#i’m not trying to sound ungrateful i rly would not feel this way if they had just done one song different lmao

[partynthem]

that was the exact same show i saw on tuesday…

[radiojamming]

Any Rook/Jacob with a daemon au, please.

i took this in a bizarre direction and i fully blame @sisterfriedes

and this is v much based on dishonored, but i tried not to make it like a straight up crossover. :D (and i’m rly sorry because i know daemon =/= FUCKIN MONSTER DEITY but i’m weak)

- - -

THE BAPTIST WILL HEAR YOUR CONFESSION

The graffiti is an ugly strike on the wall, done in a nervous hand with wide-arcing splashes of paint. It was clearly done in a hurry, of that much Rook is certain, and all it does is make them sigh in aggravation. The city already has enough trouble without anxious religious folk plastering apocalyptic phrases on the walls. Rook can’t go a damn day without reading that the Soldier will cull the weak, the Siren will pull the worthy into the Bliss, and the Father–

Oh, hell, don’t get Rook started on the Father.

Regardless of who is who in the whole fucked up pantheon, defacement of property is still defacement of property, and Rook writes it up yet again, for the fifth time this week on the same exact block. Honestly, at this point, it might be worth looking for a new job.

It’ll be the same exact ritual that it’s been for months. Rook will have to bring the write-up to the sheriff and after far too much paperwork than some paint on a wall needs, someone will be sent out to wash the walls. Then, in about two days or so, another message will appear, and they’ll start the process all over again.

Rook stares down the message with something a little like accusation, like the Baptist is responsible for all this. Well, he almost is, Rook thinks. They couldn’t tell their followers not to deface property? Or just not to do anything illegal? Is that so hard?

“Harder than you think,” says a pleasant voice from somewhere to the left of Rook.

Appropriately, Rook yelps and jumps back, fumbling with their pen and notepad while trying to grab their baton at the same time. All that ends in is the notepad falling into a puddle, the pen clattering after it, and Rook uselessly clutching the baton to their chest while they hyperventilate. 

“Calm down, Deputy. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

The voice belongs to man that steps out of the shadow of an empty portcullis–literally coming out of the shadows, as if he’s being woven from their fabric. In this part of the city, ravaged by every ailment associated with poverty, he clashes magnificently against his backdrop; well-dressed in a silken shirt that’s as blue as a morning fog, and a black vest that Rook swears twinkles with actual starlight. His dark hair is slicked back, his beard neatly trimmed, and his eyes–

He has no eyes.

Or, rather, he does, but they’re completely black. They have no shine to them, no spare gleam of the streetlight impatiently buzzing over the two of them. They’re like two wells of ink, and his eyelids crinkle around them in amusement. 

Rook only just manages to look away from his unnerving stare to trace a line down from his smiling mouth to the tattoos that slither out from under his rolled-up sleeves. The man seems to bend shadows around him in a strange way, so that the ink on his arms move, sometimes wavering like a heat mirage, sometimes fluttering, undulating, shivering, and pulsing. There are letters that Rook recognizes, but they don’t look long enough at his arms to figure out what they say. They’re far too occupied by the man as a whole.

“Wh– Wha–” they start, fail, and start again. Their voice trembles and wheezes to silence, and their jaw works on words that refuse to come out.

This man, if he could even earn the term, just smiles and smiles. His gait is unnatural as he walks towards them. Every step is too even, like he’s gliding rather than walking at all. There’s no bounce to his step, and Rook doesn’t look down at his feet, because they’re suddenly sure that he isn’t touching the ground. As he gets closer, the air around him grows colder and colder, and when he finally stops, just short of where Rook stands shivering in horror, Rook’s breaths are coming out in visible puffs of steam, even though it’s full-on summer around them.

“Deputy,” the man says again. He spends time on each syllable, drawing it out, tapping on each one thoughtfully. Dehp-hyoo-tee. Language sounds strange in his mouth; or at least the languages that humans speak. 

There’s more amusement in his face, drawing lines around his mouth and eyes, on his forehead. 

“If I didn’t know better, I think I may have scared you.”

Rook wants to say no shit, but their tongue is useless. They can only nod.

“Poor thing. You’re only doing your job, after all.”

He turns then, and as he does, Rook watches as some of the starlight on his vest flecks off and shimmers to the concrete where it fizzles out in the puddle beside the waterlogged notepad. He looks at the graffiti and hums thoughtfully, reaching up and tapping on his chin like an art appraiser. “Normally I’m flattered by the more outspoken devout, but I’m inclined to agree with you, Deputy. This was done in bad taste,” he says. 

Rook isn’t sure how it might make sense, but his voice reminds them of water falling over stone, splashing and trickling as it cascades. Yet at the same time, it’s a familiar voice, like the calming cadence of a well-spoken minister. 

The man reaches out with his left hand, tattoos rolling like ocean waves across his fingers. As abruptly as a blink, the graffiti is gone. The brick wall is as bare and clean as it was the day it was assembled.

It’s a miracle that Rook hasn’t fainted.

The man turns back to them, and now there is a shine in his eyes. It’s a peculiar light, appearing to come from within his eyes rather than cast on them. His smile is a strange pull of muscles, unnatural, like it was carved in marble. “Oh, come on, Deputy,” he says, voice trickling down the syllables. “You should be happy! I fixed it for you. You won’t have to report to your Sheriff, and no one will have to come and clean up the mess. It’s one less thing to clutter your day.”

There are half a hundred things that come to mind as far as what Rook can say, but their voice is still recovering, and polysyllabic attempts at syntax are postponed. All they can say is, “Why?”

His smile grows, and it’s as natural as stone growing. He reaches up, and although his hand barely touches Rook’s cheek, they can feel him. His presence reaches out, and it reminds Rook of water running across their skin. They can smell salt in the air, and something cold and metallic. “Why not?” he asks. He moves his thumb, and Rook feels an answering brush against their skin, even though he hasn’t touched them at all. “I can do so many things, Deputy. I can wipe the minds of every Follower in this district so that they’re as docile as sheep without so much as a thought in their heads. They’ll hardly be able to speak, let alone read and write. You’ll never have to worry about them defacing a wall again. Wouldn’t you like that?”

The statement crushes on them like a merciless rip tide. The air is knocked out of them, and they feel as if they’re as stunned as his threat entails. “N-no,” is all they can say through quivering lips.

“No?” His smile only fades a little, but there’s a peak between his eyebrows. He’s intrigued, surprised. 

They shake their head. There’s not much more they can do. 

“Wealth, then. I can give you that. I can fill your pockets with gold and silver and anything else you could ever desire.” He leans in closer now. The metallic scent grows more acrid, like it’s edged with something burning. He lowers his voice, like storm-wrought waves hissing through stone. “You would never have to work again. You could live a life of luxury, looking down on these streets but never having to step foot on them again if you didn’t want to. I could fill your tables with fruits and spices from places you’ve never even heard of. You could be royalty. Don’t you want that?”

It might be his work, or it may be Rook’s imagination outpacing them by leagues. Everything he says fills their mind with bright images, of the halls of a house with fifty rooms, carved and decorated as finely as a palace. They see bowls of fruit like gemstones laid out on long tables. They see–

“No. No, I can’t,” Rook says, slowly gaining their voice back. 

They can’t ignore how the man takes a step back. His face goes through a sea-change, changing through shades of unnaturalness until it almost seems human. There’s a flush to his cheeks, and the black fades from his eyes. He looks at them now with eyes the color of the ocean in the sunlight. Too blue, too promising.

“I can give you everything,” he says. His voice is soft, whispering like a gentle rain. “Anything you ask for at all. Power, money, love, anything. All you have to do is say–”

“No.”

Because Rook knows. They know from every story, from every text they’ve read, from the same root source as what causes them to cringe away from the Father, and the Soldier, and the Siren–

Three times deny the Baptist, and he’ll come no more.The Baptist has the agency to look authentically surprised, blue eyes wide, mouth agape. The starlight on his vest has ceased its shimmer, the mist of blue silk seems to turn to ice. Then, the black leaches back into his eyes and his smile twists into a sneer. It snarls on his face like a carved grotesque on one of the city’s cathedrals, lips pulled back unnaturally, muscles taut in some places and bulging in others. His tattoos seem to grow across his skin, turning his flesh into mottled patterns like enormous bruises; patches of black and blue and violet.

“Ungrateful,” he says accusingly. “I gave you the potential of my blessing, you know. Do you realize that?”Rook is careful not to say ‘yes’. They only nod, still holding the baton close to their chest. 

Slowly, the Baptist’s sneer untwists itself from where it’s wrung like fists in fabric. It slowly unfolds to something more stable, like carefully maintained neutrality. Finally, he crosses his arms over his chest, tattoos rigidly moving like iron bars keeping him from Rook. “Fine, then. I’ll leave you be. I won’t even return the graffiti as a gesture of goodwill. But my offer stands, Deputy. Never say I wasn’t kind to you.”“Alright,” is all Rook can bring themselves to say.

Because they know what his Blessing is. They know the stories about people who wear the Baptist’s mark upon their skin, who have been Cleansed, who have Atoned and Confessed. It’s all part of his ritual, to drain away what makes an individual, hollow them out, and fill them with something dark and cold and terrible. 

Yet somehow, Rook has the feeling that this isn’t what the Baptist wanted to do to them.

He lets out a sigh, not unlike Rook’s at finding the graffiti. Then, he levels that black gaze on them, with the strange inner lantern light of his eyes spilling out between hem. “I’ll see you soon, Deputy.”

The syllables fade into the cold air, and in a breath, the Baptist is gone. The humid air rushes back like it’s been denied in a vacuum, and Rook is left breathless, standing before an empty brick wall, their notepad a total loss, their baton still in their white-knuckled grip. 

Gingerly, they pick the notepad up, the pages bloated and gray with dripping ink. Then, the pen, which drips black spots into the puddle. For a long moment, Rook watches these spots form and spread against the cobblestone. 

Drip, drip, drip.

And slowly, they see a strange shape form, unfolding itself into something like a pair of scales–

Rook turns away and begins walking out of the alley, stopping only to throw the ruined notepad in a dented garbage can shoved up against a wall. At least that won’t be as hard to explain to the Sheriff as everything else.

[notsohesitantly-blog]

im getting rly tired of reading my own depressing shit so im gonna do something normal n write about my day n good things for once

lmao today i realized i have to get an A in chinese because i’m taking it for my major and if i got a C it would majorly bring down my gpa....bye, well i have an easier load this semester so it’s not like i don’t have time to allocate for it. i’m just. lazy LMAO and chinese is so difficult!!

in other news i feel like suuuper obnoxious in my asam classes because like 90% of ppl take asam classes for GE’s so i def sound like a complete know it all. i used to be insecure about it and was super conscious of how many times i raised my hand in class but lately i’ve just been over it...i’m passionate about ethnic studies. this is what i wanna do for the rest of my life and yeah i can’t shut up about it. i don’t think a lot of ppl wanna be friends with That Girl in their classes but i’m not gonna stay quiet n cool about something i genuinely care about just to be more cute n likable. sorry not sorry

lately i’ve been feeling really anxious that being bipolar will prevent me from being a good teacher/mother. it’s silly but i’m just scared that i’ll sacrifice my morals and passion for the sake of appeasing my moods. part of it is cause that’s how mi madre handled (handles, presently) her bipolar, and part of it is because i know how strong my moods are and sometimes it feels impossible to handle. it feels like i’m gonna die if i don’t act out or cut or isolate myself. but tbh being in class again made me realize how important asian american studies (and teaching) is to me. sometimes when i’m really Feeling It, i can’t trust any of my feelings, like i truly don’t know if it’s the bipolar or it’s really Me. it’s scary when that happens, but even then there are some core, undeniable parts about me that even the bipolar can’t shake my faith in. and this is one of them, my feelings about education and the future and blah blah blah i’ll have the rest of my life to elucidate but my point is...i’m good fam. i’m gonna be a good teacher, a good mother. love is a lot more powerful than any impulse or dangerous thought, and i have so much love!!!

it’s a quieter week this week so i have time to run errands over the weekend (find textbooks, FIX MY PHONE LOL, make appts, buy new clothes, find a new fucking job lol, study) and i’m looking forward to that~ i’m also reading a really good book and my mother got me a gym membership l m a o LMAO LOL but i guess that’s a good thing, i’m really excited to just get shit done this week so the rest of the month goes smoothly because this might be the last quietish week i’ll have in awhile...! but that’s a good thing, i hope i’ll be able to build up my energy for all the stuff i’m planning this semester. walking around campus is a little bittersweet though, i can’t believe it’s my last semester!!!! i love my school so much sometimes i feel ungrateful for being excited to move on. but i am grateful, so grateful. i’m taking the gap year so i can finally deal and healthily cope with all the emotions i’ve either denied or internalized the last 3 years (which is tough so far but! life goes on!!) so that when i do move, i won’t have negative associations with this place. i have a good feeling that the places where i grew up will be highly romanticized and missed by my future self, in a good way. no more emotional baggage or flashbacks. when i remember my college years, i think i’ll remember it like the chainsmoker’s roses (the only good chainsmokers song, although i actually found a remix of closer i actually like LOLL). because that’s what it was, heartbreak and all.

hmm what else, i’m trying to cut down on red meat (and meat in general) from my diet. i don’t think i’ll ever go pesquetarian or vegetarian but just...less red meat. i’ve been eating a lot of fish & bread lately and it’s good. i also want to stop drinking coffee but that’s not going as well because i have to wake up at 6 am on tues/thurs LOL but tbh caffeine does NOT react well w/ my meds. i can’t even drink tea past 7 pm it’s tragic......but i do anyway. MY POINT IS THAT IMA TRY TO STOP OK

lastly, i’ve been wanting to buy eyebrow razors for awhile b/c i have too many unruly hairs to pluck, but i’ve been holding off because they’re smaller and easier to cut with and i wasn’t in a place where i could trust myself. but i got them today n holy moly they’ve changed my life!!!! and hey, i’m proud of myself too :^) no more ugly eyebrows or cutting scars hehe