Hyunjae ?! Are you okay? Where are you?" I hurried over and felt him give a tired laugh on the other end of the phone.

“I'm outside your house, please open it for me. It's a little cold here. ” He made a little joke like he always does, maybe, trying to calm my worried mood.

"Okay, I'll be right back." I hung up the phone and ran out to the door.

I opened the door feeling my heart racing, my joints tingling from suddenly getting up and automatically everything calmed down when I saw his face.

He had his bangs glued to his forehead, his face was dirty with some ash. He still had his work uniform on and was holding some bandages probably bought from the pharmacy near our homes.

"I came for you to heal me." He gave a sarcastic smile as I felt relief wash over my entire body.

"Come on, staying in this serene is bad." I pulled him inside, locking the door and putting his usual shoe in the doorway.

"Unfortunately I bought anything I saw at the pharmacy, so I hope you help me, I'm deadly tired." He started talking quietly trying to hide how he was shaken by that night.

"Hyunjae... are you okay?" I asked seeing him sitting on a chair in the kitchen taking off his uniform, leaving only the standard white blouse and pants.

"Yeah." He said dryly biting his lip and looking away. The habit he made when he lied.

"Stop lying to me." I walked towards him crossing my arms “If you were really well, you would have gone home, answered on your cell phone, and slept in peace."

He sighed and looked at me with a look that made my whole body tremble. He looked scared, anxious, but mostly nervous about something.

"What is it?" I touched his cheek and he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning into my hand.

"I almost lost my mind today." He stood up scratching the back of his neck with a choked voice as if he were about to cry.

"What do you mean?" He looked at me so sincerely that I felt my heart soften.

"We were on the traffic patrol when we heard the call." He laughed, but it was sad. "When they said the address, and I realized it was on the same street as your job, I despaired."

My eyes flew open and he sat on the edge of the couch burying his fingers in his dirty, messy hair.

“I thought you could be there and I lost it. When I got there, all I could think about was you.” I approached and realized that in fact, his eyes were watery "I know I should be concerned with other people, but I could only think ‘What if it is her building? What if she is there? What if she is in danger? What if I can't save her?’ And I went into eternal despair.”

I felt my heart racing so fast it could come out of my mouth.

"I-I didn't care if other people were hurt, as long as you were fine..." He looked at me and I felt a huge urge to hold his face "And it scares me. The way I was afraid of losing you and I couldn't think rationally, on the professional side.”

I sat next to him listening to everything he had to say.

"Hyunjae, anyone would feel the same way, you don't have to feel guilty about it." I wiped away his tears and held his cheeks in the palm of my hands "I would have done the same, thinking about you all the time."

He gave a smile sniffing before holding my hands.

"But it's different this time." He said before looking into my eyes with an invisible force that made me nervous "I thought nothing would make sense if I didn't have you by my side."

I took a deep breath trying to follow his argument.

"I don't want to lose you." He whispered as if it were a forbidden confession "You are the most important person in the whole world to me." He touched my cheek with the palm of his hand "You know that, don't you?" He swallowed hard, leaning his forehead against mine.

I took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.

"I know Hyunjae, you are also the most special person for me." I said seeing how he had relaxed a little more "Now get up, you need to take a shower and put bandages on these cuts."

I stood up first, but I felt his hand close to my fist. He was taller than me, not so much, but his body was so strong that it made me feel small around him.

"What? Come on, you're very tired. ” I took the lead before I felt him pulling me again.

"[NAME]." He said hoarsely as I studied his face curiously.

Hyunjae was too different that night.

“What is it Hyunjae? Your face is dirty, you need to take a shower. ” I touched my hips trying to understand what he wanted.

Hyunjae approached pulling my wrist towards him before giving a kiss there.

"Come with me." He said making me petrified on the spot.

"W-WHAT?!" I asked nervously as I felt my heart pound so loudly that I was afraid he might hear "I-That's not funny, Hyunjae."

He released my fist and pulled me by the hip, staring deep into my eyes.

"I'm not kidding." I felt a shiver down my back when he admitted it wasn't a joke or a friend flirt "I got tired of pretending I don't feel anything for you."

I couldn't say anything, I was too shocked to reply.

“[NAME], you are the most important person to me and I don't want to live any longer having to treat you just like a best friend.” He touched my chin and raised my gaze to his “Please, be honest with me. Am I just a best friend to you? ”

I felt his gaze enter my soul and I knew I had no way to lie anymore, this was the only chance I would have to admit what I feel.

"No." I swallowed and stared at his mouth, which formed a small smile of satisfaction.

It was amazing the effect that Hyunjae had on me. Even if I wanted to run away, I wouldn't be able to lie because it was already obvious from the way I act.

"Great." I felt my stomach churn when I felt his left hand hold me tighter as his right landed on my cheek, making his thumb touch my chin, caressing it. "I hope you don't mind this."

"Mind wha—" I could barely finish the question and I felt his lips on mine.

I pulled away unintentionally from the shock and looked into his eyes that seemed to be staring at me with an indescribable fire. I swallowed and felt my heart racing as he just smirked sideways, as if he knew what I was thinking.

He approached me slowly, touching our noses and I closed my eyes feeling his breath warm my face. I felt my face heat up and my palms sweat when his lips brushed against mine again. I held on to his white blouse with the rest of my strength and waited for Hyunjae to close the distance that bothered me so much.

I felt his hand move and his fingers pulled my chin down, opening my mouth that was closed by shock. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding and felt him laugh through his nose before wetting my bottom lip with his tongue lightly, kissing me gently.

I lifted my hands to his hair where I pulled slightly, feeling my back against the bathroom door. Hyunjae took a quick breath, trying desperately to open the bathroom door, trying not to break the kiss.

I opened my eyes after Hyunjae got rid of me, feeling my heart stop at the sight of him focused on trying to open the bathroom door. His face was flushed, but his ears seemed to burn at how red they were. His dark eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was pink and inviting.

"Aish." Hyunjae said finally opening the bathroom making me smile slightly.

I held on to his blouse when I almost tripped over my own rug and Hyunjae grabbed my waist with his arm. He gave me a shy smile before leaning his body against mine, making me even more nervous.

His fingers played with the old buttons on my wool blouse. I held his neck intoxicating myself by his smell invading my senses. I felt a shiver down my spine when his fingers touched my skin gently, as if it were the most expensive porcelain that should be handled with care.

Hyunjae started the shower making me more and more nervous. He pushed me with some force making my back touch the tile on the cold wall of the bathroom. I felt his wet abdomen touching mine and tried to take his shirt off awkwardly making him laugh with amusement.

I looked into his eyes feeling my cheeks flush hard as I held his necklace in my hand. I smirked when I realized it was the gift I had given them for his last birthday. It was a sun necklace that was completed with another necklace, which was mine and was shaped like a moon.

I used to say that he was the sun that lit up my life and that reflected in me. I didn't expect him to wear it every day, because he is so critical of his clothes and his style, so I was surprised when I saw the jewel on his soft, wide collarbone.

"I-I like that necklace." He justified himself by making me smile as I felt my hair gradually get wet from the shower water.

I caressed his cheeks, removing all the dust and ashes from his face. He closed his eyes as I carefully wiped his face by raising my hands to his hair. My stomach churned when I kissed the corner of his jaw and he let out a long breath squeezing my waist.

"I like you." I confessed by kissing his neck, stroking his hair "Really."

"N-Noona." He said slyly in my ear making me smile. He only called me Noona when he was embarrassed "Don't do this to me."

"What?" I asked, acting like I didn't get his thoughts while looking at his beautiful body in front of me. I moved my hands down his chest feeling my whole body softening and looked him in the eyes hoping he understood the message I wanted to convey.

"You know." He responded by pinning me to the wall as he fiddled with the buttons on his pants, leaning his forehead against mine, chuckling through his nose.

I hugged him feeling slightly embarrassed when I felt him take off my bra and toss it on any floor in the bathroom. I closed my eyes tightly as I felt his lips kiss my neck slowly and lovingly.

"[NAME] ..." He sighed and kissed my collarbone "I-I know you like romantic guys, but the last thing I want to do now is to be patient and romantic with you."

I felt my whole body tremble and my thoughts were confused.

"I-Is this okay with you?" He asked suspiciously and I nodded, unable to speak, "Are you sure?"

I just answered him by kissing him again. He returned it immediately, deepening the kiss, holding me in his strong arms.

So, I closed my eyes and just let all those feelings accumulated from so long being satisfied without thinking about anything else.

- ▪︎ -

The truth was that love could come from anywhere, from a friendship for years, from a complete stranger, from a colleague at work or college. There are no limits to define where love should be born.

For Hyunjae and you, it was born out of years of extreme care. An affection that could not be limited by friendship, and by the undeniable attraction you felt for each other. There are people who spend years like this without the courage to declare themselves.

At that moment, a questioning is born within you. What if you hadn't declared yourself that night? What if you had run away? Hyunjae would probably walk away and leave your house feeling his heart broken. You weren't going to have the happy ending you wanted, and you could probably lose a precious friendship.

Ultimately, the butterfly effect has been proven and you should admit that your best 'mistake' was to have overcome your fear and admitted your senses. His best 'mistake' was sleeping with his best friend.

The question that remains is: Was that your destiny, or just the butterfly effect?

Ultimately, none of that mattered, because you both loved each other deeply.

▪︎

MASTERLIST

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be11atrixthestrange · 4 years

Note

“Don’t hesitate, just kiss me.” I can’t help myself, Romione please? 😘

So, I took some creative liberties with this and I gave the gist of that line to George. He reeeeally wanted it, and I felt bad for him because his brother died.

Thanks for the prompt!!

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

Number Eleven

He could still count the number of times he’d kissed her on his hands.

With Lavender, it was hard to keep track because his mind would always wander elsewhere while they kissed. He’d start thinking about his schoolwork, quidditch, or Hermione. Mostly Hermione. By the time he refocused, it was impossible to know if they had shared one, two, or five kisses, and he didn’t really care anyway.

He couldn’t focus on anything else when Hermione kissed him, so he remembered each one vividly. Although amazing, it didn’t feel normal to be able to kiss her. He still hesitated each time, half expecting her to turn her head away and change her mind, but she never did.

First, the Room of Requirement. He’d never forget that one. Even if someone obliviated him, he was certain the sound of basilisk fangs clattering to the floor, and the feeling of her lips frantically meeting his would still be there.

Then they kissed again after the battle, on their way back to the Gryffindor common room. The heartbreak he felt for Fred must have been evident in the way he walked determinedly forward, face down, shoulders slumped, because she did exactly what he wanted her to do. She reached for his hand and pulled him to an empty hallway and hugged him. Then he cried into hair, and she just held him for as long as he needed to be held.

When he stopped crying, their lips came together. He didn’t know who initiated it, but it didn’t matter like he thought it would. Their second kiss communicated something completely different than their first one. Rather than ‘I want you’, it said ‘I’m here for you’, and Ron scanned every detail into his memory. It was softer, gentler and sweeter, and managed to burn away some of the sorrow he felt about Fred.

Their third kiss was in the boys’ dormitory, more specifically, his bed. Curled up in eachothers’ arms, under the blankets, they enjoyed a more passionate kiss that might have turned into a snog if he hadn’t been so damn tired. They silently agreed to put that on hold before sleep overtook them, and he was grateful, because he wanted to be fully present the first time they truly snogged.

They shared their fourth kiss the next morning, but Ron kept it short and sweet, because he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet, and he was a bit self-conscious…

The day after the battle was a blur. He spent most of the day making arrangements with his family, checking in with his classmates, and visiting victims in the hospital wing. They both remained distracted until later that evening, when they returned to the Burrow, and they shared their fifth kiss on the landing of the stairs before parting ways for the night.

Kisses number six, seven, and eight all happened the next day. In the garden after breakfast, quickly in the living room between chores, when they had a rare moment alone, and before bed, when Hermione managed to slide into his room, and Harry determinedly looked away.

Number nine was their first real snog. They took an afternoon around the orchard, and finally alone and obscured by trees, he embraced her. She let him press her up against an apple tree while he admitted her tongue between his lips, and it was a blissful oblivion.

Then there was number ten, earlier today, before the funeral. It was a lot like number two—comforting, supportive, gentle, hidden away from prying eyes.

The funeral ended hours ago, but Ron, Hermione, Harry and the rest of his siblings were still outside, passing around Butterbeers and telling stories of Fred.

Hermione was next to him, but no closer than she would have been sitting if they were still just friends. That was one thing about the last ten kisses, apart from Harry, no one else knew about them.

It was strange to feel such happiness with Hermione in the midst of his debilitating grief. Both emotions were so strong, yet somehow, they didn’t conflict with one another. He had enough room for it all.

Out of respect for everyone’s sadness, they’d been keeping their relationship relatively quiet. Ron was balancing both grief for Fred and excitement over Hermione, and he didn’t want to risk his family misunderstanding that. As a result, he still hesitated before each kiss, just to look around and make sure no one would see.

Then George brought it up.

“Fred and I would make bets with one another. There was one that never got resolved,” he said, staring directly at Ron.

He looked like he expected Ron to respond, so he did. “What was the bet?”

George motioned between him and Hermione with his butterbeer. “You two.”

“What about us?” asked Ron nervously.

“Are you together?”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance, and the grins that spread across their faces gave their answer away.

“Good,” said George. “Who kissed who?”

Ron looked back at George with wide eyes. “You bet on that?”

George nodded. “I reckoned you’d be the one to pluck up the courage and kiss her. Fred figured it’d be Hermione.”

Ron could feel his face reddening, Hermione smiled smugly in his peripheral vision.

“So,” said George, a little impatiently. “Who won the bet?”

“Erm, Fred won,” answered Ron.

“Bugger! He always wins,” said George, looking at Hermione with a hint of admiration. “Ron, why didn’t you kiss her?”

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but paused, unsure exactly how to answer. Hermione filled the silence.

“He hesitated,” she said, smirking. “So I took my opportunity.”

George smiled. “Of course he did. I’m happy for you both. Fred would be too.”

Ron looked at Hermione, and she slipped her hand into his. He wanted to kiss her, but was still unsure if it’d be in bad taste.

George didn’t seem to think so. “Well don’t hesitate, just kiss her,” he said, alleviating Ron of his uncertainty.

Hermione smiled as Ron reached a hand behind her head and gently guided her lips to his. Number eleven. He heard a chorus of “awws”, whistles, and even a groan from Ginny. .

Now everyone knew. Did this mean he could kiss her whenever he wanted? If so, he would. He could no longer count their kisses on his fingers, and he couldn’t wait to start losing track of them.

#ROMIONE #hpromione #romione fanfic #romione ficlet #ronweasley #ron x hermione #ron and hermione #ron weasley #Hermione Granger #hermionegranger #hp fanfic #hp ficlet

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hellomynameisbisexual · 4 years

Text

What's biphobia? Isn't that just watered down homophobia? Don't bi people have it slightly easier since they can "pass" as straight if they want to?

As a bi person who writes about bi issues, I get this question a lot. The answer, in short, is no. Biphobia is not just "watered down homophobia". To say so is... you guessed it... biphobic.

Biphobia is related to the term homophobia, in the sense that both refer to fear-based bigotry toward non-straight people, but they are not synonyms. Homophobia, in modern usage, has come to refer not only to stigma against gay people but against same sex relationships in general (which does include bi people). Bi people, who often are in same sex relationships, are thus victims of homophobic bigotry all the time. Biphobia, however, is a term that was coined by bisexual activists to describe specific kinds of bigotry unique to the bisexual experience.

This means bi people can be victims of homophobia AND biphobia. Bi folks experience the same homophobic insults and attacks, the same risk of being disowned by our parents, fired from our jobs, or even threatened with violence for not being expressing our attraction to the same gender. In addition to all of this, society also subjects us to additional stigmas that are unique to bisexuality. Here are a few;

Bi people can experience discrimination from WITHIN the LGBT community.

When gay people come out, they can at least seek the safe space of LGBT circles, but bi people are often ridiculed and made to feel unwelcome even within LGBT spaces. This is due to biphobic attitudes held, unfortunately, even by some gay people. It's a very common (and sad) story. Bi people reach out to "Lesbian and Gay centers" or to "Gay/ Straight alliances", only to be told they don't "qualify" or worse yet - that they are in denial or lying about their sexuality. Stop to think for a minute how devastating it could be for a person to finally get up the courage to come out and be honest about their sexual orientation - only to be rejected by the very communities that claim to be safe spaces for such people.

Bi people can be rejected by potential partners SIMPLY due to our sexual orientation.

Straight and gay people, of course, experience romantic rejection as well. But straight people aren't turned down by potential partners of the opposite sex simply for being straight. Similarly, gay people aren't turned down by partners of the same sex simply for being gay. It is all too common for bi people to be rejected by partners of either sex simply because we are bi. For a lot of people, bisexuality is a deal breaker when it comes to dating. This can be due to false and unfair stereotypes about bi people being confused or disloyal, or it can even be because some claim to find bi people "gross".

I myself have had both men and women turn me down as a potential mate simply because they were icked out by the thought of me having had sexual relations with one or another sex in the past. That is so ridiculous. I mean, even if women aren't you thing, guys, it's not like I haven't showered since. And ladies, just the fact that I've been with fellas doesn't mean I'm any "less of a man". Statements like this, made bluntly to a first date's face, are beyond the pale. If someone is truly this bigoted, I sure wish they'd be polite, keep it to themselves, and do the fade away like a normal civilized person.

Bi people have to come out over and over and OVER again, throughout our entire lives.

This is another problem unique to biphobia, one to which gay folks cannot relate. When a bi person comes out, society still doubts us. Or worse, ignores us. We are treated as if we are still in the closet, and as if we are just waiting to get up the courage to come out "all the way". When I date a girl, people ask me why I'm straight again. When I date a guy, people ask me if this means I'm gay now. Let me save everyone some time: sexuality doesn't work that way. I'm still bi no matter whom I'm dating, or even if I'm single. Bi. Still bi. Always bi. Simple as that.

So, what can you do to be more supportive of bi people? Simple. If you ever see a bi person being ridiculed or excluded in an LGBT center or community, please speak up in defense of the bi person. This includes being teased or pushed to finally admit that they are gay. Even the kind words of one person can make a huge difference.

Also, if you ever go on a date with a bi person, please don't assume that our sexual orientation disqualifies us. Take the time to get to know us; you might like us.

And lastly - if a friend or family member comes out as bi, please don't force them back in the closet every other week with assumptions about their "true" sexuality. It's true that some people are confused, but that doesn't mean every bi person is confused. And with that kind of pressure, no wonder so many bi folks give up and accept the monosexual labels straight or gay. Basically, just understand that bisexuality is a real orientation and that bi people are a diverse group who deserve to be judged for their character - not for their orientation - just like everyone else.

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takonei · 4 years

Text

Beta AU - Main story, Chapter 6, Investigation (Part 1)

Note of the author: Guess who’s baaaack? ;) Boy have I been waiting for this chapter.

Chapter 6: My killing game, our killing game

...

A young boy wanders in the cafeteria, a rather tasty-looking meal on his plate.

He spots the two other people present and approaches them.

"C-Can I sit here?"

The girl was mindlessly picking the vegetables on her plate with a fork, head resting in her palm. "Suit yourself."

The silence immediately settled back.

It's not like there was anything to say. What was the point of talking anyway?

... He doesn't know how much time passed before he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.

The person didn't even ask before sitting next to them.

He had seen him back then, so his face was not so unfamiliar.

The other guy stared at him curiously, then raised his head.

"... I feel like I've seen you somewhere before." he said. "Not that it really matters anymore."

The new guy rolled his eyes. "Yes, I killed someone a year ago and my face was plastered on every single newspaper for two weeks. Big deal."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be... you know... in prison?"

"It was a pain making my way out here, but I'm used to orchestrating mastermind-ish plans. It's a must-have in this world."

"I see..."

Leaning back into his chair, the supposed murderer glanced at the other side of the cafeteria, where two other people were discussing, far away from them. A rather frail-looking boy and a strong-looking young woman. He narrowed his eyes at them, like a predator analyzing its prey.

But the silence was rather cut short as the sound of a breaking plate was heard, accompanied by a person stumbling on the ground, now covered in food.

A man was standing next to the victim, clearly the one responsible for the incident. "Watch where you're going, skeleton."

The smaller girl looked like she wanted to cry, trying to retrieve what she could with difficulty.

He swore he saw a smirk forming on the killer's face before turning back to look at the scene. "Hey, jackass. Try to get a better adversary next time, would you? You look pathetic bullying someone half your size, just saying."

"What did you say?!"

"How about you try and fight mademoiselle over here instead?" he glanced at the tall woman in the back. "Unless you're scared of getting your ass handed to you by a girl."

"I'll fucking show you-!"

"ENOUGH!!"

Everyone turned to the source of the voice.

Just their presence was enough to make everyone on edge, but their wrath was feared by all. Like a god among men, a single misstep around them was enough to put your life and dignity on the line.

And they were not here to play poker.

"You two better not cause any more trouble. I could snap my fingers and you two would become cannon fodder for them. You wouldn't want that for yourself, would you?"

The two's gazes met. The tall man's eyes were full of rage, but the other was not letting any emotion slip out. Perhaps one could see annoyance with a hint of pride, if they were perceptive enough.

But both knew their place. It was wiser not to respond.

"... That's what I thought. Because you are here does not mean you are safe yet, remember that."

Silence settled back in the cafeteria, but the dread did not fade away.

But they were here now, and there was no going back.

Not now, not ever.

...

The stars were illuminating the night sky as always, giving the academy a semblance of light in the darkness.

Although that is only a lie Shuichi told himself to feel more human, even though he would never admit it out loud.

An artificial sky looming over an academy of students with fake memories and pasts.

His sense of reality was decaying over time. If he really took a moment to think for himself, he would probably feel his mind falling apart. Nothing but a structure of lies that unconsciously kept him sane, slowly crumbling into ruins.

After watching Rantaro's video and learning the truth about his intentions and his wretched success, they had left the building.

Miu stopped in her tracks. Her eyes wide, she had been staring at the ground the entire time.

"This is... This is so wrong..." she muttered.

Kaito put a hand on her shoulder. "At least... He succeeded in his own way."

The young woman immediately jerked away. "Succeeded?! Rantaro died! He killed himself and Ryoma for his plan and you're telling me he succeeded?!"

"I never said the way he did so wasn't completely fucked up!!" Kaito yelled back. "Hell, I don't even know why he considers it a success in the first place, I'm just quoting him!"

Shuichi didn't have the courage to look at them in the eyes, but spoke anyway. "He said it would kill Monokuma's will to continue the game, but... Is this really true?"

"Who the fuck cares about that?!" tears formed in Miu's eyes. "Why did he think that killing himself was something that would truly end the game?!"

Kokichi didn't even try to say anything. He could only stare at the argument.

"We don't know what Monokuma is planning to do now, he could put us through another time limit for all we know!!" Miu continued rambling. "Monokuma wants to make us suffer no matter what, why did he think he would stop after that?!"

"I don't fucking know!!" Kaito could only try to keep up. It's not like the others could. "I don't know what went through Rantaro's head nor what led him to believe that this would be a brilliant plan!"

"I don't think trying to understand his thought process would lead us somewhere."

Shuichi jumped at the voice.

Kirumi was staring at the ground. She looked... distressed.

"He was too far gone. There's something in his eyes that felt unnatural."

"Something, dare I say... not even human. I cannot describe it, but it's not an emotion you would ever want to see in someone."

The violinist felt his heart sting. He had seen it, too. The two were the ones who witnessed the most of him. Not the facade of the leader who fought no matter what, but the vulnerable him. The real him.

But Miu lost even more of her temper than she already had. She approached Kirumi and grabbed her by the strands of her corset. "Rantaro was our friend!! And you're saying he doesn't even deserve to be called 'human'?!"

Shuichi tried to step in. "That's not what she meant! Miu, please! We're all-

"Am I the only one who even remotely cared about him?!"

She slammed a hand to her chest. Her voice was cracking, and tears were now yet again flowing from her eyes.

"You're all yelling about how there was no hope in Rantaro, that he wasn't even human in your eyes!! You're all claiming to like him but can't even show him respect after he's dead!!"

"How did I even bring myself to befriend any of you monsters?!"

Shuichi felt himself stiffen.

There's a part of him that knew Miu meant her words.

He quickly realized he was not the only one who froze.

Everyone was silently staring at her.

The artist stared back, slowly realizing what she had just said. She slammed her hands on her mouth. "I..."

"It's fine."

Shuichi immediately looked at Kokichi.

"You don't need to say anything. I... I know I must have said way worse back then."

She glanced away. "You... You were just grieving."

"And so are you!" he exclaimed. "You said it to me back in my lab! We all should take the time to grieve! Why would you be an exception to this?!"

She stared at him with dumbfounded eyes.

“Please... I don’t want you to lament in despair like I did and I... I don’t want you to go through the pain I experienced.” Kokichi muttered.

“I don’t want anyone else to go through this ever again.”

His voice was low, like each of his words was difficult to speak out.

Her eyes met the ground, hoping to hide her tears just a little.

"Miu..."

Kaito took a step forward. "We've all been assholes to each other at some point or another, and me more than anyone else."

“Perhaps I’m just projecting, but... I know you had faith in me when I was at my worst, so it’s only fair I have faith in you when you are at your worst.”

The young woman sniffled. "I'm sorry, it’s just... Rantaro isn't..."

"No. Rantaro was not a monster." Kirumi spoke, eyes closed. "What I do believe is that the game had much more impact on him than he let us know. Things he hid from us for our sake. This closure must have led him to believe he had to go to extremes to help us, and thus orchestrated this... ‘case’, if we can even call it that way."

"We should have been more careful about him. But now is too late to lament ourselves over our mistakes."

"I should have worded my thoughts differently, I apologize."

Shuichi felt his heart calm down, for some reason.

Kokichi nodded. "That's... the impression he gave to me, too..."

He could only agree.

Kaito continued looking at his friend, who seemed lost in thoughts. "Maybe we should settle for the night? We might be in a better state to-

"No." Miu raised her head. "We're not sitting here doing nothing."

The violinist's eyes widened. "Are you... planning on doing something?"

"Rantaro's goal was to end the game. And the only way to honor him is to put an end to this right here, right now."

"Tonight we discover the last truths of the killing game. We investigate about Keebo's death, what really happened to us and we expose the-

Miu was cut short by the sound of an explosion right above their heads- It was coming from the building itself.

"W-What's going on?!" Kokichi exclaimed.

"I don't know but we need to get out of here!" the girl yelled.

The group immediately started fleeing.

"I can't run for shit, idiots!" Kaito shouted.

Shuichi looked back. "Guys! We gotta help Kaito!"

Kirumi stared at him for a moment, then sighed. She wrapped one of her arms around his back as support and the two followed the rest of the group.

After getting to the dorms, they turned back to the main building, witnessing the destruction caused by an unknown force.

It seemed as though an exisal -the blue one from what he was seeing- started getting involved in the chaos, but...

"Why is everything exploding?!" Shuichi exclaimed. "Monokuma wouldn't do this, right? So who is destroying the building? Who is piloting the exisal?!"

There were only one of the deadly machines. Monokuma could be the one piloting it, but that didn't explain why he would do so.

"If Monokuma is using an exisal to stop the chaos, then... Who is destroying the building?" Kokichi asked.

They all turned to him.

The bear would not create that scene by himself. So who?

They were all here. It wasn't any of the five survivors.

But before they could ponder more, another exisal showed up. The green one.

The two mechas faced each other, and not even ten seconds later, the blue exisal was tossed across the courtyard.

They could only watch the scene unfold, bewildered by the sudden appearance of the machines.

Who? Who was fighting?

He glanced at Kirumi, who seemed to wonder the same.

But she suddenly perked up, becoming as pale as the fake moon above their heads.

He turned to her. "What is it?! Do you know who is in here?!"

The others faced her as well.

She stayed silent for a moment.

"... Where is Monodam?"

Shuichi blinked. "What- Monodam? But he's dead! Ryoma killed him!"

"Have any of you seen his dead body?"

The violinist's eyes widened. "Huh?"

"This is the number one rule any assassin or mercenary must follow, no matter what."

"If there is no dead body, there is no victim."

"So where is Monodam?"

Kokichi shook his head. "Are you suggesting he is alive?"

"Can you tell for sure he was dismantled by Ryoma? Have you seen his carcass in pieces?"

Miu frowned. "Didn't Rantaro say he took him apart?"

"Do you still believe anything Rantaro says when it comes to the plan in which he managed to deceive everyone, including Monokuma and his own partner?"

... She froze.

Shuichi looked at the green exisal that was approaching them.

The machine stopped, then bent down.

The top of the exisal opened. Something jumped and flawlessly landed on the ground.

A tiny dichromatic bear.

But...

Something wasn't right.

It wasn't the white and green bear they all expected to see.

Whatever was standing before them did have its right side white, but the left side was painted in a dark grey-blue color. Its hands were no more, replaced by small black and bright blue canons, and the pacifier had the same colors as them. Small blue pins were attached to its mechanical limbs, with tiny cables entering the body.

The belly, instead of being plain white, had a particular pattern on it. Two dark scissor blades surrounded by even more thin cables.

A symbol that was all too familiar to them now.

But what stood out the most was its right eye. It was hard to tell what even was stuck on it. The piece had been attached here artificially, cables going around the head to keep it in place.

The blue parts were slightly glowing, somehow giving an eery feeling to the robot.

The new bear took a few steps forward.

They could only stare at him with wide eyes. What was he even going to do?

"5-OUT-OF-6. SOMEONE-IS-MISSING."

Missing? Everyone was here, though...

The bear made a strange noise as the others glanced at each other.

"MISSING-PERSON: RANTARO-AMAMI. PLAYING-'INTRODUCTION'."

His eye started glowing green, and 'Monodam' started talking again.

"Hey."

They all recognized that voice instantly.

Ryoma...?

The man sighed. "I really didn't want to record this part. But I had to keep in mind the possibility that this plan would fail. That Rantaro would get executed."

If only he knew...

"If you haven't guessed it already, no, I didn't kill Monodam. The hacking gun only knocked him out. All I did was repair and modify him to act as I wanted. It was tough, but manageable. What you're looking at is the project I have worked on for the past two days."

"Meet Monoshi. An upgraded version of Monodam specifically made to end the game after the trial, whether both of us died or just me. But if this introduction is playing, then that means things didn't go as planned."

"Have you guys watched the videos about Monodam's faked death and my real cause of death?"

The light in his right eye changed to a bright yellow. Was he waiting for them to answer?

"Yes, we did..." Shuichi replied.

"PLAYING-'INTRODUCTION-3'." the bear spoke again, his eye gaining back its green color.

"Good. Then you must have realized this trial was incredibly unfair for the both of us. But I'm not here to talk about that. Pretty sure Rantaro did that already, and if he missed any details, I have noted the important stuff in my lab for you guys just in case."

"As Tsumugi said in her notebook, you guys have to investigate Keebo's death. Now is the perfect opportunity to put an end to this game once and for all."

'Monoshi' approached Kaito and extended its hand to him. The mechanism opened to reveal a green key.

"Kaito. I heard from Rantaro that you wanted to pilot the exisals." he said as the biker's eyes widened. "I am giving you the key to the green one. I don't think it should be that hard to control considering those fingerless bears are able to do so. Do your best."

"Monoshi will take care of opening secret passages and entrances that are not accessible right now. Monodam knew what places are left to visit, so Monoshi does as well. Although for that, bombs will be used so make sure to get out of the way when needed."

"Kaito, you and Monoshi will have to keep Monokuma busy long enough for the others to complete the investigation."

The bombs...

Shuichi felt like he should have expected that, for some reason.

The robot turned to the blonde woman. "Miu."

"To be honest, I cannot exactly pinpoint why, but Rantaro seemed to trust you more than anyone else if we exclude me. He asked me to give you the task to lead the group for the investigation in case things didn't work out for him."

The street artist jumped.

"Huh?" she muttered, surprised by his words. But the robot didn't seem to register that.

"In short- Monoshi will unlock the secret entrances, he and Kaito will distract Monokuma and the rest of you will investigate everything you possibly can."

Shuichi nodded.

But his heart suddenly stopped when he heard a crash from behind them.

Monokuma came back with not one, but the four other exisals.

"My, my! My sweet Monodam, already an angsty teenager going through a rebellious phase... But to want to kill your own father? Puhuhu! That is not something I expected from the most tender and affectionate kid of mine!"

"But you see, with the joy of modern technology, your wonderful brothers and sisters could cross the boundary of life and death once again and come back to our marvelous and colorful world!"

"Do you seriously think you could steal *my* exisals for *your* goals? Puhuhu! These two had a great sense of humor!"

Monoshi's eye turned blue for a moment.

"VOICE-RECOGNIZED: MONOKUMA. PLAYING-'GREETINGS'."

As the eye turned green, the modified robot spoke again.

"Hey there. Knew you were going to try and stop this. But do you seriously think you're gonna win?"

"Rantaro and I have prepared a lot more than you could possibly imagine. You and this entire academy are going down whether you like it or not."

Monokuma laughed. "Puhuhu! I must admit I am impressed! To trick me into thinking my precious monokub was dead when in reality, he was rebelling against me? Such despair!"

"But you're forgetting that *I* am the headmaster of the academy and the one managing the killing game!"

"This little tamper tantrum is over!"

...

Monoshi stayed silent for what felt like an eternity. And then-

His eye glowed red.

"HOSTILITY-RECOGNIZED. PROCEED-TO-EXTERMINATION."

"What-

The bear pointed his canon at Monokuma and immediately started firing. Their captor dodged, but the group now had to get out of this conflict and fast if they didn't want to die because of collateral damage.

The exisals started shooting missiles at Monoshi as well, but he was just as agile. Their battle quickly moved away from them, the bears chasing each other in the courtyard. The scene looked unreal.

"Now's our chance!" Miu exclaimed. "Kaito! You think you can pilot the exisal?"

The biker smirked. "I've been waiting for this. But before that, you guys stay safe, alright? I know you can do this. Go and investigate without me, I'll only slow you down."

Shuichi nodded. "Count on us, Kaito!"

"Also..."

He approached Miu, and suddenly held her in his arms. The girl was surprised, but she did not push him away. After a few seconds, he took a step back and put his hands on her shoulders. "I know you can lead this group to our freedom. I better see you alive at the end. Alright?"

"I better see you alive at the end! But I promise."

She turned to the rest of them.

"Let's end this everyone! Tonight, we're ending this killing game once and for all!"

The tone in her voice warmed his heart. This strength, this emotion... He had seen it before.

It was reminiscent of the old Rantaro they had known at the beginning of the game.

A great leader guiding them to victory.

Kaito climbed into the exisal, using the key Monoshi had given him.

The mecha stood up.

"LET'S FUCKING GO!!"

The machine jumped towards the fight between the robotic bears.

This was it.

Their chance to fight back and win.

The investigation they all had been waiting to do finally started.

...

Kokichi spoke up. "How do we even start?"

Miu hummed. "Kirumi, no offense but you're the one who should know the most about how to get away with murder... How would you proceed to cover the evidence?"

"None taken." The woman pondered. "But investigating Keebo's death will be extremely difficult, and it is not the only thing we need to investigate. Monoshi talked about secret rooms as well."

"We need to know everything about this killing game."

"Good point." the artist replied. "Keebo's death was long ago and essential evidence might have disappeared since then."

She was right. The killer- the mastermind must have cleaned up after themselves. Was it even possible to solve this case now?

"For now, Kaito and Monoshi are keeping the monokubs busy, so the rooms might be opened later. We should focus on what we can investigate." Kirumi continued.

"How about groups of two? We might be able to cover more ground this way." Shuichi suggested.

"I already know I am headed to the fifth floor for Ryoma's notes, so whoever comes with me, please make up your mind fast." the mercenary raised a hand.

"Can I leave this to you, Shuichi?" Miu asked. "Kokichi and I will go to the exisal hangar to see if we can recover anything."

The violinist nodded. "Sounds good!" he turned to Kirumi. "Shall we go?"

The groups separated. His partner was fast, but she often checked to see if he was following.

And true to her words, the duo went to the fifth floor. To Ryoma's lab.

The doors had been destroyed, supposedly by Monoshi when he made his way out.

"Do you think there is something else we can get here?" Shuichi asked.

She entered the lab. "That's what we'll find out. I wouldn't be surprised if they somehow had another trick in their sleeves, even though both of them are dead now."

It was hard not to be impressed by their genius. Kiyo and Tsumugi might have tried to help from beyond the grave with their notebooks, but Ryoma and Rantaro were on a whole other level, and are still actively helping them.

Some boxes looked intact, but some had been completely destroyed and seemed to have exploded from the inside. The two started walking towards the back of the lab, but before they could do so, they noticed a box that stood out from the rest.

It was burned in the shape of an X, and judging from the way it looked, someone had done that on purpose.

However, it was easy to tell who did the damage.

Kirumi didn't wait and immediately climbed on the box. Monoshi, or rather Ryoma must have wanted them to find what was inside. Perhaps it was the notebook?

"The lock was destroyed. I'll see what I can find in there." she said.

"Alright..." Shuichi muttered. Out of nervousness, he kept going through the lab to see if anything else was worth investigating.

He did notice another box that was partially exploded, with nothing interesting inside. The lock didn't seem to have been destroyed, though.

Was this the box Monoshi was kept in?

The back of the lab, despite what Shuichi first thought, hadn't changed at all. Everything was the same as it was during their last visit earlier.

"I found the notebook."

The violinist jumped at Kirumi's sudden appearance. "Really?"

The two approached the source of light.

"Did you find anything else?" she asked as she opened the book.

He shook his head. "I mean, I found the box Monoshi might have been kept in, but nothing worth our attention."

Kirumi hummed as she read the first page. "... This indeed seems to be a recap of everything they have discovered. The summary states that this was made in case Rantaro didn't have time to tell us everything, just like Monoshi said."

"I see..." Shuichi muttered. They took a considerable amount of precautions- although the two were never on the same page in the first place.

"The flashback lights, the cameras, ending the killing game... Hm?"

Shuichi blinked. "What is it?"

"There is a chapter called 'The mastermind's goals.' I don't think Rantaro explained anything about this."

"Let me see!"

Kirumi put the book on the workspace.

Entry n°4

Don't expect me to know about the reasons why this game was created, I don't know. Neither of us do and it's for you guys to find out. At first, we did ask ourselves why, but it became clear pretty quickly that the 'why' was unimportant.

This is about the motives given to us. We didn't think much about that compared to other stuff so don't expect clear explanations. Those are just Rantaro and I's theories so take this with a grain of salt.

The first motive: the time limit and the first blood perk, were obviously to start the game by all means necessary. I don't know what else to say. Easy way to start things with someone obviously falling for this shit. Fantastic.

The second, we're not sure. That might have been to expose some of our secrets, like Kirumi's talent. The tablets were obviously switched intentionally. There's no way the only two tablets that didn't reach their owners coincidentally happened to be those of the one who hid her talent and someone who was likely to watch their video. In other words, it was to reveal stuff that we would have never guessed if not for Monokuma's 'help'. The accomplice perk was made to turn our cooperation against us. To dissuade us to work together, make sure we all become paranoid and break us mentally. Not difficult to understand.

The third is incomprehensible to me. By that, I mean the 'how'. Why would I turn into a coward? I don't know if I was kidnapped again or some shit, but whoever was with them wasn't me. But anyway, the mastermind obviously wanted to eliminate temporarily the smart people (Tsumugi, Rantaro and I) to do their little scheme in peace, which was Keebo's murder.

The fourth may have been to expose our last secrets like Kaito's leg, Kokichi's trauma, Kirumi's condition, and as Rantaro said, manipulate Kiyo into killing Tsumugi by putting more and more pressure on him.

The fifth motive doesn't make any damn sense. I know he blackmailed Kiyo to make the trial last longer to extend a new time limit, but he could have ditched it after his death for despair or some other stupid excuse. Although with the circumstances, I can see why he would put a second time limit. But offering equipment to explore the outside world? He could have shut his mouth and nothing would have changed. Fucking idiot. He should know better by now.

Anyway, this is the least important part and the one we're the less certain about, but those were the most solid theories we had.

Shuichi blinked, clearly not expecting the tone in the soldier's writing. "That's... Interesting..."

However, he quickly noticed something. "Wait, you told Ryoma about your condition?"

She shook her head. "I didn't. But I believe Rantaro must have told him."

"What is done, is done. Everyone knows now, and I do not think it is useful to hide it anymore."

Those two exchanged everything they knew, so it was not surprising, actually.

The woman sighed. "A part of me thought that the 'tablet switch mistake' for the second motive was intentional, but I see that I was not the only one who got to this conclusion."

He winced.

"Although what makes me worried is the third motive." she said. "Kidnapped and replaced by some sort of clone temporarily?"

He hummed. "But... Ryoma said he wasn't sure... Can we really trust this?"

After a short pause, Kirumi closed the book. "Probably not. But we should keep this in mind."

Obtained truth bullet! Killing game motives

"Is there anything else worth reading in this?" Shuichi asked.

His partner reopened the book, and that's when the two noticed the last part of the summary.

1. Flashback lights 2. Cameras 3. Ending the killing game 4. The mastermind's goals 5. Monoshi 6. Stuff

"Stuff?" Shuichi frowned. "That sounds odd..."

Kirumi quickly turned the pages.

Entry n°6

I don't care if the person reading this is Rantaro or not. I'll be dead by the time anyone finds this anyway, and perhaps you are now dead too, boss. So I'm just going to assume someone else is reading.

I don't know why, but it feels like Rantaro is still hiding things. That he never shared certain details with me. I always told him everything I knew, I grew to know him and his habits more than anyone else here. I always somehow managed to get him to speak to me truthfully up until... I would say the 4th trial.

Ever since then, things have changed, somehow. He's been suggesting solid theories more than ever, but at the same time, he seems to be hiding even more information from me.

There is something he knows that I don't. I never got him to speak the truth and it's frustrating as hell.

We're supposed to be damn soldiers, the smartest and the strongest of the group, and our job is to help everyone escape. Why is he withholding information from me?

In any case, I'm extremely worried. I will keep the stoic face because it's easier for me to manage, but at this point I know I cannot do anything anymore and I have accepted it. It's probably too late now, but I wanted to write this somewhere. One could count this as venting, I guess.

Good luck in ending the game, I hope you guys will make it out alive, for our sake.

Sincerely, Ryoma Hoshi.

Shuichi glanced away from the book. "Do you think... He knew Rantaro had planned to die from the beginning?"

Kirumi stared at the text. "I don't think so."

She closed the notebook and gave it to him. "I am more inclined to think he told Ryoma just the right amount of information for him to cooperate with his plan without any sort of hesitation. He didn't tell him things that could hurt his feelings and make him unwilling to act, or realize the mission could be pointless."

The violinist winced. "That's kind of harsh, don't you think? Rantaro... I understand he might have hidden things from Ryoma but... He wasn't a heartless manipulator, was he?"

The mercenary stayed silent for a moment.

"What would you have done in Ryoma's position if you knew nothing was real?"

He paused. That was not a question he expected to hear.

"If you knew your entire life didn't matter, that everything you had done up until now was nothing but meaningless lies, would you have accepted to sacrifice your life for everyone?"

"I-I..." Shuichi stuttered. How could he even answer that?

"Both Ryoma and Rantaro were devoted soldiers. Even after discovering all of his memories could have been faked, Rantaro continued. He went through this plan and sacrificed himself and Ryoma for us. But what about Ryoma? Would he have followed him, knowing this sacrifice could be pointless, or just not for him to do?"

...

Shuichi stared at the ground. "This is..." he looked up to the young woman, hoping to find answers. "W-What do you mean?"

The silence as Kirumi seemed to be choosing her words was almost eerie.

"... This dilemma is what I have supposedly been living for a long time. I didn't have the full details of my missions. Perhaps the target was a good person, but I was told they were vile and needed to be eliminated. The less you are told, the less likely you are to rebel or regret your actions afterwards."

"So you obey, murder, and move onto the next target without asking yourself any questions."

She turned her back, facing the exit.

"With what Rantaro told us after the vote, those philosophies are starting to lose meaning. Perhaps it is time for me to reconstruct my beliefs, and find out who I really am."

"I should be glad there is a possibility I am not the killer of numerous innocents, but somehow, I am not."

"The unknown has always been humanity's greatest fear, as they say."

Without another word, she slowly made her way towards the entrance.

Shuichi could only stare.

... Perhaps it was indeed the time to start questioning what he truly believes in.

Obtained truth bullet! Unknown memories

The two left the lab since there was nothing else to see.

But the moment they stepped on the stairs, the building started trembling, like something was happening above the fifth floor.

"What's going on?!" Shuichi turned to Kirumi.

"It looks like either the rooftop or Himiko's lab has been damaged. We need to go now."

The two ran as fast as they could.

They reached the first floor and spotted Miu and Kokichi.

"Monoshi has opened something in Himiko's lab!" Miu exclaimed. "I don't know what it is, but that's what he told us before going back to help Kaito."

"But we also need to investigate the rest of the building for evidence about Keebo's case..." Kokichi said.

"Then Kokichi and I will investigate the building itself while you two go to the lab." Kirumi suggested.

"There's no time to waste! Shuichi, let's go!" the street artist immediately made her way to the black and white door, the violinist following her.

He had forgotten how long those stairs were, but this wasn't the time to complain.

The star-patterned door opened, and the two immediately spotted two gaping holes in the lab. One giving a direct view of the fight between Kaito and the bears in the courtyard, and another leading into a strange white room in the back of the lab.

They entered and saw sixteen cabins attached to powerful-looking machines.

"What the hell are these?!" Miu approached one of them. "And why do they feel... familiar?"

She stepped inside. Only one person could fit in these. But before she knew it, the thing shut, trapping her in. "Hey! Let me out!"

Shuichi panicked. "Miu!"

He inspected the machine, but it seemed nothing was of use. His eyes darted on all sides of the room and then found a red button in the back.

Emergency shutdown system Do not press if the person inside is not in immediate danger.

The violinist did not think and immediately slammed the button.

The cabin Miu was in immediately opened, letting out some steam.

The girl stumbled out of it, a hand on her forehead. "Ugh..."

Shuichi went by her side to support her. "Are you okay?"

She rubbed her eyes. "I... I don't know, but..."

"I remember."

Shuichi's eyes widened. "Remember what?"

She glanced around the room. "We were here... We were trapped in those... I don't know for how much time but we were here at some point..."

He frowned. "For the Gofer project?"

"Yes! But... Is it, really? Rantaro and Ryoma confirmed the Gofer project was a lie, so... Why?"

Vague memories resurfaced in Shuichi's mind. He had been in this room, once. But now he wasn't so sure.

Were other people with him? Familiar faces?

Nothing was clear, and all the memories felt like they were drowned in a sea of white noise.

"I mean, I do remember being here and... I think I do remember seeing you guys but everything is so fuzzy..." she said, before gripping her head. "Ugh. My head hurts."

Obtained truth bullet! Familiar cabins

Shuichi narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps we should think about it later... There are so many places we need to explore."

He glanced at the file on the table near them. "Perhaps this could help us?"

The two approached the papers and started reading them.

It seemed to be some sort of summary.

Gofer Project Participant List

- Akamatsu Kaede - Amami Rantaro - Chabashira Tenko - Gokuhara Gonta - Harukawa Maki - Hoshi Ryoma - Idabashi Tatsuya - Iruma Miu - Momota Kaito - Ouma Kokichi - Saihara Shuichi - Shinguji Korekiyo - Shirogane Tsumugi - Tojo Kirumi - Yonaga Angie - Yumeno Himiko

Miu frowned. "Who the fuck is Tatsuya Idabashi?!"

Shuichi was just as confused. "And why isn't Keebo on this list? He was one of us!"

The two glanced at each other, trying to apprehend what was in front of them.

"... And here I thought we were looking for answers."

"Now we just have more questions."

"Great."

Obtained truth bullet! Gofer project participant list

Miu paused for a moment. "Hold on."

Shuichi pondered as well. The list looked a bit too odd for his liking.

The girl stared at the unknown name for a moment. "Do you think... This guy is the person we're looking for?"

"You know, the mastermind?"

Shuichi jumped. They had theorized the mastermind was not actually someone in the survivor group because Kiyo had not been suspicious of any of them, no matter how much he studied them.

That added to the fact that Kokichi's karma never seemed to have hit them despite all of the horrible things they had done.

But somehow, this felt... wrong.

Even after all this time, he was still praying that the mastermind was not any of his friends. And yet when an unknown name magically shows up and could solve all of his problems, he couldn't bring himself to assume the worst of them.

"I don't think we should automatically assume that... We don't even know who he is."

"But think about it, Shuichi!" Miu exclaimed. "Someone who didn't participate in the killing game with us, who is probably hiding somewhere in the academy! Someone we've never heard of before now, that's him for sure!"

"We don't know that yet! Monokuma could have just added that name on the list to throw us off for all we know!"

Miu paused. "That's..." she frowned, pondering to herself for a moment. "... not actually impossible."

She flipped the pages to see the mysterious person.

A black and white picture was provided, but they did not recognize this face.

The boy had little to no hair and looked rather scrawny and weak. He almost looked younger than them.

Tatsuya Idabashi - Ultimate robotics engineer

Day of birth: 29/10 Gender: Male

Height: 168 cm Weight: 55kg Blood type: O

Family: None

Value: Essential Role: Ensuring the safety of the structure itself by doing regular check-ups, as well as educating the rest of the group about his skills to ensure a safer journey. Will also be maintaining the exisals in check.

Status: Dead

Shuichi stared at the profile with concern. "What? He's... dead?"

Miu shook her head. "I don't even know what I expected, but dead...?"

He hummed. "If this profile was made before the game, then there's no way he is the mastermind..."

"Didn't you say we couldn't trust anything Monokuma gives us like two minutes ago?"

Fair.

"But still... I don't think this profile comes out of nowhere."

Miu sighed. "We better find new info because whoever the fuck this guy is, I do not trust him."

He didn't either, but it was too early to assume things.

Obtained truth bullet! Tatsuya Idabashi

They looked around the room, but nothing else was worth inspecting.

"Let's not waste any more time here, the others need us to investigate the rest of the academy." Miu started making her way out.

After going down the stairs -which was still a long way- they walked to the second floor. They quickly met Kirumi and Kokichi investigating the labs as much as they could.

"So? Anything new?" Kirumi asked.

"It's very weird, not gonna lie." Miu replied, blinking. "But for now we should keep investigating, I don't know how much longer Kaito and Monoshi will be able to hold back Monokuma and the monokubs."

Shuichi nodded. "How about you guys?"

"Check your monopads. Kokichi and I managed to unlock the previous files and clues we got from the third investigation, although it's not much." Kirumi explained.

"Sweet!" Miu smiled, taking out the tablet.

And true to their words, the file was available, and it looked exactly the same as the one they had back then.

Monokuma file #3 -updated-

The second victim is Keebo, the ultimate ???

The body was discovered in the entrance hall.

The estimated time of death is 8:00 AM.

The cause of death is unknown.

No injuries were noted in the victim’s body.

Obtained truth bullet! Monokuma file #3

"We're trying to find new clues, but... For now, we got next to nothing..." Kokichi muttered.

Shuichi hummed. "Maybe we should switch partners? Perhaps we'll get a fresh view of the case."

Miu clicked her tongue. "Gotcha." she turned to the mercenary. "Kirumi? Wanna continue with me?"

She nodded. "Of course. Let's go."

The two girls confidently headed further into the corridors. Somehow Shuichi could sense a powerful aura coming from these two.

"So... Where are we headed?" Kokichi took him out of his thoughts.

Shuichi put a finger on his chin, humming. "Where did you guys investigate?"

"Mainly the first and second floor... We might need to cover the basement, though."

He nodded. "Then let's go!"

The duo headed back to the first floor, but immediately after stepping in the main entrance, they stopped in their tracks.

One of the machines outside shot the main door and provoked a large explosion right in front of their faces.

The two coughed as the smoke dissipated. They noticed Monoshi, standing right outside the door, a cannon aimed at the floor.

That's only then that they realized there was a large hole almost right in front of their feet.

Shuichi approached the damage and realized there were stairs leading underground. "What on earth...?"

Monoshi stared at them with his glowing mechanical blue eye. "SECRET-ENTRANCE-UNLOCKED: UNDERGROUND-PASSAGEWAY. ONE-SECRET-ENTRANCE-REMAINING."

The bear immediately stormed off.

Kokichi and Shuichi stared at each other before looking down. "Is this where we're headed now?"

The corridor looked devoid of light, the darkness of the night not helping at all. He could see iron grids and cables, which gave him the impression that this was made as a last-minute addition.

The violinist took a step forward. "We have no choice. There must be answers waiting for us down here."

Kokichi nodded.

The two boys headed down. Hopefully, they would find the solutions to the problems that the investigation itself made them aware of, as well as the truth of Keebo's death.

"It's our goal to seek the truth and we have no time to waste."

#ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 au #beta au #main story

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chelsfic · 4 years

Text

Devotions - WWDITS Fanfic - Nandor x Guillermo

Sequel to: Maybe One Day, My Love

WWDITS Masterlist

A/N: Quick note to let you guys know that I have been writing up a storm, but I’ve posted many fics exclusively to AO3. It is just so much work to format every story for Tumblr. AO3 is such a superior place to read and write. So, check that out to see what you’ve missed. Thanks to @sinaesthete for beta reading this fic for me!

Summary: Following a death in the family, Guillermo goes to the park for his weekly "visit" with his ex-master. After two decades of distance and one-sided conversation, Nandor finally steps out of the shadows.

Warnings: Smut, Religious References, Parent Death

---

“You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.” -Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

It’s nightfall once again.

Guillermo de la Cruz clutches a prayer card in his fist as he strides down the familiar path for the appointment he never misses. Not even tonight.

Puddles dot the paved lane; he carefully avoids them, not wishing to ruin his patent leather shoes. He’s still dressed in the clothes he wore to the funeral: a dark suit and tie that make him look somehow older and younger at the same time. Like a little boy dressed up in his father’s clothes. His rigid soles scuff against the cement. The scraping sound grounds him in time and place, pulling him back from the vision of the gleaming white casket heaped with flowers.

It’s early spring. The night is still chilly, but the park has begun to transform with the new season. Green shoots of grass peek out between moldy fallen leaves. Crocuses emerge in the flower beds that line the walk. The branches hanging overhead are heavy with verdant leaves whispering in the light breeze. Guillermo breathes in the damp, mildewy scent of new growth. Idly, he wonders if the funeral arrangements have started to wilt.

He rounds the well-known turn in the path, finally arriving at his forgotten little alcove with its dilapidated bench. The wooden slats of the seat give way to his weight as he sits; the wood is soft and worn. He recalls the hard, polished church pews and decides that this is a much more suitable place for worship. The laminated prayer card bites into the tender flesh of his palm and he releases it, taking his hands from his pockets and letting them rest on the well-loved bench.

Night sounds fill his ears: crickets murmuring in the grass, distant traffic rushing on the highway, gentle wind blowing through the trees. No matter how carefully he listens, holding his breath and keeping perfectly still, Guillermo will never hear his master’s approach until Nandor wishes it. Instead he begins his vigil, communing with the night, with this place, the setting for his devotions.

“Let us pray...

I am the resurrection and the life, says the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever live and believe in me shall never die.”

The priest’s words float back to him as if conjured by the night wind. Guillermo’s thoughts fix upon his lord. The one he’s worshiped since he was nineteen-years-old. He calls up Nandor’s image with ease, despite the years that have passed since actually seeing the vampire. Dark eyes ringed in fire, bottomless pits into which Guillermo has been falling for the last thirty-seven years. A body as cold and lethal as a winter’s night. Fangs that reap bloody sacrifices from his victims. Guillermo closes his eyes and Nandor is there before him--skin warm in the candlelight, lips relaxed in a rare smile, holding out his hand and beckoning Guillermo to come forward. In his vision, Nandor places his palm on the crest of Guillermo’s head in a blessing.

“Blessed are those who mourn,

For they will be comforted.”

The snap of a twig announces him. Guillermo eyes snap open; he stares straight ahead into the trees on the other side of the nook. He senses Nandor in the darkness behind him, a guardian or a devil. Both. But he doesn’t turn to look, though every fiber of his being is attuned to his master’s cold presence; though he longs to lunge at him and hold him and never let him leave this place. That is not their arrangement.

Just this once, though, he wishes it could be different.

Guillermo tries to speak; tries to perform their ritual as usual. But the words stick in his throat, congealing into a heavy lump that suffocates him. A shaky breath passes through his parted lips and becomes a sob. Suddenly there are tears spilling down his cheeks. He reaches into his pocket, removes the prayer card with Silvia de la Cruz’s beautiful portrait on it, and sets it on the seat beside him.

“She… died,” he explains in a shattered whisper, scrubbing furiously at his eyes with his fists. “Mi mam á . She’s gone, Nandor.”

For an instant the rest of the words stick in his throat: Guillermo’s not supposed to address him directly. That’s not part of their ritual. Now Nandor will leave; now he’ll never come back. But the grief soon scours away the fear of breaking their rules and Guillermo collapses down to his elbows, hanging his head and sobbing out his heartache and pain.

“It happened so s-suddenly, Nandor. I didn’t get to say good-bye or tell her I’m sorry.”

Guillermo crosses his arms over his chest, hugging and rocking himself in a pitiful attempt to self-soothe. His sinuses are blocked; his face is flushed; his mouth tastes like bile and communion wafers and his t í a’s buñuelos. He’s desperate to get a hold himself, to salvage this evening somehow, but every time he nearly has the crying controlled his mind supplies him with a new torture. The stricken look on his amá’s face when he left home to work for Nandor. The smell of eggs and fresh tortillas in the morning. The sound of her clambering in the kitchen, cursing under breath. Her smile. Her hugs. The way she took him in, without questions, when he came back home covered in blood and hysterical after a decade of being a bad son.

Guillermo is so lost in memories, he almost misses the soft, hesitant touch on his shoulder. A hand--solid, strong, cold--closes around his shoulder and squeezes gently. Their first touch in twenty-six years. Guillermo’s breath stutters from his lungs. He freezes, terrified of breaking the fragile sanctity of this moment. He wavers on the threshold of action. Before he can summon the courage to cross it himself , Nandor does so for him. The vampire’s hands are suddenly clutching, pawing at his shoulders and chest; clawed fingers dig into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket and haul him over the bench. He’s dragged through the spider-riddled bush and then all at once he’s in his master’s embrace. As if it hasn’t been decades since the last and first time they held each other. As if a whole lifetime of experience--sadness, joy, yearning, hope--hasn’t slipped through Guillermo’s mortal fingers.

Nandor wraps Guillermo up in his cape, the rich fabric and gold embroidery are clean and well-maintained. Guillermo finds himself wondering if Nandor has himself a new familiar, quickly deciding he doesn’t want to know. He buries his face in Nandor’s strong, broad chest and breathes him in. He smells like rose water, argan oil, and Tide To-Go Pens. He smells like warm candle wax and brassy, spilled blood. He smells like dust and animal pelts and frozen decay. He smells like home.

“And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.”

Guillermo never really left him, did he? Two decades spent building a human life, and with one simple embrace he is back on Staten Island, a nineteen-year-old boy knocking on a pagan god’s front door and offering himself in sacrifice.

“Nandor,” he cries. It’s a plea, a demand, a tribute, a prayer. Once the name falls from his lips he can’t stop. “Nandor. Nandor. Nandor. Nandor. Nandor. Nan--”

The vampire shushes him, bringing his hand up to cradle Guillermo’s head against his chest. That voice, rich and deep, rumbles through the fabric of the leather vest and into Guillermo’s tear-streaked cheek. “I am sorry, my Guillermo. Your mama… she was a good lady. She took care of you, kept you safe and happy after…” he trails off, clearing his throat uncomfortably. His arms tighten around Guillermo. “I am so very sorry.”

Guillermo clings to him, hands fisting in the cape, tugging at the material until Nandor is forced to stoop down. Guillermo closes his eyes, terrified of opening them to find that this is all a dream. Some kind of religious vision that will dissipate in a cloud of smoke if he breaks the spell. Nandor’s face is so close, he can feel the vampire’s cool breath on his cheeks. Guillermo presses forward, nuzzling his face into the whiskers of Nandor’s beard, gasping at the soft caress of long hair against his face.

“Is this real?” Guillermo whispers; his words are fragile, like moth’s wings fluttering through the air between them. “Master, is it really you?”

“Who else would it be, Guillermo?” Nandor chides in the same old amused tone that Guillermo has preserved in his heart like dried flower petals between the pages of the family bible. “Who else but me? It’s always me, Guillermo.”

Thumbs wipe away the salty, stinging tears from Guillermo’s cheeks and the human huffs out a sound that’s a laugh, a sob and a cry of joy all at once.

“It’s always you, master,” he agrees and seconds later he feels the cool, miraculous brush of Nandor’s lips on his.

“Almighty God, cleanse my heart and my lips that I may worthily proclaim your Gospel.”

Guillermo’s eyes fly open. Dark hair and pale, luminous skin fill his vision. Arms--powerful, undeniable--wrap around his soft little human form. He melts into Nandor, all the strength in his limbs bleeding away until the vampire’s strong grip is the only thing keeping him from falling to his knees. He’s resplendent, overjoyed to give himself up to the predatory angel before him.

The grief--a hollow, aching hole in his chest--is still there. But with it is a new sensation, at once well-known and utterly novel: ecstasy, fulfillment, completion. To be united with Nandor finally, after decades of pining, feels unreal and yet meant to be. It’s everything he’s dreamed of and denied dreaming of for so long.

Nandor’s lips slide against his own, cool to the touch yet soft and welcoming. Nothing like the hard and forbidding marble he’d always imagined. Nandor’s mouth is pliant and giving; it’s not unlike kissing a mortal man… as if Nandor isn’t the untouchable celestial being of his dark dreams, but flesh and--yes--blood. Guillermo flicks out his tongue and traces his master’s full, pouting lower lip. Nandor opens his mouth at once, granting him the entry he seeks. How can this be happening? After a lifetime of longing and supplication?

“Guillermo,” Nandor says his name like a plea, his lips brushing, the syllables melting into their kiss. “My Guillermo. You’re mine, still, aren’t you? Will you be mine?”

Guillermo mouth molds to his master’s. Nandor’s beard drags against the soft skin of his chin and cheeks. He pulls himself away long enough to answer. “Yes, Nandor. I’m still yours. If you’ll still be mine. Oh, God , please tell me you’re mine, Nandor!”

God. For the first time in eight centuries, Nandor feels no pain at the holy word. Instead it dribbles from Guillermo’s lips, melting into their kiss and tasting like sweet honey. Yes, he thinks, finally allowing his hands to roam down his human supplicant’s body. Yes, I am your god, little mortal. And you are mine.

The words spark in the night air, a spell that will keep them safe so long as they don’t stop touching. “I’m yours, Guillermo. Forever.”

They tumble to the earth, a tangle of grasping limbs, rolling hips and desperate, longing kisses. Nandor breaks their fall, landing in the dewy grass with a soft grunt and clutching Guillermo to his chest with reverent care. Guillermo is alight with sensation. Prayers fall from his lips, holy words that once would have sent his master hissing and flinching, but which now seem to feed him.

“Nandor, my god!” He pulses his pelvis with every repetition of the name. “God, I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Love . A word that should bring Nandor as much pain as the other and yet… Guillermo’s heartache, his abandon, his devotion have unlocked something inside of him. He lets himself free. His hands clench Guillermo’s backside and squeeze; he grinds their pelvises together in fervent desperation. Guillermo settles heavily on his chest, sinking his fingers into the vampire’s soft hair and raining kisses on his face.

“You will give yourself to me, won’t you?” Nandor whispers, an edge of uncertainty in his voice. “Finally?”

The weight of ecstasy and sorrow on Guillermo’s soul leaves no room for the exasperation that he should rightfully feel at those words. As if Guillermo has not given himself to Nandor every day for his entire adult life. As if he wouldn’t have gladly killed to be in this position decades before. But here, in this holy place, in the communion of their bodies and souls, Guillermo doesn’t scoff. He presses a gentle, wet, lingering kiss to Nandor’s lips before answering.

“You already have me, Master.”

“ Take this... and eat of it, for this is my Body, which will be given up for you.”

They lay Nandor’s cape out on the grass like a blanket. It’s almost completely dark in the shadowy undergrowth, but Guillermo still blushes as he shrugs off his suit coat and begins unbuttoning his shirt, aware of the vampire’s heightened senses. The darkness presses up against Guillermo’s eyeballs; he strains to see merely the faintest outline of Nandor’s powerful frame. His face is a dark blur except for his eyes. Nandor’s predator eyes drink in every bit of ambient light and reflect it back at Guillermo. They glow. Hallowed, fiery rings in the night.

Guillermo is no longer a virgin. He feels a small, pitiful pang at the knowledge that he can’t give Nandor that part of himself. He’s slept with a few men over the years. But he’s never truly offered himself to any of them like he’s doing now. Guillermo takes off his shirt, his undershirt. He toes off his shoes and socks and undoes his belt. It’s cold and the cape is starting to absorb the dew and chill from the solid earth beneath, but he doesn’t shiver as he removes his pants and underwear. He lays on his back, nude, flushed, panting and achingly hard. He doesn’t feel the icy wind that raises goosebumps on his arms and hardens the pink tips of his nipples to little nubs. He is a sacrifice; an offering; a tribute. The cold can’t touch him now. Not with the fire of his lord’s eyes keeping him warm.

Nandor’s hands paint ribbons of freezing flame on his skin. They brush lightly, teasingly across his belly, his chest, his thighs. The vampire drapes himself over Guillermo and the human realizes that he’s also undressed. They both gasp as their rigid, leaking erections bump against each other. Guillermo bucks his hips in uncontrolled desire and he feels Nandor sink his fingers into the ample flesh of his thighs to hold him still. A huff of breathy amusement falls from the vampire’s lips. He grabs Guillermo up in another passionate kiss, nipping and licking his lips. A keening, vulnerable moan bubbles up from the vampire’s throat. He clutches Guillermo’s tender body against his cold,, cadaverous frame. Tears--frigid and laced with blood-- fall down his cheeks and mingle with Guillermo’s.

“Guillermo!” Nandor gasps, pulling back. His hands trace patterns on the pulsing hot skin of Guillermo’s neck. The human waits and listens to his master’s labored breathing. A plea hangs in the air between them. “Will you give me this as well, Guillermo? Your blood?”

“With faith in your love and mercy I eat your Body and drink your Blood.”

For the first time, Guillermo wonders if Nandor comes here every week with the intention of offering worship just as he does.

“Take it, Nandor,” he commands. His voice is strong, unwavering, loud in the solitude of their secluded grove. He reaches up blindly and takes Nandor’s face between his hands, guiding him down to the cradle of his neck until the vampire’s cool lips press against his skin. “Drink.”

Nandor whispers something against Guillermo’s neck before biting down. The words are an unintelligible susurrous. He recognizes them as Al Quolanudarese. And though he’s incapable of parsing them, they feel like secret magic words. Words that finally pulverize the last brick in the wall between them. Guillermo knows their meaning in his bones, in his heart, in his soul.

Nandor’s fangs pierce and bruise. His bite is brutal and honest. This is Nandor; no hiding, no subterfuge. He is violence and blood and frozen kisses. He is also the tender stroking of fingers along Guillermo’s tear-stained cheeks and the broken sob he makes an instant before the blood begins to flow. Guillermo’s eyes flutter shut and he fists his hands in the cape beneath him. Take me, take me, take me , he begs.

Blood and body.

He buries his hands in Nandor’s hair, cupping the crown of his head as nonsense prayers fall from his lips. He invokes every sacred symbol he knows. Nandor’s mouth; his tongue; his hands; his cock. The bedroom under the stairs. The candlelit crypt. The parking lot at the immigration office. The blood-stained robe from Celeste’s orgy. The ancestry reports. Wooden stakes and crucifixes. The claw-foot bathtub. Nandor’s hair oils. His coffin. Bubble gum and mason jars and flashcards and feather dusters and boot polish and ice chips and a portrait made from glitter: two men, impossibly hopeful, naive and in love.

When Nandor finally retracts his fangs from Guillermo’s neck, he laps at the spilled blood, kissing the soft, torn skin with a grateful, remorseful, worshipful reverence.

“My Guillermo,” he cries over and over again, rocking his hips subconsciously and panting as their cocks slide against one another. When he draws up on his elbows Guillermo can see his blood marring those perfectly cruel lips and staining his full beard. His voice is thick with tears. “Your blood, Guillermo. It’s…”

Guillermo nods, wiping Nandor’s cheeks even as his own tears fall into his hairline. “I know, Nandor. You’re mine now. Always.”

The vampire bows his head, pressing his lips to Guillermo’s soft chest directly over his rapidly beating heart. “Your blood is rushing, Guillermo. So eager to give me your life.”

Guillermo sighs, running his hands down the length of Nandor’s sides, squeezing his soft flanks and raising his hips to grind against him.

“And what are you eager to give me, Nandor?”

Nandor brings his hand up to Guillermo’s neck and catches the blood that still flows there. He hovers over Guillermo, balancing on one elbow as he moves his other hand between them and slides his wet, bloody fingers into the cleft of Guillermo’s backside. Guillermo feels the slick of his lifeblood against his sensitive skin as Nandor’s fingers probe and press into his entrance. A shiver wracks his frame at the utter indecency, the absolute sacrilege.

“Fuck,” Guillermo hisses as the first finger breaches the tight ring of muscle and enters him. “God! Nandor, yes.”

Nandor whimpers in gratitude at his human’s praise. He speaks absently, in the grips of religious ecstasy, “Let me show you, Guillermo. Please, let me show you.”

Guillermo writhes and nods his head, arching his back as another finger joins the first. “Show me you love me, Nandor. Show me you fucking worship me.”

A strangled growl fills the little grove and Nandor picks up the pace of his thrusting fingers, subtly rocking his erection against the tender skin of Guillermo’s thigh as he goes. His breath mingles with Guillermo’s as he leans in and presses their lips together in a slow, aching kiss. He inserts a third finger, stretching Guillermo out and swallowing the man’s groan.

“Now, Nandor,” an echo of desperation and sorrow tinges his voice. Nandor scrambles to comply. He removes his fingers, kneeling between Guillermo’s spread legs and placing shaking hands on the insides of his generous thighs, steadying himself.

Nandor doesn’t speak, but the sound of his breathing might as well be a love letter. He’s panting, there’s a hitch in his breath, a tremor in his fingers. Guillermo feels the tip of him against his hole and he nearly sobs with relief and joy and loss and guilt and exasperation. Why now? After all these years? Why on the night of his mother’s funeral when he is ragged and raw? Why couldn’t they have had this when Guillermo was still young and so pitifully in love with Nandor that he was willing to tarnish his soul for the vampire’s convenience? He thinks these things with regret, with melancholy longing and wistfulness; but never with anger.

This is his Nandor and Guillermo will take him and cherish him until he is buried in the ground. Nandor presses forward, entering him inch by inch. Stars burst in Guillermo’s eyes and amidst the furious physical sensations, a feverish thought flits through his head. When Guillermo is dead he wants to be buried in this very spot, in the soil beneath their naked bodies, on the site of their long-delayed consummation. The idea should repulse him, or sadden him, but instead it just feels right. He pictures Nandor visiting his grave every Sunday for the rest of the time and cants his hips, taking the vampire deeper as the blood trickles from his neck and his cock smears precum onto his belly.

Their bodies move together in a rhythm that’s both familiar and wonderfully new. They cling, claw, grab and stroke. Nandor’s length fills Guillermo; the vampire’s fingers wrap around Guillermo’s rigid cock and pump him as he thrusts. The words that fall from their lips are a heady, nonsensical, sacred blend of Spanish, Al Quolanudarese and English. Love is only the beginning. This is yearning, devotion, allegiance, becoming, undoing, transforming. Nandor is god is Guillermo is Nandor. They are whole for the first time in their lives.

The climax takes them both at the same time. Guillermo sobs, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as Nandor roars above him. Nandor spills his plentiful vampiric seed inside of him as Guillermo’s cum shoots out in hot ropes that paint his and Nandor’s bellies. He lets his softening cock fall from Guillermo’s body as he collapses down, pillowing his head on Guillermo’s chest and gasping for air that he doesn’t need. Guillermo cards his fingers through his hair and weeps.

He’s crying for the boy he once was. The one who loved his amá and wanted to make her proud. The boy who fell in love with a demon. The boy who dreamed and hoped and prayed and was disappointed. He’s crying for Nandor, too, who has lived for centuries without ever allowing himself to acknowledge the soft animal of his own emotions. And he’s crying for his amá, whose heart he broke for a decade and who never, ever stopped believing in him even when he came home at the age of 30, jobless, soulless, and ruined.

Nandor nuzzles his cheek against Guillermo’s sparsely-haired chest, pressing kisses into his sweat-slick skin and tracing patterns over his stomach with long, elegant fingers.

“I can hear your heartbeat, Guillermo,” he whispers. “Did you know I could always hear your heartbeat? It’s not usual. I mean, yes, of course vampires have super hearing, but we learn to tune all that out, you know? But never with you, my Guillermo. I listened to every beat of your little heart for eleven years. I was so afraid one day it would stop…”

In the soft, sacred dark Guillermo can finally ask the question, “Then why didn’t you ever turn me? You could’ve had me forever, immortal. Why, Nandor?”

Nandor sits up and his eyes glow as he looks down at Guillermo, a frown in his voice, “I didn’t want it to stop, Guillermo. I didn’t want to be the one to...make it stop.”

Guillermo shuts his eyes and they are quiet for a long, long time. He holds Nandor in his arms. The chill of the night air finally affects him and he shivers once. Nandor grabs the edge of the cape and pulls it over Guillermo to shield him. They lay beside each other, touching, breathing, listening. Guillermo traces the outline of Nandor’s lips, letting his finger dip inside his mouth and feeling the sharp edge of his fangs. Nandor allows it. Of course he does. He could not deny Guillermo anything. Not in this place. Not anywhere else, either. The knowledge settles in his veins, flows through him like Guillermo’s blood.

“Guillermo,” Nandor begins, drawing out the last syllable like he used to. “It is not too late…”

It’s a statement and a question. Guillermo holds his breath, waiting for the vampire to elaborate, but Nandor remains silent. A moment later he feels Nandor’s cold skin pressed to his lips. There’s warmth there, too, borrowed from his body. He tastes blood as Nandor presses his wrist firmly to Guillermo’s mouth.

“It’s not too late,” he repeats.

“May this mingling of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, bring eternal life to us who receive it.”

#wwdits fanfic #nandor x guillermo #nandermo #guillermo x nandor #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #smut #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fanfic

32 notes · View notes

hozier-mp3 · 4 years

Note

destiel au fic recs?

Oh yes.

Once upon a time I made a post of every single one of my Fic Recs, and I’m especially fond of AUs, so I give you a list of just, solely, AU fics.

Let me start with my shameless self promotions. (They’re actually full of shame I’m sorry but those are my three AU fics I’ve written.

Alright, time for the real ones. *cracks knuckles* A Million Ways To Go by ChasingRabbits on AO3 - Castiel Novak is a preacher's son living in a world of black and white. Pragmatic and dutiful, he doesn't understand why anybody would want to make waves.Then the Winchesters move in down the street. Soon many of the skeletons in the Novak family's closet are exposed, and as the family faces them, Castiel begins to understand that there are many ways to see the world and so many more ways to live than what he's been told. - This is one of the few fics I’ve reread. The summary pretty much covers it, though, so I’ll let that one speak for itself.

Word Count: 91,079

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086183/chapters/2185029

Smiling Out Of Fear by thepinupchemist on AO3- Castiel Novak is a product of the system, having gone through too many foster homes since the age of seven. At fourteen, he lands himself in Sugar Lane Mobile Home Community under the care of Missouri Moseley. There, he meets one Dean Winchester. A story about teenage hooligans, growing up, and finding a home. - Okay, I’m not going to say anything other than the fact that thinking about this fic literally makes me almost start crying happy tears. I adore it. (I pretty much recommend everything thepinupchemist has written, but I haven’t gotten through it all yet.)

Word Count: 117,494

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007755/chapters/1998660 25¢ Pocket Guardian Angels by hopelessheathen on AO3- Dean walks into his local bank one day and notices that someone has filled the old gumball machine with these tiny, wiggling, sentient angels in individual plastic packaging. Deeply concerned about their air supply and the fact that they're trapped there in the sun, he starts pumping in quarters to rescue them. This is worse than leaving a dog in an overheating car. Now he's got forty of the little guys running all over his house, and god knows how many others might be trapped and dying all over the city. - I love this. I could read it three times a day and still get a smile on my face. It’s just a little one shot, but it’s worth the time it takes. Word Count: 13,325

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359713

Burden by riseofthefallenone on AO3 - Mutants are considered second class citizens, or worse. Discriminated against at every turn, mutants are marked and monitored by The Registry and any deemed too dangerous are taken away to The Facility. It’s no surprise that many try to hide or choose a more permanent way out if a mutation develops. Castiel’s parents hid his mutation and hid him away from the world. He’s grown up with the knowledge that the world will hate him, no matter what he does. If he leaves the house, he can only do it with a long, heavy coat that covers the most beautiful part of him. It takes a pair of brothers to help him really spread his wings and live. - Yet another I adore. If you’ll keep a secret for me, I’m actually not caught up, but I oh so desperately want to be. I’m kind of a sucker for wings in general, though, so that helps.

Word Count: 317,582

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20613731/chapters/48945302

Out Of The Deep by riseofthefallenone on AO3 - Stay away from the light-beds. Stay in the deep. It is the first thing hatchlings are taught the moment their fans unfurl and they can swim without their parents to buoy them along. It is the first rule, the first law. It is the beginning of every boogey-monster bedtime story told when they settle against the cliffs to sleep. Castiel should have listened better. - Okay, but holy shit. This was one of the first Destiel fics I read, and it heightened my standards to unbelievable places. I adore it. I could write essays.

Word Count: 488,608

https://archiveofourown.org/works/548878/chapters/977676 True As It Can Be by whelvenwings - Growing up in a small town in Kansas, Dean learned from a young age that there was only one rule that couldn’t be broken, one place he couldn’t go - through the forest, to the long-abandoned Angel’s Hollow. But when Sam disappears, Dean’s left with no choice but to follow his brother's tracks through the dangers of the wood; little does he know that the most dangerous creature of all lurks not among the trees, but in the Hollow itself. Dean sets Sam free, at the cost of his own liberty - and, bound by magic, resigns himself to living out the rest of his days in the Hollow, at the mercy of the being within. The angel of Angel’s Hollow, however, has a story - is a prisoner, too, as much as Dean is. Only one thing can free them both - but it is impossible. For, after all: who could ever learn to love a beast? - This was the first, and last, Beauty and the Beast AU I ever read, but for good reason. I’m scared if I read another, that this one will absolutely shit on it and I won’t be able to enjoy it. I loved this fic very much.

Word Count: 71,952

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048568/chapters/24631101

Okay, before I even mention the next one, please read the tags. There are quite a few possible triggers and the tags, luckily, have accurate trigger warnings. And, of course, archive warnings. (And, of course, be sure to read tags on the others.) If you have issues with that, just scroll past this one, because the others are fine. (I think/hope so. At least. If you have any issues, please, let me know. I’ll put warnings above those too)

Defiant by thestorygirl on AO3 - Dean Winchester has devoted his career as a police officer to helping angel slaves in any way that he can. He even formed and heads the "Angel Welfare Task Force," which involved him being called to consult on any case involving slaves. This passion stemmed from an incident that happened twenty years previously, when a thirteen year old Dean failed to help his friend Castiel escape being sold to a sadistic owner. Dean had never really harbored any hope of finding his friend. He saw his work as something he did in memory of Castiel, to prevent others from suffering the same fate. But, when called out on a routine case one day, Dean was startled to find that he recognized the victim. - So, usually I avoid the Non-Con archive warning at all. But with this one, honestly, I’m lucky I didn’t. I could seriously write essays on this fic. I’m gonna shut up about it, just because I don’t want to talk too much about it. It’s seriously perfect.

Word Count: 133,352

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2180202/chapters/4771569

Alright back to the ones that don’t quite need trigger warnings.

Have Love, Will Travel by squeemonster - Castiel Novak is a reclusive writer with a childhood so tragic it's left him terrified to leave his home—until his overbearing brother, Gabriel, drags him out for a night on the town full of booze and strip clubs, and he encounters Dean Winchester, a mesmerizing and mysterious stripper with secrets of his own. Both men find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other, and soon Dean's private dances for Castiel become much more, as both men confess their troubles and find solace in each other's company. But neither can seem to find the courage to take their relationship further than the intimacy of the club's VIP Room—and just when Dean's own brother gives him the excuse he needs to finally admit his feelings, Dean discovers something that brings it all crumbling down. Will they find a way past their demons and their trust issues, and back to each other?- I love Cas in this fic, his agoraphobia fits his usual outsider-ness and it’s just all beautifully characterized. I very much enjoy “the only exception” tropes as well, so....

Word Count: 94,054

https://archiveofourown.org/works/565455/chapters/1011747?view_adult=true Four Letter Word For Intercourse by Bendingsignpost on AO3 - As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties. What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right? (It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.) - Holy shit. That’s... that’s really all I can say. Holy shit. Easily made my top five.

Word Count: 194,739

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086839/chapters/37568591 Now, onto the one I haven’t finished, but like... so far.

Beck and Call by Soupernabturel on AO3 - 1922: Dean Winchester, eldest heir to the Winchester Estate, has a less than orthodox relationship with his servant, Castiel Novak. - Like I said, I haven’t finished it yet, but I’m vastly enjoying it at the moment.

Wow, it was really hard not to include canon ones lol. Anyways, I hope this helps Anon, and I hope you enjoy! I love all these authors, and you should give them all the love!

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rphelperblog · 2 years

Text

Inspiration and Motavational Young Adult Book Quotes

. “People really are like houses with vast rooms and tiny windows. And maybe it’s a good thing, the way we never stop surprising each other.”

. “Fear doesn’t shut you down; it wakes you up”

“Words are how others define us, but we can define ourselves any way we choose.”

. “I shiver, thinking how easy it is to be totally wrong about people—to see one tiny part of them and confuse it for the whole, to see the cause and think it’s the effect or vice versa.”

“Fear is only your enemy if you allow it to be.”

“We who have means and a voice must use them to help those who have neither.”

“I think that maybe forgiveness is like change—it comes in small steps.”

“What is the point of being alive if you don’t at least try to do something remarkable?”

“Hope can be a powerful force. Maybe there’s no actual magic in it, but when you know what you hope for most and hold it like a light within you, you can make things happen, almost like magic.”

“If you want to rebel, rebel from inside the system. That’s much more powerful than rebelling outside the system.”

“I am coming to terms with the fact that loving someone requires a leap of faith, and that a soft landing is never guaranteed.”

The measure of a man is not how much he suffers in the test, but how he comes out at the end.”

“Sometimes, when people get treated as less than human, the best way to help them feel better is to simply treat them as human. Not as victims. Just you as you.”

“I think you gotta be who you want to be until you feel like you are whoever it is you’re trying to become. Sometimes half of doing something is pretending that you can.”

“The real courage is in living and suffering for what you believe.”

“Take care not to listen to anyone who tells you what you can and can’t be in life.”

“Even in its first faint traces, love could alter a landscape. It wrote unimagined stories and made the most beautiful, forbidding places.”

I believed, and still believe, that you can build your dreams brick by brick. That you can accomplish anything with persistence.”

“Sometimes the best way to find out what you’re supposed to do is by doing the thing you’re not supposed to do.”

“Brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared. It means you go on even though you’re scared.”

“You may be born into a family, but you walk into friendships. Some you’ll discover you should put behind you. Others are worth every risk.”

“If you have two friends in your lifetime, you’re lucky. If you have one good friend, you’re more than lucky.”

“Making a decision isn’t about knowing every potential consequence. It’s about knowing what you want and chasing a path that takes you in that direction”

“The funny thing about armor is that it doesn’t just keep other people out. It keeps us in. We build it up around us, not realizing that we’re trapping ourselves.”

“My life is not packaged, Not tidy. There are leftover strands and jagged Edges that cut even my friends.”

“We can’t know what’s going to happen. We can just try to figure it out as we go along.”

“Just because you can’t experience everything doesn’t mean you shouldn’t experience anything.”

“Time comes to us softly, slowly. It sits beside us for a while. Then, long before we are ready, it moves on.”

. “Each of us must confront our own fears, must come face to face with them. How we handle our fears will determine where we go with the rest of our lives. To experience adventure or to be limited by the fear of it.” —

#inspiration #booklr #ya books #open to all #open to anyone #open rp #ask meme #open meme #open to anybody #ask prompt #roleplay meme #rp meme #memes #rp ask meme #ask rp meme #ask roleplay #meme starter #meme rp

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yogpetshame · 4 years

Link

Hi all, following on from my update post last week, today I want to share some more thoughts and apologise for something that I feel particularly bad about.

In 2016 screenshots emerged on tumblr of Sjin chatting flirtatiously with fans online. During a livestream and reddit post I angrily defended him and insulted those who were sharing the screenshots - something I deeply regret doing and am very sorry for.

At the time I thought a few overly-sensitive individuals were blowing things out of proportion and getting angry on behalf of others. I hadn’t received any complaints and to me it appeared that no one was hurt. I reminded Sjin that chatting with fans in this way was not okay and if it were to happen again he would be removed from the Yogscast. Sjin was a close friend and I stupidly believed him when he said nothing inappropriate had happened (emphasis added).

Last year, a number of women shared their stories with me and I finally realized that he had, in fact, caused a great deal of hurt.

I understand now that his position of power allowed him to emotionally manipulate and sexually harass members of our community.

I don’t think he really understood that his actions were not okay - or the impact of them - but that is no excuse, people were hurt and they continue to come forward.

Over the last week I’ve seen many courageous women and men share their stories only to be insulted, shamed or threatened with lawsuits or violence and I have been very upset by this. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last year, it’s that accusations against influencers deserve to be taken seriously and those speaking up should be met with compassion, respect and support.

Yes, there will be a rare bad apple with a false claim. But if multiple victims have come forward then no doubt there are more who can't speak out in public. This could be because they’re protecting their family, reputation, mental health or career. And they should not feel guilty for waiting until they are ready to come forward.

It's a privilege to be a professional YouTuber or streamer - not a right. I applaud Twitch for taking action to remove poisonous individuals from the platform and I hope other big platforms do the same. But we need to do more: we need to educate influencers that fans are real people with real feelings - something that can be hard to see through the veil of anonymity on the internet.

We have a HR rep at the Yogscast and are implementing a sensitivity training course that all current and future creators will be expected to complete. Perhaps something like this should be built into requirements to join “partner programs” on Twitch and YouTube, just as you’re required to complete a short online training course to get certified for Google Adsense.

I encourage everyone to stand up when they see or hear something wrong and call it out. My [e-mail](mailto:[email protected]) is always open to anybody who has concerns about how we do things.

To conclude, it’s become apparent to me that my past inaction and ignorance contributed to the hurt caused by Sjin and others and I feel deeply ashamed about this. I want to say sorry to everyone who has been affected.

There’s been a lot to think about and consider so I’ve decided to take a few weeks away from everything and I’ll be back in due course.

Be good to one another,

Lewis

I felt like taking ages to get around to responding to this - that’s why it took me a while. When I see a long letter and I agree with every point I don’t feel like throwing myself at it. I’m not chasing it down like I’m trying to hunt the post and kill it.

In case you were missing the context, Lewis is referring to what we’ve been calling the “Fuck You Stream,” a Deck Rippers stream from April 2016 in which Lewis screamed “fuck you” at least five times to people who had brought accusations against Sjin. The Yogscast appear to have delisted the video, so I’m having trouble giving you the context you deserve here. This post contains a large transcript of the things that were said, and I might have archived it somewhere, but if it’s already up somewhere, let me know.

How fucking long ago was “Yogscast needs HR” a slogan? All it took was one errant flail in their everyday uncontrolled brawl to punch a hole in Yogcon, and suddenly focusing on sensitivity and tackling the harmful repercussions of their behavior began to make financial sense. One year later and the Rooster Teeth partnership as well as pressure from Twitch finally forced the Yogs to get HR.

It’s easy but often toothless to say “They should do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do.” Which is why my main point was always, “the right thing to do will make financial sense in the end.” The fact that Sjin was leaving dozens of victims in his wake doesn’t seem to have immediate financial repercussions, but £100,000 and a crater in their reputation later... An ounce of prevention, £100,000 of cure. You could attribute MadCat leaving to his shitty behavior and insubordination, or, as Madcat says they described it, you could call him a “brand risk.” You get to the same place in the end.

There’s one thing Lewis does state clearly but is easy to miss, and probably wasn’t something he wanted to emphasize.

In 2016 screenshots emerged on tumblr of Sjin chatting flirtatiously with fans online.... At the time I thought a few overly-sensitive individuals were blowing things out of proportion and getting angry on behalf of others. I hadn’t received any complaints and to me it appeared that no one was hurt... Last year, a number of women shared their stories with me and I finally realized that he had, in fact, caused a great deal of hurt. I understand now that his position of power allowed him to emotionally manipulate and sexually harass members of our community.

The only difference between 2016 and 2019 was... empathy. Really. I don’t see Lewis stating that he discovered any missing information. I see a man in 2016 who saw these women complaining and couldn’t take them at their word until it came explicitly paired with an explanation of the harm.

I don’t find that so surprising, considering he initiated the Fuck You Stream four years ago by dragging Minty, calling her a jealous and unsatisfying ex of Sjin’s. You have to really forge a person to change them from that kind of beast into someone who actually empathizes with other people, who actually wants to ask and to learn who has been harmed rather than read and pass instant judgement.

We need to educate influencers that fans are real people with real feelings - something that can be hard to see through the veil of anonymity on the internet.

Because Lewis didn’t always know that.

So while I’m being slow and ponderous instead of a screaming eagle for once, I have an actual mellow suggestion for Lewis. If he thinks there should be sensitivity training, really dig into the experience of changing your mind and share that. Why you thought they weren’t real people, what you heard that changed you the most. Bring it to the Yogscast’s audience, and to leadership at Twitch. You’re among the vaccinated now, go share the vaccine.

It’s been interesting to me, watching those final hardcore dregs of Sjin’s fanbase try to smell out some weakness in this. Lewis says “Sjin was a close friend,” and they go, “hmm, does not compute, they are clearly still friends,” or possibly more desperately, “maybe there’s a chance they’ll be friends again!”

They put it down to pressure the way Lewis did in 2016, and say it’s not Lewis’ fault, it’s those guys on Reddit running the whole conspiracy who are to blame. Much like how Reddit used to blame the accusations against Sjin on Tumblr. Because clearly the only valid source of information is the social media platform you yourself are using.

Some of the real Einsteins say, “well none of the damage would have happened if they’d just kept this private matter private.”

Sjin would never be stopped if it was kept private.

Sjin behaving this way was never a private matter, it was an abuse of his professional position.

He would not have been enabled to cause this damage without combining his private and professional life.

Sjin literally harassed his professional contacts within the Yogscast. It’s literal workplace sexual harassment.

At any rate. There’s always going to be doubters. It’s just good to know we’re not watching the Yogscast management pander to them anymore.

There’s been doubt about it but again, this blog’s going to continue to exist. It started because people were being censored on Reddit, and they still are, and because Lewis and others were muffling complaints sent in through their emails which may or may not have come to an end. Lewis watched while Turps and Sjin helped reinforce systemic issues in the Yogs, and we’ll see whether Lewis is serious about dismantling what he did.

Starting with earnestly tackling that subreddit that Bouphe doesn’t like, maybe?

#yps brindley #yps turpin #yps sykes #yps merideth #yps yogscast #yogscast

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kelseyapperson · 4 years

Text

Working up the courage to post for friends/family.

To my Trump supporters:

You know me. We are friends, family. You know who I am, you know that I am happily married to a woman, you know we've been together for 8 years.

You may know because I told you myself. I got some mixed reactions there. Some of you embraced me fully, thank you. Others, conditionally. You didn't agree, but loved me anyway. You wouldn't tell anyone, they wouldn't understand. But you loved me anyway. And I felt lucky, that somehow I was a worthy enough person to still have your love, even if I didn't have your acceptance.

Some of you learned less directly. It was an unspoken secret, a passing whisper. I remember the pit in my stomach at family gatherings, the anxiety at each coming out - whether I spoke the words or your eyes lingered on my plus-one. And still, some of you accepted me. Others ignored it. Some, outright denial, to this day calling my wife my "friend."

But, well, the bar was low. No one disowned me. No one told me it was a phase, or that I was confused. Of the coming-out stories I know, it wasn't terribly contentious. And so it felt like a relief, to be the secret. To be loved despite who I was. It felt like a victory.

I suppose it's on me that I've been so accommodating for so long. How could I expect anyone to know how I feel when I tolerate lukewarm support? How could I expect you to understand the ways you actively harm me and others like me with what you say, do, how you vote?

I'm not writing this to start fights or guilt anyone. I'm writing it so that you know where I stand. And if you want to vote, support, speak in ways that harm me and my community, at least you'll be doing it intentionally, with a full understanding of how that feels, of how it affects me.

Before I get personal, here's a list of how Trump has harmed the LGBTQ community. This is pulled from the HRC, more details here: https://www.hrc.org/news/the-list-of-trumps-unprecedented-steps-for-the-lgbtq-community

-Opposition to the Equality Act

-Appointed anti-LGBTQ judges

-Joked about Pence’s desire to hang LGBTQ people

In the Workplace

-Supported employment discrimination against LGBTQ people

-Banned transgender service members from the military

-Rolled back Obama-era non-discrimination protections

-Issued rule to license discrimination

-Kicked people living with HIV out of the military because of their status

-Created a hostile work environment for LGBTQ federal employees

In Health Care

-Undermine Section 1557 Rule

-Advocated for the elimination of the entire Affordable Care Act

-Created a Religious Discrimination Division

-Proposed cutting over $1.35 billion from PEPFAR budget

In Schools

-Harmful Guidance for Schools on Transgender Students

-Rejected Complaints From Transgender Students

-Suggested it is acceptable for schools to discriminate against LGBTQ students while accepting tax-payer funds

-Made it harder for sexual assualt victims to receive justice

-Eliminated language protecting LGBTQ children participating in the 4-H program

-Used Title IX to discriminate against trans students

In Housing

-Allowed emergency shelters to deny access to transgender and gender nonconforming people

-Placed transgender incarcerated persons in the wrong prison

In Families

-Allowed foster care programs to discriminate while accepting tax-payer funds

-Refused visas to partners of diplomats

-Changed rules to deny surrogate born children citizenship

In Representation

-Erased transgender people

-Eliminated information on LGBTQ rights, mentions, and representation on government websites

-Blocked questions regarding sexual orientation from consideration for the census

Refused to recognize LGBTQ people in National AIDS day Address

In the World

-Refusing LGBTQ asylum seekers fleeing violence

-Ban Embassy Pride Flags

-Refused to condemn attacks on LGBTQ people in Chechnya

-Refused to condemn a law punishing LGBTQ people in Brunei

It's a long list. A long list of tangible policy (and lack of policy) that demonstrates the harm of this administration against my community. But we all know it's more than politics. Trump's presence in a position of power and his rhetoric have emboldened some less savory characters in our society. This has been overwhelming for the Black community, who have endured as white supremacy rears its ugly head again. But the hatred and discrimination that Trump has normalized affects all minorities.

I've been incredibly fortunate in my experience. But this is the message I need you to understand. Hatred against people like me is real. Sometimes it's simple microaggressions. Other times it's assault. It ranges from personal to systemic.

On election night in 2016, I sobbed in fear or what was ahead. We'd elected a homophobe as Vice President, and Trump wasn't much better.

Many told me it wouldn't be that bad for me. They brushed aside my concerns, I was being dramatic. And this is easy to say from a position of privilege. But for me, I thought of my experiences.

I thought of coming out, and the reactions I received. I remember how a coworker at the time told me that people I didn't even know had talked about how I was a dyke, and she put them in their place by telling them I wasn't.

I remember when my girlfriend and I were moving into an apartment and were asked if we were sisters. How many times we've confused people with our relationship.

I remember a job interview where I was asked about my boyfriend, panicking when asked in a professional setting about my personal life because saying wife could go badly.

I've come out over and over again, and it never gets easier.

I remember the time I was at the movies and I dared to hold her hand. How someone dumped a cup of chew on her head. We don't go to the movies in our hometowns anymore. If we do, we sit in the back against the wall.

You don't know the fear that I felt then, when I saw all of these flash before me, knowing that things would get worse.

Now, there are two justices who want to overturn my marriage. A third won't say what she'll do if confirmed.

I wasn't wrong. I wasn't being dramatic. This is my life. This is the lives of minorities in America. You can't ignore these experiences, as if they've never happened.

You're free to vote for Trump. Of course. Just know that you're allowing this to happen. Know that you're choosing him over me, over my wife, over every Black man, woman and child, every queer person, every trans person, every immigrant...the list goes on, and on, and on.

Know the consequences of the decision. Not just for you, but for everyone.

#Trump #trump2020 #trump 2020 #queer community

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jaybear1701 · 4 years

Link

Apologies for the delay in posting the last part of this MFSWeek story. Hope you’ve enjoyed it!

Anacostia is far from pleased with the plan, prompting her to have a word with Raelle and Abigail. Perhaps “word” is a bit of an understatement. They’re speaking so loudly that Scylla can make out their muffled conversation even from the other side of the glass wall as she approaches Anacostia’s office.

“And if the killer targets her?” Anacostia paces behind her desk, agitation etched in the rigidity of her shoulders and the tense set of her jaw. “What then, Collar?”

“Then I’d protect her!” Raelle snaps, and Scylla’s heart stills.

“You can barely protect yourself,” Anacostia shoots back. The barb hits its mark, dead center, and Raelle visibly flinches, but she doesn’t look away.

Scylla seizes the opportunity to interrupt and raps her knuckles against the door, drawing the attention of all three women. Abigail’s as stoic as ever, lips set in a firm line, while Raelle soften when she sees her. Anacostia’s chest rises and falls on a heaved sigh, and she beckons her inside.

Scylla enters and the tension is heavy, thicker than it seemed from the outside. She stands next to Raelle, whose frustration radiates off her..

"Dr. Ramshorn." Anacostia's voice is back to normal decibel levels, though still strained. "Collar and Bellweather have just informed me of their less than ideal course of action. I'd like to get your input."

“I’m not afraid, if that’s what you’re asking,” Scylla says.

“You’re putting yourself in danger,” Anacostia replies. “That’s not something to take lightly.”

"I understand your concern, Sergeant. But with all due respect, we shouldn’t let emotions cloud our judgment.” Anacostia’s gaze is piercing, and Scylla can practically feel Abigail’s curious sidelong glance. Raelle stands frozen in place, eyes forward.

Scylla pushes forward. “Innocent people are dying, and we have a chance to stop it. The benefits far outweigh the risk.”

Nostrils flaring as she forcefully exhales, Anacostia stretches her neck up at the ceiling. “You keep her safe.” The glare she fixes on Raelle and Abigail could puncture steel. “Or your ass is grass. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they say in unison.

“Get out before I change my mind.” They move to leave. “Except you, Ramshorn, I’d like a word.”

Scylla avoids eye contact with Raelle and Abigail when they walk past. The door closes with a quiet click.

“Don’t you think you were being a little harsh?” Scylla says when they’re alone.

“I don’t like any of this,” Anacostia wearily drops into her desk chair.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

Anacostia pinches the bridge of her nose. “This isn’t a joke, Scylla. If anything happens to you…”

Scylla knows all too well that Anacostia’s fear stems from the losses she’s faced. It’s what bonded them together all those years ago, when Scylla was too young and too reckless in the wake of tragedy. It’s why Scylla kept others at arm’s length, erecting walls around her heart. But Scylla’s done letting that fear dictate her life.

“Nothing will happen to me,” Scylla reassures her.

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but I can handle myself. As can your detectives.”

Anacostia inhales slowly, and exhales. She looks like she wants to argue some more, but also knows it's futile when Scylla's set her mind to something. “At the first sign of trouble, you’re out. Deal?”

“Deal.”

***

Tally takes care of everything. She contacts the groups on Scylla’s behalf, submits all the necessary proofs of lineage, and eventually secures an invitation for a meet and greet with the Associated Daughters and Sons of Early American Witches. The group congregates at the Salem Witch House, a plain yet severe looking building with dark gray clapboard siding, diamond-paned windows, and a steeply pitched roof that accentuates the three triangular shapes integrated in the home’s facade.

Raelle drives Scylla to the meeting and idles the car just outside. Scylla knows she has nothing to be worried about. But despite her previous bravado, she’s still nervous, hands so cold she’s lost all feeling in her fingertips. Her left knee bounces as she looks out the passenger-side window.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Raelle rests her hand on top of Scylla’s knee to calm her jitters. The warmth of palm seeps through the fabric of Scylla’s dress pants.

“I’m fine.” Scylla tries to sound convincing. “I’ve just never infiltrated anything before.”

Raelle’s fingers tighten around her knee in a gentle squeeze. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know.” She covers Raelle’s hand with her own. “Listen, about what Anacostia said... She went a little too far”

“Maybe she didn’t,” Raelle breathes out as she looks out into the street.

“Hey.” With her free hand, Scylla gently grasps Raelle’s chin and turns her gaze back toward her. “I trust you.”

Lips quirking up in a small smile, Raelle takes Scylla’s hand and presses a kiss to her palm. “Bells and I will just be down the street if you need anything. Okay?”

“Okay.” Scylla nods and steps out of the car.

Gathering her courage, she walks up a cobblestone path toward the structure that once served as the home of Jonathan Corwin, one of the more prominent judges during the Witch Trials, according to Tally’s reports. Steeped in such terrible history, an ominous aura surrounds it. And while, logically, Scylla knows that witches and spirits aren’t real--or, at least, not scientifically proven--goosebumps still prickle up her arms.

When she enters, she’s immediately greeted by a tall and imposing woman, who’s hair is pulled back in a single braid that accentuates her sharp cheekbones.

“You must be Scylla,” she says. “I’m Sarah Alder. We exchanged emails.” Her handshake is firm and steady.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Scylla says as she follows Sarah through the narrow halls of the main floor.

“I’m glad you were able to make it.” They bypass several rooms filled with 17th century artifacts, some real, some replicated, ranging from metal plates and cutlery to items allegedly used by witches, such as clay “witch bottles” for keeping evil spirits at bay and doll-like “poppets” that represent their “victims.”

Before long, they enter a sitting room in the back with a large stone hearth and a wooden long table pushed against one wall, covered in various letters and other papers, yellow and tattered with age. About a dozen or so association members are gathered, seated on fold-out chairs arranged in a circle. A blur of introductions and awkward small talk ensues.

Scylla already knows she won’t be able to remember everyone, but she takes particular note of Gerald, a veterinarian who apparently prefers to be called by his (bizarre) nickname, “Witchfather;” a jovial pediatrician with red hair named Berryessa; an older Asian dentist named Nessa; and a man named Porter, about Scylla’s age, who works as a prison counselor. Porter, in particular, seems oddly familiar, but she can’t quite place why.

They’re all eager to speak about their ancestors, and Scylla smiles politely and does her best to keep up with their questions about her ties to Sarah Cloyce. She’ll have to thank Tally later for the primer on her predecessor.

“One of the lucky few who got away,” Berryessa comments.

“They’re actually more common than you might think,” Nessa adds.

Scylla makes a mental note of their interest as the conversation continues to ebb and flow, eventually turning to the more mundane, administrative aspects of running the group.

“I apologize that you’re not able to meet more of our brothers and sisters. I’m afraid our attendance numbers have been dwindling of late,” Sarah says.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Scylla says. “Any particular reason why?”

Silence falls around the room, thick and uncomfortable.

Gerald smoothes down his graying beard with his thumb and forefinger. “Dwindling interest in history, I suppose.”

Berryessa leans forward, voice dropping as if she’s sharing a secret. “It’s so bad this year that we haven’t even sold all our tickets to the gala.”

“The gala?” Scylla asks.

“The High Atlantic Charity Gala this Saturday,” Nessa answers. “We participate every year. All proceeds are donated to Salem’s historical sites.”

“You should join us,” Porter speaks up. “We could spare a ticket, right, Sarah?”

“You’re more than welcome, Scylla,” Sarah agrees. “We can send you the details.”

Scylla shakes her head. “Oh, I don’t know…”

“Please,” Sarah says. “We insist.”.

“Then, I’ll see you there,” Scylla smiles and Porter’s cheeks flush.

By the end of the meeting, Scylla’s exhausted. She’s not sure she has anything of substance for the case, but she at least has a few names for the detectives to investigate. Relief washes over her when she finds Raelle waiting for her outside, leaning against the hood of the car. And all Scylla wants to do is steal a kiss when she opens the passenger-side door.

“So, how’d it go?”

“Good,” Scylla smiles, giving into her desire and leaning in to press a chaste kiss along the scar on Raelle’s cheek. “Do you want to be my date on Saturday night?”

***

“I don’t like this,” Anacostia grumbles as Tally outfits Scylla with a “wire” beneath her black dress. “Have I mentioned this already?”

“Only about three dozen times,” Scylla says, her dress half unzipped, the top hanging loosely around her waist “What’s a few dozen more?”

They’re crammed in the back of an unmarked surveillance truck, discreetly parked a few blocks from the gala at the Salem Witch Museum.

“It’ll be fine, Sarge,” says Abigail, already mic’d up and ready to go in her own evening gown, its vinyl bodice dark and shiny. “You said it yourself. The more eyes and ears we have in there, the better.”

“We’ll see and hear everything in ‘witch’ central.” Tally carefully straps a miniscule microphone and transmitter around Scylla’s waist, and Scylla instinctively jumps at the cold press of the electronics against her skin. “Sorry, all done.”

She pulls her dress back up, pleased that the wire is perfectly hidden beneath its sequins, arranged in a deep v-shape in the sheer mesh of her backless dress.

When she’s done, Tally hands her a pair of large hoop earrings. “There’s a camera embedded in one of these. Try to keep your head steady, if you can.”

Scylla nods and she puts them in, surprised at how light they feel despite the added technology.

“How do I look?” Scylla asks when she’s finished.

“Like your dress could use more fabric,” Anacostia mutters while Abigail lets out a low whistle.

“Rae’s gonna be beside herself,” Tally comments.

“What?” Anacostia head snaps toward Tally.

“Nothing!”

Anacostia frowns at her watch in agitation. “And just where the hell is Collar?”

“Said she needed to get something.” Tally slides into a chair, swiveling toward three different computer screens to pull up the feeds from the cameras on Raelle, Scylla, and Abigail. “I strapped her up earlier.” The first two clearly display the interior of the van, while the third shows someone approaching the rear of the truck and reaching out a hand to knock on the door..

“Speak of the devil,” Abigail mutters. She swings it open and glances at Scylla. “You ready?”

“Ready,” she answers, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach.

Anacostia places a hand on her arm, stopping her before she can hop out. “Just remember to be careful, all right?”

“Don’t worry,” Scylla pats Anacostia’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’ll be around a long time to prematurely age you.”

“You better.”

Scylla carefully hops out of the back with a helping hand from Abigail, breath catching in her throat when her eyes land on Raelle, who’s holding a single lilac-colored rose in her hands. Her hair’s out of their usual braids, and hangs loose and soft. She’s dressed in a sharp black suit, sleeves scrunched up to her elbows. The plunging neckline of her flesh-colored blouse gives the illusion that she’s not wearing anything underneath her jacket. Scylla forces herself not to stare.

Raelle, however, doesn’t have similar qualms. Her eyes drink in Scylla from head to foot and, for once, seems speechless. “Wow, you look…”

“You clean up nicely, Detective,” Scylla says when she finds her voice again.

“Even I’m shocked,” Abigail comments, eyebrows raised.

Flipping off Abigail with one hand, Raelle hands the rose to Scylla with the other. “This is for you.”

Scylla twirls the smooth stem between her fingers. “Thank you.” She brings the petals to her nose and inhales its sweet scent.

“You two are nauseating,” Abigail says with mock indignation.

“I should probably leave this here.” Scylla turns back around to Anacostia, who’s scowling from the back of the van, and Tally, who unabashedly grins.

“Does it look like we have water and a vase in here?” Anacostia grouses.

“Don’t worry,” Tally assures her and takes the rose. “We’ll keep it safe.”

Raelle offers Scylla her arm, and Scylla links her own into the crook of Raelle’s elbow. And if she happens to move closer to Raelle, well, she can justify it from the chill in the air.

***

The gala’s in full swing when they pass through the arched double doors of the brownstone-and-brick museum, which reminds Scylla of a strange hybrid between a castle and a church. The main floor’s been cleared of most of its exhibits, giving the popular tourist trap an open, almost ballroom-like atmosphere for the High Atlantics to mingle and dance and drink their way into spending thousands of dollars on early settlement artifacts.

Raelle’s hand rests on the small of Scylla’s back as they make their way through the crowds, warm and steady, and doesn’t remove it until Abigail introduces Scylla to her mother, Salem’s chief of police. She’s as stern and regal as she appears in televised press conferences, perhaps even more so. Many other Bellweathers are also in attendance, including Abigail’s cousin, Charvel, and her fiancé, Ciro Hood.

“Dr. L’Amara speaks very highly of you, Dr. Ramshorn,” Petra says when they shake hands. “And I have to say we’ve been very impressed with your work.”

“Thank you, Chief,” Scylla says, flushing slightly from the compliment and the proud smile Raelle beams her way. “It’s an honor to work with Dr. L’Amara and for an excellent police department.”

“Maybe we can make it permanent.” Petra accepts a flute of champagne from a server passing by with a tray. “There may be room in the budget to hire another permanent pathologist in the medical examiner’s office next year, if you’re interested.”

The offer catches Scylla off-guard, and Raelle watches her switch interest. She had always assumed she would leave Salem once her fellowship ended. But now... “I would be interested,” Scylla nods gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Good.” Petra smiles before she’s called away, and Abigail goes with her.

Raelle and Scylla continue onward toward buffet tables filled with canapés, cheese, fruit, and a wide assortment of hors d’oeuvres.

“We should probably split up.” Raelle pops a few berries into her mouth. “Cover more ground. Will you be okay on your own?”

“Somehow, I’ll find a way to manage.” Scylla eyes a tray filled with lobster claws.

Raelle flashes a grin before she disappears into the crowd.

***

As the night continues, a few association members greet Scylla. Berryessa gushes over her dress, while Nessa introduces Scylla to her daughter, an Army soldier who’s home on furlough. Scylla hasn’t yet spotted Sarah or Gerald.

Scylla eventually finds herself wandering the exhibits of the side halls, just to escape the commotion of the gala and have a few minutes to herself to recuperate. She comes across one display that catches her eye. Behind the glass is a noose and an array of 17th century weapons, including a curved blade set in a cross-shaped, ivory hilt. The placard next to it reads: Camarilla Scythe, circa 1693.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” A voice says behind her.

Scylla turns to see Charvel Bellweather and Ciro Hood approach, arm-in-arm. Together, they make a striking couple, reminding Scylla of a Disney princess and prince who stepped out of a movie screen.

“The violence that stems from fear and hate.” Charvel comes to stand next to Scylla, peering inside the case. “Hundreds of years later and we still haven’t learned our lesson.”

“That’s very true,” Scylla agrees.

“To play devil’s advocate,” Ciro starts.

Charvel rolls her eyes. “The devil doesn’t need an advocate.”

“I’m just saying,” Ciro raises his hands. “They were doing what they thought was best to protect their people.”

“By killing the innocent?” Charvel scrunches up her face.

“We don’t know they were innocent,” Ciro says.

“Oh? And how exactly do you go about proving someone’s a witch?” Charvel turns toward Scylla. “What do you think, Doctor?”

They walk to another case, which contains old bibles, treatises, and letters.

“Some historians believe that the witch trials were caused by ergot,” Scylla traces her fingers across the glass. “A fungus that can grow rye and wheat. When consumed, it can cause delusions and muscle spasms. Things that early colonists might consider a witch’s curse.”

“See?” Charvel nudges Ciro.

“It doesn’t hurt to understand where the settlers were coming from,” Ciro insists.

“Sure. Are you going to try to understand that Windpipe Killer who’s been going after our families, too?” Charvel asks. “I’m sure that murderer has their twisted reasons.”

“There is no right or wrong, only a difference in perspective,” Ciro says, eyeing the books with interest.

“If you say so.” Charvel shrugs.

One open tome depicts a drawing of Camarilla soldiers executing “witches.” The black and white drawings are gruesome. A shiver runs down Scylla’s spine.

***

Later, when Scylla tries to find Raelle and Abigail, she comes across Porter instead. He's nervous and awkward in his eagerness, but endearing. Scylla has to admit he’s handsome in his tuxedo, even a bit dashing.

“You made it!” He moves in for a hug, and Scylla awkwardly pats his broad shoulders. “How do you like everything?”

“It’s incredible, but a little overwhelming,” Scylla answers honestly.

"You get used to it." He rakes his fingers through his golden curls. "I didn't know how to mention this at the meeting, but... you don't remember me, do you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Salem High?” He smiles shyly. “We graduated in the same class together."

That's when it clicks--the reason he had seemed so familiar.

"Porter! We had chemistry together, right?"

She remembers he was fairly popular, sporty. Perhaps he played soccer. Or was it lacrosse?

He nods, pleased. "It's been a while. We missed you at the 10-year reunion."

"I was finishing up my residency," Scylla explains. "Hard to get away." It’s mostly true, though she could have taken a weekend, if she really had wanted.

“Maybe we could catch up more with a dance?”

His face is so openly expectant, Scylla almost feels guilty about turning him down. Perhaps if they had met at some other time, before a certain blonde, and blue-eyed detective had wandered into her life, Scylla would have said yes.

But before Scylla can answer, a hand slides across her back, electrifying the skin exposed from the low cut of her dress.

“Actually, she’s spoken for.” Raelle appears beside her and thrusts out her other hand. “Raelle Collar.”

Porter hesitantly shakes her hand. “Porter Tippett. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were here with someone.”

Raelle curls her arm around Scylla's waist and rests her hand lightly on her hip. “Ready to go?”

“I’m sorry, Porter,” Scylla says. “Maybe we can catch up a little later?”

She doesn’t catch Porter’s response because Raelle’s already pulling her toward the dance floor. Once there, amid the other swaying couples, Raelle pulls her close, gently cradling Scylla’s left hand with her right. Scylla lightly rests her other hand on Raelle’s shoulder as they move to a slow and mellow melody played by a jazz band.

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” The blue of Raelle’s eyes seem more intense than usual.

Scylla’s eyes narrow slightly. “Would you care if you did?”

“No.” Raelle half smiles. “But I wouldn’t get in the way again if that’s what you wanted.”

“He’s not who I want,” Scylla admits, and Raelle’s expression softens. “Did you find anything?”

"No. You?"

"There were witch hunters called the Camarilla. Might be relevant. Tally will probably have a run down by the time the night's through.

Raelle hums softly as they continue to dance, cheek-to-cheek. She smells of dark vanilla and sandalwood, and Scylla nuzzles the crook of Raelle’s neck to breathe more of her in.

"Can I ask you something?" Raelle asks after one song ends and another starts up.

"Of course."

"Earlier, with Petra, were you actually interested in that position or were you just being polite?” Raelle whispers.

��I’m interested." Scylla closes her eyes.

“I thought Salem had too many painful memories for you."

"It does. It did. But I'm making new ones. Happy ones." She skims her lips against the edge of Raelle's jaw, unable to stop the slow spread of her smile when Raelle's breath hitches.

When Raelle rests the side of her head against hers, Scylla revels in the way they fit so perfectly together, her heart contracting and expanding with affection. And she wonders what she’s waiting for. Why she’s holding happiness at arm’s length when she could finally embrace it.

She makes a decision.

“Rae,” Scylla whispers, a confession hanging from the tip of her tongue.

The lights cut out.

The museum plunges into darkness.

Startled shrieks erupt around them while the organizers shout for everyone to keep calm.

“Shit,” Raelle curses, grip tightening on Scylla’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.” She begins leading her through the panicked crowd, but the push and pull of packed bodies trying to rush out at once causes them to lose contact.

“Scyl?” She hears Raelle call out in the din.

Scylla’s about to respond and make a blind break for the exit when she feels a stinging prick against her neck, and then feels nothing at all.

***

Throbbing pain radiates from Scylla’s head and down her neck as she regains consciousness. She cracks her eyes open. Everything’s blurred, and she tries to blink away the haze to no avail. Wherever she is, it’s dark and cold and reeks of decomposing flesh. The putrid scene is unmistakable and Scylla gags.

“Hey,” a woman says from her left, panic lacing her words. “Hey, are you awake?”

“Yeah.” Scylla’s mouth is so dry it’s hard to speak. “Where… where are we?”

“I don’t know. Some kind of freaky murder lair or something.”

“What?” Scylla tries to move, but finds she can’t. She’s handcuffed to a bar on the wall, still in her evening wear. The tight metal bites into her wrist, and the sharp sting helps the room slowly come into focus.

They're in a windowless room with cinderblock walls. A basement, perhaps? The young woman who spoke is to her right, similarly bound to a chair. Her long dark hair is mussed, her eyeliner smudged, and her deep violet dress torn in spots. Meanwhile, another woman is strapped to a gurney, unconscious, with no visual wounds. Both of her arms are hooked up to IV lines.

Scylla recognizes her immediately: Charvel Bellweather. There’s a tray next to her with syringes and surgical equipment.

“Oh my god, we got caught by the Windpipe Killer,” the woman says, hysterical. “That’s what this is, right? The Windpipe Killer?”

“We have to stay calm,” Scylla says even though her heart is about two seconds from pounding out of her chest. “I’m Scylla Ramshorn.”

“Glory Moffett,” she says. “I can’t believe we’re going to die. I’m too young to die!”

“No one’s going to die, Glory.” Scylla glances down, stomach sinking when she notices that her dress is torn at the midriff. The wire is gone. Shit. She shakes her head. Her earrings are still on. That’s something, at least. “Someone will find us.”

"Like, our dead bodies?"

"No," Scylla insists. She hopes the camera is still able to send a signal. "Tally? I hope you can see this," she whispers.

"Tally?" Glory asks. "Who's Tally?!"

The door swings open, and Glory shrieks. Three hooded figures enter, menacing in their dark cloaks. None speak as one approaches Charvel while the other two stand guard over Glory and Scylla.

“If you’re trying to contact your colleagues at the SPD, I’m afraid we removed this long before we left the gala.” The one closest to her lifts the camera that had been strapped to her body, and drops it on the floor. It crunches beneath his boot.

She feels like she’s heard his voice before.

"Who are you?" Metal clanks against metal as Scylla struggles against her handcuffs. “Why are you doing this?”

“To finish what our ancestors started, Dr. Ramshorn.” He pulls down his hood. “And purge impure blood tainted by the devil.”

“Gerald?” Scylla can’t believe it.

“You know this freak?!” Glory squeaks. The hooded figure next to her unsheaths a curved dagger and holds it to Glory’s neck.

“Witchcraft isn’t real, Gerald,” Scylla says as calmly as possible even as her throat tightens with panic. “You’re delusional.”

“The public are the ones who are deluded,” Gerald says. “We are doing the Lord’s work.”

“What about Sarah?” Scylla asks. “What have you done to her?”

Gerald smirks. “My dear friend will get what’s coming to her, like the rest of you.” He turns toward Charvel. “Ciro, if you’ll please.”

Scylla mouth drops open.

“Ciro Hood?” Glory exclaims. “Aren’t you her fiancé? You’re like a power couple. How can you do this?!”

“A necessary evil to get close to the Bellweathers,” Ciro says, as he picks up one of the syringes and points the needle toward the ceiling, flicking the barrel. “To protect us all.”

“Oh goddess,” Glory moans.

“Don’t!.” Scylla cries out, fear courses like ice through her veins. “Please. Take me first.”.

“All in due time, Dr. Ramshorn,” Gerald says. “All in due time.”

Ciro brings the syringe closer to the access port of one of the IV tubes. Just as he’s about to insert it, a loud bang rattles the ceiling, followed by the rumbling of dozens of footsteps. He freezes as Gerald barks at them that they have to evacuate.

“How did they find us?” Ciro asks.

Gerald backhands Scylla. Her head snaps back, the taste of copper filling her mouth.

“We have to go,” the third killer says. A woman. Scylla doesn’t recognize her voice.

“But Bellweather,” Ciro protests.

“Leave her,” Gerald orders, taking out his own dagger. “Wick, take Moffett.”

“We should just kill them all,” Wick says.

“No, the police won’t touch us if it means endangering one of their own.” He uncuffs Scylla and hauls her to her feet, while Wick does the same with Glory. “Try anything and we’ll slit Moffett’s throat.”

With a bruising grip on her arm, he shoves her toward the door. They’re forced down a dark hall when a shout rings out, “SPD, freeze!!!”

Earsplitting gunshots crack in the air.

Glory screams.

Gerald yanks Scylla to him and turns them around. The edge of the cold blade presses against her neck. She can make out two bodies on the floor. Glory cowers in a ball on the ground as beams of light rush toward her. .

“Hold your fire!” A familiar voice rings out, and Scylla’s heart hammers against her ribs.

Raelle.

Gerald walks them backwards. “Stop right there,” he shouts.

Raelle stops. The light from her flashlight is blinding.

“It’s over, Gardner.” Raelle’s voice is cold and harsh. She creeps forward with her gun raised. “Let her go.”

“One more step, and the SPD will have one less employee.” Gerald knicks a patch of Scylla’s skin, and she cries out.

Raelle lowers her weapon slightly, enough so that the glare of her light isn’t as harsh. Scylla can just make out the storm swirling in a sea of blue. Scylla nods imperceptibly..

I trust you.

The shot thunders out.

In a flurry of activity that comes too quickly for her to process, Scylla finds herself falling backward onto the floor, still clutched in a dead man’s grasp. They crash to the ground, knocking the air clean out of Scylla’s lungs. She manages to peel herself away, heart thundering so hard her head pounds in sync, and the next thing Scylla knows, gentle hands are tenderly brushing hair from her face.

“Scyl?”

All she can see are blue eyes filled with concern. She collapses forward and a pair of strong arms wraps around her.

“Rae…” She buries her head in Raelle’s chest, grasping her shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” Raelle clutches her tight. “I’ve got you.”

***

Sirens and flashing blue lights fill the aftermath. Scylla doesn’t remember walking from the house. Or letting the paramedics poke and prod her to make sure she’s okay. It all goes by in a blur. Tally hugs her tight, and Anacostia holds her even tighter, while Raelle works to secure the crime scene with Abigail and their fellow officers.

“You sure you’re okay?” Anacostia drapes a thin blanket over Scylla’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Scylla nods. “What about Glory and Charvel?”

“Moffett’s a little shaken up, but no worse for wear,” Anacostia confirms. “Abigail went with Charvel to the hospital, but it sounds like she’ll be just fine.”

“That’s a relief.” Scylla pulls the blanket around her tighter as Anacostia leads her to a squad car.

“So,” Anacostia starts as they lean against the trunk. “You and Collar were putting on quite the show before everything went to hell. Craven was beside herself.”

Scylla’s cheeks heat up. “I just escaped from three serial killers, could you maybe wait to grill me about my girlfriend?”

"Girlfriend, huh?" Anacostia chuckles. “She makes you happy?”

“Very.” Happy is an understatement. Raelle got her to notice her heart again for the first time in a long time.

“Then I won’t bust her chops. But if she ever hurts you...”

“I won’t,” comes Raelle’s voice.

Scylla's breath catches.

“Good.” Nodding, Anacostia squeezes Scylla’s shoulder. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.” As she passes Raelle, she claps her on the back. “You did good, Collar.”

Scylla steps back into Raelle’s arms when she’s close, succumbing to the gravitational pull between them.

"Will you stay with me?” Scylla rests her forehead against Raelle's.

"Of course." Raelle rubs soothing circles up and down Scylla's back.

“All night?”

“As long as my girlfriend wants me.” Raelle’s grin is bright enough to chase away the shadows of the night.

Groaning, Scylla hides her face against Raelle’s shoulder. “You heard that?”

“I did.” Raelle presses her lips to Scylla’s hair.

“Is that… okay?”

“Scyl, look at me.” Raelle cradles Scylla’s face between her hands, holding her gaze, eyes deep like the ocean. “I’ve wanted nothing more since that first night we met.”

Tears slip down Scylla’s cheeks as she leans forward and kisses Raelle, warmth unfurling inside her chest.

“Just so you know, I expect chocolate chip pancakes in the morning,” Scylla says when they pull apart. “They better be as good as you say they are, or it's a deal breaker. Got it?"

Raelle only laughs. "Got it."

#raylla #motherland fort salem #raelle collar #scylla ramshorn #non-magic au

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orenstern · 4 years

Text

I’d like to admit that I’ve never in my life read the Diary of Anne Frank. I’ve stood outside her house before, almost 14 years ago, and could feel something of her echoes, but never had before or since seen her words or witnessed her mind.

Up until a week ago, that is, when I chanced upon a copy of her diary. I picked it up the very moment I saw it, an instant reaction and so quick I forgot to realize I’d always been innately afraid to read her work, her letters to self. Because it somehow always seemed to me like, of all the work available by now-dead writers, her diary entries would feel the most like ghost stories, like real life talking to a ghost. It’s always scared me, the notion of talking to this particular ghost. No other ghost ever proposed to raise in me the slightest feather of a concern let alone fear.

But she always had.

And I can’t even remember having seen a portrait of her until last week. As hard as that might be to believe.

Where she was concerned, it has been like living in a house where all of the mirrors had blankets covering them. And believe you me, I’ve been in many houses where real life people were still living there and it was just precisely that, blankets over the mirrors, and the inhabitants were just looking at me without a hint of shame, sorrow or remorse in their eyes. Without any hint of knowledge of the display they had erected. If it fact it was them who had erected it. Just, this is the way it is here looks in their eyes.

The fucking things you see over a life. The understated non-plussed near-miss, oh boy did it hit though I am yet unstruck, horror you sometimes see. And how often it doesn’t even faze you. You just step over it like you would any old mound of dirt, not at all an active grave, except the low key and surpressed knowledge reminding you that all the earth is an active 5 billion year old Grave and Tomb and Monument and Pyre all wrapped into one, and all the universe a 20 billion year old same thing.

So I picked up the book. And I gazed at the front cover for a good long while. At her portrait. At Anne. I looked at her portrait for the first time, and I transported my mind back to her house, and I imagined she and I were standing there together, side by side. Outside. Looking at her own house in silence, together. And we both walked away, together, headed for a fast train to Paris, by way of a stroll along the Prisengracht, and short interlude at the Van Gogh museum. No other manifestations than that. I did not even imagine our bodies or our faces. I just remembered having done that before, peering out from the windows of my own eyes, with a companion by my side, and imagined this time, Anne was there with me doing the same.

And then after these thoughts, I opened the book. But I turned immediately to her very final entry. And I read only this Tuesday, August 1st, 1944 entry.

I’m sure I am not the only one who has read her writings and recognized themself in her words. But for certain, what she had written seemed and felt like something I’d written at least a thousand times. Her precise sentiments, and word choices, her very style. Parts of her style is my style. I must have picked that up either from writers who were familiar with her writings or just plucked it out of the wind somehow or some other way. But still that was not the eerie part.

The eerie part was the last two paragraphs. Which I copied down by hand into one of my own journals, with a blunt non-sharpened 3 inch pencil with no eraser no less, was all I had at the time. It was eerie because for at least a decade but more and more lately like the curvings of a quadratic formula, I’ve been hearing the phrase “Set Intentions” like you might hear during guided meditation or whenever someone wants to Exalt the Secret of Manifestation to you.

And I wasn’t at all going to share any of this with anyone. I had no plans to say any of this outloud to write anything on it or engage it any further or even ever again. I wrote the passage in my journal and I’d figured I was fully intending to never ever look back at that passage, or talk about it, or allow myself to recall it, and otherwise resolved to keep the blankets over this mirror forever.

But then I was scrolling this evening and just saw someone had shared a picture of Anne. And that too was a first for me to witness. Now I saw her face twice in a week, at the bookends of the week, both on Wednesdays at roughly about the same time of day. Happy to call that coincidence. Very happy to call it that.

But, I had also been just on a smoke break from my own writings, a letter I was writing to a loved one and the tenor of the letter of where I had left off when I stopped for my smoke break had just moved onto omens.

Oh boy, right?

Well now, still happy to be coincidentally maybe now just only synchronistically having this experience. But given it all, I’d resolved to share.

And by share, I’m not sure I can bring this all into any firm sense of things that could make it any less eerie. Though I will try. And if I don’t fully strike the right note in this attempt, I will know it, you won’t have to tell me, but I will publish the attempt anyway as an earmark of this encounter, and double back on it maybe whenever it is that I have found the right note or chord to strike or strum.

I’m thinking of two things, one I was going to save for my letter when I moved past omens. And one I was going to tell a friend of mine after watching a movie he recommended that I still have not told him. So I will choose neither and tell you both of them in this writing.

Most importantly, this is not at all about victim blaming, please have the courage to see past that, as Anne apparently might say that, at least, one of your two voices, if you only had two, would have such ability. And this, even if that means this courageous voice disappears after only 15 minutes.

First, I can remember back to a time when I am not more than a few months older than my son is now, maybe six months older. I am lying in my little boy bed, in my little boy bedroom in the house I grew up in, a little cape style enhanced cottage. It is night. The walls are blue. The headboard is all white and soft and plush to the touch, and riveted by silken buttons, smooth to the touch and shiny to the eye, though woven round by very fine white thread.

I am laying on top of the covers. This is colorful Snoopy and the Peanuts bedding. It’s not exactly yet bed time. But it must still be before the Vernal Equinox because the sun has been down for a good while and its not yet past my little boy bedtime. And the room is lit golden by a single 40 maybe 60 but really probably 40 watt incandescent bulb. It’s gold in there, it’s almost orange that low gold glow. And I’m laying at angle on the bed. And I’m pointed feet first at the east corner of the bedroom, which is also precisely lined up with Cardinal East. And I shit you not, but on this evening, a few weeks before my actual birthday and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was on my original due date, I was thinking to myself, “I must be dreaming in this life. I am going to remember this moment forever. When I get older. And I believe I am going to wake up someday from the distant future back here in this moment, back here in the age, back here just the way I am now.”

I’ve not tampered with this memory at all since then. I’ve remembered it precisely and often ever since. I’ve referred back to it thousands of times. In a sense, I in fact have never left that room or that night. I built it into every single night since. Like one of Tom Riddle’s horcruxes. And this before I had ever heard Row Row Row Your Boat. And this before I had enough speaking skills to say these thoughts outloud even if I wanted to but enough language understanding to think them and remember.

So that’s the first thought.

The second thought, it’s about that movie my friend suggested I watch over the summer. It was a horror movie, a new one. You may have watched it yourself. Called Ghosts of War.

My feedback to him the day after I watched it was pretty simple. A. I enjoyed it. B. The sniper I think is my favorite. C. It reminds me I have another horror movie That I do not mention to him by name then, but I only say that it is in the genre of horror that is not shriekingly scary, or rather does not rely on shriekingly scary moments. Because it does contain a couple of those potentially frightful jolts. But that is not it’s best foot forward. This type of horror is not the exciting amusement park kind. This type of horror is the kind that enters your bloodstream and stays with you and haunts you over a long period of time, long afterwards. The kind of horror you might find yourself waking up from sleep even a year or more later and not feeling right and having witnessed. D. I might get back to him someday with more commentary. Oh and E. I really enjoyed seeing Billy Zane. Particularly as the dichotomy of American Doctor and SS Colonel.

But wouldn’t you know shortly after I finished writing down that passage from Anne Frank’s final entry, pledging to not look at it ever again, I found myself in another room talking to a person about that actual movie that ghost of war reminded me of that I didn’t tell my friend what that movie was. To this new person I did say its name. It is paranormal activity. The first one. I said that movie is the first time I had witnessed a genuine horror film, That has the capability of genuinely haunting me for a long long period of time, in my adult years. And it doesn’t contain hardly any,if at all, shriek moments.

The horror of that movie is it’s power to slowly and steadily and surely wrap itself around your heart with fear and anxiety, and with full command, Sustain you in that state while flexing and relaxing it’s own valves, to show you who’s boss and who is in command.

Furthermore I told this person, that such a film as this paranormal activity is is not a film to watch when you are in a heightened state of consciousness. You’ve got to be half asleep at the wheel half dead inside to properly survive that film. Because in the final moment, and I admitted this to that person, when you see the demon at last, he jumps straight into your eyes. Straight into you. That movie is perhaps the ultimate act of transgression, that I’d ever seen to that date. And I admitted to this person that it took me a good long while of concerted and methodical effort, to rid myself of that motherfucking demon. Such is the exquisite accomplishment of that particular horror movie. I spared my friend this story, because I’m pretty sure he would’ve shit his pants if I told it to him in person. I think I’m only about 30% joking about that.

But tomorrow being that some stories stay with you longer than others. Some stories you actually have to exorcise from your mind. it’s very good training. Especially if you happen to frequently find yourself in other peoples houses and those houses have all the mirrors draped over by blankets. And those other people walk about aimlessly as though they have no idea how odd that appears to be. if you know what I’m saying. And if you can believe what I’m saying is actually true.

But no I don’t think I’ll ever tell my friend about the paranormal activity story. What I will tell him is another thought I had about ghosts of war. That I think on some level in someway we are all ghosts of every war. Wars that we’ve seen and wars that we haven’t seen, either depicted in books or movies or for trade for real on the news both of foreign lands and domestic. And even wars in our own mind, common place words with our neighbors or friends or family or loved ones. I think in someway we just are ghosts of it. Carrying the crosses of it.

And I remember a story I wrote or a poem maybe it was about a universal snake and a universal monkey. The universal snake head swallowed the universal monkey. Seemingly defeated him in battle. Seemingly killed him. Seemingly was digesting him. But unseeming to the universal snake, the universal monkey to this day will not die. And for all eternity the universal snake has had indigestion on account of the universal monkey’s eternal will not to be extinguished. They say it ain’t over til it’s over. They say don’t stop believing. I say that’s probably very good advice and we should all listen to it. The Monkey is listening to it right now, and has been forever. That monkey won’t quit. That monkey is in a pickle but he’s got a slim to none chance and yet he won’t quit.

How this works back to ghosts to war and how we’re ghosts of war with everyone, and how this works back to Anne Frank. It’s up to you what you wanna believe in, I believe in the fact that God won’t ever let us really kill each other. We might see it happen with our own eyes. Right before us. But I believe that even as it happens it also instantly unhappens.

We have the ability to look backwards in time and forecast forwards in time but we only have the ability to live in one moment of time at a time and that we called the present. We have no idea what actually happens in previous moments of time once we’ve moved past them. Except how they exist in our mind. But for all we know in a moment that someone apparently kills another, whether it’s a person to a person or an animal to an animal. How do we know it doesn’t on happen once we’ve left that moment? Natural law has a place in this world. So natural law gets its way in this world. But there are such things as the overlapping thesis of all the different laws. And divine law is a thing in that overlapping thesis. Just as well as natural law is. So it is totally possible that once we make a mess of things, the Custodian comes along to fix it.

It’s possible along the same probabilities or maybe even slightly better than Lloyd Christmas’ chances of getting the red head which he eventually did.

To another person who overheard me talking to that first person last week about paranormal activity, the next day she came to me with concerns. I listened to these concerns. And my response was what you do is up to you. Including whether or not you trust yourself or not. If I were in your shoes I would try to trust myself. Even as everyone around me might seem intent on leading me to betray my own trust. if I were in your shoes, I would choose to believe that no one actually has the power to do that. No one actually has the will to want to see you fail, to fail yourself. Because that would be them wishing them to fail themselves. And while they might get away with that in one moment in the next that moment is wiped clean. If I were in your shoes I’d be telling that to myself every moment I had these concerns you are telling me about.

I further said, and I stop talking about if I were in her shoes. I further said what you think is happening is happening. What you understand about what is happening is only ever coming into focus more and more. You may not have all the Time in the world, but you do always have the luxury of patience. There’s no rush when it comes to the process of understanding. Something tells me we’ll repeat the lesson infinitely if necessary. something also tells me that won’t actually be necessary. The lesson will come clear eventually. Have faith in that and likely all of your fears and concerns will be abolished. The probability of it being otherwise, however great it seems, as Pascal very effectively demonstrated, infinitely pales to the seemingly tiny probability, the Boson particle infinitesimally small and impossible to fathom yet there it is nonetheless almost something you can now actually reach out and grab but even still something you can see if only by way of prediction probability, of it not being otherwise.

So that in other words no sword actually ever really falls upon the neck but he’s only ever caught by the Hand.

I’ve been waiting to wake up to this reality ever since my two-year-old self woke up to that reality and said I will be waking up here someday again.

But I did tell that second person, be careful the stories you tell yourself. They could be like that movie demon that enters your mind and poisons your body, like that story I told last night. The mind can make almost anything real. That’s a quote from a movie also, but it comes from somewhere. Didn’t it? So possibly probably in all likelihood whatever story you tell yourself whatever imaginary though you have as an objective: if somewhere in this universe. Somehow manifest itself. Somehow find a way to be born and become true. Often a lot faster and more hellishly than you thought possible.

The mind is it’s own place. It can make heaven out of hell and hell a heaven. I don’t need to read the whole diary of Anne Frank, to know beyond what her final entry says. That she was equally gifted at doing both. And that, my friends, is not victim blaming. That is just what it is.

And so behold the final two paragraphs of her final passage:

As I’ve told you, what I say is not what I feel, which is why I have a reputation for being boy-crazy as well as a flirt, a smart aleck and a reader of romances. The happy-go-lucky Anne laughs, gives a flippant reply, shrugs her shoulders and pretends she doesn’t give a darn. The quiet Anne reacts in just the opposite way. If I’m being completely honest, I’ll have to admit that it does matter to me, that I’m trying very hard to change myself, but that I I’m always up against a more powerful enemy. A voice within me is sobbing, “You see, that’s what’s become of you. You’re surrounded by negative opinions, dismayed looks and mocking faces, people, who dislike you, and all because you don’t listen to the advice of your own better half.”

Believe me, I’d like to listen, but it doesn’t work, because if I’m quiet and serious, everyone thinks I’m putting on a new act and I have to save myself with a joke, and then I’m not even talking about my own family, who assume I must be sick, stuff me with aspirins and sedatives, feel my neck and forehead to see if I have a temperature, ask about my bowel movements and berate me for being in a bad mood, until I just can’t keep it up anymore, because when everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside g out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside, and keep trying to find a way to become what I’d like to be and what I could be if… if only there were no other people in the world.

Yours, Anne M. Frank

#Anne Frank #Diary of Anne Frank #set intentions #Ghosts of War #manfesting #summoning #positivity #be careful what you wish for #mysticism #book review #movie review

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