#seal’s apocalyptic rambles

[sealsapocalypticmusic]

New song tomorrow!

[sealapocalyptic]

Did I ever show off my yellow sign pendant that I made? Because if not, check it out!

[anathemafiction]

Ana,

After playing book one, I had a doubt about the "low fantasy" in TGR. Because, like, the Witch seems to have A LOT of powers. She zombiefy a hole vilage! So, what are her powers? Magic? What about MC and her mark?

The game starts with a prologue where a monster is trying to eat a poor scribe while an apocalyptic storm drowns a whole city. It also features a prophecy sealed with blood, and, as you've said, a witch is introduced in the first interlude.

You even meet a woman who everyone swears they saw burning at a stake.

There are a lot of unnatural elements scattered throughout the story. Low fantasy doesn't mean that magic and the out worldly don't exist, it just means that it's not the status quo — wizards, flying cities, orcs, and dragons aren't a common sight. They're not supposed to exist, most people experience the world as we do. However, the fantastic is present (otherwise it wouldn't be fantasy at all). And the fantastic is present in the world of the Rose.

The more the story goes forward… the more present it will be. All you have to do, after all, is to look down at the palm of your hand.

As I see it, it goes as this. High Fantasy: think of Tolkien, DnD, Dragon Age. Think of a world where magic, fairies, monsters, and miracles are common and a part of the culture and it shapes every aspect of History. Worlds where Gods walk among mortals or have a very close relationship with them.

Low fantasy: think of ASoIaF, American Gods, One Hundred Years of Solitude. Think of a world where magic is considered a fairy tale, the foolishness of children, and monsters are nothing more than ramblings of fever-bound sailors. But yet, slowly, subtly, the unnatural comes knocking, and people have to re-learn the meaning of what's "normal".

[bean-n-shroob]

Uh oh guys, I feel like rambling~

So this is something I already chatted with friend Ritz a month ago, but I thought I'd talk about it here

Anyways, there was a tweet asking for useless gaming knowledge, and someone responded with this

And I was thrown for a loop for a sec here cause that doesn't really make sense. Adults and Babies are the same bros

But then i realized its cause of this dialogue piece

And I can see WHY someone would think this is a theory as for the Bros in BiS being the babies and not adults of PiT, but it just doesn't make much sense

Cause, as we all know, Partners in Time takes place in a Perfect Time Loop. Or a bootstrap paradox, if you will.

The babies defeated the Shroobs cause the Adults went back in time and helped them. It's a perfect loop where none of the actions taken in the past affected the future. Including, above all else, Elder Princess Shroob getting sealed into star shards

So what gives? Why did Mario tell Starlow they fought the Shroobs when they were babies and not when they were adults?

Does BiS take place before PiT? No cause that wouldn't make sense given Fawful was in PiT plotting BiS

Is this an alternate timeline where the Baby Bros never repeated the events of PiT and thus doomed their baby selves to the shroobs? ... No >:v are you kidding me? I mean, let me remind you, PiT is a timeloop, the events have to happen as otherwise its an apocalyptic event. The Mario Bros will travel back in time because they have already traveled back in time.

Is this an alternate reality where PiT events never occurred? ... well, that would bring up a whole can of worms. What else didn't happen? Did SSS not happen either? Is BiS what would've happened had Fawful completed his whole villain arc and decided to part ways with Cackletta and go on his own adventure? Did M&L not go to Beanbean? Did Cackle and Fawful just fail to awaken the Beanstar and just never connected the dots that they got bamboozled and M&L and Peach are just chilling back at home? Is Cackletta actually still alive in this alternate reality (despite death not mattering, but that's not important right now)? Sounds too complex for an M&L game

So what gives?

Well, I'll tell you the same thing Ritz told me. BiS (much like all the other M&L games) is a movie that loosely adapted the events that actually went down and just got some details muddied up :3

[writer59january13]

Legacy accompanied with inadequacy DESPAIR RING

uninvited GUESTS linkedin as the themes of mein kampf.

Despite countless factorial permutations & combinations, this cyber surfer avails left and right alm seeking succor Out Of Human Bondage invisibles shackles bind head, shoulders, knees and toes mom mee whiz sic cured courtesy grim reaper, boot metastatic cervical/ovarian carcinoma snatched such balm when tethered in utero umbilical connection, etched bromide, which hankering calm embryonic sensation this corporeal being lacks

constantly subjected to exams from the brutal school of hard knocks, which I bewail sets back and glom mine aim to revel in blissful contentment but circumstances decrees otherwise cursing this chap tubby haunted by veritable elfin grotto dwelling phantoms hovering over sweet clover - dials a mirage yes...iris sieve blurbs from gals and guys numb burred in the billions,

that span the World Wide Web, and exude premature ejaculatory ecstasy, puzzled if fie totally tubular trod a tedious trek along the boulevard of broken dreams, what happenstance oft finds thyself to flail amidst difficulty to maximize optimal opportunities searching for Holy Grail or whatever constitutes such lofty personal objective, perchance being hale and hearty of body, mind and spirit spurs the furies of fate tut test this primate

while he aims to gallop with mighty industrial vim and vigor leaving a virtual soundcloud of dust, though mindfulness helps to pass go, and chance avoid jail time, then maybe monopolized feedback offered to this toothless married quasi herbivore enjoying poetry stone soup, yet also subsisting on supplementary vitamin packed glue tin free NON GMO fruity tall tales for a male thirty six years shy sans Bing a centenarian,

which span of life best cut short with a nail (possibly nine inches) hammered into faux coffin, cuz this imp doth turn pale at the prospect to fill up a space of land best utilized by birds - such as quail Mongoose, or ibis (though aye ne'er saw one), where cremated ashes sail across some verdant plain under cerulean skies putting to rest every travail, which thoughts of dem eyes spells

relief since potential homelessness, pennilessness, and wretchedness, the main impetus explaining this rambling, shambling, and troubling spiel the warp and woof ova gauzy veil imperceptibly looms closer upon turrets of my digital sea faring gunwale and thus desperation finds pleading for monetary

and spiritual salvation.

Before mine danse

macabre doppelganger draws dagger

punctures the skein tight

as a yank key notched belt

housed within mine impenetrable

hermetically sealed invisible bubble

drapes with blackened Hades

hued habiliment therein dwelt

sinister saboteur mastermind

marauder of the Hubble

tattooing and piercing fiery

oculus rift presence unseen but felt

demands sacrifice to traverse

river Styx with unadulterated gelt,

which known phantasmagorical double

diabolical self amidst aftermath

from Armageddon rubble

astride charred global

ruins entire civilization melt

planetary paroxysm prognosticated

by Maya sages with 11th hour stubble

birthed Darth Vader nemesis

with evil upon earth he did pelt

annihilating, decimating, and hashtagging mankind,

the derelict species that fueled trouble

hence evil twin appointed

apocalyptic malevolence spelt desiccation, humiliation, and laceration

upon once verdant veldt

with mass crematorium

desecration left horrific blistering welt.

Countdown to Homo sapiens extinction

predicted millenniums in past

never occurred as predicted on December 21

two thousand and twelve after common era,

whereby catastrophic spark

detonating inferno incinerating blast

eradicating extant flora

and fauna bereft sans hegira

with no means to interrupt

the die since the dawn of civilization cast.

Impossible mission to escape ominous

predetermined fate of human rat race,

nor turn back hands of time

with origin of species on clock face

thus ticking closer to hour of doomsday

without faith to brace

allowing, enabling and providing Gaia

to redeem terrestrial space

vestiges of teeming billions

soon erased criminal minds without a trace

forcefully relinquishing simians

planetary stranglehold amazing grace

proffering tabula rasa

for another dominant species

to claim the place.

Sirens promulgate emergency

toward impending inescapable cataclysm

yet no place to run or hide lest

one boards a rocket light-years away

which makes suspense thrillers

birthed by countless dystopian authors

enviable plot to keep

total Earth's destruction at bay.

Matthew Scott Harris,

a lifetime America Online

Meme bur hastens to convey dire

crisis sparking to offer electric nom de plume

duyeer93, a papa who did sire

deux darling daughters,

yet for ages hive stung

with hurt early, whence fatherhood did fire

meow n childhood's end fostering people

strangers even fork

getting this communication,

per S0S sprinkled with auk shucks corny,

Egret - letting opportunities take flight aspire

now pleasures soft as gossamer feather bedding

down play hardened angst

riddled psyche, where ire

Ronny gully stubbornly thrives amidst adversity as father time spins gyre

row scope at greased lightning speed,

intimating with dead reckoning to hire

grim reaper, who whiz patient

as Job, and exemplary at ridding mire

and muck bogs down this dada robbing

existence with joie de vivre, where funeral pyre

doth flickr-beckoning GoDaddy, cuz

Juno I haint gonna hear angelic choir

or equivalent enlightenment re:

home sweet home, this atheist doggedly tire

so haim trying keep sea legs

one step ahead of tipping point

envision self pitched into abyss -

thus end of poetic wire.

[senor-cummies]

The Diary of Revali, Rito Legend

This is actually part 2 of a two part series, i haven't written part one yet which is why this is being posted first and also for paws. Speaking of, happy paws! I told myself we were going to have one today because of kinkmas going up but i found this in my drafts and couldn't help myself! it's revlink fluff so enjoy!

--

"This is not the Link I fell in love with, but a new one entirely. It is a change yet, nevertheless, one I enjoy. One that, in spite of a world drowning in post apocalyptic bitterness, offers an ember of hope.

Yes, a new Link indeed. And I find it quite exciting, to be falling in love with him all over again."

Link's eyes widened. Quickly-- as if running from the words and their implications -- he turned the page. On it was more ramble about leading the archery camp near the Fletching Village, but he was more focused on the folded parchment on it. Stamped with a wax seal.

Curious, he pulled a dagger from his hip and popped the seal off hole, unfolding the paper.

"Dearest Link," it tried to start. Link's brow furrowed. An unsent letter? It scratched through and started again next to it. "Link," struck through again, and the letter finally started off with "Dear Cretin," he chuckled.

"Ever since I met you, around 105 years ago, I knew there's was something...Off about how I felt around you. I had, quite erroneously, confused these feelings for anger and discomfort-- it didn't help that you were a disrespectful halfwit --which led to our more than standoffish relationship. I can admit that, most of it was likely my fault. " Link snickered, beginning to pace as he read.

"I am not ignorant enough to admit to you of all people a lack of intelligence, but I am altogether too sensible of my defects to admit that I am without error. And still our shoddy bridge between us was constructed, despite distaste and cultural difference, which stands as a testament. We don't exactly have matching parts, we don't fit together perfectly like either of us would with another of our species.

And yet, throughout these differences, at every turn, I've chosen you over rito suitors. I'm beginning to think that might have been my biggest error. I am not a fool, and I am not a coward, and yet for some reason I feel the adolescent need to prove myself to you. To win your hand. I have for over a century, and before the calamity struck, and killed us both, I had never quite found the words that would accurately convey my feelings for you.

Not as friend, nor an enemy. Not as an ally, nor a companion, nor an acquaintance.

But as a lover.

Love, as with all emotions, are not easy for me to admit. I'm still in the process of getting acclimated to being open, to the knowledge of my ability to trust, and share. To "put myself out there" as you said. And yet, I suppose I am a coward. For not flying to you with baby's breath and nightingale, for not pressing my forehead to yours and wishing you to court me. For, instead, writing my feelings into a letter. Perhaps this is traditional for you?

I realize now, that my vocabulary might be too diverse, and that maybe I thickened this letter quite a bit with one too many trisyllabic adjectives, for you to fully grasp what I'm saying here.

So-- pardon me for being so blunt --but I'm in love with you, Link.

Deeply, fully, intrinsically, in love with you. Invested, inputting my whole heart and soul into knowing you, and the mere thought that I may one day hold you." Link forced himself to stop, folding the letter shut. There was more, a final paragraph and a sign off. But Link didn't think he could stomach it.

Jumping at the sound of talons on varnished wood, Link folded the letter and slid it into his bag. Placing Revali's journal back in it's drawer. The curtain acting as a door to his roost opened, and Revali stepped in with one hand on his hip.

"We missed you at practice today." He smirked, moving out of the way so a tiny, yellow, rito could run through the door.

"Papa!" He shouted, fluttering up on a gust of wind to land himself in Link's arms.

"Hello my little chickadee! I'm sorry I didn't get to practice with you and Daddy today, but I had to pack up our stuff. Are you ready for our vacation?"

"Yay! Beach!"

Link hefted their son onto his hip, walking over to Revali with a smile.

"Speaking of which," he gave him a small kiss on the red mark on his cheek. "I found your old journal." Revali groaned, rolling his eyes.

"I haven't seen that thing in years." Link smiled.

"Well, I found something interesting." Revali raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really?"

"Yep, you were planning on confessing to me with a letter?" Revali laughed, smiling awkwardly.

"Well, if you hadn't confessed to me first."

Link smiled, patting the soft feathers on his cheek.

"Well, it was sweet."

"You read it?"

--

Sweet fluff for the Holiday Season ❄️☃️, hope you enjoyed it ¡Feliz Navidad!

[tcthinecwnself-a]

@indomitablespirits​​ said: ((Okay I know like nothing about Sonic so please educate me on whichever one of those muses you want for the "talk about" meme? :D))

Send me the name of one of my Muses you want to learn more about, and I’ll ramble about them.

Sure! I’ll talk about Silver! He’s kind of my favorite of the bunch. Silver was first introduced in the Sonic 06 video game, a notoriously poorly made game with beautiful cinema-cutscenes, but horrible animation everywhere else. Silver is from Sonic’s world, but in the FAR FAR distant future, though we’re not sure by how many years. Silver is a hedgehog with telekinetic powers! He can fly, lift objects, and crush things with his mind!

Silver’s timeline, not matter which outcome, is completely tarnished and post-apocalyptic. His first future (his present), was ravaged by a flame creature known as Iblis. He and his friend Blaze were tricked into going to the past to kill Sonic, who they believed was the reason for Iblis’ destruction. They, of course, were proven wrong. They returned to the future and Blaze sealed Iblis within her, sacrificing her life & fixing the timeline.

Silver, unfortunately, was forced to forget that Blaze ever existed ; - ; which sucks because she was his only friend ever.

Silver’s second future was one ruled by Eggman. He returned to the past to help Sonic and his friends defeat Metal Sonic, returning to his home, he found it a complete barren wasteland. It seems no matter how many times Silver tries to change the past, his future is always one of misery. 

BUT HE’S STILL TRYING HIS BEST

A few people have the headcanon that Silver’s father is Shadow the Hedgehog, a genetically altered super-being with enhanced powers. I love this headcanon, it’s a great idea to where Silver’s powers originated from!

[bayern-moni]

On the scale of 0-10, how much do you want to kick Madara's ass, Mito?

Mito: It goes between 7/10 in normal circumstances to 1000/10 when he purposely behaves like a scassapalle ( = pain in the ass but not quite that exactly).

Sometimes, I do want to kick his ass because it seems to be the only thing able to stop him from being too unnecessarily contrarious just for the sake of it, in a self-(and others)destructive way. Because, sometimes, Madara isn't able to see his own bullshit if nobody points it out to him, but unfortunately the only way Madara'd let himself listen to others' reason is if that person is able to beat it into him.

So be it, I'm fine with it and he is too. We made this deal and that's the start of our friendship, did you know?

So, I don't really want to kick Madara's ass per se, most of the time, even though he IS aggravating more often than what it's healthy. And grumpy, and rude, jumpy, spiteful, unforgiving, paranoid old-born man. Although his discretion, sarcastic spite and no-bullshit attitude can even be useful and entertaining when directed to the right people (and when you know how to channel him into them to prevent him from spiraling into even more twisted dramatics than those you're trying to run from). The point I'm trying to make is: you learn to handle a fight-or-fight, cornered and blunt cat and you'll know how to deal with Madara. So, I managed to reach a mutually respectful relationship with him, in spite of everything, because when he's not being ... well, himself, he's a very intelligent man and I enjoy our conversations. Although I really did want to kick his ass when I had no choice but to seal the Kyuubi into myself to help Hashirama in the Valley of the End. Because, only because HE thought that bringing a fucking Bijou at the edge of the village in order to fight Hashirama was a good idea, it does not mean that it is one. It wasn't. Not in the least, it was unnecessary and dramatic, even by his standards. I made peace with the fact I'm the first jinchuriki in Konoha early, so it's less of a big deal than it could have been, but still.

Paradoxically, I have to admit that the moments when I find him most annoying are those when he isn't even there. I'm talking about my own husband's apparent obsession with him and the (too many, if you ask me) times he just can't seem to be able to shut up about him. He told me the river story so many times I'm sure I could recite it in my sleep. I'm starting to feel like I'll be better off asking for a divorce and leave Hashirama to him out of spite. I'm sure my sanity would thank me if I did, but unfortunately I love Hashirama very much so I won't. Madara'd send him back to me within a day when the urge to strangle him for his overbearing attitude becomes too much, anyway, so it wouldn't even be a problem. In fact complaining about Hashirama's obnoxious antics with Madara is always funny, when I hear of people thinking that Hashi is a cause of contention/dislike between us I think it's just plain stupid, it's not like that at all. I know that Hashirama loves me, like he loves his brother, even Madara in a sense as well as the village.

But sometimes I feel as if all the years he spent associating his idea of peace with the alliance with the Uchiha, consequently his unwavering conviction that the only way he could achieve both was to necessarily bind Madara, the Uchiha clanhead, back to their old bond whatever it took (because it wasn't broken it was still there no matter what anyone thought it still was a gift from the divine) made him come to unconsciously link in his mind the very village's hopes of stability with Madara's own very ill-balanced stability and good will towards it.

In Hashirama's world, if Madara is pacified and he doesn't disrupt the village's armony for any reason, then the village will be fine, but the opposite is also true. Village is peace, peace is the dream, the village is the(ir?) dream (transitive property is the key here), but there's a sour, dissonant note: that's a very dangerous, unstable line of thinking, for all of us, himself and Madara included.

Because, differently from what Hashirama thinks, in Madara's vision, himself and that dream no longer coincide since when their bond was severed and it awakened his Sharingan at the river as a consequence. Their very definitions of that dream differed at the root. The mechanism stopped working, the gears need to be rearranged, not to be seen as the same as before, in order to keep working together. He's not the same as when they were little anymore and it isn't even only about Izuna's death but Madara himself. In fact it started before that, Izuna's death is one of the aggravating factors, not the trigger. Hashirama deep down knows it but he vehemently insists on ignoring it with all his might and that's what is deepening the fracture between them.

Hashirama refuses to see Madara for what he is but he wants to see only the kid he met at the river, because that kid is the one who gave Hashirama the confidence that his dream was possible. He still, genuinely, stubbornly believes that that kid still exists somewhere, because he must exist, because if Madara still believes in their village and keeps on giving him that confidence (that is, if Madara still behaves with Hashirama like that kid would, even while slowly breaking beyond repair on the inside), then eventually all will be fine and everything will adjust itself given enough time and hope. But when he doesn't, Hashirama becomes nearly paranoid and desperately tries whatever he can think of in the hope of tying Madara to their dream of the village again, this time possibly forever and indefinitely: calling him his brother (as if for Madara their real brothers weren't the only real bond while theirs is a breaking thread next to a fine but now forever severed cloth); nudging him to see Konoha villagers as they were his new family now that he lost his own (well knowing what kind of visceral bond that'd be if it were completed given that Madara is involved); giving him hope that he could be Hokage, a hope Hashirama didn't know it'd be crushed and burned to the roots by such a public humiliation. The worst part is that Hashirama doesn't even seem to be aware of half of these psychological issues of his. However, that's the person Hashirama sees, not the real Madara, never his adult, despairing, fierce-but-borderline-suicidal version. And Madara knows it, he resents it and will keep to silently poison himself with that knowledge in total, stubborn solitude until it will inevitably make him rot to the bone and erase the rest of the world with him. All of this while seeing all the underlying not-yet-born-but-still-there faults in the village's very system and Hashirama's rule! But, instead of just saying it so we can try to limit the damage, he just keeps them for himself as the indisputable proof of how the whole system is doomed to failure. To be honest, I do know why he doesn't talk, though, and that's because nobody'd listen to what is only considered an unstable, belligerent madman's apocalyptic words, no matter how prophetic they'll reveal themselves to be in the years. These are still other big reasons why I want to kick his ass, though, and I suspect that he knows. Count another reason, then.

They are just... Ahrg. Just talk, guys, like the mature people you ARE supposed to be but will never be. You understand that I'm in the middle of that, don't you? It gives me a massive headache on a good day and lately more often than not they make it a shitty day. I'm tired of constantly having to listen to Hashirama complaining about Madara this, Madara that, just because they're not sincere enough to just TALK and settle their differences within the limits of what it's actually possible, and because they don't talk about it (and when they do it seems like they are threading through two or three different discourses at the same time that nothing have to do with the problem at hand) they will never understand each other like they clearly need to and then we have to solve all the problems their bullshit leaves behind.

I'm not saying that they could resolve those problems by just talking, because they are too big for only the two of them and they often involve how something like world peace should be achieved. So, you understand why they'll never see eye to eye on that. But talking could be a start.

Mine feels like a full-time, underpaid and overly frustrating, babysitting job. Sometimes, I just want to kick both of their asses for being purposely (Madara) and unconsciously (Hashirama) difficult.

Sorry for my ramblings, but as a woman, a kunoichi and a wife I needed to vent a bit and too few people ask for my opinion nowadays, our self-appointed author first and foremost.

P. S.: I do want to kick his ass when he steals my hairpins out of spite after I have beaten him and Tobirama at shogi. 8/10, then.

For @dinainwater

It definitely got out of hand in the end 🤣 Rambling has always been a problem for me and rarely I manage to actually restrain myself, but I promise eventual next answers won't be this long. So, I hope it hasn't bored you (?) 😅. But I felt like Mito needed to make her opinion matter, so it was worth!

(If the reasoning explained above seemed twisted and unnecessarily difficult, it's because those two have a deeply unhealthy relationship)

However, thank you for your ask like always and I hope you enjoyed it 😁 whatever other question is always welcomed, don't worry 😊

*

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

I'll be honest, I'm not the best at asks. So what's something you want to be asked about? Or what's a topic that you want/love to ramble about but rarely get the opportunity to?

It has taken me two days to come up with an answer to this because I mean, there’s lots of stuff I’d love to talk about but I don’t want to annoy anyone with by posting and I couldn’t come up with anything good. But now I have it! I’ve been wanting to talk about this anyway, and I do love to ramble about it.

It is

The book of Revelation.

That’s right. The last, most easily misunderstood, and my favorite, book of the Bible. I studied it in college and have been re-studying it recently, because I see a lot of misinformation floating around about it and the end times in general and darn it I want to help people understand! Revelation’s not just a big scary book where God ends the world and judges mankind- I mean, those things happen, but they’re not the POINT. The point is that God wins! God literally told us that he wins and that Satan will be defeated! And that should give us HOPE! Revelation is supposed to cause hope, not fear and despair! It is also a call to arms for Christians to fight in spiritual battles and do our best to save people’s souls because there WILL be a judgement.

However, Revelation is often taken out of the context of the whole Bible, and also history, and therefore people see it as confusing and bizarre. People misunderstand that it was written both for us now and for John’s listeners in our past, so the book has multiple meanings! And also, the entire book of Revelation doesn’t deal with just the great big final judgement, it deals with judgements of peoples, countries and cultures who disobey God and invoke his wrath up until the final judgement. Those are what I like to call “mini-judgements” or, “partial judgements”, if you like. The Seal and Trumpet judgements are partial (the “4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse” would more accurately be called “the 4 Horsemen of the mini-Apocalypses”). The Bowl judgements, however, are all-encompassing, and thus part of the final judgement. Thus, Revelation meant something for John’s readers in the past, means something to us in the present, and will mean something different to the people in the future! Because this stuff happens over and over again throughout history.

Also 95% of the book is imagery that represents what something IS like instead of what it LOOKS like, which also seems to confuse people a lot. It’s written in the same way Daniel 7-8 is, which is a genre known as “apocalyptic literature”. Which is why its so wildly different from most of the Bible. People in John’s time knew this and would have understood it, but again, we tend to take Revelation out of context and thus make it harder to understand.

OKAY, well, as you can see I truly do love to talk about Revelation, so if anybody has questions about it please feel free to ask them! I do not have all the answers but I did study this book in a college class for a whole semester and have a lot of good books about it. And I love explaining and helping people understand things!

(And whether or not anybody asks me questions I will probably talk about it again because I love it.)

[zelvyth]

 From a very young age it was reinforced that my ADHD was a disability I was meant to overcome rather than a tool I could use to better myself. I didn’t even know that I had been diagnosed, and that my mother had chosen not to medicate me, until I was partway through highschool. By that point I had already begun to give up on ever truly “making it” in life. The hurdles I needed to overcome had demoralized me to the point of near total apathy. Between my sexuality and early coming out in a small town highschool, and my various mental health problems, I felt like no one in the world saw things from my point of view. The last blow to my self esteem came when my grade 12 english teacher, the true decider of fate to any young person, told me my final thesis on Lady Macbeth being one of the greatest example of the flaws in Machiavelli’s “The Prince” was brilliant, but due to formatting and scattered grammar issues, she could give me no higher than a 60%. After years of getting consistent high 90’s in my english classes as well as other subjects, I had failed this extremely crucial essay due to the idiosyncrasies of the most frustrating language known to humankind. I passed that class with a 68, and felt like my fate was sealed. No chance at getting into any University in the country without redoing 5 months of work because one person believed that following the rules was a more important indication of intelligence than original ideas and the ability to make an argument. It crushed me. I admit that I didn’t put in the effort, but I had spent my entire life being told I was incredibly intelligent. It was the one thing I held onto. I felt betrayed by the education system. Though it was also due to many other factors at the time, this contributed to the second of my four suicide attempts. Today, I reject that philosophy. 

    When a person with ADHD is thinking, they connect ideas in their heads much faster than the average person. It can be confusing and disorienting to the people around them. I constantly have to explain how I got from point A to point B because the points connect automatically in my head. It’s exhausting, so I frequently do not bother to try. It’s extremely helpful when crafting an argument, however it can be debilitating in many aspects of modern life. Things the average person doesn’t think about, can be crippling for me. Without a true passion towards something, my ability to focus becomes hazy and my thoughts become scattered. I spend the majority of the day stuck in my head having conversations with myself instead of doing “normal” things with my time. I have spent my life being told that ADHD is my weakness, today I can tell you with the utmost certainty that it is my greatest strength.

    When the international pandemic of the respiratory disease “Covid-19” truly began and the world went into full nationwide lockdown, the bistro that I had, for the most part, happily been employed at shut down. After 8 years of honing my culinary craft certain that my skills, though undervalued, would always be needed somewhere, I was out of a job. Indefinitely. So was most of the country that worked with their hands or, in some capacity, physically with other people. Unless you were able to conduct business through zoom conferences or were a suddenly “essential” employee like a fast food worker, you were left with little to do but sit and think or try desperately to distract yourself from the increasingly troubling world around you. Luckily, to my surprise, the conservative government had pledged to keep us all fed and watered as best they could. What deeply worried me was the knowledge that my friends south of the border, through no fault of their own, and already mostly furious with their government, were not being treated with the same bare minimum of respect. I knew it was a recipe for true disaster and widespread civil unrest as early as march.

    I watched while the culture of social media, at least from my own lgbt bias, slowly started to shift and I picked up a lot of the big picture through memes and personally shared anecdotes. Celebrities were being ripped apart as they tried to get our attention again from their huge mansions while people sat at home worried about how to feed their children. Using insensitive phrasing like “we’re all in this together” when they undeniably weren’t. It quickly became a social caste system. The desperately poor trying to creatively make money any way they could. The often needlessly endangered. And the upper class for whom, little had changed besides the inability to do whatever they want at any given time. The lines were very clearly drawn. While the rich bemoaned their accessibility to haircuts, the poor argued with landlords about rent. All the while another group was frequently paid minimum wage to work on the proverbial front lines; flipping hamburgers, being yelled at by the rich because you were out of everything with the supply chain so damaged, or literally saving peoples lives. The anger and frustration quickly took over nearly every form of social media. Subtly, but day by day it grew. There was only so much one could do from inside their apartments, and globally, the havenots found solace and comfort with one another. The narratives of meme culture, which had matured and specialized far beyond the early days of “lolcats” and “trollface” comics, became almost exclusively about mocking the rich and their inability to deal with slight inconveniences.

Nearly every month of 2020 was a new major nationwide crisis and people had little else to do but talk about it or ignore it. The year kicked off with serious threat of a third world war because Donald Trump was tweeting intentionally inflammatory remarks towards the fascist leader of North Korea. All while nearly the entire country of Australia was ravaged by forest/bush fire. January saw a clearly corrupt president unbelievably not be impeached. Sparking outrage among, in my humble opinion, any sane individual. This also exposed, to anyone who knew all the facts, that the systems to hold those in power accountable was clearly broken and corruptible. Towards the end of January, beloved basketball player Kobe Bryant died in a horrible helicopter accident involving his daughter. Late February leading into early March was when global fears over Coronavirus began to be taken extremely seriously by every government in the world, the exception being the United States and the Trump administration. By late April, the country had over a hundred thousand dead, and nearly a quarter of its population out of a job. The irony of this, is that the calls to reopen the country didn’t come from those that had lost their jobs, but the upper class that had grown restless deprived from their usual comforts. Meanwhile we openly mocked them on instagram, tumblr, and twitter. Trying desperately to make light of a horrible situation and bring at least a little levity to their lives. News that a new breed of dangerously fatal hornets had migrated to North America was derided as a filler episode. One of my personal favourite takes on the year as a whole so far was a comparison to the four horseman of the apocalypse. January representing War, February representing Pestilence, March representing Famine, and April representing Death. In fact a lot of meme culture started to take on an extremely apocalyptic vibe. The message for many was clear, and depressing.

Then things started to happen really fast, so fast that for many it would make your head spin looking at it from the outside. It began with a video featuring a white Canadian woman from Waterloo named Amy Cooper that went viral across the globe. In the Ramble area of Central Park in NYC, this woman was filmed by a clearly peaceful, yet insistent, black man named Christian Cooper, no relation, asking her to leash her dog. This is a bylaw of the area. The woman refused and began to become very distressed, roughly handling her dog by the collar. She started dailing 911 and accused the man of assaulting her to the dispatcher. What many understood about this act, and rightfully called her out in outrage over, is that she was using her knowledge of how police handle black people in America to threaten this mans life over leashing her dog. She has been fired, and the shelter has taken her dog back.

Two days later, as I was travelling to my family’s cottage to “get away from it all and unplug”, a friend sent me a snapchat video from Minneapolis. It was on fire. I immediately did everything I could to try to find out what had happened. That, is when I saw the video of 8 minutes and 46 seconds of a police officer with his knee on the neck of another human being. This did not shock, nor suprise me. I had followed the many accounts of police killing people on video since 2014 when I was 16. When the Ferguson protests over Michael Brown’s killing by police officers were broadcast over most of the developed world. I had seen little change, despite Barrack Obama being President. This continued to happen for the next 6 years, though there were no more protests. Some of the people of those original protests that started the Black Lives Matter Movement, went missing over the next several years. Mainly those that had been photographed.

George Floyd’s death, I feel, was the straw that broke the camels’ back. Which is how anyone who has personally experienced police mistreatment and injustice would understand watching that video. A societal contract had been broken. And Minneapolis started to burn down the city that would let this happen to their friend, their neighbour, their father, their brother, and most importantly, their son. The words that chilled me to my very core… And continue to make me cry when I think about. Continue to make me want to punch every cop I run into.The words that have caused me to continue having this argument every day with everyone I know. The words that make me want to scream and rage and burn that country to the ground….  “Mama”

In his dying breaths this man called out to his mother. Who had died 2 years earlier. Who could not come save him. The police officer casually, with his hands in his pockets, knowing he could get away with it, murdered that man while he called out for his dead mother. Suffocated him to death in the middle of a global pandemic driven by respiratory disease. If I had been in Minneapolis that night, I would have helped burn it to the ground.

Something I didn’t expect happened then. Something I didn’t expect when I saw the fires and the rage from mostly black citizens of the city. As I watched Fox News try to turn the story into a conversation about rioting and looting rather than Police accountability. Other peaceful protests started up in other cities. My entire social media feed from multiple sources was filled with people discussing their anger and vowing to protest it. I don’t like to admit that I didn’t see this coming. But on May 26th, as I ravenously tried to keep up from the comfort of a cottage on Crystal Lake Ontario, a spark of hope for humanity that I had lost a long time ago started to ignite.

Something interesting happens when you get most of your information from social media. It either makes you hyper critical of everything you’re told and willing to research anything important, or it makes you willing to believe anything your friends tell you. As the protests kicked off in major cities across America, after months of inactivity, my ADHD kicked into high gear. I used every neuron of my brain power to follow the protests from as many different angles as I could. Most importantly, I followed the story from the people who were at them. That’s what growing up in modern society makes you do. After months if not years if not decades of being lied to for personal gain constantly. It makes you pay attention to the people who have nothing to gain.

I got back to my appartment from my cottage a day later, still glued to my phone. Barely talking, barely eating, barely sleeping. I watched police officers in riot gear throw tear gas into peaceful protests in every city in America. Tear gas, by the way, is an international war crime in combat situations. I watched media with an implicitly right wing bias condemn the protests. Convincing people that looting was worth a war crime. I watched it work. It worked with my own father. It did not work for me. I watched the news from political biases of both sides but took most of it with a grain of salt. That’s what I had been taught to do from as young as 14 by the world I grew up in. The news could give me general information. However, the story was on the ground and I knew from experience that people would try to bury it so I had to watch it as quickly as possible. I watched friends of mine in the states get tear gassed and beaten while exercising their first amendment rights. I watched the news condemn the protests. I was horrified. I watched the peaceful protesters of police brutality in New York get beaten and gassed from a minimum of 30 different perspectives of the people I knew and trusted, and those I didn’t. I watched the peaceful protestors in LA get beaten and gassed from the same amount of perspectives. I watched them throw flash bombs and shoot rubber coated bullets into the faces of my friends in every city in America. I watched the President of the United States order the peaceful protestors in front of the White House to be beaten and gassed so he could have an awkward photo-op with a fucking bible. I watched this for a week straight from every angle available. Day in and day out. Every hour I was conscious, I watched fascism try to grab power in in every city in America. I watched people in powerful positions deny it.

It wasn’t just paying attention to the protests and the news of them explicitly. I wasn’t just filled with horror. I was also watching something wonderfully unexpected happen. I watched my black friends, my gay friends, my asain friends, and my intelligent friends, begin to weaponize social media. I watched them beg all of their friends to do the same. So did I, even though I felt like there wasn’t anything I could really do from cozy liberal Waterloo. I watched us all turn the algorithms against the people who made them. I did everything I could to make sure you couldn’t turn away. I told my gay white friends condemning the actions of protestors that his rights came from a riot. I watched them shrink in fear of my voice. My father told me I was getting caught up in left wing rhetoric. I tore his arguments to shreds. He told me broad angry statements don’t do anything. I told him broad angry statements create the conversation we’re having. Resistance is a highway with many lanes, and I knew my lane.

You grow up, especially in my age, especially when you’re gay, especially when you are exposed to a lifetime of stories of rebellion against tyranny, hearing about the power of resistance. As I marched in Waterloo with over thirty thousand people I didn’t know, I realized that I have never truly understood that power. How it surges through your body like electricity as you scream until your voice is hoarse. It’s a high better than any drug known to man, than any pride parade where I was pandered to by corporations for hours. It took my fear, and my anger, and my helplessness and turned it into raw power exploding from my body. I continued to watch people I knew deny reality. 

The protests grew. They spread across the world like wildfire. I went to facebook, a place I avoid because I don’t agree with the majority of people on it, and told anyone who would listen to me that this is what Pride means. What it truly means to be proud of your community. Not a rainbow flag in a store window, not a corporation asking you to buy it’s rainbow backpack. But turning apathy in face of evil into raw unbridled electricity. I watched the protests spread to Montreal and Toronto, I watched the police mishandle things there too. I watched violence perpetuated by the state against my friends, people I’ve known for years. The power I felt merely grew. It grew with every flash grenade and bullet and tear gas canister shot at my friends. It will not subside till this is over or until I die. I’m going to spend the next decade giving up the comfortable life of good food, great drinks, and fantastic company that I found in the restaurant industry. I’m going to spend a decade getting my Law degree to fight for every last one of us in the courtroom because that is a place I can make it count. 

Today is June 8th of the year 2020 and I began writing this piece at Noon, it is now 4:11 P.M. I have done zero editing and I refuse to. I submit this as my revised final essay. I want to know when you got behind the protests. Because if it was as you were reading this, I deem you unworthy to judge my critical thinking skills. If it was yesterday I think you should be ashamed of yourself. I was with them from hour one. You should have been too. How dare you spend years teaching children about racism and oppression. How dare you tell me that I’m not worthy of higher education in any form. Telling children that wikipedia is unreliable as a source is idiotic, it’s one of the most peer reviewed encyclopedia’s to ever exist. How dare you tell me and the young adults you teach that you don’t give out scores higher than ninety percent. What is the point of forcing teenagers to write in cursive. Why must I live the experiences you write about in your precious properly formatted essays. In this country a 68 is two percent shy of getting into any University.  It’s sentencing an intelligent person with an array of disabilities a life of believing they have no power. Despite my own mistakes at the time and the amount I have grown as a person since, I will hold you personally accountable for that. 

As a closing statement, to every English teacher in this province, no, to every English teacher in the great country of Canada. Think very hard about when exactly you put your full support behind this movement. Because your curriculum is outdated, and absolutely useless in the real world. And your racism is showing.

Post Script.

There is no bibliography of unbiased sources because all sources are biased. You have a supercomputer in your pocket and this should all be public information. Look it up.

[sealsapocalypticmusic]

Love when YouTube clearly decides I’m a literal child (<- guy who is 23 years old) and thus don’t get to have comments

[sealapocalyptic]

“Looking down at her, she considers Laura in her place and moreover what new shapes the three of them might form together. What structures. Mind, body, soul. Blurring edges. Transcendence.”

[falyros]

sylvanvixen replied to your post “I like having conversations about dnd lore, be it official, modified...”

Opinions on Dragonborn? I like them but as a GM I never know what to do with them setting wise, origin, culture, I just draw blanks.

Oh yeah they’re a bit hard to get a grasp of I suppose. :0 In official 5e lore the details of their creation is shrouded in mystery, but it is at least likely that they were created by dragon gods. They also originally inhabited a different planet, so they’re basically aliens. And idk lol I’m not super excited about that lmao.

In my own setting, dragonborn were created by two demigod-like dragons (ridiculously huge, powerful, and magical) who came together, having had most of their powers depleted after 1000s of years of fighting (the blood they shed in the early days of their brutal clashes became true dragons and kobolds. because magic. shit works in weird ways.), and created the dragonborn race specifically so that they would grow in numbers and grant their creators more power thru worship, and eventually allow them ascend to godhood. Dragonborn were among the earliest humanoid races, and had to go thru an apocalyptic disaster which wiped out most humanoids. The population which makes up modern dragonborn are descendants of a few hundred individuals who managed to survive the cataclysm through a powerful magic ritual which sealed them away in a pocket plane, frozen in time, until they emerged a few thousand years later in a world that was no longer their own. Dragonborn in the present day are quite rare, and they have, as a society, generally felt out of place among other races. They’re a relic from ancient times, and they like to kinda self-isolate in their own communities, but they’re generally friendly towards other races. I haven’t rly figured out the details of their culture yet but yea.

Anyway, this has been a weird and confusing ramble lol thanks for coming to my TED talk. From what I’ve read about dragonborn they’re maybe not super interesting, so they’d probs benefit from a bit of home-made flavor lol.

[woundedheartwithin]

Far Cry 5: The Lamb and The Four Living Creatures

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I finally got some time to really sit down and get my thoughts into some kind of order.  We know that the events of Far Cry 5 are based on the Book of Revelations.  The Seeds are described as the four horsemen of the apocalypse, which seems to be a favorite among game devs and writers, and so on and so forth.  So the horsemen are accounted for, as is the Lamb of God (the junior deputy) who opens the Seven Seals on the Apocalyptic document and brings about the end of the world.

But nobody ever talks about the Four Living Creatures who stand before the Throne of God.

The four beasts of Revelations are as follows: the lion, the ox, the man, and the eagle.  They are the creatures that announce the opening of the first four seals, as well as the appearance of each of the four horsemen.  In some traditions, the beasts are believed to be cherubim (not putti, which are the flying babies in Renaissance paintings), and are God’s throne bearers.  When they arrive with the Lamb, they chant, "HOLY, HOLY, HOLY LORD GOD ALMIGHTY, which was, and is, and is to come" (Rev 4:8).  

I don’t know if this has been discussed before, I know I haven’t seen anything on it, but here’s what I’ve got: the four living creatures are represented by Whitehorse, Pratt, Burke, and Hudson.

You simply can’t explain the beasts out of context, so I am going to analyze each of the seven seals and describe my thoughts on the beasts as I go along.  The main point of this post is to look in detail at the beasts, but I’ve got a bone to pick with Joseph Seed on the fifth seal, and I’d like to talk about the sixth and seventh seals as well, so they will all be included.

DISCLAIMER: I am not a theologian, I’m not even a traditional Christian (I’m deist, if anyone was curious), and I admit that I am more or less shoe-horning the Bible into the context of the game.  I am not looking too deeply into any of the mythology behind the Christian apocalypse, and I am not really looking at anything other than the text of the King James Version of the Bible. For instance, we do know that the beasts have an order (Lion, Ox, Man, Eagle), but I’m throwing that out in favor of using the games cues and plot points to discern the order.  We can do this by looking at how the Bible describes each of these creatures throughout, and by looking at the characters. Everybody is always welcome to add to or contradict my post as you see fit, but remember that I’m just rambling and putting my thoughts into an FC5 shitpost because I’m obsessed with this stupid game.

I also feel compelled to warn you that there are a TON of mistakes in this...

Anyway, on to the main event, right below the cut.

Lamb on the Throne And I beheld, and, lo, in the midst of the throne and of the four beasts, and in the midst of the elders, stood a Lamb as it had been slain, having seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven Spirits of God sent forth into all the earth. (Rev 5:6)

This is pretty straightforward, actually.  The Lamb of God is the only being worthy of breaking the Seals and opening the Book.  Joseph Seed describes the junior deputy as being the one to break the seals, and yet he calls them Hell, who follows the white horse.  Simply put, Joseph is wrong.  This isn’t really all that surprising considering he believes he speaks to God, when in reality he is likely hearing the voice of Satan, which in reality is likely just auditory hallucinations brought on by mental illness.  He also claims that John was wrong when he assigned the deputy their sin, saying that the junior deputy is consumed by pride.  He’s wrong about this as well.

And said to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb: For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand? (Rev 6:16-17)

John was absolutely right about the junior deputy being the embodiment of Wrath, because Revelations tells us that the wrath of the Lamb is what will end the earth.

The First Seal And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.  And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer. (Rev 6:1-2)

This is Joseph (I’ll talk about the antichrist angle in a bit, just hold on).  Joseph is the only member of the Seed family acknowledged in the opening mission.  This isn’t a coincidence.  The person who calls him forward and announces his appearance is Cameron Burke.  

I believe that Burke is the living creature who has the face of a man.  The Man is the heavenly representation of humankind, man’s dominance as God’s favorite creation (cast in His image), humanitarianism, and taming the influence of the other three living creatures.  The Man embodies dignity and power.  Burke is the one that brings the other three officers together to arrest Joseph Seed.  He’s the one who serves Joseph’s arrest warrant for kidnapping with intent to harm.  He leads them into the church and attempts to thwart Joseph’s inhumane treatment of the people in Hope County.

The Man is often attributed to Matthew the Evangelist, one of Christ’s apostles.  Matthew-- who was likely the same person as Levi, a tax collector before he met Jesus and was considered a despicable person because of his collusion with the Roman occupation force-- invited Jesus to a feast.  When other folks criticized Jesus for fraternizing with such tax collectors and sinners, Jesus replied, "I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." (Luke 5:32) Matthew is thought to have been martyred with a halberd while he was preaching the gospel.  He is the only Evangelist to have been killed with a weapon, just like Burke (he shoots himself in the head, making him the only one to be threatened or killed with a weapon).

The relationship between Jesus and Matthew is rather similar to the junior deputy’s relationship with Burke.  When everyone else sees Burke as a yes-man and an errand boy, all too ready to charge into battle for a commendation, the deputy treats him as a valuable member of a team that they are prepared to fight for.  They try to save him, even if that ends in tragedy.  Why would the deputy try to save Burke, especially when Burke didn’t want to be saved?  Because the Sheriff told them to?  I don’t think so.  I think they were compelled to save him because they believed he deserved to be saved.  The deputy saw Burke as a partner, not as an objective.  

The Second Seal And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see. And there went out another horse [that was] red: and [power] was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword. (Rev 6:3-4)

The horseman of war is Jacob Seed.  Jacob is perhaps the most obvious of the horsemen.  He has red hair, is ex-military, and is consumed by a kill or be killed mentality.  The beast that accompanies him is Staci Pratt, the Ox. (note that in some versions, this beast is referred to as the Calf.  Both are acceptable in this instance, but I like the Ox better)

Throughout the Bible, the Ox is described as the single most important animal to mankind.  It is the ultimate beast of burden, and stealing your neighbor’s ox is punishable by death throughout the Old Testament.  The Ox symbolizes dependability, strength, willingness to serve, and divine sacrifice.  The Ox was often sacrificed in place of an actual person because it was the second most divine creature in existence.  

Pratt literally sacrifices himself for the junior deputy.  He knows that his plan, should it fail, would end up disastrous for them both, and he knows that if the junior deputy doesn’t get out then they’re both dead.  So, rather than jumping onto the truck instead of the junior deputy, or jumping onto it with them, he sacrifices himself.  He stays on that balcony, knowing full well that when Jacob finds him the punishment will be severe.  He fully expects Jacob to kill him, but he does it anyway.  Aside from that, Jacob’s entire deal is about strength and sacrifice.  That ties right in with the ox’s role.

The Ox is attributed to Luke the Evangelist, one of Christ’s apostles.  Luke was the saint of several patronages, but the most interesting in this context is the bachelor.  In the voice files (as uncovered by other members of the fandom), Pratt laments that he only became a cop to get laid, indicating that he is much more interested in “sowing oats” than in settling down, so that more or less fits him.

Finally, there’s a lot of confusion regarding Luke’s death.  Some sects believe he was martyred by having first his writing hand and then his head cut off, others believe that he was imprisoned without food and water and wasted away in a jail cell (which is Pratt’s intended fate at Jacob’s hand).

The Third Seal And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand. And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a denarius, and three measures of barley for a denarius; and [see] thou hurt not the oil and the wine. (Rev 6:5-6)

This is John.  Even if the concept art didn’t tell us that John is the third horseman, verse 6 would.  Oil and wine have often been considered luxuries in many cultures, and the grain is being carefully weighed and rationed, which ties into John’s own lavish lifestyle, as well as his job of collecting resources from the people of Fall’s End.  The horseman also carries a set of balances, which are a common motif for law and order, and John is a lawyer.  The beast that accompanies him is the Eagle, Joey Hudson.

The Eagle symbolizes courage, power, shrewdness, and exerts dominance over the sky and air.  It is nearly equal to the Lion, and is a proud and fearsome creature that does not bow easily to oppression or suppression.  

Hudson is unbreakable, indomitable, and fights John every step of the way.  She never once lets him beat her, and steadfastly refuses to submit to John’s torture.  Interestingly, the eagle applies to John as well in that he is an exceptional pilot and carries a strong flight motif.  Also, Hudson has a tattoo on her forearm of an eagle and an American flag, directly marking her as the Eagle.

The Eagle is attributed to John the Evangelist, which is interesting in and of itself for an obvious reason.  In art, Saint John is sometimes depicted in medieval art as androgynous or feminine, making him the only Evangelist that could have been a woman. Hudson is the only one of the junior deputies partners that is female. John was the only Evangelist to die of natural causes, just as Hudson was the only one to have never been under any real threat of death, at John Seed’s hand or otherwise.

The Fourth Seal And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. (Rev 6:7-8)

This is Faith.  This one is less straightforward than the other two, and is perhaps the most nuanced of the four.  Looking at personified aspects of Death and Hell, Death is of course Faith herself.  Everywhere she goes, death and destruction follows her.  Tracey tells us this explicitly.  The Hell that follows her could be the zealots (priestesses) and demons (angels) that surround her and fill her region.  Death is indicated to use the tools of the other horsemen to destroy the earth, and if you pay attention to how Faith runs her region, you can see that she does exactly this.  She is perfectly willing to kill and torture people (Jacob/war), she uses her greenhouses and fields to grow Bliss instead of food and doesn’t seem to care if this negatively affects other people (John/famine), and she tries to control everything and everyone around her with brainwashing and drugs (Joseph/conquest). The verse also mentions killing with the beasts of the earth. This could be the Bliss hallucinations the junior deputy sees all over her region, where they see a deer that suddenly transforms into a bear when they get close. The beast that accompanies her is Earl Whitehorse, the Lion. His name is just a red herring for Joseph to latch onto to justify what he and his people do during the Reaping.

The Lion symbolizes leadership, bravery, protectiveness, and fearlessness.  The lion is also an analogue for God.  Whitehorse is literally the Sheriff of Hope County, and is one of the highest ranking people in the county.  He’s selfless and protective of the junior deputy (resistance members sometimes mention that Whitehorse seems to think of the junior deputy as his own child, which is further supported by the Lion symbolizing God, and the Lamb symbolizing Christ).

The Lion is attributed to Mark the Evangelist.  He is depicted in art as rescuing slaves (Whitehorse’s personal mission is keeping innocent civilians from becoming angels), and is often associated with the Resurrection of Christ (Whitehorse likely personally hired the junior deputy).  Mark died in Alexandria when Alexandrians tied a rope around his neck and dragged him until he was dead. Whitehorse planned to hang himself if the junior deputy had failed to stop the Bliss.

The Fifth Seal And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held: And they cried with a loud voice, saying, How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth? And white robes were given unto every one of them; and it was said unto them, that they should rest yet for a little season, until their fellow servants also and their brethren, that should be killed as they [were], should be fulfilled. (Rev 6:9-11)

In the final confrontation, Joseph tells the junior deputy that they have made martyrs of his family, and so he is prepared to do the same with the deputy’s “family.”  Once again, Joseph is wrong.  The souls of the martyrs are the people that Joseph and the cult murdered.  The souls are asking God when they will be avenged, and they are answered that they must wait for just a little while longer, until their brothers and sisters are martyred as they were.  If we look at the arrival of the four horsemen as being represented by the Seeds’ deaths, then yeah the souls of the martyrs would be Joseph’s flock.  However, looking at it this way simply doesn’t make any sense, because the deputy hasn’t killed Joseph, who is the first horseman.  The first seal is opened when the deputy first comes into contact with him, so it stands to reason that the other seals are opened when the deputy first comes into contact with the other siblings as well.  

I don’t have a single theory for this.  Hell, maybe the deputy just ran around the county like a chicken with their head cut off, I don’t know.  Maybe the fifth seal is opened as the other seals are opened, meaning the deputy avenges the martyrs as they go before confronting Joseph at the end.  Either way, the martyrs whose souls cry for vengeance are the people that the cult has slain, including Eli and Virgil, Virgil’s son, etc.  If you look around at the posed bodies all over the county, they are often wrapped in or draped with white sheets.  These are the white robes given to the martyrs.  God’s revenge for the martyrs is killing the members of the cult (as well as the actual apocalypse).  

It is interesting to note the inclusiveness in these verses.  The ones that are meant to die as revenge for the martyrs are referred to as their brethren, and are described as serving alongside them.  This is pretty much what Eden’s Gate is all about, which adds to the idea that Joseph and his flock thought they were doing the right thing.  It’s actually rather sad when you think about it.

The Sixth Seal And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood; And the stars of the heavens fell unto the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind. And the heavens departed as a scroll when it is rolled together; and every mountain and island were moved out of their places. And the kings of the earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bondman, and every free man, hid themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains; And said to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb: For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand? (Rev 6:12-17)

This is super straightforward.  I know that Joseph quotes it just before his boss fight, but I think he’s wrong here as well.  I think that this is the nuclear war that inexplicably falls on Hope County (seriously, why are there so many bombs concentrated in the middle of nowhere?).  Joseph makes a point to tell the deputy that all the politicians have been silenced, which is part of these verses.  They all fall to the wrath of the Lamb, and everyone and everything is destroyed.  That’s why Joseph is still alive, as well, but I’ll explain that in a bit.

The Seventh Seal And when he had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour. And I saw the seven angels which stood before God; and to them were given seven trumpets. And another angel came and stood at the altar, having a golden censer; and there was given unto him much incense, that he should offer [it] with the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar which was before the throne. And the smoke of the incense, [which came] with the prayers of the saints, ascended up before God out of the angel's hand. And the angel took the censer, and filled it with fire of the altar, and cast [it] into the earth: and there were voices, and thunderings, and lightnings, and an earthquake. And the seven angels which had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound. (Rev 8:1-6)

The period of silence is what Joseph refers to when he’s listening to the radio (or lack thereof).   After this, each of the seven years they spend in the bunker is one trumpet sound, for a total of seven plagues during which the entire world is completely destroyed.  Demons rise from Hell and torment those who remain on earth, the horsemen run around and do what they do, and then the Lamb chooses who will inhabit the earth after God casts His judgment.

I really suggest reading Revelations to get a good sense of what happens here.  It’s too much to put in a silly little blog post, but it really is an interesting read.  Very fire and brimstone, blood and thunder.

The Identity of Joseph Seed One theory regarding the reason Joseph survives the apocalypse is that Joseph is the horseman of conquest, and the wrath of the Lamb is an act of conquest.  Even after all the other horseman have come and gone, conquest remains in the form of a new world order, a new regime, or what have you.  Conquest never goes away, even after war and famine and death are gone.  Of course, this part isn’t in the Bible, this is just me waxing philosophic, but I think it’s rather fitting.  

Another theory is that Joseph is the Antichrist, which also makes a lot of sense.  In 1951, a Roman Catholic Bishop wrote:

“The Antichrist will not be so called; otherwise he would have no followers... he will come disguised as the Great Humanitarian; he will talk peace, prosperity and plenty not as means to lead us to God, but as ends in themselves... He will tempt Christians with the same three temptations with which he tempted Christ... He will have one great secret which he will tell to no one: he will not believe in God. Because his religion will be brotherhood without the fatherhood of God, he will deceive even the elect. He will set up a counterchurch... It will have all the notes and characteristics of the Church, but in reverse and emptied of its divine content. It will be a mystical body of the Antichrist that will in all externals resemble the mystical body of Christ.”

This is almost exactly Joseph Seed.  He resembles the traditional (inaccurate) image of Christ in the west (long hair, beard, blue eyes), his religion is definitely not Christianity (even if it is based on it), and he acts as his own god to his flock. This could make a fourth herald a possibility (cut from the game thanks to budget and deadlines), to take his place as the horseman of conquest.

Yet another theory is that Joseph himself is actually the Lamb, and the junior deputy is the horseman of conquest, reversing everything I’ve said up to this point (including the role of the Seed siblings and the deputy’s partners)  This actually makes some kind of sense in that the deputy runs around and takes over every region for the resistance.  The deputy is also freeing their partners, which could symbolize the horsemen being set upon the world.  This would make the Seeds the beasts.  Of course, Joseph can’t be the Lamb and the beast that calls forth the horseman of conquest, so perhaps Dutch is the beast instead.  He drags the deputy out of the river and gets them ready to go back out into the fight, so perhaps this is him fulfilling his role as the Man and announcing the arrival of the horseman.  Or, as above, a fourth herald could fill this role as well.

Conclusion Again, I am not an expert, and everything I have said in this post has more or less been forced to fit.  The characters do not draw exactly from the Bible, but there are enough parallels that I don’t think any of it is coincidence.

So, to recap:

Cameron Burke is the Man who calls out the rider of the white horse, Joseph Seed (conquest).

Staci Pratt is the Ox who calls out the rider of the red horse, Jacob Seed (war).

Joey Hudson is the Eagle who calls out the rider of the black horse, John Seed (famine).

Earl Whitehorse is the Lion who calls out the rider of the pale horse, Faith Seed (death).

Each beast heralds the coming of the Lamb, who is persecuted and takes the throne with the appearance of having been slain.  The junior deputy comes after their partners in a very systematic fashion (almost as though they had been heralded), and is battered and bruised and scarred as they “open the seals” and inevitably confront Joseph to “take the throne.”  The junior deputy, like Christ, selflessly liberates each region, amasses a fiercely loyal following, and nearly dies for so many people it’s not even funny.  They are persecuted, nearly broken, and yet they doggedly push on, determined to save their friends and their county. Also, one of the cuts made to sacrifice and butcher an animal is across the throat. If the cut is made deep enough, it could damage the vocal folds, rendering the animal mute. The deputy never speaks, and the Bible tells us that the Lamb appears upon the throne as it has been slain. With its throat cut and silent.

Anyway, feel free to add to this or whatever!  I was going to link a few sources but I lost them. It was mostly just Wikipedia and an online version of the King James version of the Bible. Abrahamic religion and mythology is actually very fascinating, and there’s a lot to love about the motifs illustrated in the Book of Revelation especially, so I definitely recommend reading about it!

Tell me what you think, and thanks for reading!

[dunkshotdreaming]

Spica: Alpha Virginis (pt.5)

Genre: action/adventure, fantasy, angst, romance Warnings: post-apocalyptic Characters: Leo (VIXX), Beth (oc), Lucy (oc) Word count: 2,544 Story type: series (completed)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 (final)

(A/N): Reposting my series from AFF onto here!

///

   Things grew tense between the hunter and angel; a dreary silence befell since their last conversation. Finally arriving at the castle just before sunset, Taekwoon and Beth stood staring at their handiwork: the bodies of the upgraded palace guards strewn across in an almost artistic arrangement. The lesser demons they’d fought up until now were merely target practice, those that evaporated when slain. These demons were much stronger, and yet only possessed a fraction of what their king had in store for our heroes.

   Though Taekwoon was initially worried for Lucy’s safety, she’d proven to be much smarter and feistier than he’d originally given the Lab credit for. She expertly dodged attacks, almost as if she had been trained her whole life for this task. Lucy was remarkable at biting at any flailing limbs, effectively injuring their enemies. Sometimes it was as if she could smell the precise location of jugulars or pressure points, the result being that she looked more like a bloodhound by the end of things. Bloodbaths took on a whole new meaning when our… antiheroes of sorts take charge.

   Beth brushed some blood off her wings as best she could, the deep red mixing with dirt to stain her once pure white feathers. Taking down the king would not be an easy feat, but the duo– I’m sorry, trio– felt more than prepared, ready to stake their lives to take back the city.

“I’ve been expecting you,” a strong, baritone voice echoed throughout the castle.

   Having finally reached the king’s room, the throne was perched upon the polished marble tile. Across from Taekwoon and Beth, the golden throne glimmered, the light from the windows cascading over it and its inhabitor, as it was anything but empty. The room appeared extremely sophisticated, so out of place with the rest of the antique style of the rather dull, gray castle. Shiny black and white tiles lay just under their feet, the red walls lined with golden tapestries to match the throne.

   However, all of this heavily contrasted the king’s appearance. A flat navy color for his skin, and a deep purple for the large wings and horns he possessed.

“Welcome to the beginning of the end of your lives, dear children,” the king’s voice mocked, sounding almost as distorted as his mind. The floor shook from the sheer weight of the colossal demon as he began to stand. Striding with patience and almost a sense of elegance, if it weren’t for his terrifying and hideous demeanor, he made his way over to exterminate the pesky insect-like visitors who dared to defy his and defile his castle.

***

   The fight was absolutely exhausting, it felt like days though it had likely been but a few hours. The bastard was laughing for half of the fight as the three struggled in their attempt to take him down; after all, combined, they were barely at half his height. Then suddenly, Beth’s powers recharged, and the king wasn’t laughing anymore. She healed Taekwoon, Lucy and herself, then carried Taekwoon as she flew upwards, allowing Taekwoon to stab both of his swords through the king’s eyes, effectively blinding him in the process. They repeated this once more, twice more, stabbing the king in the chest with both swords the second wave around. He was much weaker now than he had been at any point in their fight, giving them a good window of opportunity to strike. Beth cast a hex spell she’d learned once, from albeit shady sources, but the spell sealed his fate, ensuring the end of the tyrant.

   All things come with a price, however, and such was this victory. Beth was no exception to the dangers of the hex spell, it would seem, much to Taekwoon’s (and Lucy’s) dismay. Beth came tumbling down from the heights she has soared to, dropping Taekwoon in the process. Startled, he rolled over to check up on her, holding her now motionless form in his trembling arms. A sense of déjà vu was coming back to him, to the time of the raid battle with his best friend, and suddenly Taekwoon felt sick. It was awhile before Beth managed to gain consciousness, too weak to do much but take in ragged breaths. Lucy licked all over her face, and Taekwoon hugged her so tightly she feared she would end up with a broken rib before losing consciousness once again. He sobbed into the crook of her bloodied neck, grateful that she was still even alive.

“T…Tae…k,” she rasped, earning a shushing as the mortal began gently rocking her.

“We did it Beth, the bastard is gone. We won the city back!” Something was off, she seemed too weak, too pale, and it was scaring him. So much so that Taekwoon couldn’t find it in him to stay quiet, for once in his life, he was too scared to accept what could be reality, failing to grasp the gravity of the situation that lay before him. His rambling continues, sheer panic fueling his lungs, because his brain had long since shut down.

“I’m… so glad… I met you…” Beth managed to interrupt his utter nonsense speech.

“Stop talking like that, like you’re leaving. You’re fine, we’re fine! As a matter of fact, what should we do after we go back home, huh Beth? Beth?!” Taekwoon was shocked as he was cut off by a sharp gasp of pain from the weakened angel that lay in his arms.

“Listen… to me…” Beth took deep breaths to be able to speak, now holding all of Taekwoon’s attention, as Lucy whined softly and pawed gently at he angel’s form in despair. “I cas-casted a hex spell, t-to keep him d-dead,” she was stuttering profusely, hardly even able to speak, but mustering the last of her strength to do so. “That spell i-is… a life for a life. He’s dead Taekwoon, a-and he’s not coming b-back… but at the c-cost of m-my own-” she was interrupted by her own coughing, trying to choke it down just enough to finish what she had to say. “B-besides, any angel who uses d-dark magic… is immediately p-put down,” she gave a very weak, brief smile to Taekwoon’s horrified, grieving face. Tears streamed freely down his prominent cheeks as the meaning behind all her words sunk in.

“It is time to go, my dear,” a foreign voice chimed in. Taekwoon turned to the source, as Beth was too weak to move, and Lucy barked at the intruder. What Taekwoon’s eyes were met with was a grim-reaper looking figure, now hovering beside them, and he instinctively hovered over her own body protectively. He felt her form stop moving in his arms, and he was unable to stop the onslaught of even heavier tears that cascaded from his weary eyes. The scream he let out as she slipped through his fingers was bloodcurdling, and nothing was left behind save for a handful of her feathers in his still-trembling hands. It was her final, bittersweet parting gift, leaving him with a few wishes as a token of gratitude.

///

   Battered and depressed beyond the imaginable, Taekwoon has no recollection of even making it home. All he remembers is how the damned feathers don’t feel like Beth, don’t sound like Beth, and how they will never, ever be able to replace her presence in his life. He remembers praying and wishing upon a pale feather, only to feel like an utter idiot when it never granted his sole, desperate wish… for Beth to be returned to him. Not even alcohol could help him this time, he thought, and Lucy whimpered solemnly as she watched her owner seemingly wither overnight.

Deep in the night, as Taekwoon begins to drift, a soft, pained whisper could be heard as it echoed through the seemingly hollow apartment.

“I never even got to tell her… how much I loved her.”

///

   Taekwoon awoke very much unlike he had fallen asleep: disgusting and passed out on the apartment’s kitchen floor. A dirty rag and a bucket of what likely once water, now tainted with blood and dirt, were beside his makeshift “bed”. Wait, when had he even laid down in a bed? It was then that his attention drifted to the feeling of two arms around his waist. Panic rising and catching his heart up into his throat, Taekwoon turned to look behind him, wondering if he was caught in some twisted dream his brain made up throughout his pity party. The girl of his dreams lay beside him, only she no longer carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, figuratively of course. Her wings were now completely gone, but it was undeniably Beth, right down to her small birthmarks.

   She stirred then, yawning, and rubbed her eyes with one arm, unconsciously grabbing at Taekwoon’s fresh, clean shirt with the other. “I see you’re awake. Man, you’ve been out for almost two whole days. You sure can sleep a lot, sleepyhead,” she giggled, but it sounded like a choir of angels in his mind, ironically enough.

“…Beth?” Taekwoon asked in shock, as his voice almost failed to make it past the lump making residence halfway down his throat. Surely, he was dreaming, right? He had to be, after all, he watched her, felt her die in his very own arms… “I watched you die…I felt the feathers in my hands…” He could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence, too stupefied by her appearance to string words together properly.

“And yet here I am,” Beth teased, Cheshire cat-line grin on full display. Something was up, and Taekwoon was fearing for the catch. “What was that about you not being able to tell me something?” Still in disbelief, Taekwoon flushed, a bright red adorning his now flustered features. His last words before knocking out were his very own late love confession to his supposedly deceased love interest… little did he know she had heard every last word. Confused, he reached out to her, crushing her once more in an embrace, praying that if this was a dream, to never again wake up from it.

“You have some explaining to do, missy, an awful lot of it,” his heart hammered in his chest, realizing that she really was here with him once again. The feel of her form against his, the acceleration of her heartbeat felt through her skin, the smell of her hair and the gentle ease that her presence always brought to his once miserable existence. She felt like home, more so than the raggedy apartment ever could. Home was a feeling, not a place, and it was the feeling Taekwoon got when he got to share his measly days with Beth and Lucy, his two favorite girls.

“I may have traded my wings for a chance at a mortal life… here, with you. Taekwoon, I–”

“I love you,” Taekwoon breathlessly rushed out, fearing he could miss his chance again at any moment. Wanting, needing to tell her how much she means to him, as much as a few words could convey. “I was such an idiot not to tell you sooner, but I was afraid of how you felt, and I didn’t want to make things awkward. And then I was hoping to after the fight but–”

   This time it was he who was cut off, as she’d tugged him down by the hair and pressed her lips to his, Taekwoon’s eyes wide in shock. He brought his hands to her sides, rubbing gently as their lips met again and again, kisses featherlight and laced with the purest of intentions; to communicate their love for one another after too many missed opportunities. They parted for air, foreheads pressed together. She let out a breathless laugh, undeniably content, and he didn’t dare to let her go for even a second, for fear of losing her again.

“Now what?” Taekwoon murmured against her hair, pressing a soft kiss into her forehead, now laying with her facing him while tucked into his larger frame.

“Now,” she inhaled deeply, taking a dramatic pause, “either we help rebuild this town, or leave it all in the past and escape. Perhaps you could reunite with your family?” Beth suggested, looking up at him with a loving gleam in her eyes, mirrored by his own.

“Sounds good to me,” Taekwoon answered softly, still enamored by their reunion, in more ways than one. He was still finding it hard to grasp the reality of her return, but he dared not question the few miracles life allowed, as he had struggled far too much in his own life.

“But first, babe…” The term of endearment rolled easily off her tongue, slipping casually past her lips, and Taekwoon could swear he felt the wind knock out of his lungs in the process. So much for thinking he wasn’t big on romance, because he was sure a hell of a head-over-heels romantic when it came to her. “I’m hungry.” A phrase she’d never once said before, only proving her newfound mortality. Taekwoon couldn’t resist the urge to laugh, rolling onto his back and pulling her over him, grinning wide as her hair cascaded down around the two of them, seemingly forming a veil.

“You are so lucky I love to cook, and that I’m good at it,” Taekwoon took a deep breath, admiring the view before him. “And I would be honored to provide your first meal, darling… Granted that all the stock we have left is currently ramen, so fancy first dinner will have to take a rain check.” She unceremoniously snorted, and he thought it was the most adorable thing ever. Then again, she could probably sound like a goat every time she sneezed and he would still love every little thing she did, solely because it was her and her alone. He piggybacked her to their sorry excuse of a kitchen, and as he worked on their ramen, they discussed their plans for the future, as well as Beth having to fill Taekwoon in on what happened after the fight. Taking a seat on the barstool beside hers by the counter, bowls and chopsticks in hand, they lamely clinked their reused paper cups together to signify both their first meal together as well as the start of their new lives together.

   Taekwoon silently thanked the gods for bringing them together, for allowing her to return, and for whatever the hell was currently going on in his life, because things were better than they ever had been ever since he’d lost his family. Little did he know that she was thinking the same, thanking the gods for everything and then some. Lucy leaned on her hind legs as her front paws stretched out, trotting over playfully, hoping to partake in the fun as well. And maybe hoping to get some food in the process, she certainly wouldn’t mind that.

“Still think lil’ Lucifer here’s a fallen angel?” Beth teased over a bite full of noodles.

“Well, she is heaven sent. However,” Taekwoon leaned in to whisper into her ear, “you will always be my favorite angel, wings or not. You are the best thing life ever allowed me to enjoy, Beth.”

- f i n -

[mypoorfaves]

Mo More Running

Summary: Set in a post-apocalyptic AU. Victor and Yuuri have been on the run, surviving together. But things take a turn for the worse when Victor is injured.

Rated T: Contains depictions of violence and suffering, and bad language. See tags at the end for full warnings

So I was inspired by this sinfully delicious post and managed to milk a whole 3000 word fanfic out of it. This is the whumpiest whump I have ever written, and also my first ever AU. Heads up: the ending isn’t happy. Though if you’re really creative, I’m sure you could imagine a scenario where everything works out. 

～～～

“It’s just a gunshot wound. It’s likely infected, but we’ll get you some help. Then you’ll be fine,” Yuuri rambles as he walks while supporting a limping Victor. He’s panicking and talking more to reassure himself than the fevered man draped heavily over his shoulder. He doesn’t respond, but Yuuri sees him grimace and nod out of the corner of his eye.

The world has gone crazy and wants Victor and Yuuri dead. Well, anyone like Victor and Yuuri, who just so happen to have the wrong set of coding in their DNA. (Or the right set of coding, they would argue.) Their genomes could unlock cures to previously incurable diseases and conditions. They’re being hunted because they could hold the key to saving the world, because not saving the world keeps the economy from collapsing.

They had been labeled “impures”, and only those with such a name are told about the reality of the cruel world they live in and why they have to be eradicated before they meet their end. Why bother telling them, nobody knows. Maybe some figured they would accept their fate more willingly if they knew it was for a “good cause”. Well, good cause be damned, Victor and Yuuri had fought their fated demise and escaped. The two never knew each other back in regular society, but have since bonded through many years of struggle and survival together in a life on the run.

They’ve been walking for more than half of the day now and they’re both more than a little worse for wear. The autumn wind is cold and biting, and food and supplies are running low, as is morale. Yuuri is breathing heavily with the effort of supporting Victor as they walk, and the latter is stumbling from the hole in his leg courtesy of a recent ambush.

Yuuri hauls Victor further up his shoulder, keeping him upright. He can still remember the fight vividly; the sights and sounds refuse to leave his memory, and likely won’t for a while. He hears Victor yelling then promptly collapsing as he takes a bad hit, the group of survivors that they had been tagging along with shouting for them to flee, telling them of a base of allies some distance away. That’s where the two are headed now. Yuuri briefly wonders if the others are still alive, but decides it’s best not to dwell on it. Victor and Yuuri are alive for now, and that’s all that matters.

Yuuri spies a shelter in the distance, though he’s unsure if it’s their destination. As they get closer, he sees it’s a decent-sized shed. It’s abandoned and looks worn down, but with the sun setting soon and Victor leaning heavily on Yuuri as he fights to stay conscious, it will have to suffice for tonight. Yuuri readjusts Victor’s weight with a grunt and leads them inside. They collapse onto the ground panting and Victor groans as the impact jars his leg. “Yuuri…” he grits.

“It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be fine,” he repeats.

“Yuuri,” Victor says more firmly and Yuuri looks at him attentively. His back and head are supported by the wall behind them, and his normally stunning blue eyes seem more dull than usual, clouded with pain and fevered exhaustion. His face is smeared with dirt in places (as is Yuuri’s), and a bead of sweat trickles down by his temple. “I’ve had infected wounds before, but this feels too different,” Victor tells him gravely. “It’s like I can feel each of my cells dividing and combusting in my leg, and it’s slowly spreading. And it hurts. I’ve felt like this since the very moment the bullet entered my leg. I think this is some type of poison.”

“Poison or infection, it doesn’t matter. You’re gonna be fine,” Yuuri asserts again. “You have to be. We’ll find an antidote. We’ll find medicine. Something, anything! I’m not giving up on you!”

He takes off his knapsack, rummages in it and pulls out a bottle of rubbing alcohol. There’s not much of it left, but it will have to do. They still have some bandages too. Yuuri hopes it will be enough.

Victor is sitting with his eyes closed but he’s evidently still awake if the occasional furrow of his brows and quiet winces are anything to go on. His legs are outstretched in front of him, and his left calf has a dark red stain on it that has soaked through his jeans. Yuuri removes his knife from the holster on his thigh and uses it to cut the pant leg and expose the wound. It takes a while as the blade has dulled from use and the material is thick. The last of it is caked to the wound, and Victor gives a sharp hiss and his head thumps against the wall behind him as it’s peeled away.

Yuuri swallows hard as he finally gets a good look at the wound. Yuuri has experienced his fair share of gunshots, but this one is bad. It’s a nasty gash, swollen and oozing blood and some other fluid. The skin around the wound is tinted a dark purple colour, and Yuuri can clearly see the blood vessels underneath the surrounding skin. Okay, not normal. Definitely poison. Poison bullets. Well, that’s certainly new.

They would have to find an antidote somehow. But in order to find an antidote, they would need to know the type of poison they’re dealing with, which they don’t. Or at least know the symptoms, which they also don’t. All he has at this point is a fever and the odd skin colouration, as well as the sensation Victor mentioned earlier. If they wait too long for other symptoms to show, it might be too late.

Yuuri takes a deep breath, getting his mind back on track. They would deal with that later. For now, he opens the antiseptic and the sharp smells fills the room. Victor opens his eyes as it reaches his nose, his expression one of visible apprehension. This next part would not be pleasant.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri already apologizes, lips tight. Victor’s are as well.

“It’s okay. You have to do this,” he says grimly.

“It’s gonna hurt. A lot.”

“Don’t remind me,” Victor says dryly.

Yuuri averts his eyes. They fall onto the ripped fabric he had cut off earlier. Parts of it are still relatively clean. He uses his knife to salvage most of it before bunching it and handing it to Victor.

“Bite down on this. It should help.” He nods and does as told, laying himself flat on the ground.

Yuuri moves by Victor’s leg. He props his right leg on Victor’s left above the wound while one of his hands holds below it to keep him in place.

“Okay, here we go,” he exhales, and pours.The reaction is immediate. Victor’s body arches sharply underneath Yuuri and he has to fight to keep him in place as he cries out around the cloth. His eyes screwed tightly shut already have tears glistening at the edges. “I’m sorry,” Yuuri says at Victor’s evident agony. He tightens his hold, applies more antiseptic and feels tears of his own gather as Victor continues to writhe. Yuuri puts the bottle down and trades it for some wet bandages as Victor takes a short moment away from the pain to breathe. Yuuri wastes no time and wipes at the trail of dried blood on Victor’s leg, then adds more solution to the cloth and dabs it to the wound.

Victor yells around the fabric and kicks his leg and it slips out of Yuuri’s grasp. Victor has tears streaming down his face now, and his forehead is gleaming with sweat leaving his silver bangs plastered to the skin. His chest is heaving with heavy breaths, and Yuuri wonders if it’s more the fever or the pain that has him like this.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says again. “Just a bit more, I promise, okay?” He doesn’t wait for a response and he secures Victor’s leg underneath him again. He cleans the wound more carefully this time, and Victor thrashes less, even if only slightly. Yuuri then moves to dress the injury. He has to hold the leg up off the ground while wrapping the bandage around it, so it’s harder to keep Victor from moving. Luckily it’s not much of an issue. Victor is no longer having acid poured onto his open wound, though the pressure on it still causes him to turn his head and moan. Yuuri finds himself apologizing at each one.

The bleeding had stopped some time ago, but a steady but slow flow has started again at the agitation, already staining the white cloth. It shouldn’t bleed through too badly, though. Yuuri wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and exhales one last time. He’s no doctor, but it should do for now. He seals the cleaning solution and puts it in his knapsack, then withdraws a water bottle and pours a generous amount of the liquid onto some clean bandages held in his hand before putting the rest of the supplies back.

He kneels by Victor’s head. His eyes are still squeezed shut, tear tracks clearly visible from each eye, his silver brows furrowed. His jaw is set tightly around the material in his mouth, and his nostrils flare with each pained breath. Yuuri takes the wet bandage and drags it across Victor’s sweat-soaked face.

His eyes flutter open and the sensation and he moans contently this time. “It’s all over now,” Yuuri soothes. “You did so well, Victor.” He drags the wet bandage down to his neck, eliciting a soft hum in response as Victor’s eyes begin to close again. “Rest for now,” Yuuri says gently and kisses his forehead.

He removes the bunched material from Victor’s mouth who gives a shaky sigh of relief. Yuuri runs a hand through his damp hair and guides Victor’s head to rest in his lap before he quickly falls asleep, exhausted. Yuuri remains awake, keeping an ear out for any signs of danger while watching over Victor, finding comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest. It isn’t long before he too starts to nod off.

～

Yuuri is awake and alert at the sound of footsteps outside. They aren’t thunderous, but light and trained, and there are many of them. He recognizes what it means immediately.

“Shit,” Yuuri curses under his breath. He doesn’t dare move, just strains his ears and listens.

“Yuuri?” Victor’s tired voice whispers, and any further questions are cut off by a sharp ‘shh’ and a finger on his lips.

“Shit,” Yuuri hisses again, heart pounding so loud in his chest he’s sure whoever is out there can hear it. Victor certainly can, since he traces a finger over his cheek. The touch is feather-light, but calming.

A voice booms from outside. “We know you’re in there. There’s no point in trying to escape. We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”

Yuuri’s heart continues to pound, eyes panicked and glued on the door. It’s the only one in the shed, no other way out. Victor lifts his head from Yuuri’s lap and sits up, turning Yuuri’s face towards his and bringing their foreheads together. Their breaths are both shallow, Yuuri’s from fear and Victor’s more likely from the temperature his forehead is radiating against Yuuri’s own.

“What do we do?” Victor asks.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri sighs after a long pause. He pulls away.

“We can’t hand ourselves over to them,” Victor says.

“We can’t fight.”

“We can run,” Victor suggests. “We always do.”

“There’s no way. They have us surrounded. And you’re injured,” Yuuri points out.

“What other choice do we have?”

“Victor…” He bites his lip in frustration and anxiety, wishing Victor would listen to him and think more logically about the situation.

“Yuuri, these people have been hunting us for years over something we can’t even control! Something that could save people! I’m not just going to give up,” Victor argues.

Yuuri thinks about it, then stands.

“Then neither am I.”

Victor attempts to stand with him, but the fire in his leg coupled with Yuuri’s hand gently but firmly pushing down on his shoulder forces him back to the ground.

“Yuuri?” Victor questions.

“You’re staying here.”

“What? I thought we were running?” Confusion and irritation mingle in Victor’s voice.

“I told you, we can’t. I’m done with running. But I’m not going down without a fight.” Yuuri draws his pistol from his bag.

The voice from outside booms again, loud and impatient. “I don’t have all day!” The two turn anxiously towards the sound.

“Yuuri, you can’t,” Victor desperately begs and clutches Yuuri’s wrist.

He says nothing and stares at the door while biting his bottom lip, his back to Victor.

“They’ll kill you,” Victor whispers.

“They’ll kill us both instantly if we try and run.” He turns and kneels down to Victor with tears in his eyes and he cups his face. Victor returns the gesture and the the two connect their lips for a sweet but brief moment. Victor has tears streaming his face again. The sight reminds Yuuri of the night before, Victor in such excruciating agony. The sights and sounds are engraved in his mind. He won’t let himself forget it, and he sure as hell won’t let it happen again.

“No more running,” Yuuri resolves. He stands slowly and begins to walk away, Victor’s hand held lovingly in his own until the very last moment when they grow too far apart and the contact is lost. Heart aching, but determined, Yuuri steps outside.

He’s greeted by a line of black-clad men and women, all with stern faces and raised guns. Their leader is standing in the middle, a tall and stocky male with a buzz cut, a long scar cutting through his right eyebrow and a less-gruesome one on the left side of his face. His muscles are big and defined, visible even underneath his uniform. Its design is the same as those around him, but with many more stars and medals pinned to it. Yuuri wonders how many people this man had to kill to earn them all.

Yuuri has his gun in his hand at his side. He walks forward slowly and stops when ordered. His brown eyes survey around him, sharp and calculating. He takes in the scenery of the forest around them, dimly lit by the barely-risen sun. The air is crisp with the smell of dew and silent except for the chirp of the birds and other wildlife. It would have been peaceful to Yuuri if he wasn’t completely surrounded and held at gunpoint. He counts the number of opponents and draws up possible battle plans and escape routes, none of which would actually work without taking several bullets. Yuuri knows a lost battle when he sees one; this one is lost before it’s even begun.

He tosses the pistol aside and it clatters to the ground some distance away.

“We’ll go with you. But please save him.” His voice betrays him and wavers, the request coming out as more of a beg than a condition to their surrender.

Their leader smiles menacingly and stalks towards Yuuri, kicking the gun further out of reach without so much as a second glance. His own gun, a much larger weapon, hangs from a thick strap around his neck. He circles Yuuri as the latter stands rooted in place, like predator and prey. Everyone else still has their guns aimed and ready to fire at will. The only thing Yuuri dares move are his eyes. Even the rise and fall of his chest is carefully controlled.

The leader is behind Yuuri now and it’s paining him not to turn around. He instead forces his gaze straight ahead, on no-one and nothing and focuses on stilling his racing mind and heart. This is the only option, Yuuri tells himself. Running is out of the question. Fighting this many, with so little ammo, all while defending Victor would be suicide, and Yuuri dying would be a fate worse than death for Victor, worse than whatever these people are planning to do to them. Or so Yuuri can only hope.

The man behind him gives a sadistic huff of amusement, and the next thing Yuuri knows he’s on his knees. There’s an intense pain in the back of his head and his vision is a flash of blinding white light.

“You should have run while you had the chance,” the boss sneers. Yuuri’s being held upright by his hair, the scarred face focusing in front of him. “It’s always more fun when they try and run,” he comments almost wistfully, then throws Yuuri to the ground face-first. The man turns to his followers and bellows an order, and they move to the shed. Yuuri remains on the ground, a foot on his back keeping him in place. Even if it wasn’t there, he wouldn’t try to get up.

“Sir! He’s gone!” an underling reports a moment later. Yuuri’s eyes widen in shock.

With a tut of disapproval, the foot moves from Yuuri’s back to press down on his head. “Where is he?” the leader demands. Yuuri lets out a pained gasp, but nothing more; he won’t give him what he wants. The foot twists and presses down further and Yuuri grits his teeth as the question is repeated.

“Go to hell,” Yuuri spits with all the venom he can muster. The man above him growls and the foot is gone from his head and kicked harshly into his side. This time Yuuri does cry out in pain. The foot rolls him onto his back and presses hard and sharp into the very spot he was just assaulted, and Yuuri cries out again. His ribs are surely bruised, if not broken.

“Search the area. He can’t have made it far.”

Tears escape Yuuri’s eyes, and he’s not sure if it’s from the physical pain or the dread of what is to come. If he and Victor had only gone willingly, they might have still had a chance. Nobody actually knows what happens before “impures” die, just that they do. They would likely undergo scientific experiments before then, but they would need to be alive for that, right? Once Victor had been cured and healed, they could have planned an escape and made a run for it then. But now? Victor won’t survive on his own. Not to mention he’ll likely be shot on sight if he’s found. And as for Yuuri…There’s no hope for either of them now. Not that there was ever much hope from the start.

Yuuri allows more tears to fall. They roll down his cheeks and leave drops on the ground. He cries them silently; sobbing would aggravate the immense pain in his ribs. Another blow lands, and another and another. He loses track of where and how many; the only thing that registers is the pain. When they finally relent, Yuuri is left bloody, bruised and barely breathing. Some underlings sneer at him, hurl insults then take his body and drag it along the ground as they head back. He has no idea where they are going. The rough terrain creates new wounds.

This time, Yuuri does sob. His breath hitches painfully in his chest as he wonders how the world ever could have ended up like this, and hopes with all of his being that Victor will be alright.

～～～

(End)

*rubs hands together evilly and gleefully*

Thanks once again for 50 followers, and a special thanks to all of my wonderful friends who always message me and talk to me! And a super special thanks to my beta readers! You know who you are ;) This fic would not be what it is now if not for you!