#i will eviscerate anyone who causes him harm.

[heartaces]

𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐔𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝟑 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ASTARION EDITION ⟶ part one

“there is a time and place for violence. i mean - this place is perfect. but is it the time?”

“heaven forbid. we’re all entitled to our secrets.”

“sitting by the fire while you do all the hard work sounds marvelous, actually.”

“couldn’t you wait ten minutes before being an absolute freak?”

“you’re welcome to try and kill me, of course. but i don’t die easily these days.”

“ugh, don’t be so nice to me. it makes me want to be nice back.”

“a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.”

“stabbing someone a dozen times can be many things. but ‘the right thing to do’? hm, i doubt it.”

“immortality is only as good as the life you’re living. an eternity of luxury sounds a lot better than an eternity of struggle.”

“what are you doing? this isn’t safe. you can’t trust him.”

“look, i’m a not a details person, all right. but turning up and causing chaos has worked for us so far.”

“they were clearly artists. you can tell because it’s a mess in here.”

“you know, there is a point where bravery becomes stupidity. and walking into that thing would be very, very stupid.”

“i’ve had enough of bad poets singing of my looks - urgh.”

“is the plant bothering you?”

“until then, try not to die.”

“oh yes, i’m fine. i just feel… awful.”

“shut that oversized chicken up.”

“you know, the only way to cure temptation… is to give in to it.”

“next time, just warn me before you do something stupid.”

“there certainly is a strong ambience down here. i don’t know if it’s the bats or the decaying - everything. it’s quite homey.”

“it’s nice to see heroes are as awful as the rest of us.”

“unusually polite for a god.”

“of all the places you dragged me, this might just be the most foul. and that is saying something, given some of the things you exposed me to.”

“i mean, i hate to judge the proverbial book, but that oath may be all cover and no pages.”

“a shapeshifter? it could be anyone. i mean - it’s not me. but it could be anyone else.”

“sometimes we need to think with our heads before our knifes, dear.”

“you could watch for anyone acting strangely, but - well, you know the lunatics we camp with.”

“thank you. for being that evil bastard.”

“can you feel that? the dark, it’s - hungry. best watch the shadows.”

“this place brings back the worst memories.”

“well, that’s disturbing. still, better than having an actual conversation with him though.”

“oh no. not again.”

“honestly, just once, could we end up somewhere normal?”

“i prefer to travel in smaller groups. it’s more… intimate.”

“nice as it is, she still doesn’t have the best hair in the camp.”

“thank goodness. i was worried i’d have to get involved. now, let’s keep our hands to ourselves.”

“i much prefer it when i’m the one prowling in the shadows - about to strike.”

“ah, nothing says ‘true love’ like faking your own death to avoid someone.”

“you’re not going to eviscerate him? i was hoping for a show.”

“it’s just a waste of a perfectly good cult we could be controlling.”

“can you - ugh, can you shut up and let me read?”

“i hate to be negative. but they’ll carve you up like a goose.”

“my, she sounds positively demented. i love it. let’s tell her everything.”

“you villain. i didn’t know you had it in you.”

“a well-presented face can open a lot of doors.”

“hardly a promising introduction.”

“do you mind? i’m brooding.”

“i’d rather be the only dark power inside your body, if it’s all the same to you.”

“easy now, let’s not do anything hilarious.” 

“i’m with you, my dear. wherever this leads.” 

“i appreciate anyone who opens a conversation with bodily harm.” 

“nothing like a little camp drama to spice up the evening.” 

“it’s almost a pity things ended up amicably.”

“what do you see when you look at me?”

“i would’ve liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine.”

“do you have any other chaos you need to unleash here?”

“all i want is a little fun. is that so much to ask?” 

“don’t be so sour. i like a good time as much as anyone.” 

“this seems like a lovely little spot. the sense of impending doom aside.”

[msweebyness]

Akuma AU- The Villain Class

Here it issss! The formal introduction to my new villainous AU, where all the kids are their akuma selves!

Here’s the rundown: Paris is split into two sides, dark and light. The dark side regularly terrorizes the light, though a resistance tries to fight them. All people on the dark side are akumas, so all the kids’ families are. The deal is: you don’t get a supervillain name until you prove yourself and demonstrate your power to do harm and cause chaos, and most akumas are just content to be evil but otherwise normal people. The akuma class are like the ‘gifted’ class of Dark Paris, everybody knows these guys. I’ll also be expanding on some of their powers! Also, they wouldn’t be their ugly and fashion-backward canon akuma looks. I REALLY like the akuma redesigns for the Scarlet Lady AU by Zoe-oneesama, so imagine them in something like that! Alright, let’s get into it! @artzychic27 @imsparky2002

Miss Fortune (aka Marinette Dupain-Cheng): Born with the power to inflict terrible luck and pain on whoever she pleases by way of her hexes and anti-charms, Marinette is a girl who has more than a couple screws loose. She adores seeing people get hurt and actively goes out of her way to make things go wrong in every way possible. Serving as the class’ unofficial leader, Marinette often takes the helm when they go out to terrorize Paris. As dark as her heart is, Marinette adores her partners and family and would do anything to keep her friends safe.

Chat Blanc (aka Adrien Agreste): Wielding the power to destroy anything he pleases with a flick of his wrist, Adrien is not someone you want to cross for any reason. Just like 1/3 of his partners, Marinette, he lives for seeing chaos and pain, especially when he can make it as big a show as possible. He’s known to taunt and mock the people he terrorizes with cruel jokes just to add a little further humiliation. Despite being evil, he’s normally a jovial guy…unless you make the mistake of making him angry. Let’s just say it’s a bad idea to bring up his father.

Lady WiFi (aka Alya Cesaire): Wielding the power to control the world around her as if it were a livestream, Alya boasts a massive amount of power over the digital world and as such, rules the media of Paris with an iron fist! Serving as Marinette’s right hand woman, Alya makes sure her bestie’s orders are carried out without question and broadcasts their victories to spread fear in the light side of Paris. It’s useless to try and hide anything from her, Alya has surveillance in every corner of Paris and uses this to the advantage of herself and her class. She also adores her boyfriend Nino, and is quite protective of her sisters.

Bubbler (aka Nino Lahiffe): While Nino’s powers, creating bubbles that serve various functions, may not seem threatening at first glance, this villainous DJ is not one to be messed with. He’s a master of making people feel at ease before he strikes and causes as much chaos as possible, alongside his friends and girlfriend. Nino is fond of throwing parties and knows how to give his fellow villains a good time, but heaven help you if you’re a good citizen who wanders in. Like his bro Adrien, he’s a chill guy most of the time, until something sets him off and he goes full villain.

Queen Wasp (aka Chloe Bourgeois): Hosting quite possibly the biggest ego of any of the fledgling villains, Chloe wields the power to make anyone stung by her beloved wasps obey her every command, often to do degrading tasks. Almost seeing fitted to her powers, Chloe has a rather imperious attitude and expects people to do what she tells them to when she tells them to do it, and can be more than a little arrogant. However, she also has a soft spot for her best friend Sabrina and sister Zoe, and will eviscerate anyone who messes with them. If you value your freedom, don’t cross this queen.

Vanisher (aka Sabrina Raincomprix): Given the power of fading into the background like no one else can, Sabrina’s ability to become invisible and/or intangible gives her a major edge in the battles against the heroic citizens. Sabrina is a vindictive young woman who loves to use her powers to find people’s secrets and then exploit them to her own benefit. She’s also fond of pulling pranks and watching her best friend Chloe order her minions around, which she finds endlessly amusing. Always make sure to check your surroundings around this one!

Gamer (aka Max Kante): Max’s formidable powers allow him to bring video games into the real world, corrupting reality around him into whatever he would like it to be. Considering himself to be intellectually superior to the common rabble of Paris, Max enjoys using his technology to drive people to the brink of madness, knowing they don’t have the capacity to fight back. His arrogance in his intelligence can sometimes make him come off as a know-it-all to his friends, but he’s loyal anyway. His ingenuity makes him a valuable asset to the class.

Timebreaker (aka Alix Kubdel): Alix’s powers allow her to steal time from the people around her in order to accelerate her own speed, and if she gathers enough, she can reverse the flow of time. A reckless lover of chaos if ever there was one, Alix loves to speed around causing as much confusion, damage and panic as possible. She has a special love for getting under people’s skin and causing them to lash out, only to knock them flat on their backs. While mischievous, she’s a loyal friend who will take a hit for someone she cares about. Keep clear of this speed demon’s path.

Dark Cupid (aka Le Chien Kim): Kim’s power over the heart cannot be denied, though it’s not the power to spread love. Whoever gets hit by his arrows is overcome by hatred and anger. A bruiser at heart, Kim loves to stir up arguments and get fists flying whenever he can, almost as much as he loves causing drama in the relationships of others, replacing happiness with animosity. Despite this, he cares deeply for his friends and especially his girlfriend, Ondine, with whom he shares a passionate love that they love to flaunt to others. You better run fast, because he always shoots true.

Princess Fragrance (aka Rose Lavillant): Rose’s powerful and toxic perfume can do a myriad of wicked things, but it’s most prominent ability is to turn anyone who breathes it in into a dutiful servant of the princess. Though she’s not above a good poisoning every now and again. Rose doesn’t see most people as ‘people’ so much as drones meant to serve her and her friends’ purposes. After all, are some not made more powerful than others? It’s towards only her friends and her beloved Juleka, who she treats like a queen, that she shows a more loving side. All bow to the princess!

Reflekta (aka Juleka Couffaine): Juleka’s wicked transformation powers are a thing to be feared should you ever cross her in any way, she can reflect her thoughts to turn you into whatever she pleases! A malevolent trickster at heart, she loves to put people in the most inconvenient and dangerous situations she can when she transforms them. She also has a habit of transforming into something frightening to scare people, an activity often engaged in when hanging out with Mylene. Despite her pranking nature, she’s fiercely protective of those she cares about, especially her girlfriend Rose and brother Luka. Don’t trust the image you see in the mirror!

Horrificator (aka Mylene Haprele): One of the most terrifying villains in the whole menagerie, Mylene possesses the two-fold ability of not only finding your worst fear and producing it, but growing in strength and power from the fear she garners from you! She takes great delight in the mental anguish she can cause her victims and relishes nothing more than the sound of screams, and loves to give the occasional spook to her friends and her beloved boyfriend as well. Surprisingly, she also has a strong motherly side and will often comfort them when needed. Make sure you check under your bed with this one around.

Stoneheart (aka Ivan Bruel): A villain whose strength cannot be overstated, Ivan’s massive frame and physical matter made of solid stone make him functionally indestructible, more so when you add the fact that any blow dealt to him only increases his already tremendous size and strength. With a quick temper and massive brawn to back it up, Ivan enjoys nothing more than some head bashing and property destruction when he goes out to terrorize Paris. Despite this, he’s very protective and gentle with those close to him, especially his girlfriend and his little sister. Think twice before trying to rile this guy up.

Evillustrator (aka Nathaniel Kurtzberg): Nathaniel’s powerful sketchpad allows him to bring whatever dastardly things he might wish to draw to life to attack his enemies or cause general mischief. Something of an unpredictable and unhinged creative type, Nathaniel is always conjuring up new weapons, beasts and means of torment on the fly, laughing maniacally as he uses them to terrorize good citizens alongside his villainous classmates. He especially loves drawing tributes to his boyfriend Marc, who he’s devoted to above all else. An artist can be a fickle thing!

Special Additions:

Syren (aka Ondine Rivas): Ondine’s tears pack more of a wallop than most girls, given that with them she can flood the city as well as control any source of water in her range. Vindictive and manipulative, Ondine loves to trick unsuspecting citizens into sinking into the watery depths with her charming voice and wiles, seeing them thrash and struggle to stay afloat. She can also be a bit unstable, her moods fluctuating unpredictably, though she is generally kind and supportive with her friends. She has a bit of a playful streak and especially loves teasing her beloved prince, Kim, and they are never shy with affection. Steer clear of the deep water, you never know what’s lurking!

Silencer (aka Luka Couffaine): Luka’s power to silence those he doesn’t like is menacing because it doesn’t just wear off when he leaves, he can permanently steal someone’s voice! He also has the power to manipulate sound as a whole. A reserved and stoic individual, Luka prefers to let his powers do the talking for him when he’s wreaking havoc across Paris, smiling serenely as he tears apart entire blocks with sonic blasts. He serves as a steadying presence for his partners, sister and classmates, reminding them to look before they leap and serving as a source of advice. The sound of danger is approaching quickly!

Riposte (aka Kagami Tsurugi): No blade on earth can rival the power of the ones Kagami summons, which can slice through anything without a problem. Which, combined with her icredible speed and agility, makes for a powerful enemy. Cold and cruel with no concern for anyone outside of her friend circle, Kagami relishes the feeling on causing her opponent a world of pain and subjecting them to the crushing humiliation of defeat. This also makes her a bit of a sore loser. Despite her icy demeanor, Kagami has a caring side with her friends and partners, and will protect them at any cost. She’s a cut above the rest!

Reverser (aka Marc Anciel): Marc’s powers are as confusing as they are terrifying, with the ability to turn people against their own natures, to become their polar opposite once his paper airplanes touch them. Unpredictable and chaotic, Marc loves nothing more than to turn Paris upside down and leave everyone in a maddened state of despair. He’s not even above using his powers to mess with his friends, though he does care for them. His greatest joys are spending time with his boyfriend Nathaniel and teaching his young brother Kiran (aka Sandboy) the ways of villainy. You never know what you’ll get with this guy!

Sole Crusher (aka Zoe Lee): Zoe’s shoes aren’t a pair you would ask to borrow if you have any sense. Anyone she crushes under her heel adds to her size and strength as she terrorizes Paris. Having more than a bit of a superiority complex, Zoe wants everyone to know how much better than them she and her friends are, and is willing to crush them underfoot for that to happen. Perhaps that’s why she gets along so well with her sister. She also might have feelings for a certain akuma in her class, though both have yet to admit it. Step out of the way or get stepped on.

Zombizou (aka Caline Bustier): The villain class’ nefarious teacher, with the power to hypnotize and zombify people with a kiss from her magic lip balm. She adores her students and enjoys teaching them to be the most vile villains they can possibly be. She’s able to turn anything into a lesson about doing evil, and especially loves taking them into the field for some hands-on experience. She’s also fiercely protective and if anyone messes with her kids, there’ll be hell to pay!

And there you have it, folks! The possible first set of Wicked Kiddies! Leave your thoughts in the comments and reblogs!

[novankenn]

"Ozpin's Fault - AU"

Combat Class Chaos (3/3) (645 Words)

"JAUNE JONATHON ARC!" Glynda hollered as Mercury slid to a complete stop, totally stunned.

All around the amphitheatre, thuds and thumps could be heard as multiple students, both male and female, fainted. Jaune didn't pause with her chosen plan. She totally ignored what she had just done, pushing the embarrassment down as she followed up her first tactic with her second.

Drawing on fourteen years of rigorous ballet classes and training, Jaune executed a high kick. One of Jaune's struggles, for her tenure at Beacon, was how to integrate the grace and flexibility of her dance training into combat situations. Weiss, red-faced at the degenerate display, had to mentally compliment Jaune on her picture-perfect form.

Pain blossomed in Mercury's groin as Jaune connected with her primary target. While a ballet high kick was by far unsuited for actual combat, Jaune achieved the desired effect. Mercury bent over double as he grabbed at his crotch. Searing agony radiating throughout his body from that location. Without wasting an instant, Jaune grabbed her shield with both hands... and crashed it down on the back of Mercury's exposed head, much like how a professional wrestler would use a folding steel chair.

Distracted, Mercury was unprepared with the blow and was driven face-first into the floor. Stars flashed behind his eyes. Aura was a great discovery, and often prevented huntsmen and huntresses from suffering serious harm. But unless you were actively pushing it forward, it did little to soften blows; and Mercury was definitely not in any condition to have his aura up to soften the blow.

Dropping her shield, Jaune fell to her knees and used every ounce of her strength, and limited body mass to roll Mercury over, and out of the ring. Those who had not fainted, sat in stunned silence, as Jaune Arc, the absolute worst combatant in beacon's history, a young man that was suddenly the most alluring fox faunus woman in all of Vale, had just defeated one of the best fighters in class; and she had done it all without losing one sliver of aura.

"Winner... Jaune Arc... by ring out?" Glynda stammered out the result of the match.

Jaune totally impressed with how her impromptu plan worked out started jumping up and down, causing her unsupported chest to do things that caused even more students to faint away, in a second chorus of thuds and thumps. Drawn out of her revelry, what she was doing and did dawned on her. Utter mortification flooded through her entire being, and she dropped to the floor splay-legged, one arm across her ample chest, the other trying to hide her cherry red face.

From where he lay, Mercury groaned, the pain in his crotch and back of his head become dull aches. Glynda shook her head, and quickly moved to regain her own composure, and then control of her class. She moved forward and placed a gentle hand on Jaune's shoulder.

"Go get changed, and meet me in my office after class." she whispered into her nephew now neice's ear, before straightening up and addressing her class with a stern tone. "I suggest anyone who was recording this match, you DELETE it now. If I find out you haven't or Brother's forbid shared it... I will be extremely displeased."

Looking about, she noticed more than a few students doing things with their scrolls, and then moving to complete similar actions on the scrolls of the students that were indisposed.

"CMEN, please see to Mr Black. JNPR please assist Mr... Ms Arc."

The students in question did as they were bid, ad Glynda mentally prepared to eviscerate Headmaster Ozpin. She knew he was the cause of this, and would be Brother's dammed if she didn't force him to fix it.

"Class dismissed." Glynda informed her students as Mercury and Jaune were escorted away by their respective teams.

[mr-dwight-dwicky]

You, a Zim appreciation blog?

Rather new to it but yes.

[micheltonwrote]

Fic thing I want, so bad fuck I'm going to have to write it myself unless...

So Tom has like a fuckton of money (cause he you know killed his dad and also has a little bit of a criminal empire, or he just has money)

And Hermione is the child of two dentists (so she's upper middle class and is passingly financially literate)

And they're getting married (because they both love each other, because Tom is in love with her but doesn't know it but she loves him so he's all fuck might as well, or any other reason)

And the start discussing prenups (because they're adults)

And it comes time to drafting and signing the documents and Hermione has a very standard very reasonable write up (keeping any inheritance from her parents strictly hers etc.) and is expecting Tom to come to the table with similar if not colder language (because she may love the man but she's under no notion he reciprocates)

And he basically gives her almost everything while also keeping anything she has or may come into out of his reach

And she thinks it's a joke, but it's not a joke

And she's like "Tom you realize if we divorce it's going to be almost impossible to hurt me the way you'd undoubtedly want to"

And he responds "I would eviscerate anyone who would dare to harm you including myself" (or something that actually builds up to an absolute sap fest where he either reaffirms his love or almost admits it for the first time)

If anyone else wants to write this tag me in the end product (even if I post something)

But yah prenups as acts of love (because you have a prenup if you make one or not it's called the law)

Update 1: It has a working title "Don't Think We'll Say That Word Again"

Update 2: It's almost done

[my-personal-multiverse]

Since I have decided that this is now a Buffy blog I'm going to put thoughts I've had over the past few months on here. It's all stuff I either wrote when talking to friends or arguing on the subreddit. First have some vampire lore and philosophy thoughts.

"I think the statement of "the person a vampire was is completely gone replaced by a Demon who wears their body" doesn't really hold up with anything we see on the show. Although it's probably good to believe that as a vampire slayer because otherwise most of what Buffy does would be in a morally gray area. I also personally believe that the watchers council deliberately gives watchers and slayers that wrong information (the dialog that says so in the beginning is mostly Buffy and Giles I think. Vampires aren't framing their own experience that way) so that they don't think about the potential moral implications of, for example, killing a vamp that was just turned and hasn't killed anyone yet. The way it makes sense to me is that two things happen when you get turned 1. You loose your soul 2. Some demonic energy/presence/thing enters you and becomes a part of your body through the demonic blood. Loosing the soul I see as essentially loosing an inherent sense of Morality and guilt and loosing (most) empathy. Neither of those makes you inherently evil and there's also the philosophical question of if you can even be inherently evil or if evil is something that you have to do. But you are obviously very likely to end up doing evil things to get what you want if you don't see hurting people as wrong and can't empathize with anyone. And without a sense of Morality you won't want to do anything good unless it also serves you and you will go after more simple pleasures without a care for anyone. But not feeling empathy or having morals doesn't mean you don't have emotions yourself. You will still feel good or bad and you can still fall in love. We don't seem to question that vampires can feel hate and anger without a soul and love is essentially just another emotion. Of course there's the question of how love expresses itself if you can't empathize with who you love. If you try to cheer them up when they are sad it can't be because you feel their pain... Do you look at them more like you'd look at a broken toy that can't give you what you want anymore and try to cheer them up because of that. Is that love or just an intense desire to be with someone because of how they make you feel. Does it matter as long as you are doing the right thing? Do I need to feel someone's pain to want them to be happy? I think there's a lot of interesting questions there but just saying no soul = no love is a bit too reductive for me. (I also personally feel like soulless spike does feel some empathy for people he loves just not for anyone else but that's debatable). For the second thing I think the demonic energy/thing/whatever is what keeps their bodies going, gives them the bloodlust / need for blood to survive and the problems with the sun and all that other fun vampire stuff. But I don't think it is a different entity/identity with a personality of their own taking over and replacing the person. The reason why vampires go evil even if the person they are wasn't before is just that the loss of the soul (Morality/guilt/empathy) coupled with the new bloodlust and being hard to kill by humans thus not having to fear consequences will lead them to murder pretty quickly. But what we see of people before and after they were turned it's always the same people just without a moral compass now going after whatever they want without a care. And one thing they want now is blood but they also still have the desires they did before. Their desires and personality and memories and such is the same. I think that that mind/spirit/whatever is what makes someone who they are. I think that another being with all my memories, wants, feelings and needs would be me. But I know that philosophically you could make an argument that loosing your sense of right and wrong and empathy is enough of a difference to make you a different person. I'd personally say they are a different person in the same way that I'm a different person to who I was five years ago. The person I was then is gone not because some other entity took over my body but because I changed. And being turned is a pretty big change to go through. Even humans sometimes change from one day to the next for example when they go through trauma but you wouldn't necessarily say that they died and some other person took over. In some ways who I was 5 years ago is dead and that person will never be around again. But that's not how we frame things for humans because we have a continuous sense of self and vampires on Buffy have that too. But I'm going to try to get away from the purely philosophical arguments and into the actual show canon. First of all there is the situation where a different demonic presence actually does take over someone's body, retains memories but completely eviscerates the person and becomes a completely new character... on angel with illyria. And it's very obviously a completely different situation to what we see happen with vampires. She might know who Fred was but she has different wants and a different personality and acts according to that. With vampires that's not what happens. Spike is the most obvious example. The first thing he does after being turned is try to save his mother. He cared for her before and he still does. And if he was just a Demon in a William suit he would have no reason to even call her his mother. Turning her is not a moral choice ( I don't think turning someone into a vampire can be unless they ask for it because if they don't you are essentially making choices about their body without their consent) and it's not (necessarily) because of empathy. It's just that his mother was someone he always liked to be around and he wants to keep her around.  and spike was always motivated by his romantic obsessions and that informed everything he did after being turned too. Then we have dru who was driven mad pre being turned and stays mad as a vampire. And we have Darla who on angel when she gets brought back as a human with a soul doesn't act like "I finally have my body back" or "what happened, I was dead and have no memory of it". She's like "I was a vampire, that was me, I did that" and she doesn't just have a soul. She's a human with a soul again. But as a character she's a continuation of Darla the vampire. And we have dark willow and vampire willow both using the same phrase ("bored now") which to me shows that regardless of how willow turns evil its a continuation of her character and vamp willow isn't just a random Demon that looks like willow. In the same episode we also have angel basically saying the same thing. When Buffy tries to console willow by saying that a vampires personality is not related to the person they were Angel starts saying "well actually..." then seems to realize correcting her wouldn't help the situation and switches to "good point". And then obviously we have Harmony. Who is most obviously the same person, who still has a lot of the same wants that are not related to being a vampire ( status, money, a comfortable life, a boyfriend) and who stops drinking human blood ( in season 5 of angel) not because she had a problem with killing humans but just because it didn't serve her and it was easier for her to live the life she wanted while playing by the rules. She's clearly soulless but is probably the most interesting example if you want to argue about inherent evil vs. evil actions and "does it matter why someone is doing the right thing?". The one that feels like an outlier is angel but I think even he makes sense. If you look at Liam and Angelus I do see a continuation of character. He wanted to have fun, he already didn't really care much for others and I would argue based on what he does once he looses his empathy he probably already had some desire to hurt others. He just wouldn't have ever actually acted on it when he had his soul. Being turned unleashed the worst parts of him, living out dark desires he otherwise probably would have taken to his grave and the reason he changes so drastically as a character once he gets his soul back is because of the immense guilt of knowing that everything he did was exactly what he wanted. And with a conscience he doesn't want to want those things and won't indulge in those desires to torture and harm. Because all vampires kill and don't feel bad about causing harm to get what they want but Angelus does take things a step further and I think that's based in his own desires. ( A human moral equivalent for me would be the difference between hunting animals to eat and torturing puppies for fun ) And knowing where those desires can lead him makes him work on distancing himself as much as possible from who he was once he gets his soul back which is how he becomes such a different person.

[luninosity]

*wanders by* Look what I worked on today...

Warnings for…NOT actual self-harm, but Jason spotting a scar on one of Colby’s hands, a scar he doesn’t know the story of, and briefly considering that possibility. (The actual story is much more of a cooking-related accident!) Plus general warnings for brief mention of Colby’s Awful Exes and family, & related emotional abuse.

#

“How’s this?” Jason waited, fingers resting over Colby’s hands in his. The hotel room wrapped comfort around them; it’d begun as nondescript, but had welcomed Colby’s rainbow cascade of scarves and Jason’s tidy unpacking. It was their home now, for these next two weeks of filming on location. “Helping?”

 “Very much helping, thank you.” Colby obediently didn’t move, holding both hands out. They were sitting on the bed, having changed into pajama pants and t-shirts—Colby’d borrowed one of Jason’s shirts, too large but in a cuddly flattering way—and the day had been long. They’d been filming into the evening, because Jill had wanted the specific light, dwindling away as Colby’s young and brilliant magician character got imprisoned and bound by iron and tortured, refusing to give up and lead the villains to Jason’s hero.

 The chains and cuffs had been fake, of course. Hollywood movie-making magic. A vast leap from real iron.

 But that didn’t mean they were soft or forgiving. They’d had hard edges, angled in spots, heavy, with no real padding. He’d had to struggle against them. He’d had to kneel while the villains shoved his hands to the floor and—cautiously, weight judged for performance—stepped upon them, pretending to shatter bones. The floor, and the impact, hadn’t been soft either.

 The bruises and scrapes and cuts were all too real. Colby winced as Jason spread healing salve across a tender spot. “Ow. Sorry, sorry, I know you’re being careful, I’m not complaining.”

 “Tell me if it’s hurting too much.” He tapped a finger over the back of Colby’s wrist. “And don’t apologize for it. Are you sure you don’t want me to get the medical people to check you out?”

 “They did, right after. I know you know; you were there. It’s fine, it’s not—ow—serious. It’ll heal.”

 “Might need some wrapping, though.” Jason eyed the bruises, the nicks. They shuffled purple and red across Colby’s skin, shame-faced. He didn’t like them existing, though he knew they weren’t anyone’s fault. “Just for tonight, to keep all this on. Not too tight.”

 “Whatever you think works best,” Colby agreed. “You’d know better than I would, as far as stunts and injuries. Ow, oh, drat, that one hurts a bit more.”

 That one was probably the worst, Jason judged: scraped raw, layers exposed, across Colby’s left wrist. The edge of that cuff had been both rough and sharp. And obviously his touch hadn’t been careful enough. “Shit. Sorry. Love you. Is the numbing part working, at all? It’s supposed to be helping.”

 “Oh yes,” Colby said, obligingly. “It’s already better. Thank you for doing this.”

 Jason sighed.

 “It’s true,” Colby protested. “I honestly do feel better. I’d tell you if not.” Hair tumbling to his shoulders in loose dark waves—not a wig, but extensions, left in for fantastical mystical effect—he was elfin and pretty and earnest, wearing Jason’s too-large shirt, eyes huge and blue and searching Jason’s face.

 “I know you would. But I also want to know if it’s not helping enough, okay?”

 “Yes,” Colby said meekly. “I’ll say so if it’s not working, I promise.”

 “Okay, then. Just checking.” He tried to make his touch as gentle as possible. He tried to be as soothing as he could: a protective bulk, not a threatening one. Hands offering care, not more harm. Weight and breadth positioned harmlessly on the bed, no demands.

 He knew Colby trusted him. He felt a small glow of pride that Colby did: enough to admit to being in pain, to wanting care. He loved Colby and would care for Colby with all his heart, all his strength, all his soul; not a question, not ever.

 He still hated seeing Colby in pain. Always had, always would.

 That’d be true for anyone he loved, of course. He’d had some discussions with their therapist about that, about grief and loss and Charlie and Jason’s own desperate need to save people, to be strong. He knew that about himself. But it was worse, it was the worst it could be, when the person in pain was Colby.

 Colby was the other half of his heart. The brightest piece of his life, the piece that’d dived in and reminded him how to swim and that he liked baking, the piece that’d made him laugh and drawn him into whimsical chattering conversations about wizards and dragons and romance and coffee. The piece that liked pink shirts with sequins on the sleeves, and anchovies on pizza, and history and stories and words that could steal an audience’s breath away.

 And Colby had been hurt before, so very badly, for so very long. Inside and out, physical and emotional bruises, day after day. Jason hadn’t been there then, hadn’t known him for the worst of it. But he knew now, at least as much as anyone could, after the fact.

 He’d seen Colby flinch from an unexpected touch, get wide-eyed at a large body hugging too tightly at a convention, and—the scariest of all—go silent and someplace else, someplace not present, at a drift of familiar cologne and a flash-flood of memory in the air. He knew what Colby had told him, which was enough to make Jason carefully store up a lot of emotions and then go down to the gym and beat the hell out of a punching bag for long enough to get his reactions under control.

 He knew about Colby’s family, too. The layers of those bruises—not physical, but emotional, a slow brutal evisceration of Colby’s sense of self and self-worth—went back decades. They were working on it; their therapist said that Jason being here, not leaving, not making Colby earn any crumb of affection, was the exact best thing he could do. Jason hoped so.

 He wished he could do more. He wished he could fight all of Colby’s demons. Like his character in this film, raising a sword. Lifting a shield. Fighting for a cause.

 He knew Colby’s hands pretty well, by now. He knew the way those slim graceful fingers felt in his, on his body—in his body, and oh that was always fun, Colby teasing him open and stroking him and pressing inside him. He knew Colby’s gestures on and off camera, the weight and shape of his palms, the backs of his hands, the old scars from period-piece swordfighting lessons and some small-scale stunt work, comedy pratfalls and in-role clumsiness. He knew about the short jagged line on the outside of Colby’s little finger on the right hand, from hopping a fence while filming a scene for that high-school coming-of-age comedy.

 He knew he didn’t know every smallest detail—he didn’t have a photographic memory—but he had a decent idea of Colby’s hands, he thought.

 Which was why his fingers slowed and came to a stop, as they felt something—as his gaze landed on something—that he didn’t recognize.

 Thin. White. Just above the heel of Colby’s left hand, across his palm. Long-healed—no texture at all, only noticeable if someone was paying extremely close attention, but enough to’ve left a line. Liam, Jason thought first, with a shock of anger like scarlet blood—but no, this was older than a handful of years, older than any injuries at Colby’s ex’s hands. Clearly so.

 Colby hadn’t seemed to notice—he’d been looking at Jason’s other hand, which had scooped up more salve—but he noticed the pause now. His eyes came up to find Jason’s, huge and flower-blue.

 Jason turned Colby’s hand more upward. Touched the line, very very lightly. His fingers shook.

 “Oh,” Colby said, soft with love, wry in the way of someone realizing, “no, it’s not what you’re thinking, and don’t say you weren’t thinking of at least two possibilities. It’s not either of those. I, er…well, I was about eleven years old and I’d been trying to prepare dinner for myself and I had absolutely nonexistent knife skills with regard to chopping carrots. And my father’s chef kept his knives very sharp.”

 “You were making dinner…for yourself?” He touched Colby’s palm again, traced the scar above the heel. It had plainly been a clean cut, straight, but deep enough to leave a mark once healed.

 Colby did that familiar nose-scrunch at him, the one that meant you won’t like this story. “You won’t like this story. But it wasn’t that bad.”

 “Tell me? If you want,” he amended. Not an order, not a demand. The freckle near Colby’s collarbone winked at him, playing peek-a-boo with the loose neck of Jason’s shirt.

 “Oh, of course. It’s hardly a secret.” Colby wiggled salve-smeared fingers at him. “So we were living in Paris then—Dad having been appointed as an ambassador and all, you know…”

 The storied instrument of his voice became, for an instant, more American than anything else, on the word Dad; Howard Kent personified the type of United States politician who embodied privilege, money, and self-interest above everything, including his marriage and his son.

 “…and my parents, being, er, my parents, did tend to do things like go on holiday without remembering that I existed, which meant the staff also generally forgot I existed, or took their cues from my parents, or assumed someone else had made some arrangements somewhere. So I was eleven and a bit, and I’d got used to making sandwiches and things, but I thought perhaps I’d try to cook, because I was trying to learn, you know, so I wouldn’t have to bother anyone.”

 Jason opened his mouth. Shut it.

 Colby lifted both eyebrows, inviting and amused. “Yes, go on, say it.”

 “You know everything I’m gonna say.”

 “I do. It’s all right; I’ve got you now.” Colby leaned against him, on the bed: easy contact, unremarkable, except for how it was remarkable, it was a marvel, given everything Jason knew.

 He wanted to cry for the boy Colby’d been, precocious and shy and so very alone.

 He held Colby’s hand. “I’m here. I’m always here. I’ll chop all your carrots if you need me to.”

 “You would, if I asked, wouldn’t you? Well, in any case, I managed to slice my hand open, as you might expect under the circumstances, and then I very nearly passed out from the sheer shock of it, and then after a few minutes I pulled myself together and found a first-aid kit and tried to patch it up, though it didn’t work terribly well because I was trying to do it one-handed.”

 “Jesus, Colby.” He could’ve demanded, why didn’t you call someone, a member of the security team, the household staff, a doctor, an emergency number, your parents? He didn’t.

 He knew why Colby wouldn’t. Not causing a fuss, not giving anyone a reason to disapprove or to not want him, not believing anyone would come or answer or care…

  His heart cracked open and bled more. Like younger Colby, huddled on a kitchen floor with a first-aid kit. “What happened?”

[rosemarie--h]

( zoey deutch. 25. she/her. ) i think i just saw ROSEMARIE  JANE HARMON ride by on a golf cart . at least i think it was them . after all , I MISS THE MISERY BY HALESTORM was blasting on the transistor radio . maybe they were on their way to work , i hear they’re a BARTENDER AT THE WATERING HOLE . but they totally could have been on their way to PLAY PRANKS ON THE MEMBERS. guess we’ll never know . you’ll definitely know its them when you see RIPPED BLACK JEANS, SOUND OF 90'S ROCK AND DILATED PUPILS around the country club . let’s just hope they stay off the green after hours or else the sprinklers will get them ! ( marie. 26. est. she/her. none. ) 

tw: child neglect, tw: drugs, tw: suicide

I couldn’t help myself and brought my old rebel  child back. I just love my messy and broken girl.!

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

 Matthew and Stacey Harmon where the epitome of what success should look like. They were a young couple who had come from nothing and mounted to be the most sought-after criminal defense lawyers in the United States. They were known for their poise and ability to handle high profile cases with dignity and discretion. Their clients ranged from high-grossing actors and celebrities to politicians and other government officials. And in the years since their jump into high profile, they had built up an image that both always strived to be. They had to be picture perfect. Perfectly put together. Fit the part of success. So naturally, when they became pregnant, it wasn’t something they had planned or particularly wanted. They tried to keep the pregnancy as quiet as possible, and while they had always had the option of abortion or adoption, for some reason the Harmons had allowed the pregnancy to go full term.

Rosemarie Jane Harmon was born on August 5th, 1992 and unlike most babies, Rose was not held by her mother immediately after birth. In fact, she had been refused and sent immediately to the hospital nursery. The rest of her life followed in similar fashion. Rose had come into her parents’ life as unwanted and unloved. A child ruined the image the stoic lawyers had tried to build for themselves and their practice, especially as child as lively and rambunctious as Rose had been from the start. Rose had probably been embraced by her parents only a handful of times, most of the love she received growing up coming from the Nanny – Elizabeth Green – that had been hired to raise her. But even Elizabeth – the only mother figure she had truly grown to know – was taken from her once Stacy deemed Rose old enough to take care of herself.

Growing up without any love or affection had Rose searching for it in all the wrong places from a very young age. It started off innocently enough – mostly confined to causing trouble at home, just so she could get a flicker of attention from her father or mother but that stopped working, her cries become louder. Living in Atlanta, it wasn’t hard to find trouble. In school, Rose started to hang out with the wrong crowd. Though, the more trouble she found, the less it seemed her parents cared, almost slowly fazing her out of their image.

She was 17 when she first fell from grace. At a rave, Rose stuck her tongue out, letting a tablet be pressed to her tongue for the first time. She’s been after that high ever since. It was the closest thing that she could imagine love felt like. It took her away from the feeling of worthlessness that plagued her because of her parents’ incapability of loving her as parents should love their children. It took her away from the pain of missing her only mother figure who never tried to reach out to her despite promising a young rose she would on the day she was let go. It took her away from the depression that ran through her body despite her refusal to acknowledge it.

From that moment on, Rose lived searching for the occasional high to get her feeling alive again but for the most part, she had it under control, still having a firm grip on reality. But everything began to take a different path when she met Andrew. He was older than her, a good five years. But despite their age difference, they had immediately hit things off and it wasn’t long before Rose had fallen completely head over heels for him. He was the first person she opened up to him about her home life and when Andrew heard of her misery, he had given her the option to follow him to his next destination.

With no family or real friends to hold her back, Rose didn’t hesitate to pack what she could when her boyfriend at the time asked her to run away with him. They hit the road then and Rose hasn’t been back to Atlanta since. When her and Andrew landed in Chicago, Rose’s eyes were opened to a new world – mostly for the worse. He introduced her to a world of endless fun and chemically induced euphoria. It was with him that the dependency for drugs began to really grow. It started off her a tablet of molly here or there, like she had been doing in Atlanta, and before she knew it, she was doing a line in the bathroom of a club.

About a year or so after being together, Rose’s world would soon fall apart. One morning, after a typical night of partying, she woke up to find that Andrew was dead. He had overdosed and she’d been too high too notice. By the time she had woken up, it had been too late. So, Rose got up, called the cops and ran before they got there.

Rose’s already fragile heart was shattered at losing the one person that had loved her in this cruel world. The one person she had loved unconditionally. And the grief fueled her addiction even further. 

From that day forward, Rose lived most of her minutes high or searching for the next dose. It didn’t really matter where the high came from, she just craved that feeling of euphoria, of being alive, of numbness. If it came from a tablet of molly, fine. If it was from a shot of heroin, cool. A mixture of opioids, why not? A smoke of meth- what was the harm? But her favorite way to lose herself was from a line of cocaine. Rose began to live a very nomadic life, travelling where she wanted, making connections as she went, crashing on their couches and starting all over again. There were times when she became so drugged, she would party for days, unable to settle down enough to stop and sleep. She got into fights. Spent many days in stupors, a haze. She wouldn’t have a clue of the reality around her.

Rose was twenty, when she OD’d for the first time and was admitted into rehab for her addiction. After a few months of rehab, Rose was released, and she wasted no time in falling back into her vices. She continued to jump from place to place, never staying no longer than a few weeks at a time. In her travels, she had several relapses, a couple of times causing her to be readmitted into rehab. But sadly, her addiction was stronger than her will live.

That was until she met Finely but Finley is someone Rose never talks about.

If Rose lived in shadowed lands, then Finley lived in other darkness. There was fragility around this woman that had drawn Rose to her immediately. Their initial time was spent mostly just hooking up but it was in the quiet moments that Rose fell. Finley was the other half of her, her true and tragic soulmate. Her star crossed lover. 

There was a part of her that always knew Finley wouldn’t exist on this Earth forever. There was a sadness and exhaustion that clung so tightly to her love and even when there seemed to be a little light that shined through, it wasn’t enough. 

The day Rose walked into their apartment and found that Finley had taken her life, was as expected as it was a shock. She still doesn’t know how long she clung to Fin’s body, sobbing for her to come back before she finally called for help.

Rose has never been the same. 

The loss completely eviscerated her. There was a gaping hole left in her chest and Rose went down a spiral to rock bottom, trying to fill or numb that hole. 

Rose has never been truly sober since that day 2 years ago and while she has gotten her vices under somewhat of control, she still very much relies on them on a day to day basis. Just enough to numb the hurt that never seems to go away. 

When she arrived in Highland at 1 year ago, Rose was probably at the lowest she had ever been. But trying to keep her promise to Finley, Rose has tried to make the best of things. She landed a job at the Watering Hole and has found a apartment to live in with a roommate.

And though every day is a struggle for her, Rose feels that she’s on the right track to turn her life around. Or at least, pretend to.

Important Facts: - Rose has a lot of emotional and mental issues due to her past. Mostly, she has this abandonment complex and she struggles every day with a heavy sense of worthless. - Has been clean for two and a half years. - She still clings to the party scene, though she now stays away from illicit substances, she has no issue with throwing back a few shots. - Rose hasn’t been in a relationship with anyone in about 2 years and is very happy that way. She doesn’t want to get hurt again. And she isn’t sure she can love again. - Loves animals and often volunteers at the shelter - LOVES cats and wants one but considers herself too unstable to own a pet. - Hasn’t spoken to her parents since she left Atlanta and pretends it doesn’t bother her, but it does. - On her left side, Rose has a tattoo. It’s the quote “without struggle, there is no progress” in cursive writing. - Has lived in Atlanta, Chicago, Nashville, New Orleans, a few other places until she came back to Georgia and settled in Peaches Hollow.

Personality - Rose lives impulsively, acting first and thinking later. - She doesn’t hold back and certainly doesn’t censor herself. Rose is the most straightforward person around and she will tell you how it is, whether it hurts your feelings or not. - Fun is priority in her life. Having grown up so unloved and hidden away in her youth, she is desperately trying to fill that gap in her life. She will jump from club to club, party to party, a shot of tequila in her hands always. Mostly, she is afraid that if she stops, allows herself to feel, every heartache she has ever felt will coming rushing at her. - Attachments are a no go for her, especially romantic ones. She’s fine with hook-ups, in fact she rather enjoys them, but once she or her partner start to develop feelings, she flees. If you don’t let anyone close, you can never be hurt. - Losing Finley broke something inside of Rose and she’s very keen on not giving that part of herself way. She doesn’t know if she can love again or if she has any to give. Most of the time, however, Rose tends to develop friendships with her partners. She’s pretty laid back and goes with the flow which makes everything easier. - Rose is super protective of those she considers close to her and will do almost anything for them. - Once you get past her wit and sass, Rose is the sweetest person you would ever meet, even if she’s rough around the edges. But good luck getting her to open emotionally.

[merryfortune]

Lunacy

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt: 06 Lust

Ship: Eirika/Valter

Fandom: Fire Emblem Sacred Stones

Word Count: 2,941

Rating: M

Warnings: Chose not to use warnings

AN: Big thank you to @seasaltmemories for being my beta :D

Tags: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Forced Relationships, Obsession, Abuse, Murder, Themes of Rape/Non-con

   Every night, without fail, the Goddess of the Moon used to light up the night skies, turning every end of the day into a feat of joy and merriment with just her appearance as she danced through the skies, no chariot of her own, just her and her two glass slippers. The nocturnal hours that she lit were precious and safe, completely and utterly free of the fear of the dark.

   It’s not like that anymore. Sometimes she is able to grace the world with the whole of her dance, other times she is shrouded in darkness. Worst of all are the nights when she’s not there at all.

   Ever since the Goddess of the Moon was forced to wed the God of the Dark, she had been unable to dance like she had in the more innocent days of yore. The gentle, restful night had been transformed due to their union as with his occurrence within the world had caused a new, dreadful fear to become known to the world. Thus cementing the God of the Dark as having a reputation for being the stealer of one of the two most precious lights that resided within the heavens.

   The moon had been taken from her twin, the sun, her elder brother. 

   Ephraim, the older twin, the literal golden boy, was the emissary of the sun. Commanding a golden chariot pulled by golden horses, he lit up the day with his fierce warmth and light, bringing energy to all lit by it. From the people to the animals to the plants. Each and every day, over the course of several hours, Ephraim and his horses would cause the sun to arc over the world. He would leave a blaze in his wake regardless of which season it was but that is what made him and his chariot, the sun, so admirable.

   Meanwhile, at night, Eirika would take to the skies in her brother’s place. She had no chariot, only her two glass slippers but her dance was elegant and illuminating. Her dance would lull children to sleep and her rapier would allow for light to gleam off it, revealing safe paths for weary travellers to follow. Where her brother blazed, she was a dew or a frost. Soft and forgiving, soothing, healing.

   Both the sun and the moon had their fair share of followers and devotees. 

   But Eirika had a devout follower like none other. A man by the name of Valter who had been praying to her since he was a child. It was a childhood interaction between him and the Goddess of the Moon that had caused him to become utterly obsessed with her.

   He recalled that fateful night with brilliant clarity, when the Goddess of the Moon had come down from the heavens and presented himself to her in the flesh and nectar.

   Beaten. Starved. Abused. Just a sampling of what Valter endured as the bastard child of a noblewoman and a rapist. And like many others, the night was the only reprieve from the scrutiny and assault that he faced from the people around him meant to be his family or carers. 

   He escaped outside, into the cool and into the fireflies that lingered near the pond at the rear of the orchard. Far, far away from the house with the little, battered cot that he had to call a bed. He looked up into the sky, through the treetops and the stars, and saw her. The most beautiful woman a child could ever conceive of: he saw the moon and his eyes filled upon that visage and with tears, too.

  He prayed. He begged. He worshipped in the blinding, holy light of the moon with no temple or ritual. Just his brutal feelings and brutalised body. He laid down his body and soul for this and for that, the Goddess of the Moon stepped down from the heavens and appeared before him.

   She caressed this child’s bruised face and cradled him, she ran her fingers through his hair and untangled the knots. Valter wept in her arms and so, Eirika gave him a blessing that he would take to his grave: she kissed his forehead and thus, a seal was placed upon him. The mark of the full moon. So long as he was faithful to her, no harm would befall him all the same as any other beneath Eirika’s moon.

   Then, once Eirika felt that she had consoled this child, she disappeared into his arms. A cavalcade of moonlit glitter, silvery and blue, and returned to her eternal dance in the night sky. Every twirl of her body, every kick of her long legs, every flick of her hand, another movement of the moon made as it had its own arc over the Earth.

   With the blessing of the Moon Goddess protecting him, his parents never raised a hand against him and he realised something. He was not weak anymore. He was not their prey. And so, empowered by the seal upon his forehead, Valter found his hierophilic purpose in life. Looking up at the indigo skies, he watched, entranced by the moonlight, by the goddess herself. Every night, he watched. He prayed. 

   Admiration and prayer gave way to obsession in the mind of young Valter as Eirika never visited him again, no matter how he pleaded and begged for her to reappear before him. And so, hopes and wishes, no matter how suffocated with his twisted affection, gave way to actions. He would do whatever it took for Eirika to notice him once more amongst all her mortal followers. Whatever it takes.

   Eventually, Eirika did notice Valter once more. He became all consuming to her attention, sickening her to her very core.

   He had grown into a man, a man like a wyvern. Tall, bulky, and sneering all the same as that heinous, fanged reptile. His prayers had turned to rallying cries of orchestrated tragedy. Each struck reverberating through the goddess whom he showed his devotion to in frigid cold blood. Until she had to cry out to no one at all as the gods had no higher power they could truly turn to.

   He was slaughtering innocents, those whom he deemed as unworthy followers of her and anyone else who had the misfortune of crossing his path like a black cat.  Every kill, a prayer and as they were prayers, Eirika felt each and everyone of them, even so far flung as into the skies and heavens. Every plunge of his spear against his so-called offerings was felt by Eirika as deep as the pain could possibly go and further still. 

   She felt the eviscerations that he put his victims through, the way he disembowled and revelled in the resulting viscera, how he desecrated what little was left. Every wound, every puncture. Though Eirika did not spill with a single drop of blood, she felt it as though it were a waterfall. The phantom penetrations left her on her knees as she could only grit her white teeth through it at all, screaming, sobbing, body and soul violated with his weapon of choice. His lunatic devotion.

  To the envy of the gods of war and the like, Valter was single handedly causing a disbalance in nature and the aether. All in adoration of Eirika and for it, Eirika would be the one punished by her fellow gods and goddesses. Not even her brother the sun could protect her as Lyon, the emissary of death, made his way to the moon, a tranquil fury at Eirika’s perceived negligence.

   He visited Eirika in the wayside of twilight, before her nightly dance would begin and he found her on her sublime abode, of marble and pure white rock, retching, holding herself as she felt more - dozens - killed in her name. Lyon knelt beside her.

   “Hark, my friend,” he told her, stroking her shoulder, an embodiment of light such as Eirika was not meant for such darkness, “but you must have courage and take to even your own follower to cease his atrocities. My domain is overflowing with souls who were not meant to be cut down by death just yet, it is disruptive, please understand, dear.”

   “I understand, Lyon, I will find a way to cease this madness.” Eirika said, sucking in a breath to sound braver than she was.

   “Excellent.” Lyon agreed and in a smog of shadow and dust, Eirika was left alone.

   She gazed out across the sky and she felt so, so small before the might of humankind and even all the universe. She had never felt that way before. She was a goddess, after all. So, she found herself seeking the counsel of someone whom she could always trust: her twin brother.

   Time was of the essence but Ephraim appeared on her cross path eventually. She hailed out to him and he halted his horses. They whinnied and whined but with Ephraim’s expert command, they stopped and he dismounted from behind the guard of his chariot.

   “Unexpected to see you this soon, sister.” Ephraim greeted her.

   “I need a little of your help.” Eirika confessed, fidgeting. “I have never had a follower kill in my name, let alone slaughter. I have been told to end him but I do not believe myself to be up to the task alone.”

   Ephraim stroked his chin thoughtfully, “I am informed of the situation and believe it is yours and yours alone, little sister.”

   “I have never taken up arms against anyone,” Eirika said, “I am not like you brother. I am not a warrior. I am a lover, not a fighter.”

   “Then perhaps you ought to use that to your advantage. Fight with words, rather than weapons.” Ephraim said then sighed. “With that, I must dismiss you. As you cannot prolong the night, neither can I prolong the day.”

   “I understand, rest well later, Ephraim.” Eirika told him.

   She watched as he and his horses left her. She watched the sparks and embers in his trail, they were beautiful but in the right temperature, could ignite the very crops that he was meant to rear. Eirika wondered if the indulgent blessing she had given away so recklessly a few years ago was the same. Her heart wrenched and sure enough, the killing prayers had begun again and her offerings were in the form of heads cleaved from necks rather than trimmed hollyhocks or similar.

   It brought her to her knees with indecision and powerlessness. Eirika, a goddess, was left snivelling and sobbing in the wake of the murder in her name. She hadn’t a faintest clue how gods of war and death endured or if it felt different to them. 

   Desiring nothing more than to at least end her own suffering, let alone the grief of the loved ones of those who had been killed in her name, Eirika found her courage. She would find her own way to fight against this follower of hers. Eirika took a deep, heaving breath and her gloved fists strengthened. She tried to lift herself up but she was struck once more by the sensation of a piercing lance but she endured the pain as innocents were killed in her name. She vanished from the edge of the world where she had met her brother.

   Reappearing in a scourged field, Eirika stood, uncertain and she gazed out past the fallen, slaughtered bodies. This may have been a village once and it was as though war had razed it but she only saw the silhouette of one man and his lance in his hand. The one man who had caused this tragedy and his weapon of choice.

   Valter twitched. He could sense a cool change in the dusk. His movements were unnatural as he lumbered around, enthralled, that he appeared to be in the presence of someone more than loyalty. Eirika steeled herself. His gaunt face split into a manic grin. A lust for life, a lust for blood, and worst of all: a lust for her, Eirika sensed from it.

   “Eirika, my goddess, you recall me?” he asked as he began to amble forward, tired by his slaughter, using his lance as a cane to hobble with, and yet enthused by Eirika’s reappearance before her.

   In front of her, he laid down his weapon, overjoyed that his prayers had finally been heard, it seemed. He took her hand and smothered her knuckles with kisses. Eirika remained akin to marble, just a statue, glaring yet neutral. Valter’s passion disgusted her but what really made Eirika tremble was the realisation that he still bore her blessing upon his forehead. It shone like a beacon, completely unmarred from the passage of time, unmarred by the splatter of blood, completely unlike the rest of his face.

   “Yes, I remember you, the child that I assisted.” Eirika replied gravely. 

   Valter lifted his head and Eirika saw a jaundice to his eyes, they were wide, “I was worried my prayers were eluding you, I am nothing but devoted to you, my goddess, your attention is all that I desire.” 

   “They have been heard, Valter,” Eirika said, firm, “and they must stop.”

   Her proclamation shocked Valter to stone. He blinked. He behaved as though he could not fathom her words.

   “This killing in my name must stop.” Eirika continued, her voice getting louder now.

   Both of them were distraught but somehow, Valter was more so. He gawked, on the brink of anger. His one-sided love betrayed.

   “I will do anything to bring a stop to your murder.” Eirika told him.

   “Anything?” Valter echoed and disbelief gave way upon his rugged face to something conniving. It made Eirika’s skin crawl. 

   “Yes, anything, so long as it is within the boundaries of my domain.” Eirika replied, sheepish, already regretting her words but she hoped that so long as his request was per her own magic, then she would be true to her own word yet she dreaded Valter’s reply.

   He took a moment to peruse his words and gather what his anything would be but his teeth glinted, “I have my request.”

   “Let’s hear it.” Eirika replied, bravely, keeping her chin up even though she dreaded what was about to come from Valter’s mouth.

   “I want power.” Valter said. “Power of the gods.”

   “I must deny that, I can give you no such thing.” Eirika replied and she tried to step away from Valter but he grabbed her hand.

   Eirika’s heart could have jumped from her chest but instead, it sank. Valter came down to his knee, still holding her hand and Eirika realised what he was asking for her.

   “I could share in your power, as your husband.” Valter said. “Have me as your mortal lover…”

   “But make you a god.” Eirika finished his sentence for him.

   He was perversely delighted, clearly thinking it a good omen of her marriage for her to do that. Eirika swallowed a lump in her chest and her expression remained firm. Brave. She took a breath.

   “For a dowry, you will receive power over the dark, the home of the night sky and moon, but for the engagement, you will relinquish your killing. Those are our vows.” Eirika scowled.

   “As you wish,” Valter replied, his voice a sick caress, “my love.”

   Valter kissed Eirika’s hand once more. Just once. And there was a swell of power. The transfer of part of Eirika’s domain into another. She kept herself strong through it as she felt part of her power diminish and was eaten up by Valter.

   “You are now Valter, God of the Dark.” Eirika christened him and she could feel a shift in the balance of nature and aether but she didn’t think she was going to be scolded for it.

   This shift recontextualised itself and Eirika could feel the new presence of the dark. Not as a time of rest and solace, but as something that could have horrible dangers lurking in. An old fear, from before her time and birth as a goddess, revived and revitalised because of the birth of the new god before her, at her feet.

   “Come, Valter, we must make haste. The night must begin, it must go on.” Eirika told him, hurried him.

   Valter slowly got up and smiled eerily, “With pleasure.” he replied.

   Though she wanted to be let go, Eirika instead took Valter’s hand. To turn the moon, to blanket the world in darkness and sleep, soothed by the gentle light of the moon… unfortunately he now had a place in this as a newlywed dance, no matter how unnerving.

   Valter was sharply keen to assist. His hand was large against Eirika’s and despite being defined by her dualism with her brother, she had never danced with a partner before. His hands were stony and so were his movements, he was a warrior, not a dancer, Eirika quickly realised. 

   He trod on her toes, cracking the glass slippers her feet were adorned with but he was an eager partner, if anything else. Eager but inadequate, he took charge. They danced but it was not the dance that Eirika, or the world, had once known so effortlessly, so innately. As such, the moon was partially enshrouded in a shadow that had never been there before.

   Thus, for the first time in all the history so far of creation, earthly and heavenly, the moon began to wane. A shade of darkness, her possessive husband, hid the moon’s face as she tried to dance as usual, beginning a new lunar cycle the world had not seen before but would come to know ever after.

[youllallriseintheink]

Prison Cell, chapter 2

This is a story taking place in an AU where the studio became the sketch dimension before most of the sacrifices were made.  While this AU will have an emphasis on horror, especially in the later chapters, I also want to show the resilience of some of these characters.

---

"Can I be the one to go down there?" Susie asked.

"No," Abby answered firmly. "First we need to decide what we're going down there for. And I'm sorry, but I don't think it's going to be a rescue mission. I don't trust you not to turn it into one. Beyond that, though, whoever it is, it has to be someone at least somewhat nondescript. So, not you- you're pretty well-known, and your size alone is pretty distinctive. And not me, either- there are no other black women in this studio, so there definitely aren't any who are loyalists. And not Henry- he's a wanted man. Any volunteers?"

In the end, Jack was chosen for the first mission. He was fairly forgettable in appearance, and the one of the two people down there who knew him well wouldn't be one to call him out. Of course, the other was Joey Drew, but he was nonetheless the best candidate.

After Jack had been assigned, there was a brief discussion about where to hide Henry, they found someone to replace Norman as the projectionist, and a circuit of people were chosen to keep watch of the elevator at night so that no one would be attacked.

---

The next day, Jack put on the loyalist robes, traded his hat for a mask, and headed down in the elevator. The first lower floor that the elevator stopped at was at the old breakroom. Two men were there, playing pool in uniforms but no masks. It was strange how normal it looked. Jack figured that the masks must have only been for specific uses, including any visits to the upper floors. Hopefully he didn't stick out like a sore thumb.

"Hey," he said to them, trying to disguise his voice somewhat, "I have to check on the prisoners. I'm covering for a buddy. But he forgot to tell me where they are. Can you help me?"

One of the men gave him a funny look. There were a thousand things that could have given him away. Maybe all loyalists already knew where the prisoners were kept. "Floor 3B. Take two lefts. You can't miss it."

Jack thanked them and left.

Floor 3B was the second-to-last one, and it opened in a nondescript hallway. Once he’d followed the directions, he got to what looked like an unremarkable row of office doors. They looked like that, but Jack could hear someone crying within them, and could smell human waste. This was, undeniably, the place. Jack tried a few doors and found them to be locked. So, after checking to make sure that there was no one else nearby, he tried talking to the people within them. There were six prisoners in total. One of them was Emma LaMonte. Four of them had been a part of a small insurrection early on. Their stories broke Jack’s heart. One of them, Lacie, had been left with a broken leg that they had done nothing to treat. It had set incorrectly and was now a permeant cause of pain and poor mobility. Another of them, Shawn, had been fed ink. The final prisoner was also a surprise.

“Allison? I thought you were a loyalist.”

“I was, but I wasn’t very good at following the rules. Tom caught me breaking a pretty big one. He doesn’t want me to end up dead. So, he dragged me in here, and told the others that I’d done something less severe. Something that would get me locked up a long time, but not killed. I get treated better than the other prisoners, and Tom comes to visit me and take me around most nights like I’m a free person, but he still doesn’t trust me not to get myself killed. I know it’s only temporary, though.”

“Temporary?”

“Well, Tom says that Joey is working on a way out for all of us. I hope that’s true. But I’ve been in the dark pretty much since the beginning.”

Jack nodded. “I’m real sorry this has happened to you. Can I ask what you were doing? Oh- and do you know where there might be more prisoners?”

“I don’t know about other prisoners. But as for what I was doing- I was visiting the outside without permission. I actually did it several times before I got caught. If you want to do it, the portal is on floor 2B.”

“Okay. Thanks again,” Jack said before leaving.

The portal was not hard to find. A door like any other on floor 2B was in fact marked with the word, “portal.” Someone had left their keys in the door. Jack pocketed the keys and went in.

The inside of the room had, in addition to many typical janitorial supplies, a rack of small vials of dark, nearly-black liquid, a set of post-it notes, and a set of instructions. The instructions read, 

Step 1: write where you want to go on a note and stick it to a door.

Step 2: pour a vial of blood at the base of the door.

Curious as to how specific one had to be and how far the door’s powers extended, Jack wrote “China” on a note and poured out a vial. He opened the door, and on the other side was wilderness. Perhaps this was the very center of China. After being stunned for a moment at being able to see greenery and smell fresh air for the first time in months, Jack realized that, since the portal worked, there was a much better way he could be using it. Giddy, he wrote down his old address and repeated the ritual. The door opened to a closet in his own house. He could hear his dog barking and the voice of one of his kids, and for a moment he considered abandoning the studio and everyone in it.

Then the door shut, and opened again. Jack was roughly pulled through it, back into the supply closet.

“What were you doing!?” a woman yelled at him. Then, her voice dropped to a whisper. “Okay, give me back my keys and don’t tell anyone I forgot them, and I won’t tell anyone that you snuck a trip through the portal. Got it?” she was clearly just as frightened as he was.

“I won’t tell anyone. But could you please just let me have this? Just for ten minutes. Please?”

The woman appeared to mull this over. “Sure. But seriously- you can’t go through there dressed like that. Here, I’ll hold your mask...” the woman reached for his mask. 

Jack backed up against the wall. “Actually, I changed my mind. But don’t worry, I still won’t tell anyone.”

“Wait... you seem familiar...”

Jack opened the door and scrambled to the elevator, not looking back to see if she followed. 

---

“Okay, so the good news is that we know that the insurrectionists are alive,” Abby began after Jack had returned back and composed himself enough to report his findings. “And now we know about the portal. That’s very interesting. The bad news is that the prisoners are being kept in awful conditions, and they’re probably going to suspect anyone who’s wearing the mask in public places from now on. I guess the best thing to do is use someone who looks specifically like someone from down there. So, try to remember how the people down there looked. And thank you, Jack. That was very brave of you.”

Jack nodded and left Abby to her work. Planning an insurrection was difficult, and especially so on top of directing the art department. Shortly after Jack left, there was a knock on her door. It was Susie.

“Susie! Hi! did you get that list I asked for?”

Susie smiled. “Yep. Went to every department. There’s a good dozen or so people who are ready to hit the demon with an ax!”

Abby smiled back. Susie had been a big help to her. “Great! I’ll assign them floors.” hopefully the gambit would pay off. Hopefully they weren’t just throwing good fighters away. The forced blood extraction might have been frightening and violating to the people who received it, of whom there were more than a couple, but who knew when the insurrectionists might need their best fighters? If the demon just dragged them away anyhow, then this wasn’t the best use for them. Of course, being a leader in these times meant making a thousand decisions like that with limited information and hoping that things turned out for the better.

---

Days wore on. The guard system on the elevators had lasted all of a single night. The demon, finding a guard on each floor, had taken to eviscerating one of them. By the time the other guards arrived, the demon was standing over a corpse that appeared nearly inside-out. The demon scurried back to the elevator, and left before anything could be done to him.

The missions went poorly as well. Security had increased after Jack had nearly been found out. While the insurrectionists had managed to map out the lower floors (save for the very basement, which was sealed off), and found out that a great many of the loyalists were sick of a mysterious disease that caused blackened, shiny skin, they were unable to steal keys, free the prisoners, or access the portal again. After two weeks of no progress and three deaths, two of which had been killed after having been found out, Abby called the rebellion off. She felt it was what was best for everyone’s welfare, and since the loyalists had banned wearing masks on the lower floors, going undercover had become immensely more dangerous..

Susie continued to bring people together for meetings. She was not organized and dominant as Abby had been, and her meetings tended to be chaotic. The people were angry and had been emboldened. One night, a man stole a uniform and snuck down to the lowest levels. He killed a man with a knife and injured another before being imprisoned. The next day, Sammy came to the music department and escorted Susie to the basement.

"Where are you taking me?” Susie asked as Sammy clicked the elevator button to bring her to the lower floors.

“Don’t worry. No harm is going to come to you yet. This is something that Joey Drew is explicitly allowing. He knows that he needs to stop this rebellion, so he’s going to use sticks and carrots. And, well, this is the carrot.” Sammy’s face was unreadable.

They went into the room labelled “portal.”

“The first thing that I’ve been asked to do is tell you why all of this is necessary. Susie, your blood can open the portals to the outside. There were only six people in the entire studio with the right blood properties to do that, and your rebellion killed one of them last night.”

Susie nodded. “What I’ve never understood is why you don’t just let everyone out. I mean, you have a portal.”

Sammy took off his shirt, revealing a black growth that had spread across his chest, stomach, and shoulders. “If I spend more than a day or two out there, I will get sick and die. The same is true of everyone who was in the room when the ink machine exploded. Some of us are too deformed to even be allowed through the portal anymore. Joey is looking for a way to cure us so that everyone can be free. And until then, he needs your blood.”

“That doesn’t explain why he’s keeping everyone else.”

Sammy cringed. “That’s probably his own selfishness- wanting to maintain his studio the best he can. He’s not exactly as sane as he used to be. But... you’ll find out about that soon enough. For now, Susie, I’m supposed to give you your carrot. We have some money to spend, and I’ve been given permission to take you anywhere in the world you want for the day and send you back with an offering of gifts.”

Susie thought on this. “What if I told you that I wanted my gift to be Norman?”

“You’ll find out about him tonight. He’s a part of the bargaining.”

Susie’s face lit up. “Okay, wonderful!”

The two of them spent a day in Paris together. Afterwards, Sammy sent her back with two first-aid kits. One of them was fully stocked and then some, as it contained much of the contents that had been in the other one. The other they had emptied. Anything from it they couldn’t pack into the first box had been abandoned on the street, and they had filled the box with knives.

“Please promise me that you won’t use these unless absolutely necessary. Joey doesn’t want it to come to war, but if it does, there is a lot he could use against you. The loyalists could poison you with ink, or they could refuse you access to any resources and starve you into compliance. And thankfully, we don’t have guns, but if things ever escalated, we could get them, and you couldn’t. So, please, for own safety, only use these for self-defense.”

“I won’t let anyone know about these. But I'm not sure I can control them. Angry people that feel like they have nothing to lose are... really hard to lead.”

Sammy went quiet.

“Something wrong, Sammy?”

“Well, I told you that we were planning on using sticks and carrots, right? Well, Joey- if I can still call that thing “Joey”- is about to give you your stick. He wants to crush the rebellion with shock and awe. And I’m scared that he’s just going to make everyone angrier.”

Susie didn’t know what to say to that. “It’ll be okay, Sammy.”

“I sure hope so,” he replied, starting to cry.

Finding the portal again was easy- it was right where it had been at the beginning of the day, in some supply closet in some department store. A loyalist checked over what Susie had brought back, but Sammy had made sure that the person to do so would be another sympathizer, so they were let go. They stepped onto the elevator again. “Alright. Time for the stick. I’m supposed to deliver you to the very basement. I’m sorry.”

[beelsnack]

Can I request the brothers reactions to Diavolo accidentally bringing a pregnant mc to the devildom for the exchange program?

So, I actually went back and forth about this ask - specifically the pronouns I was going to use. I wasn’t sure if you wanted a female mc or not, but I do know that I got this ask before I posted my rules, so I’m going to be a little bit lenient here. I’m going to use they/them pronouns, but if you would prefer female, let me know and I’ll change it for you, okay, Nonnie? I know I waited a long time before getting to your ask, thanks for being patient with me. ^^

I’m...not too sure about how this turned out. The human barely shows up in the scenarios, it’s mainly the brothers’ thought processes.

-----

Lucifer: Well, this was quite the predicament.

They were already in danger simply by being a human in the Devildom. Pregnancy only made them even more fragile. He would have to make sure that were well-guarded. Not only were they risking their soul, but their child’s as well. An unborn child, completely untainted by sin or vice? The baby might as well be the fruit that tempted Eve.

Or perhaps it wouldn’t be untainted. They were sharing living space with the Seven Deadly Sins personified, in the world of demons. It was a very real possibility that the baby would absorb enough demonic energy to become a demon itself.

The human didn’t seem worried, and Lucifer didn’t want to cause them unnecessary panic. But he swore, as long as he drew breath, no harm would come to them or their child.

Mammon: Other demons were staring.

No, they were more than staring. They were damn near salivating, eyes trained on the human’s slightly rounded stomach like they were going to pounce on them any second. Mammon could practically smell the twisted desire rolling off of the low-level scum-suckers.

At first, he hadn’t been thrilled with being saddled with guard duty, especially when he discovered there was another human inside the first one. But now, a surge of fierce protection flared in him as the human - his human - tucked themself closer to his side. They weren’t stupid, they knew they were being drooled over.

Then, one of the little bastards had the gall to step towards them.

Instantly, Mammon went from collected to feral. He snapped his head towards the other demon, fangs bared and claws extended. He was the Second Born for a reason, and anyone who got anywhere close to his human and their child would find out why.

Leviathan: When they told him that the other parent of their baby had left them, Levi felt both enraged and grateful at the same time. On the one hand, who in their right mind would leave this totally awesome, god-tier person, especially when they were carrying your child? That jerk better pray that Levi never finds out who they are, because he might just have to eviscerate them on principle.

But, on the other hand, he got them all to himself. He got to have them snuggled up against him as they gamed together. He got to see the amazement and joy on their face when they felt their baby kick for the first time. All the moments that that jerk threw away like garbage became Levi’s treasured memories.

Huh, maybe he should thank the bastard.

Satan: Honestly, this was originally just been to sate his curiosity. It wasn’t very often he encountered a pregnant human - demons themselves hardly bore children the traditional way. But now he was up to his eyeballs in online articles about changes in hormones, how the human body shifted to make room for the growing fetus, what foods they could and couldn’t eat…

Every new bit of information made him cringe in sympathy for the human. They were going through all of this, in a Realm that wasn’t their own, and they weren’t going stir-crazy? Surely this was how humans have managed to stay the dominant species in their Realm for so long.

Asmodeus: “Don’t you worry you’re pretty little head, darling. Your baby is going to be the most fashionable baby in the Three Realms!”

He might be having a bit too much fun with this. But Asmo’s main motivation was to keep the human from spiraling. Sure, he had never given birth, but he knew a thing or two about emotions, and he could tell the human was one intrusive thought away from having a breakdown. So, he did what he did best.

Went shopping.

Slowly but surely, he saw the creeping anxiety recede from their eyes, replaced with sparkling joy and excitement as they began to imagine what their baby would look like in the cute onesies Asmo was picking out. Mission success.

Beelzebub: He hadn’t really thought about it, but full-grown humans were really tiny. Well, compared to him, at least. A baby would be really tiny, and would probably get hurt really easily. Even though they were still safe inside their parent, Beelzebub couldn’t help but worry about them.

“When your baby is born, will you let me protect them?” he asked one day. The human looked at him with wide eyes before smiling at him.

“Of course, Beel.”

Belphegor: Human babies had always fascinated him. Everything was new and exciting to them, and they were so innocent. He had always wanted to hold one, to watch them discover the world around them.

But the Devildom was no place for an innocent little baby. There was danger around every corner, and that little light would need to be protected or the world around them will discover them as well.

Maybe the human would let Belphegor keep them safe.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Piggy’s Had Too Much Wine

This fic is highkey a vent because my younger brother is an asshole who never stops calling me fat

DISCLAIMER: By writing this fic I am not saying that Katy Richardson is fat. She is not. And even if she was, she would still be drop dead gorgeous. This is a fictional story about the character she plays, not her.

Word count: 3159

TW: Body shaming, body image issues, self harm

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

  “Damn, girl, you got enough in your face?”

Joan looked up from the forkful of food she had just put in her mouth and blinked at Anne smirking across the table at her. She chewed slowly, like a sheep deep in thought, then said after swallowing, “Huh?”

Anne nodded at her meal. “You got a lot to eat there.”

  “I know,” Joan said, shifting in her seat. “I’m hungry.”

  “That’s new,” Cathy observed. “Usually you don’t like eating during lunch breaks at work.”

  “Well, we’re not at work,” Joan said. “This is a restaurant.”

  “We know that,” Cleves said. 

  “And the food is good here.” Joan went on hastily. “I like it.”

  “Maybe a little too much,” Kitty said from behind her glass, earning her a sharp, but wounded look from Joan, which she countered with a petty sip of her drink.

  “I’m paying, anyway,” Joan continued. “Why does it matter what I get?”   “It doesn’t, honey,” Aragon settled her. “Don’t worry about it.”

Joan nodded and then took another bite of her meal. She couldn’t help but feel a little awkward as she did so, as if she were eating like a pig out of a slop trough, but tried to ignore it. It was fine. Everybody had to eat. There was nothing embarrassing about it.

  “So…” Anne started again. Aragon gave her a warning look, but she either ignored it or didn’t see it. “What made you want to come out with us? Usually you never go out.”

Joan shrugged. “I got lonely. And there isn’t anything good to eat at my apartment, so…” She shrugged again.

  “Ah, so that explains why you’re stuffing your face like there’s no tomorrow,” Kitty nodded wisely.

Joan ruffled, face inflaming with red. “I said I was hungry!” She yelped, her voice pitching slightly.

  “Don’t get mad,” Kitty held her hand sup. “I thought you were just trying to starve yourself or something.”

  “You do never eat,” Jane put in her two cents.

  “Well, I am now,” Joan grumbled.

  “Do you have a date?” Cleves asked. “Maybe you’re looking for someplace good to take them?”

Anne snorted. “If Joan had a date, then I hope they have a belly kink because she’s going to be packing after this.” She took a sip of her drink, then breezily added, “More so than she usually is.”

A few giggles swept through the tables, while others snapped their heads around to gauge Joan’s reaction. And she did not look happy about what had been said.

Joan’s fork was raised up for her to take another bite, but frozen in midair. Bright red consumed her face like the blooming of a rose in spring. She unconsciously wrapped her free arm around her stomach while slowly setting her fork down with the other. She sat hunched against the table for a moment, then was grabbing her purse and dumping money out on the table.

  “You can pay with this,” She mumbled.

  “Come on, Joan,” Anne said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be such a baby. It was just a joke.”

But Joan doesn’t listen to her. She stood up and shoved her chair in roughly. Tears of humiliation could be seen shining in her eyes.

  “Oh my god,” Anne groaned. “Are you going to cry? Are you serious? You’re literally thinner than half of us here! What do you have to cry about? Or even be embarrassed about?”

Still, Joan doesn’t listen. She slung her purse of her shoulder and stormed out of the building, her arms wrapped firmly around her stomach the entire time.

------

When Joan got home, she shoved her fingers down her throat and cried. So much for a good meal. At least she got to pay for it.

------

That night, Joan stood in the shower with a box cutter poised over her exposed belly. She wondered what it would be like to find clarity in its blade. Cutting off pieces of herself would make her feel more whole. A heavy decision with a light outcome. It would just be like how they cut meat at slaughterhouses.

Make yourself an animal. Make yourself less human. It’ll make the process easier.

But the pain was bright and sharp and unbearable, even with the smallest of slices, and she threw the box cutter at the wall.

Joan sunk to the floor, sobbing, thin trails of blood running from her stomach. The water dissolved the red into unfolding petals of flowers across her pale skin before sliding into the drain.

What did she have to be embarrassed about?

She looked at herself in the mirror after getting out of the shower and asked herself this. What does she have that makes her so embarrassing? What does she have to hate?

She wasn’t overweight. She wasn’t obese. In most people’s terms, she was the normal example of thin. It was just her stomach, it wasn’t that bad, or that’s what they say.

  “You’re not even that big,” That’s because you haven’t seen her with her shirt off.

  “It’s just your stomach, it’s not even that bad,” But that’s what people see the most.

  “You aren’t fat so stop saying you are,” And she wished she could, but tell that to the insecurities rebounding inside of her head.

When she wears jeans, she has to pull the waistband up over her stomach or else she would be doing an impression of an English muffin for the entire day.

When she wears certain shirts, she has to suck in her stomach or else everyone will see the not-actual baby bump she’s sporting.

When people jokingly (or sometimes seriously) ask if she’s pregnant, she has to force herself to laugh along because if she shows that she’s offended they’ll pull out the “you’re not fat, you don’t know what it’s like, you have no right to be so whiny.”

When someone says they wished she had her body type, she has to act like it’s some worshiping compliment when really it just makes her feel guilty.

And she gets it, she does, she knows how hard it must be for actual overweight people, but goddamnit, when she heard someone point her body out so rudely, it was enough to destroy any confidence she had in herself.

She wanted to cut it all off. All of it. Until there’s nothing left but a gaping hole left in her abdomen from where her ugliness used to be.

If only.

------

Joan hadn’t expected not eating to be so goddamn hard. She only ate a few things a day, but having nothing at all was absolute torture. The fact that she couldn’t go twenty-four hours without food did not help her confidence in her weight or body, but it was also too much for her to handle. She /had/ to eat. She could find a different way to lose weight.

------

Exercise was a bust. Turns out she has really bad stamina. She threw up when she attempted to jog an entire trail. She walked the same trail the second time and still felt excruciating stitches in her side during the entire hike. And then she waterlogged herself and felt even sicker. AND THEN her legs were sore for days. She hated it.

------

When starving herself and jogging failed, Joan turned to the local gym. She bought herself a membership and went in with the most confidence she could muster. The first day, her foot slipped and she got her leg caught in the turning pedals of the bike machine. In her attempt to escape, she sprawled right out of the seat, screaming. She hasn’t gone back since.

------

Two weeks have passed since the incident at the restaurant. Joan was still thinking about it, no matter how hard she tried to distract herself. Anne’s words and the laughter that followed just kept rebounding through her skull.

Hunching over her work desk, Joan carefully felt her stomach. She hated how soft and pudgy it was, as if she were actually pregnant like how people liked to joke, but with a deflated baby. She poked the roll of fat and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Her nails curled into the skin as her anger mounted.

Why did she have to look like this? 

She had rewatched the recordings of the Sunday Sessions and noticed how much her stomach stuck out. Had she always looked that fat? Why didn’t anyone say something? Were they laughing at her while the Live went on? Were they looking? God, she even looks awful in her overalls. If she can’t wear her overalls anymore, then what’s the point of anything?

Joan whimpered. She scratched harder at her belly.

Cut it off. Cut it all off. Make herself good, whole, pretty. People will like her more. She’ll finally have friends. Yes. Yes. Good.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Stinging pain streaked all across her poor tummy. Her fingernails were claws and she was marring herself.

Give them a reason to like her. Just don’t let them see what lies underneath. Just smile and be pretty and stay thin. Cut it off.

Joan wondered what would happen if she scratched too deep. What if her skin split open? She’s heard of evisceration that has happened like that, granted it usually wasn’t caused by excessive clawing because of body hatred. Would pulling out some of her organs make her thinner? Surely she didn’t need her large intestines /that/ much. It had it in its name- “large.” It’s too big. It takes up too much space in her. It’s definitely making her look so swollen and gross.

Pull it out

  “Joan?”

Joan’s hands froze. Her entire body froze. She swallowed thickly, shutting her eyes and cursing herself in her mind. Then, she’s wiping the tears from her face and turning to the queen in her doorway.

  “Yeah?” 

Jane peered at Joan curiously. Strangely, the usual annoyance in her gaze was missing. She even looked a little worried.

No, no-- Jane doesn’t care about her. Jane thought she was fat, just like everyone else.

  “Are you alright?” Jane asked.

  “What? Oh, yeah. I’m okay.” Joan said. She forced a light laugh. “I was watching some animal videos. You know The Dodo? God, those always make me cry! Don’t tell the director, please? I don’t want him to think I’m slacking.”

Jane looked at her computer screen, which definitely did not have an animal video on it, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

  “So, what did you need?” 

  “Oh, uh. Tim needs you. Something about lighting malfunction.” Jane said.

  “A music director’s work is never done,” Joan chuckled dryly. She got up and walked out into the hallway, Jane stepping back with her. When she closed the door, faint bloody smears were left on the knob.

She and Jane both noticed it, along with the blood on her fingertips, but neither said anything.

------

You lose weight when you’re stressed. You also gain weight when you’re stressed. The fact that Joan was worried that her costume was tighter than usual does not help the latter.

------

The costume was definitely tighter. Or maybe it was always this tight? NO, there’s no way… Well, whatever it is, it’s making the waistband cut uncomfortably into her belly when she sits down. But maybe it rupturing her organs from the tightness may not be so bad. The loss of mass inside of herself could help her lose weight.

------

Joan tried to not eat again. It’s working a little. She’s restraining herself well enough. But it’s awful, so awful. The hunger pains are the worst.

------

  “Joan?”

Joan turned to the doorway of her dressing room to see Aragon standing there. 

  “Yes?”

  “Are you almost done?” Aragon asked.

Joan furrowed her eyebrows at her paperwork. “No.”

  “Wonderful,” Aragon said. “Come on.”

Joan blinked. “What?”

  “Come on,” Aragon said again. “We’re going to my house for dinner.”

  “Wha-- But I said I had work?”

  “It doesn’t matter right now. Let’s go.”

Joan hesitated, then gathered her belongings and walked out with Aragon. If it weren’t for her undying loyalty to the queens and that she was kinda afraid of Aragon, she might have refused. Too late now, though.

  “What are we having?” Joan asked meekly on the drive to the queen’s house.

  “Lasagna,” Aragon answered. “And, no, before you ask, I’m not going to add every single existing spice into it.” She rolled her eyes. “Can you believe that Anne really thought that?”

That got a tiny giggle out of Joan. Aragon flashed her a quick smile, then focused on the road ahead of her.

  “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I am a little,” Joan said, and that’s the moment her stomach decided to growl obviously loud. Her face flushed bright red and she wrapped her arms around her midsection as Aragon laughed.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Aragon chuckled.

Joan remained flustered for the rest of the short car ride. And then she was just embarrassed when they pulled up to the queen’s house and realized she was going to have to eat in front of them again. She was already preparing herself for the humiliation.

Weirdly, though, the house was empty when they walked in.

  “Everyone is out eating,” Aragon said, catching Joan’s confused expression. “So it’ll just be us.”

  “Oh… I’m sorry you had to miss that.”

Aragon waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. It’s quite alright. Now come help me reheat this lasagna.”

Half an hour later, they were eating. Except Joan just stared at her plate, wringing her hands anxiously in her shirt. Her stomach was dying for the freshly made lasagna, but she really didn’t want to add the calories to her already thick body.

  “Joan? Aren’t you going to eat?” Aragon asked.

  “Oh, uhh-- I’m not that hungry, actually.” Joan said.

  “But I thought you were earlier?”

  “That was earlier.” 

And then Joan’s stomach growled. Redness enveloped her face as she hunched her shoulders in and looked at the floor. Aragon gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “Eat, honey. Please.”

So Joan does eat. She eats more than she actually wanted and after four plates she feels stuffed and sick- both physically and mentally.

  “You really were hungry, huh?” Aragon mused, picking up Joan’s plate. Joan whimpered below her. Instantly, her maternal instincts flared to life. “Joan?” She knelt beside the chair and set a hand on Joan’s back. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Joan sobbed. She looked up at Aragon and tears were rapidly streaming down her cheeks.

  “Oh, sweetheart… Come here.” Aragon pulled Joan into her arms and the girl slid off the chair to be enveloped in them. She noted that Joan didn’t hug back, rather kept her hands firmly gripping her stomach. Things were starting to fall into place. “Shh, shh… It’s alright, baby. It’s alright.”

  “No, no,” Joan shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s not, Catalina, I--” She practically screamed. “I hate myself so much.”

  “Joan…” Aragon helped Joan up so she could sit on the couch. The girl instantly curled into her upon sitting down. “Joan, honey, why? What’s wrong?”

  “I-I--” Joan cut herself off with a tight whine.

  “Is this about what Anne said?” Aragon asked.

Joan nodded with a feeble whimper.

Aragon looked absolutely enraged. “Goddamnit, that bitch--” She hissed. She pulled Joan against her firmly. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. This has been eating you up, hasn’t it?”

Joan nodded again. “It’s--it’s all I’ve been thinking about. It’s been killing me, Catalina, it’s been killing me…” She sobbed into Aragon’s chest. “A-and I know it’s stupid because I’m not overweight, not really, so I don’t have the right to complain, b-but--”

  “Oh no. Don’t you dare.” Aragon pushed Joan back and cupped her tear-stained face, making the girl look her in the eye. “Don’t you dare say that, Joan. You have every right to feel the way you do. You can be upset if you want to, regardless of your body type. You can be tall or short, black or white, skinny or fat- it isn’t just overweight people who have body image issues. So don’t be guilty over that, honey.” She brushed some hair out of Joan’s face. “But just know that the things you are thinking are not true.”

Joan pulled away and shook her head. “They are.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach again.

  “They are not.” Aragon said. “Joan, you are not fat.”

  “Yes I am!” Joan cried. “Have you SEEN my stomach? I’m fat, Catalina! I’m fat and gross and--” She dissolved into tears again.

  “I have seen your stomach, Joan.” Aragon said gently. “Am I supposed to be disgusted by it?”

Joan nodded, not looking at Aragon.

  “Why?”

  “B-because,” Joan stammered. “It’s ugly…”

  “Honey, you are not ugly.” Aragon said. “You are anything but ugly. You are very, very beautiful.”

Joan answered with only a tiny, “mmmm.”

Aragon pulled Joan back into her arms. Joan curled into them, her head finding its spot on her chest.

  “I don’t care about what you look like, baby. You’ll always be beautiful in my eyes. Not ugly or fat.” Aragon said.

  “P-please don’t say I’m not fat,” Joan begged quietly. “I-I can’t-- I can’t believe you. Not right now. It’s too-- I--”

  “Shh,” Aragon pressed her head underneath her chin. “I understand, honey. But just know my opinion will never change about you. You will always be my perfect girl.”

Joan sniffled. “R-really?”

  “Really.” Aragon confirmed.

Joan was quiet for a moment, then nodded. She finally hugged Aragon back, practically burying herself against the queen.

  “I-I don’t know how long it’ll take,” Joan whispered. “For me to not see myself the way I do…”

  “That’s alright,” Aragon said. “I’ll be here helping you every step of the way.”

  “Thank you.” Joan nuzzled into Aragon’s warmth. She winced when her stomach cramped. “I think I ate too much…”

  “Oh, my poor baby,” Aragon cooed. She lowered one hand and rubbed comforting circles against Joan’s belly. “I used to do this with Elizabeth, you know. She was such a fussy girl.” She chuckled. “Don’t tell her I told you that.”

Joan giggled. “Your secret is safe with me.” She leaned her head against Aragon’s chest and relaxed into the feeling gliding across her full stomach. “I can see why she liked this, though.”

  “Oh yeah?” Aragon smiled at her. “I’ll have to see if she still does, then. Ha, she would be so red!”

Another giggle. “She’d kill you.”

  “I’d like to see her try.”

Joan smiled slightly. Her hatred for her own body was still clouding her mind, and she knew she was going to continue to have problems over it in the near future, but it suddenly felt like they would be easier to deal with. She had someone who loved her, who thought she was perfect and beautiful, regardless of what she or her stomach looked like. 

Well. At least there was one good thing about having a soft, chubby tummy. More room to get belly rubs.

[leafbladie]

Idea for a dark magical girl fic, feel free to steal

I was at work, and this idea rushed into my head without my consent, and ate up like 30 minutes of my time just writing everything down. Don’t want it to disappear into the ether, so I”m posting it here on Tumblr. If you’re a writer looking for an idea to write about, feel free to take it. Just credit me maybe?

Anyway, the idea for it was that the familiars are evil (how original), but instead of doing harm upon the Magical Girls in their corrupt system. They instead use Magical Girls as a police force to beat down “monster” uprisings.

The Magical Girls aren’t aware of this because part of their headset that’s part of their standard Magical Girl outfit. Said headset garbles the speech of the “monsters” so that it sounds like feral growls and screams.

Still, in spite of this, most of the Magical Girls just fend off the “monsters”, but don’t kill them, except 1.

The Magical Girl of Anger. Powered by her hatred she tears and eviscerates monsters without remorse. The other girls are off-put by her, but the familiars put her in charge in spite of this, because they want the other girls to follow her lead, and massacre the monsters too.

They’re hesitant to do so, but as they find it easier to go all out rather than hold themselves back, some of them decide to just kill. Except 1, the Magical Girl of Love. Her power works through a beam of love, and turns the “monsters” into her familiars. She tries to do this as much as she can in fights, because her power also lets her save “monsters” from the brink of death.

Soon, the final battle against the “Dark Lord” comes up. He stands there, an imposing face that commands a lot of respect. He tries to communicate with them, but all they hear is garbled speech, but many of them notice that he’s not attacking them. So they wonder why.

However, the Magical Girl of Anger strikes before anyone can start doubting what should be done. With that, the fight is one. It’s the first time Anger hasn’t torn straight through an enemy, what’s more, she’s actually losing this time.

However, her comrades come to her aid, and through their combined effort, and Love’s familiars, they have him pinned down. Anger is charging her ultimate attack, one that won’t just wipe out the “Dark Lord”, but all her familiars that are pinning him down too.

Love stands between the “Dark Lord” and Anger, her arms outstretched to protect him. Out in the distance, a pack of “monsters” are coming, here to save their master. But at this, the “Dark Lord” seems to gain a second win and pulls himself up. During this, he knocks off Love’s headset and howls out a long cry.

Except, Love isn’t hearing a howl like the rest of her friends, but a speech.

“To my comrades, I’m afraid the fight is lost this day. Please, survive and live your lives to the fullest. That is the best way to repay me for all I’ve done for you.”

With that, the “monsters” retreat, and the “Dark Lord” jumps backwards off the cliff, with Love reaching out for him at the last moment. But she’s too late.

The next day comes, and the familiars say that the forces of the “Dark Lord” are still at large and must be captured.

This time though, the “monsters” seem much less brave in their fights, running off without putting up much of one. Love disobeys command to return to base, and decides to follow with her familiars. Upon coming to their base, she takes off her headset as she enters in.

There, she is confronted by a small force of a few dozen or so “monsters”. They all seem to cower before her and her familiars, but laying her hands with her palms up, she kneels before the one she thinks is the leader, and takes off her headset.

Doing so causes HQ to take notice, and ask for verification of where she is. She doesn’t answer. They then threaten to take her powers away, saying she’ll be ripped to pieces by the “monsters” out there if this occurs. She still doesn’t answer. Her transformation subsides, and with that, her familiars turn back into “monsters”. Many of them friends and family of the “monsters” who are currently here.

A lot of them are angry at her for taking down their leader, the “Dark Lord”, and as they approach to hurt and/or kill her, she stays their motionless. Ready to accept it.

But the “monsters” who were her familiars come to her defense, saying she wants to help them with their cause. The leader that Love suspected finally speaks up, asking if she wants to know the truth.

So he tells her about the “Dark Lord” their leader. How he was actually a slave of the Familiars, all of their kind, the Beastmen, were. They had special collars that were put on their necks that forced them to obey whatever commands the familiars gave. Whether it be manual labor, entertainment, or cruel and unusual punishments.

Their leader though was able to find a way to destroy the device that sent the signals out to the command collars and freed the Beastmen from the Familiars grasp. Then, they took to freeing more of their brethren, with the ultimate goal of driving the Familiars off their home world.

The Familiars had caught them off guard through their trickery the first time. But having seen through them, the Beastmen were able to overpower the Familiars rather easily. That was, until the Magical Girls came.

And that’s where they are now, a ragtag group of former slaves fighting a rebellion with their hopes all but crushed after the death of their leader...

And that’s about as far as I got in my thoughts. For what would happen next, I was thinking Love would convince the other Magical Girls of this trickery and work to convert them to the other side. She’d also find that despite the Familiars revoking her powers, she can still use them. They weren’t Familiars’ powers, they were a part of her now.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed me rambling on about this idea.

[koffeewithkjo]

It just struck me that Weinstein’s wife was completely eviscerated in the press and people were boycotting her label, but Shradda got none of that blowback? I know it was pre-me too but both are cases of blatant nepotism and Chapman was seen as a symbol and beneficiary of Weinstein’s abuse, so why the double standard? Not wishing public disgrace on Shraddha cos she seems very non problematic, but still

It’s because those two are not even remotely the same things. Shakti was gross and sexually coercive and deserved the backlash, but Weinstein was a rapist and set up a system that allowed him to get away with it for literally decades. He was probably the most powerful man in Hollywood. He actively funneled his victims to his wife’s label. She chose to dress the women he was assaulting. She chose to marry him and to accept his “girls” as clients. She was complicit. Shraddha, on the other hand, was a kid who had no control over her father’s actions, and probably didn’t even know what was happening. She was born into a family headed by a seedy guy. That’s not a choice she made. Even if we accept the fact that Georgina Chapman didn’t know what was going on with her husband (which I don’t believe, everyone knew), she’s STILL choosing to revive Marchesa, a brand built on the backs of women who were raped and harassed and assaulted. Let it fucking die. Shraddha is just out there living her life and not causing any harm to anyone. There’s a huuuuuuuge difference. 

[claitynroberts]

What If... Dean Answered A Scam Call

Words: 1,223

A/N: This was a funny concept to me, and I mean no disrespect to anyone by writing this. In my experience with scam calls the caller has been an unidentified person with a thick, heavy accent that sounds similar to the accent citizens from India have. This is meant purely as fiction and a quick Drabble.

Warnings: None

Dean Winchester had had a hard life. The only respite he ever revelled in was spending quality time with Sammy in the bunker. Quiet nights of reminiscing, have a few drinks with him and Cas, teaching Jack how to hit on women, and tinkering on his prized car were just a few of his favorite past-times.

It was a lazy evening, the day after the brothers had returned from an epic hunt in Missouri. Werewolves were working undercover in Kauffman Stadium, abducting and eating them in a storage closet during baseball games. When the boys went to check it out, they discovered a vengeful spirit and demons as well. The trifecta.

After calling for backup, they quickly took care of the hellish situation, then sought some much needed respite at home in Lebanon, Kansas.

The guns had been cleaned, inventory had been completed, and the car had been detailed by the time Dean had sat down in the library freshly showered with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. A deluxe bacon cheeseburger lovingly made by Sam was waiting for him in his usual spot at the work oak table. Dean groaned as he sat down, picking up the greasy meal with abandon.

He had stuffed two large bites in his mouth, cheeks pooching out like a chipmunk who was stockpiling nuts for winter, when Sam chuckled and reached for the crystal glasses to pour a dram for himself and Dean.

“Dude, slow down,” Sam chastised his older brother. “You’ll choke if you’re not careful.”

Swallowing the large mouthful of food, Dean graciously accepted the glass of whiskey from his moose of a brother and took a large sip. “Oh, Sammy,” he hissed as the burn of the alcohol traveled down his throat to warm his chest and stomach. “We all know that’s your fetish.” Dean bounced his eyebrows as his mouth quirked up in a lew half-smile.

Sam scoffed, “yeah, cause I’m the one who was found with a belt around my neck the morning after my flavor of the night snuck out.”

Dean was taken aback. “Hey, we all know I was super drunk that night. I-I blacked out, y’know. I don’t remember any of that.” Dean’s eyes were bugging out of his head with his false adamacy.

“Heh, yeah right, Dean.” Sam laughed.

“Annnnd, she was super, super convincing when she mentioned it.” Dean’s look became far off as he remembered the wild night some bored waitress from Ohio had told him she was into bondage and breath play. Damn, that was a good night. Weird...but good nonetheless.

“That look is telling me otherwise, Dean,” Sam quirked an eyebrow, his mouth settling into a smug smirk.

“You know what, Sam? You’re--you’re just--” The sound of his phone ringing interrupted him.

“Is that Miss Ohio, now?” Sam goaded, leaning forward to look at the screen.

“Shut up, Bitch.” Dean rolled his eyes as he retrieved his phone from the middle of the table.

“Okay, Jerk.” Sam mimicked his brother’s eye roll.

Dean’s brow furrowed as he looked at the caller ID. It wasn’t a number he recognized at all, but if someone was calling it was for one reason.

He swiped his thumb over the accept button. “Hello?” He barked out gruffly.

“Is this Dean Winchester,” a male’s voice said in a thick Indian accent.

“Yeah, who’s asking.”

“I was just calling to inform you, we have your brother and he is in grave danger,” the mystery man said robotically.

Dean paused and looked up at Sam, a look of befuddlement plastered across his face. What is it, Sam mouthed.

Tucking his chin, he shook his head and shrugged. Before he could reply to the caller, the man began speaking again.

“Mr. Winchester are you there?”

“Y-yeah,” he cleared his throat, “I’m here.”

“Good. Please, we do not want to harm your brother, but we need you to cooperate fully. I’m going to need you to wire five hundred thousand United States dollars to an offshore account. Once you have done that, we will release him and let him go free.”

“Mister--” Dean began.

“Do you understand?” The man asked interrupting Dean.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at here, but I’m looking at my brother dead in the face right now. Call this number again and I will personally track you down and eviscerate you in every way I know how. You’re insides will be outside your body and you will watch as I peel off your skin and feed it to my pet hellhound, do you understand ME?”

The man on the other end of the line was floundering for something to say, taken aback suddenly by Dean’s reaction. The eldest Winchester hit the end button and tossed his phone back down.

“What the hell was that, Dean?” Sam asked incredulously.

Shrugging Dean looked at his younger brother. “I don’t know, some phone scam, I guess? They wanted me to wire 500K to an offshore account in exchange for my brother’s safety.” Dean stared down at the table still puzzling through the encounter. “But I’m looking at you, who else could they have meant?” He picked up his whiskey and finished the glass off, returning to his burger soon after as if nothing had happened.

“Weird,” Sam agreed. “We haven’t had to deal with phone scams before.”

“Yeah, it’s hinky, but there’s nothing we can do about it.” Pondering a minute, Dean finished chewing his bite of burger as Sam poured him another golden-brown glass of whiskey. “Good thing I’ve only got one brother.”

Dean’s chewing slowed as his gaze drifted up to meet Sam’s, their eyes widening as they both came to the same conclusion.

Adam.

********** Meanwhile In Hell **********

“Really,” Crowley barked, “the old kidnapped brother in exchange for ransom routine? Did mortals really fall for that dumb schtick up there?” The vein in the little man’s head was throbbing, his face resembling a tomato.

“Yes, your lordship,” the demon replied, fear coursing through his thick Indian accent.

Crowley narrowed his eyes, and walked around the frightened man. “You came with the highest recommendations. Your call center manager said you were the best, my sales department supervisor sang your praises for weeks when we spoke of this plan, AND YOU RUINED IT ALL WITH THAT ONE DAMNED PHONE CALL!”

The King of Hell raised his hand quickly, causing the underling to flinch in panic. “If the plan doesn’t work out the way I want, you are going to be wishing you were back in that sweatshop in India scamming unsuspecting, idiotic Americans out of their hard earned cash. Do. you. Understand. Me?” Crowley seethed.

“Yes, your majesty,” the man whimpered.

“Get out of my sight.”

Scurrying away, the man left the chamber as Crowley strolled over to the cage in the corner.

“You know, Sam and Dean won’t come for me.” Adam, said dully. “They think I’ve been dead for years.” He rolled his neck, his head swiveling to the other side to look at Crowley fully.

“That is precisely why this will work, sweet, sweet, Adam,” the King grinned. “They’ll come because they have one thing that’s hardest to kill.”

Adam scoffed, “oh yeah? And what is that, guvnah?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the fake British accent. “Hope, my dear lad… Hope.”

[scripttorture]

Torture in Fiction: Tokyo Ghoul, Volume 7

My dear, sweet Anon- what on earth did I just read?

Tokyo Ghoul is a manga centred on a young man called Ken Kaneki in a world where humans share the world with ‘ghouls’, supernatural people that eat human flesh (and coffee for some reason). After an accident Ken has an organ transplant which turns him into a half-ghoul.

At the start of the volume I read Ken has been captured by a group of ghouls. He’s tortured. His torturer has Ken do simple arithmetic as he’s tortured, allegedly to ‘keep him sane’. For some reason his hair turns white.

The ghoul torturing him (Yamori) tells Ken his backstory, which essentially boils down to the idea that Yamori became a torturer because he was tortured.

Ken hallucinates a fair amount during all of this, reflecting particularly on his relationship with his mother and the ghoul whose organs saved his life.

Yamori returns with two human victims, a mother and child. He tries to make Ken choose which one should die. Ken refuses to choose and Yamori kills them both. This   somehow leads to Ken having the strength to break out of his restraints.

Ken and Yamori fight, Ken eventually gains the upper hand. He eats part of Yamori, making Yamori do the same mathematical exercises as he does.

Ken escapes, running into a group of friends as he does. He takes charge of the group and leads them safely out.

As is probably obvious I didn’t enjoy reading this much. But I’m rating the depiction and use of torture, not the manga itself. I’m trying to take into account realism (regardless of fantasy or sci fi elements), presence of any apologist arguments, stereotypes and the narrative treatment of victims and torturers.

I’m giving it 1/10

The Good

1) Torture does not turn Ken into a passive object. Throughout this chapter his opposition to Yamori is clear and torture only entrenches that.

2) Torture has an effect on Ken. I don’t like the way it’s handled but the story doesn’t have a survivor walking away completely unaffected.

The Bad

Alright where do I start? Let’s start with the small things.

1) Nico seems to be there to provide a stereotype of queer people. It’s unclear whether Nico is supposed to be a gay man or a transwoman. They’re in the story to get eviscerated by Yamori. This is to ‘calm Yamori down’ and stop him killing Ken too soon. I have- Issues with the only queer character being a stereotype who exists to be abused by their significant other.

2) I have no idea how turning Ken’s hair white is supposed to add to these scenes. To me it feels very much like an insistence that survivors have some kind of obvious, physical mark of torture. Even when they have superhuman healing powers.

3) While Ken does undergo a pretty drastic personality change (which we see via his hallucinations) and might be experiencing depression- immediately after torture and a huge fight he lurches straight into a leadership position. This is framed as him being sensible. It downplays the effects of torture to a huge degree.

4) The human victims only exist as a way to effect Ken. They don’t seem to have any personality or story of their own. They don’t resist. They cry and beg Ken to save them. And this positioning reinforces the idea that torture turns people into passive objects by making their victimisation all about Ken.

Yamori- oh lore what a mess. This story depicts torturers in an incredibly unrealistic way, it echoes arguments that are used to block real survivors from the treatment and protection they deserve.

5) Yamori is depicted as enjoying and excited by violence, treating torture as a hobby. This is not how torturers behave. The narrative links this to insulting stereotypes about mental illness.

6) The evidence we have suggests that torturers are sane before they torture and that it is exposure to violence over a prolonged period that causes their mental health problems. These illnesses do not make them ‘enjoy’ violence. In fact they’re the same broad symptoms that survivors suffer from.

7) Yamori’s open enjoyment of torture isn’t just unrealistic in the context of torturers, it’s linking mental illness that he explicitly developed as a result of being tortured to violent behaviour. It’s essentially saying that torture survivors become violent. That this abuse produces abusers. There’s no evidence to support this notion and it’s an argument that’s routinely used to deny real survivors support.

8) I really dislike the way the narrative implies that Yamori’s abuse makes Ken ‘stronger’. That he needs to be tortured and watch people die before he can physically break out of his restraints. Torture doesn’t ‘toughen people up’, it destroys lives.

9) I think that leaves the arithmetic. I’m honestly not sure what the author is going for with this. Ken says something to the effect that if he hadn’t done mental arithmetic while he was tortured he’d have ‘gone mad’. Which tells me that the author doesn’t really understand mental illness. Some torture survivors report mental exercises helping but they don’t protect from or negate symptoms. They don’t make survivors ‘sane’. And ‘madness’ doesn’t make victims stop feeling or stop caring about, pain. There are a lot of misconceptions and stereotypes about mental illness bound up in this idea and I’m not convinced the idea itself brings anything to the story.

Miscellaneous

The torture in this story is scarring and obvious. Usually for a story set in the modern day I’d put that down as a negative. Because most torture now doesn’t leave obvious external marks.

But this is also a fantasy story where the majority of the cast have supernatural healing powers. Techniques that would be scarring or fatal for a normal person wouldn’t necessarily be either in this setting. It would make sense for there to be differences between the common torture techniques in our world and in this one.

As a result I don’t think this is necessarily a negative point. But I’m not convinced the author thought about that before writing this.

Overall

I read this in isolation so I’ll happily acknowledge that context may have given the book more emotional weight. But mostly- damn I found this dull.

The impact of the scenario seems to rely on a reader not having encountered torture in a story before, or at least not in a way that focuses directly on the abuse. Looking at it, every other panel seemed to be screaming ‘LOOK! HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ANYTHING SO AWFUL BEFORE?! FEEL SOMETHING!’

This rather loses it’s effect when you have even a passing awareness of torture in the real world. Because it shifts the internal response to the work from ‘oh my gosh how horrid’ to ‘oh, I see you traced that from the Abu Ghraib photos’.

When that’s mixed with an author who clearly lacked either the ability or the will to engage with the subject matter the result is flat. There’s no emotional resonance in any of these scenes for me, no reason to care about the characters. Rather then being shocked I found the ‘twists’ incredibly rote and predictable.

The way torture is used to reinforce Ken’s opposition to Yamori could have been quite positive. But it’s the exception in this portrayal of torture rather then the rule.

Torture turns Yamori’s other victims into passive objects who in Nico’s case seem willing to be victimised. It turns Yamori into a torturer. As a result the end message isn’t that people generally can survive torture and keep their humanity; it’s that only exceptional heroes can.

You could argue that for someone who doesn’t know anything about torture a rote story like this could be moving. But that seems pretty meaningless when the story in question misrepresents torture, torture survivors and torturers at every turn. The use of torture in this story reinforces misconceptions that harm victims and that allow torturers to act with impunity.

Torture apologia shouldn’t be anyone’s introduction to a complex and emotionally demanding subject.

The end result is that I don’t think torture added anything to this story at all. In fact I think cutting out all the pages of torture would have left room for a much more impactful story about Ken’s friends desperately trying to find him as the police close in around them all.

If anything I think torture takes from this story; it blunts the emotional impact of what could have been a powerful plot by focusing on torture apologia and gore.

For all that it borrows imagery from real world abuses it pulls back from the horror of those abuses. Because central to the image of a boy tied to a chair in a police station is this: people can be made to vanish. No matter how loved, how cherished, how important. Sometimes, for some communities, children can go out and never come home. And often there are no answers, no closure. There’s certainly no rallying in the local coffee shop and deciding to take on the mob or the police.

There’s just loss and mourning and false hope. It’s happening today.

I suppose ultimately for me, it feels as though Tokyo Ghoul chose the most tedious way to tell this story.

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