#still living things like animals or even humans to sustain their hunger

[secret-spirit]

Excuse my poor unsteady hand I'm not used to this type of thing

[stranger-things-rewrite-takes]

So, Vecna is a weird wrinkly amalgamation of coiling tendon like things that kinda look like the upside down vines. And he survived there for YEARS. There was very little water in the upside down. If there's any at all, it's scarce, and the life within the upside down has adapted to be able to go long periods of time without water. He was wasting away for sure and the only living things that vaguey imply there's something to sustain life with (not really since the democreatures prefer earth animals to eat) are demogorgon creatues who have adapted. I like the idea that Vecna has sustained himself off of demogorgon blood, like actually cracking open these badboys and eating em like a boar in a horror movie. Feeding himself in a way that has allowed him to completely and utterly abandon his humanity (in his own way, ascend to godhood, devouring his followers in the way a twisted king might. But he still withered. Humans-- Which is what he must eventually fall to the limitations of-- Cannot live like that for very long. He will still lose weight, still hunger, still yearn for something better, as his flesh retracts in on itself. His flesh was slowly being replaced-- Ship of theseus style-- with flesh and plant life from the upside down, kept together by his own telekinesis. Eventually, his limbs moved at his own whim. His blood almost entirely not his own. His stomach heaved and concaved. But he was a god. And gods do not die. Gods do not starve and gods do not fall just because the flesh they were cursed to bear was too WEAK for his will. So he kept his body alive. By force. By WILL. By his ever so gracious gifts. He has kept every part of him. Moving. Vines wrapping around every organ. As he wills them to pump and contract in JUST the right way.

Even if he had to think in order to do it. To make each part of his body that used to run unconsciously... An active thought. Heart. Lungs. Liver. nerves. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves.

[riddlemethisjeremy]

On that post about autism winning you put in the tags how cannibalism isn't a great survival food source can you elaborate more on that because I'm genuinely curious

yes actually !!

So there are a few reasons for this

The first one, which im pretty sure i mentioned in the tags, is that human flesh is actually really low on calories.

And i know

"calories bad 😡😡😡 high calorie food isnt good for you etc. etc."

This is a diet culture myth

Calories are actually the human body's main source of long term energy your body converts it into fat to store it and then burns the fat to make energy when food is scarce/when you're using a lot of it at once.

Having a high calorie diet is like pretty good for people in stamina sports because it means they won't burn out too quickly.

When you're in a survival situation where food is scarce, you're gonna want foods either high in sugar so you can get your energy boost straight away (humans are not this because we burn through sugar like its gasoline) or high in calories so that you can preserve your energy and live longer, and so you can last off the same bit of food for longer. Food that is high in calories tend to be filling because your body is getting a bunch of storable energy really quickly and you do not need as much of it at once to live.

Because humans store energy as fat, though, a lot of the calories in it tend to burn when you would be cooking human flesh, meaning that most of the useful survival nutrients likely will be wasted. And making the assumption that this is a city person who is resorting to cannibalism as a final option, they probably would not be able to stomach raw human/not a hundred percent but it could possibly kill you? I know human meat gets compared to pork/chicken quite often and they're both white meats, which you can't eat raw. So in the basic sense of getting energy off of the food you're eating, humans just don't have the correct nutritional balance to sustainably keep you alive you'd have kill and eat another person every like two-three days whereas animals like pigs/goats/sheep you could live off for at least a week before they start to spoil (and even then if you cook it thoroughly uts still technically safe to eat for like almost a month) so if you can find something similar in your wilderness environment do so

Also don't quote me on this but pretty sure a good way to tell for meat with decent calorie intake is muscle vs fat

Beef cows are often bred for muscle as opposed to fat because the fat just lacks nutrients and doesnt satisfy hunger very well

So if you have a himbo friend they're going first just saying

But also humans aren't really naturally built to build muscle as well as they build fat, so either way chances are you'll still end up lacking calorie intake.

Reason number two !!

A pretty fuckin big one

Kuru

Kuru is a protien disease (i think thats the word). I dont know all the sciency shit but basically inside your brain you have these little chemicals and theyre unique to you. They like float around your body a little and vibe idrk why they're there.

However

When you ingest human flesh

The other persons little protein things attack your ones.

Most of what i know about the symptoms of kuru come from this one zombie game my dad used to play (z nation or gen z or some shit like that it was a super hardcore survival game) so like dont quote me too much on this

But basically it deteriorates your brain functions. You like start getting forgetful/judgement/risk evaluation gets affected/emotional management fucks off completely (you get all manic sometimes i think and like hysterical laughing is common in later stages) and eventually your brain just kind of in general stops functioning and you die.

And it takes a little while like a couple weeks or something i think depending on the amount of human flesh you consume.

And like you won't always contract a lethal level of kuru i think, like generally the further away from the brain you are the better off you'll be? Like if you eat a human brain you're practically dead on arrival but if youre munching on toes you have to eat like four or five people's worth to die

Fun fact: the penis is the only place on the human body this protein isnt found which means eating dick is safe.

But yeah kuru is nasty and i do not recommend to the average tumblr user.

Please bear in mind that i am not a science nerd do like the more scientific shit i am not a hundred percent on and you should probably take this with a lil grai of salt because i might have oversimplified or misunderstood something

But this is more or less why cannibalism is not a great survival tactic and should definitely be the last of last resorts

[kika501]

A hot take:

I was watching bones and all and could not help but have the profound realization that white America are like cannibals. The feast on the the body of color, whether it be Latino, native, southeast Asian, etc, but especially upon the black body. They consume all that there is to consume: our food, our music, our voices, our art, our words, our poetry, our creativity, and our culture. But that's not all, they always want- NEED, more. They consume our bodies, our labor, our time, our blood, sweat, tears, mind, heart, liver, every single morsel they consume. Bones and all.

And once the hunger is temporarily sated, they go to their white pickett homes, stomachs full and warm and. Then they gaslight us into believing that we are lesser. They pack us like animals into pens of poverty and say it is our fault that we live in such a state. They mock us for our culture and creativity that they so readily consume. They say stop and wait your turn. Don't you see this is the land of the free?

As a black woman in America, I live in such fear that all that I have will be taken away. I fear for my love ones, my little brother and cousins. I live in such fear that I refuse to have childern in this country, for where would I go? To the doctor that mutilates my body, forces a c section when not needed, refuse anesthetics because they are taught that black people can't feel pain (and yes even in 2023). Why would I bring a black baby girl or boy into a world that hates them? No matter were we go we are met with mockery, disdain and violence. Our original homes are raped continuously by colonizers so that I am force to seek sanctuary in their arms. Why would I bring a child to such a world that seeks to erase and rewrite our history so white America can still believe the lie that this is a country stands freedom, independence, and justice for all?

I cry myself to sleep knowing there is no where to run to find peace. That, at 22 years old, I find comfort in knowing that I will die one day and it will be finally over. I will decay in the ground were my skin with rot away and they can no longer eat my body because it is black. This is America. This is what this country means to me.

Please understand that this is coming from a state of confusion, hurt and betrayal. The recent political climate and events have really sent me spiraling. I've come to the realization that I don't want to live here anymore. I don't feel safe. Every day there are pick up truck waving Trump flags and blue lives matter passing by my house. My neighbors wave these flags. I no longer feel safe being surrounded by white men as a black woman. I hate being constantly reminded of my skin color. I hate knowing that by brother could just be skate boarding down the street and some cop can harass him and arrest him for no reason. That no punishment will occur. I have no trust in the the police force, for they are just another gang and tool for white supremacy. I don't want to know my body could be beaten and tossed aside and not one thing would change about this country. I'm tired. Even though I understand this sounds like a generalization of white people, it's not. It's an observation of the collective white identity and whiteness and how it makes me feel. While I'm open to conversation, I know no one cares. No one will change their mind no matter how much I scream, beg and cry. No matter how much facts you place upon them they will never see us human but nothing more than the fuel that sustains there body and way of life.

Either way it was eating me inside and I just was desperate to share.

[west-tokyo-incidents]

It's so warm.

CW; violence, gore(ish), idk what else to warn its almost 1am

-----

Hooves click on the hard, dark cobblestones. The mare lets out a snort. She gnashes against her bit. Her rider gently stills her with a hand to her neck.

"Hush, Vairon."

If a horse could growl, Paresse imagined she would, her ears folding back as she shakes her head. She takes no issue with her rider, living or dead. She takes issue, instead, with the loose shoe on her back foot.

"I know. I will find you a smithy soon." His voice is gentle like he is with no other creature.

It almost seems to calm her. She still indignantly refuses to let him brush her for the day when he dismounts before sunrise. The fledgling chalks her odd behavior up to her shoe... until he realizes she's staring off into the forest.

A hunter? Is he being tracked? His head tilts back and he sniffs the air. He doesn't smell human, nor any masking salve. He does smell smoke, though, and concludes that is what's causing his mare's caution.

With a hum, he leads her further off the road. It has rained recently, no fire should reach them if it's in the forest, but it doesn't hurt to be certain. A drain beneath the road will suffice for shelter.

Vairon shakes her head at the more rough terrain, but relents. She fears fire more than a sore foot.

While she grazes at the edge of the wood, he lays out on a rock inside the drain, keeping himself out of the running water.

It's oddly warm for so late in autumn.

-----

Vivid eyes watch the fledgling. He doesn't smell very old. He's so very stupid, too, sleeping in what may as well be open air. The only thing that keeps him at bay are the silver spikes on the horse's hooves and the strange weapon he carries.

The cloth around his neck as well, prevents a swift kill.

How bold, as to steal a hunter's garb and horse. Must be a young horse, untrained, if it doesn't attack its rider.

How very curious. But hunger gnaws in his stomach.

But he's too easy a target. Sitting in the open, belly practically bare, his skin still slightly flushed with whatever his previous meal had been. This fledgling will be a filling meal to sustain him long enough to leave on a proper journey back to where he belongs. A shame he was fairly pretty, as well.

His eyes flick up. The sun shines a barrier between him and the drainage pipe. He has waited a long time. He can wait a few hours more for the sun to dip barely below the horizon. For the shadows to grow long enough to connect the forest to the pipe. The dumb animal will not be a problem.

-----

Paresse startles awake to Vairon's scream. It's not a death scream, but a warning she's been trained to give at the scent of a vampire when her rider sleeps. Instantly, he twists, feet splashing into the drain. His eyes aren't even open fully when a large body slams into him.

They fall into the water and he feels intense pressure on his throat. A snarl rips from his throat without thinking. He acts purely on instinct. He gets his knees between the large body and himself before kicking.

Hard.

The motion makes the fangs in his neck tear through the cloth and hit silver.

The shriek that follows falls just short of agony, but only just. The weight comes off of him. His first priority is his weapon. Soaked and running on adrenaline, the shine of his lance is all he sees before his hand wraps around the leather handle. He whips around and brandishes it between him and his attacker.

He expected a beast form, for the weight that had been on him. Instead he sees a man with a hand over his mouth and fire in his eyes. The man is as big as a beast, shoulders nearly broad enough to brush either side of the tunnel. Only then does he smell the smoke. It burns his sinuses. He lifts his lips and bares his fangs.

The cloth on his neck hangs loose, torn now, and shows the silver plated collar still there, between the tears.

"Clever child." The larger vampire spits blood out and lowers his hand, "Lucky." He turns and bolts out the other side of the drain. Leaving the hunter in the tunnel.

Trapping him, Paresse realizes. He can't see his opponent. If he exits, he won't know where to defend from.

Usually.

A quick, two-note whistle, and an enraged whinny sounds out. Vairon's hooves clatter in one direction, and Paresse goes the other. She is trained to charge into battle, and she has done so many times against many more than one vampire. Once outside, the last rays of the day sting his skin, but he endures it. He claws his way onto and then over the road where his horse has gone.

A rising glee fills his throat. Delight colors his eyes a cruel shade as he lifts his chain tethered lance and throws it. It misses, but sends the vampire, panicked, into the trees.

With no thoughts, he climbs onto his mare's back and snatches his lance as she gallops past it and into the woods, following the vampire as he transforms and takes off, weaving between the trees.

-----

A mad cackle follows him. If it weren't for the sun above, he'd fly higher, fly away. But he can't. And if he stops, that lance will be in him before he can catch breath.

Foolish, foolish, foolish!! He should have known better!! He hadn't stolen that clothing, nor the horse, they were HIS!

He misjudges a tree, hits a branch. He swings into the trunk and the wood explodes beside him, silver blade far too close to his side for his liking. He climbs higher into the tree, out of the chain length of the weapon.

He hears the chain rattle, and then the weapon tearing out of the wood and falling to the ground.

"Oooh, batty, batty, why don't you fly away? Are you so hungry you can't wait for the sun to go down to attack? Treed like a common pest, ah?"

He looks down. The fledgling is pulling the pole arm back up to himself with the chain. He hisses down at him. A hunter turned vampire? What madness is this? What mad vampire had turned a hunter? Had he killed his sire?? The red fur of his chest heaves as he looks around frantically, trying to find a clear path through the trees to fly through again.

He doesn't see the hunter vampire unclip the chain from his belt and stand on his horse's back.

"Keep alert, fire-rat!"

Only the hunter's words make him look back down to see the lance as its loosed. In a panic, he jumps off the tree to try and fly, but it's too late. He screams as it hits his thigh.

The ground rushes up at him too fast.

-----

Paresse grins at the sickening crack-thud of wingbones hitting the ground. He jumps off Vairon's back and walks over to the heaving piles of beast, with no hurry to his step.

A wheezing laugh makes the blades of grass by its face sway and shudder, "What... what the hell are you, demon?"

He rips the weapon out of its thigh and circles around to its face, head tilting. He doesn't answer, letting a pause stretch out.

"Don't tell me you've got no fight left in you." He pokes at its flank with the tip of his blade, like a child poking at a corpse with a stick.

"What good would it do me? My wing broken, my leg maimed, my would-be prey a mad man... tell me, who turned you? A hunter?"

"None of your concern."

"They're dead, aren't they? What a fool... is the turning that maddened you? Turned into your own prey, and made you this?"

A laugh, a cacophanous cackle that bounces off the trees. Paresse sits down on a jutting root, laying the weapon across his knees, "You'd make a good jester, smoke-stink. No, I've always been mad. You're clearly from east-France. I'm far too known in the west." He licks his teeth, muscle flicking off the sharp tip, "Tell another joke, clown-rat. Before you bleed out."

A hum rolls out of the beast's chest, "And why would I give you the pleasure? You revel in this. If I am your jester, then kill me, my king, for I will entertain you no more." He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh.

Paresse narrows his eyes. He gets up again and kicks his foot against the beast's shoulder, causing a cry of pain. He presses his blade to the creature's throat and lifts its chin to face him. Deep green eyes squint open at him.

"No, I don't think I will. I'll leave you here to rot. I'll let the mice and maggots eat holes into your pretty hide. Maybe I'll come back through here and fetch your skull, hang it off Vairon's saddle." He smiles, and it's anything but comforting, "A shame, if you'd just listen, I might even have made you my pet." He pulls the blade away and turns to get on to his proud looking horse.

He pauses, seeing the beast staring back at him, "Tell me, what was your name?"

The vampire lets out a small, weak laugh, likely at being referred to in the past already, "Fierté..."

Paresse laughs, "Sins, the both of us. How fitting an end for Pride, at the hands of Sloth."

-----

Fierté stares at the man's back as he rides away. He would have taken a breath and turned him to ash is he hadn't been so hungry.

Sloth.

Paresseux.

Hah. What an end, indeed.

He waits until he can't hear the hoof-falls any more. Then heaves himself up.

Thankfully, it won't really be the end. He twists and becomes human-looking again, finger-bones easier to set than wing bones. His thigh wound cauterized with a careful press of his fingers into it.

He still needs to eat. Perhaps a rabbit will ease the pain enough for him to get back to the village. He'll have to risk the hunter there to do it, but he has no choice any more. He just has to hope he doesn't hit a thrall of the greater beast there.

He sits there a moment longer, the shining green in his 'king's' eyes on his mind's eye. It lingers like the burn of the sun lingers on his skin. A mad man... he must be just as mad, he thinks, as a little smile comes across his features.

[deejadabbles]

Vampire Atem/Yami Alphabet Headcanons

Found this list of vamp-themes headcanons by @an-annyeoing-writer and I knew I had to do them for our favorite king-turned-spirit!

For those of you who read my Spells of Defiance series, these headcanons can be taken as 100% canon to that AU <3

A - Accident - would they turn someone to save their life?

Oof, already starting with a hard one. So, Atem is one of those vampires who hates his existence, he believes it’s a curse. However, he does still love and care for people deeply, and he knows that for many, life is sacred even if it’s a cursed life. I think in a moment of weakness, especially in his earlier years as a vampire, he might turn someone just because he’s desperate not to lose them, only to regret his decision later, especially if that someone is like him and hates what they’ve become. We all make mistakes, right?

B - Bite - how do they bite? Sensually, aggressively? Do they make it hurt or try to be gentle?

Atem is extremely gentle when he feeds off of people, always careful not to bite too deep or tear the skin more than needed, he even holds you and tries to soothe you with gentle strokes of his hands. Now, whether he tries to make it “sensual” or at all sexual...that’s a complicated topic. While Atem is almost always disgusted with himself when/while he feeds, he does recognize that there is a level of intimacy and even romance that can be connected with drinking blood, so sometimes he can be persuaded to make it a more sensual thing if you’re his lover. 

C - Control - do they take advantage of their powers?

That depends on who’s in the equation. I can see Atem using his new powers in order to bring justice to those he sees as wrong doers (like his season 0/early manga-self) as a way to make his vampire abilities useful, so from that angle he would “take advantage” of his powers. He might even get some small gratification in using his strength and speed to hunt down evil people, them cowering in fear is retribution for their wrong-doings, but even that’s not too over the top. Other than that, no, he doesn’t really use his powers for advantages over others.

D - Dangerous - how scary they can get? How bad things can they do? What’s their ethics?

So, while Atem does have a very strong moral code, Atem also has a temper, and said temper might be harder to control when he’s a vampire. Even when he’s not growling in anger, he can have this cold glare that could make bikers squeamish. There are moments, especially when he was a younger vampire, where he loses his temper and can get pretty scary. If you’re his loved one don’t worry too much, he would never lose control enough to hurt you, even though his yelling (and maybe throwing a thing or two) is pretty scary on it’s own. If you’re someone he sees a vermin though watch out, when he gets scary you’re probably going to end up dead or wishing you were dead.

E - Exchange - do they opt for blood bags or animal blood, if possible?

He opts for animal blood as often as he can. Sometimes he’ll hunt said animals himself but even that is a little too violent for his liking (Atem is a softie okay?!) so if he can go to a local butcher and get animal blood from them he’ll do it that way. He’s not fond of blood bags because A) they’re harder to acquire and B) having human blood in a cold plastic bag just makes him long for warm human blood and skin under his teeth more. Sure animal blood isn’t as sustaining for him, but Atem spent decades (maybe even centuries) figuring out how much animal blood he needs to consume in order to keep his blood lust under control so he’ll choose that over harming an innocent human.

Also, side note, if you live with him I hope you don’t have a sensitive sense of smell, because he heats up the blood on the stove to make it taste better and it can make the house stinky lol

F - First bite - on what occasion would they bite you for the first time?

Oooh that’s a good one. Like I said Atem has a very complicated relationship with feeding from his loved ones, especially his s/o, and he’s never going to ask you for your blood. So I’d say that not only would you have to offer your blood to him, but he would have to be out of other feeding options at the time. He knows that once he reaches a certain point of hunger he loses control and might kill you in a hunger-induced blood rage, so if drinking from you now, before he gets to that point, prevents that danger, he’d be willing to. Like I said above, Atem would be very gentle with you on that occasion, holding you close and stroking the skin around the bite mark to soothe any pain, and when he’s done he’d kiss the wound and the sore skin around it as amends.

The only other “first bite” scenario I can think of is if you spend months convincing him that you don’t mind (or even like) the occasional bite and finally convince him to drink your blood during an intimate moment, and again he’s very gentle and mindful of not hurting you.

G - Growl - are they more on the “civilized” side or do they enjoy hunting their prey down?

A bit of both, I guess? Since he tries not to drink from humans he’s more civilized in that way, but like I said before he does “hunt” evil people like an avenging dark angel, which he may get some small form of enjoyment from, so... 

H - Hate - how do they feel about their kind? About themselves?

It’s honestly pretty depressing how much self-loathing Atem harbors. He genuinely thinks he’s an abomination. It doesn’t help that in all his centuries of living, he’s met very few vampires who’re “good” like him. He’s also someone who’s on a high horse and if he met a vamp who didn’t kill human’s but also wasn’t self loathing like him, he’d look down on said vampire. I’m warning you now if you fall in love with him, his self-hatred is very upsetting and can be hard to deal with.

I - Intimacy - how fast would they let you close to them? Would they want to share with you what they are?

Surprisingly, I say it’s not that hard. See, even though Atem thinks he’s a monster and tries his best to stay away from people, he also craves companionship and love. Sure, he’s spent several chunks of his immortal life isolating himself in remote woods and tall mountains for decades at a time, but he always returns to humanity at some point. So if you show that you want to be close to him he’ll try to warn you or even scare you away a bit, but it won’t take too long to let you in. And yes, he’d share what he is with you if you started to get close to him, not only as a means to scare you away “before he can hurt you” but also so you know what you’re getting into by being near him.

J - Joke - would they do pranks on other people with the use of their powers?

Sometimes, yes. If he’s close to you, he’ll start to get comfortable and like teasing you, so he’ll do minor things like sneak up behind you soundlessly and jump scare you, or zoom past you to get to something before you and play keep-away. Also, he doesn’t do this one intentionally, but sometimes he’ll be sitting in a dark room, and when you walk in you just suddenly hear this voice calling out to you in the darkness, scaring the crap outta you lol

K - Key - what’s the way of making them open up to you?

Honestly just...continue to shove your friendship in his face. Like I said under “intimacy” he still craves relationships and companionship despite how much he fears hurting people. He may try to push you away at first but if you just continue to hang around him he’ll eventually stop trying to scare you away and start opening up to you little by little.

L - Life - do they wish they were human?

Absolutely. I can see Atem, ever the fixer of problems, spending the first few hundred years searching for a cure for his “condition” not just for himself but for others who view vampires the same way. He often thinks about what his life would have been if he hadn’t been turned, and daydreams about the possibility of becoming human again. 

M - Murder - would they kill someone while feeding? Have they ever done so?

Atem has killed while feeding, yes, but not voluntarily. I’m going with the general lore that vampires, when starved too long, can't control their bloodlust and Atem has killed while in that state. When he wakes with a limp, lifeless body in his arms, he’s a devastated wreck. Hurting innocent people is literally his living nightmare and the idea that his bloodlust can turn him into an animal sickens him. He would spend decades learning how much blood he needs to consume and how often, in order to keep that bloodlust from taking control.

N - Nature - do they justify their doings? Do they consider them natural?

Atem, the self-loathing martyr of a fanged prince, considering his bloodlust natural? LMAOOOO No. No he doesn’t, nor does he ever justify his actions. In fact, he uses the terrible things he’s done to justify why he shouldn’t be loved or even alive.

O - Odd - do they have any specific hobbies or habits?

Our gentle dark prince still loves games and puzzles, I think he’d like modern brain teasers that keep his mind sharp and un-ironically loves the puzzle games printed on the back of sunday newspapers, even though they aren’t hard (for him anyway). If you got close to him and showed him games he never got to play bc they’re multiplayers he’d honestly love you. He’d win most of the time, let's be honest, especially things like Clue, but his expression is just so cute and excited when you play his favorites that you’d lose 1000 times over just to see it.

P - Pain - are they sadistic? Do they enjoy what they do?

Nope. I think you all have the idea by now but Atem is one of the most self-loathing and gentle vampires you’d meet....or at least he’s gentle with you. Other vampires who hurt people for fun? Okay, I can see him being ever so slightly sadistic when dealing with creatures like that, he has no mercy for vampires who’ve embraced their monstrous curse, best you run the other way when he punishes them, else you may actually get a little frightened of him...

R - Roles - do they enjoy pretending to be normal people? How do they feel about leaving their life behind to start a new one?

I wouldn’t say that Atem pretends to be normal, in fact, the only part of his vampirism that he embraces is being an “other”, or rather, the aesthetic of being odd, something that most humans feel uneasy when confronted with. He’d see this as a good tool to keep people he may hurt away from him. He’s no stranger to stalking graveyards/cemeteries, creeping in the shadows in a way that has others scurrying past if they happen to spot him, basically anything that makes him seem creepy and makes others keep their distance. Ultimately it hurts him since he’s unexplainably lonely, but it hurts more to know he may hurt the humans he comes across. On the same note, leaving behind one life for another to avoid suspicion is a double-edged sword for him, while it reminds him how terribly lonely existence is, it’s good to keep those who might’ve grown close to him safe.

S - Scars - do they leave marks or try to make the wounds small and invisible?

If Atem feeds from someone voluntarily (as in, not in an animalistic state), he’ll do everything he can to not leave lasting marks. Leaving marks means more pain and we all know how much he hates causing pain to others. 

T - Turned - how were they turned?

In my fic, Marik turned Atem as a form of revenge, but otherwise, I could honestly see Atem being turned by any YGO villain. I say villain because him being cursed with this life by a villain (like Bakura for example, or maybe another minion of Zorc) kind of goes along with the original story’s need to punish Atem and cast him into darkness for things that ultimately weren’t his fault.

U - Universe - what’s their biggest wish that they can’t achieve as immortals?

Mostly just...being close to people without constantly worrying that he’ll hurt or kill them. I can also see Atem yeaning for the simple pleasure of growing old and dying with one's family. If he fell in love he would crave the ability to just settle down and grow old together. Hell, he’s even one of those morbid romantics who thinks couples dying within days of each other is sweet and wishes he could do that when he loses his lover to old age.

V - Vampire - would they turn you?

Man again with the hard ones! Oof, okay, so...If you asked Atem to turn you, he’d say no, reciting his monologue about how vampires are cursed vermin who shouldn’t even exist, even if you retained your humanity after the turn, he knows the deep reaches of this curse and what it will make you do, and he hates the idea of you going through what he has.

...However, much like in the very first headcanon on this list...Atem makes mistakes and has his weak moments. If your life ended unexpectedly, of you were taken from him suddenly, like attacked or in some fatal accident, he may turn you in a moment of weakness; a desperate need to cling to you taking over his better judgment. He’d hate himself after and the only way he’d ever feel okay with it, is if time proved that you retained your humanity. He would teach you how to control your blood lust so you don’t have to go through half the things he has, and only then would he be okay with what he did to you in his moment of weakness.

W - War - would they engage in fighting their own kind for the humanity’s sake?

Yes! No one even has to ask him, Atem basically thinks the only good thing he can do with his powers is to rid the world of other vampires. He’s basically an avenging angel who’ll hunt down any vampire who threatens a human.

Y - Yandere - would they become dangerous to you (their lover)?

For the most part, I’d say no. Atem is self-aware and emotionally intelligent enough to tell if he ever starts crossing lines into “unhealthy” territory, and if that ever happened, he’d literally run away. He would leave you in order to protect you, no matter how much it hurt. There may be one (literally ONE) incident where he does something to you that crosses the line, but he’d be instantly horrified and remove himself from your life, moving to the other side of the world with no means to follow him, if it meant protecting you from himself. Now the chances of this happening in the first place? Hard to say. I really don’t think Atem is unhinged or even violent enough for it to be likely, but, an argument could be made that after everything he’s gone through, Atem may start seeing you and his love for you in an obsessives, unhealthy way. Again though, even if this did happen he would realize it and run away before it can go too far.

Z - Zombie - are they on their way to losing sanity?

I don’t think so. Atem is as strong (mentally/emotionally) as they come. Maybe eventually, after millennia and millennia of constantly losing loved ones and dealing the the monster he’s become he would start losing his sanity, but that would take a long, long time. 

[like-rain-or-confetti]

The Monster You Wanted (Alec Volturi x Reader)

Warning: Dark themes! Blood! Violence!

After being turned into a vampire, the persons human loved ones would deem them unrecognisable. Physically their loved ones features have altered. They're beautiful but some can't ignore the pit in their stomach when seeing the piercing stare their loved one has. However, the biggest change is actually in personality. 

For the first year, a vampires sole purpose is to quench their never ending bloodlust. They'd do anything to get it. Driven mad by constant thirst for human blood. So much so there's almost nothing left to be seen of the human that was once known. A monster wearing a loved ones skin. 

After that first year, the person that used to be can come back, but never entirely. Those who were caring, will begin to care that little bit more after that year. Although underneath, there is still the predatory instincts that require a level-head. Not everyone has the patience of a saint. No longer are vampires strangers to violence. A perfect mix of a terrifying monster and the human that used to be. 

In theory, you shouldn't have been any different. Yet there was no doubt that you were. You were the latest addition to the Olympic coven and almost everyone knew about you. You were very young, barely over six months since your transformation. By definition, you here half way through newborn stage. Although not once in that time had you acted like a newborn. You avoided humans like the plague, finding the smell too much. Although this went beyond self control. It also included the immense guilt you felt at the very thought of feeding from a human. Furthermore, you were more kind than anyone in the Cullen's could ever be. You thought the best of everyone to the extent it was almost naive. 

Some found it strange, off putting such as Peter and Charlotte. So much so that they tried to keep their distance just in case you were to snap. Although you never did. Others, like the Romanians and the Volturi thought it childish, and pathetic. It made you almost outcast from the rest seeing nothing you had done in your vampire life was normal. You were kind but quiet. Unlike any vampire surrounding you, coven or not, it was known you couldn't hurt a fly and everything about that in their eyes was just plain wrong. 

It was you and Emmett who were sent to fetch the Volturi. Knowing their past, it wouldn't go down well if the wolves caught sight of any unknown vampire. Especially those who belong to the Volturi. Emmett's goofy personality was long gone and watched each Volturi like a hawk for even the smallest of movements. It was of no surprise that Carlisle sent the muscle of the coven as well as the newborn. It was a surprise considering it was you. The most harmless newborn ever known. 

Although your kindness could appeal to the leaders. Aro knew Carlisle well. "Ah, young (Y/N). It is always a delight to be greeted with such a lovely face." You rocked back and forth on your heels. It was common given how much adrenaline you had most of the time. Sometimes you just couldn't sit still. Although many considered it an easy fix, a few newborn rages would fix such an issue. "Hello." You said simply with a smile. "Carlisle sent us to fetch you. Just so you don't run into any issues with the pack." "That is appreciated, dear." Marcus responded. "Although unnecessary." Caius added with a small scowl. Your head quickly turned to Emmett. "Let's go!" You chirped, skipping back to the house, your hands behind your back.  "How childish." Felix said to Demetri under his breath. "They're a newborn, be glad someone's pleased to see you." Emmett responded with snark. "Keep your voice down." "Or what? They'll hug me to death?" Felix challenged. "It's not (Y/N) you'll be dealing with." Emmett looked back at Felix. "Emmett." Rosalie warned as you skipped by her with a grin and without a care in the world and into the Cullen home. Almost like you hadn't heard the exchange. 

"Thank you, Emmett." Carlisle approached the door with a smile as the group entered. "What about me!?" You cried out from upstairs. "Thank you as well, (Y/N)!" Carlisle called back with an amused smile before addressing the Volturi. "My apologies I couldn't come out to meet you. I had a phone call from the hospital." "Not at all, Carlisle." Aro responded. 

Felix and the twins moved into the sitting room where Emmett, yourself and Jasper were. You stared at the remote for the TV like it held the world's secrets. "(Y/N), it's easy just pick it up gently." Emmett said. "My gentle isn't the same as your gentle!" You replied. "I don't want to break it!" "You have broken a grand total of four things in this house, (Y/N). All of us have done that in fifteen minutes. Just pick it up. You're overthinking it." Emmett said with ease. "I have to overthink it or I will break it." You replied again. Your hand hovered over the remote, pulling back every time you got close to touching it as if it had bit you. The three guards couldn't believe what they were seeing. Here was a newborn of seven months, jerking away from an inanimate object like it could hurt them. Each guard broke many things in minutes without thinking, including necks. It was very apparent on their faces since Jasper gave them a cold stare in warning. Next thing the Volturi guards knew, you had grasped the remote and apologising to it. They couldn't believe their eyes. "Take it!" You chanted hurriedly to Emmett who chuckled and took it from you. That night, you were agitated. You were hunched over, arms across your stomach and a hand on your throat. Meanwhile Felix and Alec were in the room with you, watching as this went down. They heard you stifling small groans and trying to clear your throat. "What's wrong?" Felix asked but didn't really care. "Nothing." You whispered doubling over a little further. "Seriously, what's with you?" Felix rolled his eyes. That's when Caius walked in and behind him, Jasper. Jasper looked at you. "It's about time you fed. You know it doesn't affect us the same way." You shook your head. "Come, I'll go with you. It's time." You sighed rising to a stand. Jasper led you out the door leaving the Volturi members in the room alone. "They had to be prompted to feed? Disgraceful." Caius sneered. "They feel guilt often." Carlisle said as he walked into the room. "They aren't quite used to and accepting if this life yet." "It's been seven months." Caius responded coldly. "Even you can admit their behaviour is a little odd, Carlisle." "Perhaps, but what would that change?" Carlisle lightly shrugged. "It's unheard of but they haven't been a problem to you or to me." 

Alec sat on a tree branch rather high up, enjoying the night when you returned. "I didn't take you as the climbing trees kind!" You called up to him with a smile. Alec lightly shrugged. You eyed the route to the branch he was on. It was simple enough. The branch trembled as you moved to sit beside him on the branch. Using the branch above as leverage and stepping over him. Alec internally sighed, it seemed the solitude was short lived. "Are you okay? I usually wouldn't think anything of it but you're out here alone whilst your sister is inside." You asked. "Well we aren't conjoined twins." Alec said coldly and you seemed taken aback. Such tone would have caused any other newborn to attack but not you. Never you. The silence made him rethink his words. "What I mean to say is that I'm fine. My sister and I always spend some time apart. It isn't exactly healthy to spend so much time with someone." "Oh, as long as you're okay. Do you want me to leave you alone?" "Do what you wish." Alec responded. "I won't force you to leave after all your effort to get up here and not break the tree." Alec hadn't meant it to be funny. In fact if anything it was supposed to be insulting. Yet you laughed, seeing the funny side. "Well when you put it that way." You swung your legs. "I'll stick around." Alec hummed. "Not many people would willingly choose my company." Alec mused with a hum. "I'm not like most people." You responded flatly, your smile long gone as you looked up into the sky. 

Alec turned his head to look at you and in that moment he knew that you knew how everyone felt about you. "Are you feeling better?" Alec asked. "A little. It did more for my stomach than it did my throat if I'm honest. I thought a mountain lion would have done the trick." Alec wanted to call you an idiot. You didn't have to be the smartest to know that newborns were ravenous. Not even a whole pack of mountain lions would have been enough. Furthermore, animal blood was no where near as fulfilling as human blood. "Well," Alec said whilst looking around. "If you start feeling hungry again, I'm sure there are a few squirrels around." You giggled. "I never knew you were funny." Alec hummed again. "I don't know how you can sustain yourself on that. Animal blood. I never understood in general but a newborn? I don't know how you aren't destroying villages at the very thought." You shrugged. "I've never had human blood so I have nothing to compare it to. Besides, from what I heard. It's better that way. Seemingly once you have human blood its really hard to go back." "Will you at least admit that it's disgusting?" Alec asked, turning to look at you. You bit back a smile. "Go on, admit it. It's disgusting." "It is but, it works." You admitted and Alec rolled his eyes. 

"I hear you've been in the Volturi for a very long time." You spoke up. "Yes, a very long time." Alec answered. "Do you remember what it was like to be a newborn?" "Not entirely. You remember it differently from the other years of your existence.i remember destroying and burning my village to the ground. I remember the rage I felt, the ravenous hunger but it's like remembering a dream. Nothing directly reminds me of it." Alec said. You went quiet, deep in thought. "I couldn't imagine going through what you and your sister did. I found it vile, how anyone could do that to another person." "Not everyone is like you, (Y/N). People usually hate what they don't understand. There are people in the world who want to hurt people, who live for it...like I do." You turned your head to Alec. "I've always been honest. That night changed my sister and I. I don't have an issue with hurting people despite what my gift may be." "You think people should suffer because you did?" You asked quietly and Alec nodded. "Not the best outlook but it's there. I don't intend on changing that any time soon. In fact, that makes me wonder about you." "Me?" "My experiences made me who I am today. So what happened to you to make you the way you are?" You lowered your head. "There really isn't a story to tell." You admitted. "A vampire came across me, thought I was sweet. They figured it was enough reasoning to change me. Carlisle found me before I woke up. I never found out who they were." After a moment of thought, you lightly shrugged. "I don't really believe it changed me much...or at all." "You've never wandered, strayed from the Cullen way of living?" Alec asked. "No, I don't have any intention either. Why?" "It's not often that newborns stay put and in control. You find they like to go nomadic. They just don't do well in covens. Although, I can't say it's impossible. Here you are." "You know I'll always be around." You smiled brightly. 

Days passed and he found himself spending more time with you than intended. He didn't dare admit you were growing on him. Instead, he did his best to swallow it down and pretend it wasn't there. 

You had been used to comments about you by now. Everyone made your behaviour known to be different. You’d be lying if they hadn’t begun to take their toll since the Volturi had arrived. It just meant more pairs of eyes casting judgement on what you should be rather than what you were. The Volturi considered newborn vampires, uncontrollable monsters. Therefore you couldn’t understand why they took such issue with you being the exact opposite. Then again, perhaps you did. Caius had said at least four times that your behaviour wasn’t natural. In the end, they had already drawn their conclusions about you. The Cullen’s were never so blunt. Sure, you were a little different but they welcomed that. After all, they were different too because of their diet. Although you could still see the flicker in their eyes of slight confusion. At least they had the decency to try and hide it. 

Much to your surprise, you had spent much more time with Alec. You would have called him a friend but you weren’t too sure if he’d say the same. He still had his own judgements but he didn’t avoid your company. In your eyes, knowing Alec, that was progress. 

The comments had begun to wear you down and that became evident. You weren’t as lively and cheerful. You had begun to seek out solitude, to the extent that Alec would seek you out for company rather than vice versa. That is when you didn’t talk as much, always saying enough for a decent answer but never going further. You spent more times out doors.  “Something’s wrong.” Rosalie said, watching you sit with Renesmee. She was full of life and, usually, so would you. Not this time. Instead you sat on the ground, not even cracking a smile. Carlisle stood behind Rosalie, his arms crossed and concern etched across his face.  He said nothing as he left the house, approaching the two of you.  “Renesmee, might I speak with (Y/N) alone for a moment?” Carlisle asked. Renesmee nodded with a smile before running inside. Carlisle sat beside you, his back against the tree beside you. “You have us a little worried, (Y/N). Is there anything I can help with?” Carlisle didn’t need three guesses to know what had bothered you. However he thought it important that you said it for yourself. You didn’t look at Carlisle, your eyes falling to your lap. 

After a moment of silence, he spoke up. “Have i ever told you that before I had a coven, I stayed with the Volturi for a decade...on the animal blood diet.” This got your attention, making you look up at Carlisle. He nodded in confirmation. “I was the only one they knew of with such a diet and they didn’t understand it. Aro and Caius tried to change me, bring me to feed on human blood but at the end of the day, it isn’t what I wanted and eventually they grew to respect that. So i know what it’s like for those to be unsatisfied with who you are, to not fulfill expectations. Although I also know that words come and go and you don’t have to change for anyone.“  “Did it get easier?” Carlisle hummed. “It took a long time but i found people who accepted me. Not to mention finding the one who loved me the most of all.”  “What did you do then?” You asked. Carlisle smiled. “I made them my family and i married the one who loved me the most.” You cracked a small smile at the mention of the Cullen’s and Denali. It faltered as something took over your mind and Carlisle’s gaze narrowed slightly, noticing the shift.  “I feel like a freak.” You whispered. “I’m tired of constantly maintaining appearances, all the while everyone is looking at me. I used to be able to ignore it, think of myself as the lucky one who didn’t have to be this monster that newborns are described to be...but now i can’t even do that.” Carlisle listened as you continued. “Everyone’s afraid of me. I see the look everyone gives me. It makes me afraid of me too.”  “(Y/N), you are a wonderful person and no one is afraid of you. You have given us no reason to be-”  “-but that's what is wanted, for me to be that monster everyone is so afraid of. As though that's what is best for the world.” You interrupted. “It makes me sad, but it’s also starting to make me angry.”  “They’ll be leaving soon, just endure. I promise, no one can hurt you. Not unless you let them. When they’re gone, you and I could go on a trip, whatever you like.” You nodded slowly in response. “Maybe.” You said quietly. 

 The Volturi left two days later. You had gotten many comments in that time. However, you had most certainly gained a friend by the end of the visit. After that, the Cullen's left for a hunt. You chose to stay behind. You weren't hungry. It wasn't a lie. Although they returned the next morning to find you gone without even so much as a note. After a lot of discussion within the coven, Carlisle insisted that the Cullen's left you alone and that you would be back. Edward returned after all.

'This world will eat you whole. This world will eat you whole!' You didn't remember why that sentence stuck to you like glue but it never left you. Never had it felt more applicable and ironic. You were on the top of the food chain. Yet you didn't feel like it. You felt as though you were drowning in the world, at the very bottom. You had no clue how long you had been walking. Although you also didn't care, a dark numb sensation flooding through your body. 

Three months had passed and you hadn't so much had made a call. Eventually the Cullen's contacted the Volturi to inform them that (Y/N) had been gone for a long time. The Volturi offered Demetri's services but Carlisle refused the offer, maintaining you'd return upon your own accord. Although he thought it right to inform the Volturi for Alec seeing as the two of you had developed a friendship. 

“Why do people do that?” Esme said to Carlisle. The light breeze brushing the hair from her face, revealing her coal black eyes.  “Do what?” Carlisle asked softly.  “Try to change people they don’t understand.” She answered.  “Some require it. There are dangerous people in the world, Esme.”  “(Y/N) wasn’t one of them.” Esme responded.  “You’re right.” Carlisle responded. “There are many who don’t need to be changed. It’s simply down to the fear of the unknown. Our kind didn’t understand (Y/N) so the first impulse is to try and change them.”  “It’s horrible.” Esme said quietly.  “They’ll come back, Esme. They aren’t the type to just disappear from off the face of the earth. They just need some time.”  “I tried so hard to make sure they knew they were loved. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.” Carlisle took Esme’s hand and kissed it gently. “You’re too good for this world sometimes, my love.” Carlisle said softly with a smile.  

The rain poured down, soaking your clothes and skin. It was nightfall, but you could still differentiate the dark, large clouds smothering the sky. You must have looked odd, walking in the outing rain without even a jacket. Although you didn't feel the cold. It didn't bite at you like it had when you were human. As a matter of fact, you barely felt it. The town around you went unnoticed by you. However you didn't go unnoticed. 

"(Y/N)!?" A female voice called out and you slowed to a stop. Slowly your turned your head towards the voice. "Get in! You'll freeze out here!" It was Angela Weber. You had seen her around a couple of times. Although you were 'home schooled', so those times were usually indirect encounters with someone else. You could hear her heart beat quicken, worry etched across her face. Without protest or even a twitch, you crossed the street and into the car. 

"What are you doing out here!? Did you just get caught in the rain!?" You didn't respond, staring ahead through the windshield although you raised her shoulders up and down as though you were breathing. "I'll take you back to the hotel, you'll freeze out there with that." She nodded to your clothing before driving. "What are you doing here?" You asked quietly. "I've been looking at universities out with Forks. The one I'm in, doesn't really fit me. So I've taken the opportunity to get some travel in whilst I've been looking. What about you?" She asked. "What brings you all the way out here. Is Dr Cullen with you too?" Slowly you shook your head, but didn't give her an answer as to why you were there. Whilst she looked concerned, she didn't press the issue. You knew Angela well enough to know that she was thinking the worst, that something could have it has happened to you. It was sweet of her but unnecessary. 

She led you to her hotel room. "You can take a shower and...if you give me your clothes, I can put them on the radiator to dry off. I have a hoodie and some pajamas that you can borrow." You nodded, heading into the bathroom. You did as she said, not because you needed or would benefit from it, but because you were watching her like a hawk eyed it's prey. You let her be comfortable and do things of her own accord almost like she'd forget you were ever there. 

Whilst you were in the shower, Angela popped her head around the door, not looking at you and gathering your clothes. "I'm just getting these." She said, bundling your soaked clothes into her arms and promptly closing the door. She returned seconds later to drop off a towel and the clothes she'd let you borrow. You were quiet, quieter than Angela remembered. It had crossed her mind to call someone but decided against it. She could handle this. Perhaps you needed the shower and a good night's sleep. Then the two of you could figure out what to do for you in the morning. It required patience to hang all of your clothes on such a small radiator but it was manageable. Your clothes were freezing to the touch and soaked. So much so Angela wasn't even sure if they'd be dry by morning and she had no doubt they were uncomfortable in such a condition. However she would still try. It was a cheaper option to have a hotel room with one bed and one bathroom. She was provided a small TV plugged in, on top of the drawers. Although it wasn't so beneficial now that there were two of you. She turned on the TV simply to break the silence, casting a glance the the pouring rain gliding down the small window above the radiator. 

After ten minutes, you emerged in the hoodie and shorts she had provided. She offered you a small smile and you returned it. "Do you mind if we share the bed? I didn't anticipate two of us." Angela smiled meekly. "It's a double bed, so it shouldn’t be a bother." You responded somewhat quietly. "Good." She nodded. 

After some time, Angela was lying on top of the bed, typing on her laptop. Whilst you had been mesmerized by the pixels on the TV. The TV was so cheap and looked to be slightly older in make that you, with heightened eyesight could see every flickering colourful pixel. Much like what you would have seen when pressed your face close to the TV before your mother scolded you for being too close. It was some comedy late night show with a man how looked to be in his sixties. You couldn't remember who he was but supposedly he was popular. He had the audience roaring with laughter but you watched blankly, as though not in on the joke. You were watching it but not necessarily listening. "Hey, I was thinking." Angela began. You turned as she gained your attention. "I left out that sweater over there for you. I noticed you don't have a jacket and whilst it's not much, I figured it's an extra layer until you get a new one." You followed her pointed gaze to a green sweater that looked to be thin, had a zip and a hood. "Thank you." You whispered. "It's not a problem but...can I ask you something?" You nodded. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine." You responded passively. "You're sure? I was worried something had happened." You shook your head in response. "Nothing happened. I just got caught in the rain and hadn't brought a jacket." 

After an hour or two it was 'bed time'. You made sure to keep a distance from Angela, so she couldn’t feel how cold your body was. The only sound made was Angela's breathing except the slight buzz of the TV that would have been barely audible to a human from such a distance. You had rolled onto your side, facing her, once you knew she was asleep. 

She lay on her back, glasses at her bedside table and arms on her stomach. You stared at her for quite some time, feeling the build up of venom in your mouth and the urge to feed steadily grow. She wore a tank top that night leaving no barrier and complete access to her throat  Slowly you sat up. You contemplated it, it hadn't been the first time as of late. Although the thought didn't bring you any excitement. Human blood still wasn't tempting enough to let go. Besides, you had already fed before arriving in the town. Whilst Angela had always been nice to you, her friends weren't so accommodating. They were reclusive and much like people their age, couldn't help but judge your odd behaviour. You were a Cullen after all, but you were the Cullen that wasn't seen, the home schooled one. The only reason they even knew what you had looked like was because Alice and Bella bumped into Jessica, Angela, Mike and Ben whilst out and your gold eyes were a big hint. Whilst Angela had her moments of kindness, it didn't change that she was mostly a follower of Jessica. She enabled any of Jessica's comments, with a light chastise that always went ignored.  Your reached over, your hand inches away from curling around Jessica's throat, staring at her intently. You pulled back, hands resting upon your knees. 

Angela woke up after sleeping well, much to her surprise. How her day had went, often impacted her sleep that night and she didn't have high hopes after seeing you in such a bizarre state. She rolled over, thinking you'd be beside her...but you weren't. She sat up and you were nowhere to be seen. Your clothes on the radiator gone as well as the green sweater. Folded neatly was her hoodie and shorts she had let you borrow. She reached over for her glasses and phone to check the time. It was nine thirty in the morning. She unlocked her phone to see an unsent message to Ben. One she hadn't remembered writing. 'Thank you :)' 

"Weeks have passed and they still haven't returned?" Alec asked looking over to Demetri who shook his head. "They'll be fine." Jane told her brother nonchalantly. "What else do you expect from a newborn other than to go rogue?" "You heard how they were feeling when we were there." Alec countered. "I can't pretend this is a newborn with a change of heart about their priorities. It's not like them to do this." "You barely know them." Felix said flatly, making Alec glare at him. "I know them well enough to know something isn't right." "It isn't important Alec and until they make a mistake, it isn't our business." Jane responded. "We made it our business when we decided they weren't like us." Alec argued back. "So what do you want to do? Go after them?" Jane asked in annoyance. "No." Alec said sharply. "Then why do you care? They're barely your friend, Alec." "Well, well, well, look who it is." You stopped when you heard the male voice. You were aware of a presence, two of them as two scents hit your nostrils but you didn't think they'd approach. Of course, your suspicions were confirmed by the accent. You turned to be face to face with Vladimir and Stefan, the two remaining members of the Romanian coven. 

You didn't bother mustering a greeting, no longer seeing why you should give anyone anything if they were simply going to use it at your expense. "Carlisle's youngest has wandered off." Vladimir smirked. "Wandered very far to be here, of all places." Stefan agreed. "This is our territory and it's rude to show up uninvited." Vladimir said. You stuffed your hands in the pockets of your green sweater. "Hm? Nothing to say? Not even as much as a 'hello'?" Stefan tilted his head. You stared at the two blankly as they continued. "Not even so much as a smile. “My, my, that's a first." Stefan smirked. Vladimir hummed in amusement. 

The two moved closer to you and you did nothing. Vladimir scoffed, nudging his fingers forcefully against the side of your head. "Absolutely pointless for a newborn." He said to himself. "You'd have attacked the moment you caught onto us if you were anything like a newborn." Stefan said with a sigh of disappointment. "It's a waste of power really." Vladimir agreed. "Now where is that little newborn who was always so happy as we insulted them? Where has that pretty smile gone?" Stefan grinned. "I don't need to do anything for your entertainment." You responded. Apparently they didn't like that answer as Vladimir roughly grabbed your face. "That's because you're laughable by your existence alone." Vladimir seethed threw you to the ground. "You're embarrassing to our kind. Consider yourself nothing less." You had begun to feel anger bubble within you at the out of your stomach but you swallowed it down, an ability most newborns didn't have and almost everyone took advantage of. You looked up at Vladimir from the forest ground with a soft glare. 

Eleazar was following a brown bear, careful not to be noticed, careful not to startle it in anyway with any sudden noises. His hunting ability as a vampire allowed him to stalk his prey with ease.  Although to Eleazar's surprise, he wasn't the only one hunting this bear. 

He locked eyes with you and he was almost horrified. You were dirty, your clothes covered in dirt and your green sweater falling off of one shoulder slightly. You had your eyes focused on Eleazar and he knew you had left the Cullen's suddenly. Although he didn't think you'd end up in Alaska. Your eyes were black and he heard you stifle a quiet groan within your stomach as an arm wrapped around your stomach. There was no doubt in Eleazar's mind you were hungry. However something told him there was something worse going on with you. You had lost your smile, your eyes empty. You looked unharmed yet you resembled nothing of the newborn he had met months ago. He knew about you just as almost everyone else did. Your behaviour, he had never seen before but he mostly kept any comment of that to himself. He knew how gentle and delicate you could be. The (Y/N) he knew couldn't hurt anyone. 

However the (Y/N) that stood before him was very different as shown when your lips pulled back as you barred your teeth with a low growl. Something told Eleazar to let you take the bear. Although he couldn't figure out why that feeling crept up on him. Perhaps it had been the shock of hearing you growl as he slowly raised his hands and backed off. He had never heard you growl and from Carlisle's account, you rarely did. It happened barely two times in your whole, now, 9 and a half months of this life. He couldn't help but be fearful of the newborn before him, fearful of you than he had ever been. You took off after the bear, leaving Eleazar behind. 

As the tenth month rolled around, another trial was being held. However, the Cullen's had decided enough was enough and the coven went to the Volturi for help to find you. There they ended up having to witness the demise of the nomadic vampire. 

He was around eighteen and didn't care for the laws. This made him a reckless feeder. Give him enough time and he'd have the humans attention soon enough. As expected he didn't come quietly and fought back with every step of the way. What made him more of a threat is that he was in his newborn year. Therefore he still had the strength to his advantage. He created more fuss than he was worth, only controlled properly when retrained by both Felix and Demetri as well as Jane using her gift for good measure. 

What wasn't expected was you bursting through the throne room doors. You wasted no time, lunging towards the nomad and a full blown fight ensued. The two newborns snarled and growled with fury that would remind anyone of an animal. Both the Volturi and the Cullen's were stunned and unable to move. Your outfit you had left in was covered in dirt. You wore a green sweater that was unfamiliar and your hair was messy. You were almost unrecognisable to the two covens in behaviour.  You suddenly gained the advantage, getting the newborn to the floor underneath you. Which animalistic screeching you tore at him, his head gone but you weren't done, tearing into his body with an unsolicited rage that only newborns had. 

Felix was first to step forward and you immediately turned to him with a snarl, as though protecting your territory. "(Y/N)?" Alec called out softly. Your head turned to him, still in a crouched position. It was you, there was no doubt but you didn't act like yourself. Suddenly your face twitched, a grimace. Then you kept your eye on everyone in the room. "Have you been harmed?" Carlisle asked softly. You didn't respond, continuing to eye each person warily. "(Y/N)?" Alec said again. It was all he could manage out. You turned to Alec again, this time locking eyes with him. Your gold eyes meeting his red ones. "Where have you been?" Alec asked quietly, questions finally beginning to return to him. Immediately you curled into yourself slightly. "They're hungry." Felix stated. That was when the receptionist entered the room. 

"I-I tried to inform you sooner but I-" It was all she got to manage out before you lunged at her. Your teeth but down with a vice grip and she screamed in pain and terror. You threw her to the ground without breaking away, biting even harder. She screamed more as you moved your head quickly, trying to get more blood. It was torture at the very least but both covens knew better than to even attempt to stop you. They could only look down in horror at what you had become. All remembering that this would have been your first taste of human blood. 

Even after the receptionist was dead, you sucked her dry for every little drop, so much so that the silence made the sight last longer than it should. You finally pulled your face away, mouth covered in blood. You turned to look at the Volturi and the Cullen's, grinning with bloodied teeth. The question you asked was quiet but chilling. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

[tg-headcanons]

Tokyo ghoul meta: Percieved Strength and Violence in ghouls

Something central to the CCG’s rhetoric, Kaneki’s personality shift, and really the story of Tokyo ghoul itself is the nature of ghouls as a species. There are some things that are undeniable, ghouls do have biological weapons, strong constitutions, and a need for human flesh. All of these are points the CCG makes to argue for wiping them out, along with another very important statement: that ghouls are naturally hateful and aggressive. I want to take a look at this

First of all let’s see what is said about them by the CCG and other humans. Besides being, called dangerous which can be true, there is another thing often said, that they’re animals. Uncivilized. Hateful by nature. When Kureo Mado goes after Hinami and her mother, he keeps talking about them as if the way Ryouko protected her was little more than mimicry of human behavior.

Despite Kureo being an extreme of hating ghouls, his ideas are not going unnoticed. He is respected and trusted as an investigator, and people listen to, and believe him. He encapsulates the idea the CCG has that ghouls are simply animals. Predators with a true hate for humans at worst and too uncivilized to see humans as more than food at best. Creatures that will only be safe when they are dead. So are they right?

Let’s take a look. To be honest, there isn’t a lot of evidence in the ghoul’s favor. Countless really do see humans as petulant livestock, some really do enjoy killing and eating, some really do hate humans with a passion.

As for those who aren’t outwardly hateful and aggressive, those that do want to live peacefully, well they aren’t looking too good either. Look at Yoshimura, only peaceful after a long life of violence. Look at Nishiki, trying to blend in with humans and date one, still aggressive and territorial. Even Kaneki, who upon his transformation into a ghoul felt a surge of predatory and aggressive instincts.

There was one who wasn’t dangerous in any way, Ryouka Fueguchi herself. She never fought, didn’t hunt, was as peaceful as any human civilian. There was no reason for her to be killed, but she was. Her child? Peaceful as well, and only fought after having her and Touka’s life threatened. It was only because of that last ditch effort to survive by defending herself that they didn’t die. It was only because she was strong, only because she was quick, and only because she was willing to hurt in order to keep them alive. The same happened with Touka when she was younger, defending herself and Ayato after previously never harming anyone. This makes something very clear, ghouls have the capacity for violence, same as humans, and instincts that come into play when facing extreme hunger or pain, but it isn’t in their nature.

Ghouls are not naturally violent, but they are constantly in a position where they must choose between violence and death. They always seem so dangerous as a whole because the ones who couldn’t be are the first to die

It isn’t ghouls being born as hateful things, it’s Survival Bias

To understand this, look at this chart of damage sustained by planes that returned from war

See how there’s none in the cockpit? On the tail? The engines? That’s not because they’re not shot just as much, it means that the planes that made it back from battle were the lucky ones. It’s where the red dots aren’t that is lethal

Take another look at ghouls. Look at how dangerous they can be, how ruthless they can be, how much some truly despise humans. Compare them to the peaceful ones. The violent ones are still alive. They’re alive because they’re violent. The only way a ghoul can live is if they play into the part the CCG has made for them.

So much of what the CCG want’s ghouls exterminated for is the direct result of their efforts to exterminate them. After generations of this, after the most peaceful are killed leaving the most strong or dangerous to reproduce and teach their children to be like them, the entire species becomes stronger. It’s artificial selection through the deaths of those who were too weak or humane to oppose their oppressors. But even then, as the species becomes more and more equipped to fighting, more and more a culture of ‘its us or them’ they’re shoved into against their will, it is not who they are as a species. No one statement can be made for every member of such a massive group, but I doubt most ghouls would fight if they had the option not to.

When they’re decriminalized, when they can live peacefully, when they are born and raised with the opportunity to be kind, I think humans will see just how many of them want to live like they do. No one is born evil, human or ghoul

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Don’t Pray (aka Vader is the menace he was always meant to be during ‘the Purge’ oneshot)

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” the padawan whispered quietly; eyes squeezed tightly shut to block out the world.

The only sound was that of his own hammering heartbeats, hands clasped in a desperate prayer as he kept his head low; curled up in a tight ball with his legs to his chest in the cramped stowaway space behind the ventilator of his former master’s beat up space vessel. When he had docked on Illuna, he had expected the possible company of fellow runaway Jedi apprentices. Instead, he found the embrace of the Dark Side.

The presence that had greeted him so graciously was still palpable, still drawing ever nearer. The dark it brought with it like a sickness, like a plague shutting out any connections to the untainted living Force. Consuming its flame. The light flickering before the tendrils of darkness snuffed it out; successfully smothering it. Swallowing hard; a faint noise penetrated through the steady pulse ringing in his ears.

Artificial, mechanical. Periodic breathing. In, and out.

He felt like a caged animal; trapped as bait; prey left out for the predator approaching. He had been fooled, and now he was paying with his life. Naive, in his desire for company - his longing to be alone no more. He crept further back against the durasteel confines, his side pressed to the outer wall. As far from the tiny hatch to the hidden crawlspace as possible, making himself impossibly small.

Once again, he hoped to reach out with his mind; for help or guidance, he wouldn’t know. Yet, the only thing he could sense as a potential response was the thrumming of that inescapable darkness; an empty void of agony, threatening to grab hold of him and drag him asunder if he failed to stay alert. He toed the line, standing just at the threshold. Just shy of allowing the ill intent to devour him.

The padawan had been under the care of the Jedi Order on Coruscant for as long as he could remember, had been a promising padawan as his master had proudly proclaimed many times. It seemed like a lifetime ago. As if the happy days were but the fading remnants of a fever dream, as if the Empire and its rule was all there had ever been. 

The Empire, and Vader.

Every Jedi he knew was either dead, captured, or lost. Missing without a trace. In hiding, some said. Perished, others whispered. At the hand of Vader, was the common consensus among fast travelling underground sources. The padawan had tried his best to hide, to keep out of sight, to cover up his tracks. For three years, he had been successful. For three years, he had managed to avoid the Jedi killer, and the relentlessness with which the Empire seemed to hunt down and destroy Force users. Align, disappear or die.

He was running out of time.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” he mouthed wordlessly, desperate to mask his hitching breaths and half sobs.

It was freezing.

He remembered the ice cold desert nights, accompanying his master on a week long endeavour hunting for a ancient Jedi artifact. Where had it taken them? Tatooine? Jakku? Geonosis? He couldn’t remember, every desert planet looked the same. Only endless sand dunes, and blistering blood red sun come day. Only starry deep blue skies, and cold nipping at any exposed skin come night.

He’d never forgotten the numbness of his fingers, his breath coming in heated puffs of condensation. He’d never forgotten the uncomfortable prickle of his skin, the chill of his weary, aching bones. How it seeped so deep into his core, that not even the scalding heat of first sunlight promising fire and brimstone could dissolve it.

The breathing.

Steady.

The predator toying with its prey, like a rancor enjoying the chase and dragging it out before pouncing and going in for the kill. Vader must know where he was hidden, must be able to sense his tangible Force signature. His terror.

The paralyzing feeling of torment Vader’s aura radiated rolled off of the man in thick waves; like the tide coming in, like the eye of the storm. Without mercy, without pardon. A force of nature, uncontrollable, unstoppable. Hands trembling, the padawan pressed them to his lips as he continued to mouth the same payer like mantra.

It would be in vain, yet it was the only link that remained to his master. The woman who had been gunned down in cold blood by her own troops, sending him off in a solitary escape pod towards fates unknown before sacrificing herself. She’d taught him the prayer, something to cling to in times of need. In times of fear, of hopelessness. He remembered her gentle brown eyes, her warm smile.

Footsteps.

Heavy, booted footfalls against the durasteel floor. Stalking in a slow, deliberate manner. The temperature seemed to drop for each one, as death traveled on swift wings ever faster.

The padawan could feel the stinging heat of salty tears behind his eyes, could feel them welling up at the corners of his eyes. Could taste their salt, smell his own fear. Shame accompanied the terror. His master’s act of self sacrifice had landed him stranded on an outer rim scrap station, only vaguely directed towards hostile but life sustaining planets where more Jedi may be in hiding; aided by a good natured sympathizer. Planets he’d never even heard of. People whose faces he would never know again, whose faces he had already forfotten as they blurred together. He had found none, no one to help him. No one to guide him, no one to come to his rescue now. He was alone, and he would die alone.

Only then did it truly sink in that he wasn’t going to leave this ship alive.

“I can sense you, child.”

A deep, booming voice.

Filtered through a vocabulator, it came off eerie and uncanny. Devoid of any scrap of human emotion; monotone and matter of fact. Loud, direct, and frank. Short and concise. How many others like him had met such a fate, the padawan wondered. How many others had perished at the hand of Vader? How many more would there be? Were there even any Force wielders left in the Galaxy for Vader to sniff out and execute? The age of the order was gone, why keep exterminating the few stragglers left behind? They could do no harm, make little noise.

“I can sense your fear,” the voice added after a moment's pause; and despite the same inhuman diction, there seemed to be something spiteful to the words.

The padawan had never known evil.

He and his master had taken down wild beasts, droid armies; they had even faced off against a stray misled Dark Side user. The droids had been man made machines, little more than gun fodder. The animals had followed only their hunger and ravenous nature, desperate to eat or be eaten. Lylacs, loth-wolves, rancors engineered to hunt. The Dark Side user had been conflicted, led astray by corrupt practices, as his master had put it.

This was different.

Vader appeared to be content, in a sense. No, perhaps not quite content as there seemed to be little joy or excitement to find in his Force signature. It was empty, a nothingness. Like a hole in the fabric of the Force itself, like someone had cut a piece out of a tapestry where only cold, and suffering could prevail.

Suffering; so unadulterated that it made the padawan’s body flinch and twitch with its shared torment. Vader was like a phantom, like a wraith; like a dead man walking. His aura revealed that he had nothing to lose, nothing to gain. No compassion, no forgiveness. No use in pleading, no use in begging.

A tear escaped the corner of the padawan’s eyes, rolling red hot down his stricken, pale face. The suffocating feeling of Vader’s presence sucked the air out of his lungs, making him feel lightheaded and short of breath. The steps slowed, calculating their path meticulously until they came to a sudden halt mere inches away from the trapdoor and its hatch. There came a protesting creaking of durasteel, of metal giving way to an unseen, powerful hand. A metallic shriek, a cringe and a whine as it began to bend to Vader’s will. The first beams of bright, fluorescent lights spilled in flickering patterns through the cracks torn open before the trapdoor was unceremoniously ripped off its hinges and flung across the cramped space of the vessel’s interior.

The padawan daredn’t open his eyes - the mechanic breathing was no longer muffled by  a thin wall of durasteel; the thick aura of the Dark Side crashing over him like, biting and stinging at his nerve endings. Drowning him, as they left him overwhelmed, vulnerable and pitiful.

It hurt to breathe; hurt to think, his stomach churning and his throat constricting no matter how much air he attempted to gulp down. His lips moved on autopilot, still wording that same pathetic prayer but his voice had long since been silenced. There was no one to save him. No one to take his hand.

The tendrils of a twisted, warped, subjugated shadow of the Force the padawan knew as his ally burnt as they pierced his skin; invisible but unyielding. Like a million icy daggers, like sharp needles or broken glass. Another warm tear fell from his eyes, this time leaving a searing trail in its wake against his frost bitten cheek. He trembled when it dripped off his chin.

“You cannot hide from me, child. Your path ends here. There is no escape,” said the voice, so void of sympathy and remorse that it seemed inconceivable.

Were it not for the Dark Side, and the tainted, perverted use of the Force that Vader was guilty of; the padawan would have thought him to be fully inhuman. Rumours said Vader was once a man, now cloaked in a tar black suit of armour. Some said Vader was the creation of a malicious Sith Lord, calling upon mystical powers to build the perfect, loyal servant. Others said Vader may have once been a Jedi; a Jedi who’d fallen to the Dark Side in pursuit of power, and riches. How could a figure whose very existence seemed to serve as a harbringer of death ever have been live? How could a presence such as Vader’s ever have belonged to anything but a ruthless monster?

The padawan’s master had called many animals and creatures ‘monsters’. Some would deem Vader a savage beast, desperate for blood to quench his own thirst while they cowered in fear at the very whisper of his name. As if acknowledging his existence might conjure him. Yet, an animal would only follow its own basal needs and instincts; like the krayt dragons, or the lylaks, or the rancors. They were not monsters, they were simply part of the natural order. Predators necessary in a symbiotic cycle with their prey. Likening them to Vader was no fair comparison. Vader was sentient, aware of his actions, and committing heinous acts nonetheless. Purposefully, knowingly.

Animals were no monsters.

Vader was.

His eyes were still stubbornly clenched shut, perhaps seized up with terror as the frightened padawan cowered.

Still, they began to twitch little by little, opening as if that unseen hand guided by the Force was prying them open bit by bit. As if they were being peeled back, his resolute power of will beginning to wane. The padawan desperately attempted to keep them closed, to fight back. It was futile, as his watery eyes were uncovered against his will. Unable to blink, unable to stay blissfully unaware of the exterior that accompanied the foreboding phantom. His executioner. 

In a snapping, jerking motion - the boy’s head was rapidly twisted sideways by the same invisible pull. The hold on his lithe, malnourished body was so strong, that the motion tossed him like a rag-doll as he was yanked out of the tiny crawlspace. He cried out in pain when his knee was torn open, by the jutting edges of one of the ventilator system’s metallic fans. Warm blood wet through the fabric of the padawan’s pants, the tang of iron stinging in his nostrils. Nauseating.

Tumbling haphazardly across the narrow walkway, the padawan whimpered as he momentum had him rolling around until he slammed forcibly into nearest cabinet. A nightmare come to life, he wrapped his uncooperative arms around himself to shield himself from the bitter cold, from the hatred, the rage, the ire. 

It did him no favours, the sharp pinpoints and tendrils of the Dark Side burrowing into his chest like the fangs of a loth-wolf. Despite the struggle, the padawan found himself crawling to his knees, ignoring the searing pain of his gashed knee as if compelled to do so by some sort of beckon, taunting and mesmerizing in its lethal promise. For a brief moment, he thought he could hear his master’s familiar voice calling him.

The abyss lay ahead.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” the padawan croaked in a broken act of defiance.

“Your prayers are of no use.”

Then, he raised his head and his glassy eyes were set upon Vader. Frozen in place, as if fixed by the phantom’s own stare concealed behind the lenses of a black mask. Death in the flesh. Unkind. Unjust. Promising pain everlasting, overpowering.

Overwhelming, unbearable.

Inevitable.

[writingwithcolor]

First of all, thank you for this blog, it has been really helpful for me - also thank you for the efficient navigation. Now to my question: I'm toying with the idea of a white OC who has (or earns) the power to basically alter the structure of things and wants to use that to help with world hunger. They gotta see what they change, so they have to visit the places. They don't want to be hailed a white savior, and change their look - should I use obvious fantasy colors like grey or purple?

Solving World Hunger: Changing Skin to Fantasy Color to Avoid the White Savior

My take: this is absolutely positively going to disrespect Indigenous populations, so long as you have an outsider come in and do the thing. This reads as extremely Western-centric and reminds me of misguided “international development” students who think that just because they have a degree in solving global scale problems, it means they can be experts.

See, the thing about sustainable food practices is, the Indigenous populations of the area have already come up with pretty good solutions. They’ve lived in the landscape for thousands of years, after all, and were pretty scientific and focused on long-term gains instead of short-term profit. It’s about as close to perfect as multiple millennia of improving and testing can do.

It’s colonialist to erase culture in the name of “betterment”

Hunter/gatherers don’t always capitalistically “maximize” their food sources in ways Westerners recognize, but it’s sustainable has been part of their culture for thousands of years. Are you going to allow them to continue their practices, or are you going to say that their culture is wrong and they must be assimilated into agriculture (that might actually be completely unsustainable even if done by magic but you won’t see the effects for 50+ years)?

Anthropologists main role over the past few years have been to elevate the voices of Indigenous people who know what works best for the area they’ve been living in for generations. Outsiders, even the most well-educated outsiders, are going to get it wrong.

You can’t make them Indigenous to get around this, because Indigenous people are not a monolith. 

Polynesian practices won’t work in sub-sahara Africa, Iroquois practices won’t work in the Amazon, etc. If you think that one ethnicity can solve the globe’s problems, you need to revisit the concept of expertise.

Eco-fascism is also a thing that happens in environmentalism very quickly, in the form of only certain types of food production/crops are “allowed” to thrive, and capitalism does not like sustainability because sustainability doesn’t exactly turn a profit. The best way to use land is often “inefficient” in the short term, but in the long term will provide a sustained food source even if that system looks much different from what we know.

The Indigenous populations around the globe have already had to deal with people who say their way of life is wrong, which your character is going to end up doing if they are the ones who decide what “the best” is. The Inuit are a fairly high-profile example, with how their seal and whale hunt is targeted; the North is such a place that seal and whale hunting is necessary, agriculture is impossible in the way we know it, and what the North needs is global warming to drastically reverse+ colonizers to stop messing with their ability to eat and for-fun hunters never setting foot in the Arctic again.

The problem isn’t the character’s skin tone. The problem is the fact they believe they can be an authority, when they cannot be at such a scale.

Decolonizing > “Fixing”

I would suggest having your character do decolonization work instead of “fixing” work. Decolonization means dismantling capitalism, restructuring agriculture/horticulture to focus on local species designed to live in the region, allowing populations to return to hunter/gatherer ways, removing invasive species (like the wrong species of earthworms in North America, which actually would need magic to fix), and restoring sovereignty of Indigenous peoples. It also means allowing greenhouses and a degree of sustainable supply chain for those with allergies who can’t eat local.

Indigenous peoples need to be centred in sustainable farming and animal husbandry practices. Their voices and their practices are what need to be elevated, instead of an outsider trying to guess what’s best in such a short period of time.

This means white people will be uncomfortable. 

Because white people do not like to give up leadership positions. They don’t like being told they need to let go of power and remove themselves from authority. But they are not the authority on how best to work lands that they have only seen as capitalistic gains. Indigenous people are.

If you want to see the potential journeys this character can undergo, read Colette’s post below.

~ Mod Lesya

Readers will view your character as white

Even as a fantasy color, your “raceless” MC will be assigned white by the majority of your readers unless you put in work to indicate otherwise. 

To the story’s world they might be an alien of sorts. To us, they are another white person who is saving the world. 

White is seen as the default when you leave it to fill-in-the-blank. Race coding (adding details that would imply they’re from a specific race, ethnic background or culture) is how one avoids this.

Directions you could take 

There’s a few ways you could go about this.

A. Make them an actual alien.

You could make them an alien, and actually develop an alien culture that does not parallel or borrow enough from specific cultures to imply they’re a human race equivalent. You would have to work pretty hard at this, as the elements you choose might come from existing regions and cultures. For example, a lot of “neutral” fantasy places are clearly coded with a European flair and no indication that they’re a Person of Color, thus implying white European descent. Then you’re back to square one with white-coded Alien solving the world’s problems. 

B. Keep them white.

You could keep them white, but face the implications within the story’s world narrative and the perspective of readers. 

Its a heavily discussed topic here, so you’ll find many resources.

White Savior WWC Posts:

How to Avoid Glorifying White Characters

The Mighty Whitey: How to not have a Colonialist Character

Writing With Color - White Savior Tag

The Khalessi Problem (Game of Thrones)

Image: Game of Thrones, the TV series. White woman being lifted up and surrounded by tan and brown-skinned people. Minor spoilers will be discussed below. 

Now, I know you don’t want a scene like the one pictured above. That’s why you’re considering they disguise themselves as a fantasy race. But there are some implications that come with a white person who snaps their fingers and solves a community’s problems like it was nothing. 

“What, like it’s hard to solve world hunger?”

On the show, she is pretty much worshiped here, but does disrespect their people enough to lose the majority of their respect and be seen as the outsider coming into their lives as she is. 

Something similar could happen where she is confronted with unintentional consequences of getting involved. There may be some backlash, mixed feelings, making it so your MC is not completely worshiped for their actions. 

What about all of the efforts that people in the community made before your character came along? Might they confront your character, and how would they feel about them? 

What if solving world hunger came with a price, and there were other issues that cropped up as a result?

What if the job is not done? As if they helped get it started, but maintaining keeping the world feed isn’t as “snap and done” as it seemed and opened up a new layer of problems that people have to deal with?

Think of how in some tales, when you get your wish from the genie, it may be answered almost too literally and the effects can be disastrous.

C. Make them a Person of Color. 

This could still lead to issues too, similar to ones you’d find with the white savior. Just because someone is a POC doesn’t mean they’re immune to disrespecting other cultures and lifestyles, or of patronizing people. 

More reading:

Is there such thing as the White Savior syndrome with a Black main character?

~Mod Colette

[jingabitch]

Armed to the Fangs ch.11

SUMMARY: you grew up in the hunter’s guild, understanding that it is your sacred duty as a hunter to protect humanity from the vampires that lurk in the dark, draining the life from anyone unlucky enough to be caught. while making the rounds one night, you encounter taehyung, a fabled born vampire - not that you know that when he tries to entice you into a dark alley. next thing you know, you’re kidnapped and taken to their home, where you realise that all of them somehow crave your blood and seem to know more about your past than you do. finding out about where you came from might be the key to setting humanity free.

PAIRING: eventual ot7 x reader

WARNINGS: some description of violence, angst, pining, maybe eventual smut but not for a looooong time, slow burn (really the slowest of burns), fainting from blood loss, things move along in this chapter!

RATING: T

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

A/N: thank you @pasteljeon for looking over this for me. hope you enjoy this update before i disappear again LOL

series index

All of them watched with bated breath as you walked across the room. They could hear your heart pounding madly inside your chest, but your footsteps were resolute and steady. If not for their supernatural hearing, they would have been fooled into thinking that you were completely confident.

“Y/n,” Hoseok rasped, his gaze fixed on you. You tried not to think of the gleam in his eyes as predatory.

Clenching your fists to stop your hands from trembling, you perched lightly on the edge of the mattress. Hoseok’s eyes zeroed in on your jugular, on the almost imperceptible motion of your pulse under the thin, sensitive skin. Even as his instincts clamoured for the blood rushing under your flesh that would save him, there was a sense of hesitance, of guilt, and it was reflected in the slightly sluggish way he reached for you, beating back the urge to pounce.

The other boys shared glances. It was all but clear that you didn’t know the extent of the commitment you were making right now. It wasn’t just a one-time thing: this would bind Hoseok – and the others – to you forever. Were you really okay with this?

Tension was high in the room as the boys debated with each other silently over what to do. They knew that Seokjin wouldn’t tell you until after the deed was done. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, after all, and once you were bound to them, there would be time aplenty to make it up to you. Jungkook, on the other hand, had his fists clenched by his sides.

“Wait—” he cried, his cheeks flushed and his brows drawn down into a scowl.

It felt like everything in the room stopped as all the occupants swiveled their heads around to look at Jungkook. He seemed to realize, too, immediately clamming up and ducking his head as all his bravado vanished in an instant.

Luckily for you, Yoongi took courage from his younger brother’s outburst, continuing where Jungkook hadn’t dared to. “There are some things you should know before you commit to this.”

Hoseok, who hadn’t had the energy for a long, drawn-out explanation, slumped back against the headrest with relief – and a little disappointment. After all, if you ran out of here screaming – which was a real possibility – he might not survive it.

Perched lightly on the edge of the mattress, you redirected your attention to Yoongi. From the sombre inflection in his voice, you could tell that what he was going to say was serious.

“Hoseok… he isn’t sick, or dying because of what happened the other day, or anything like that,” Yoongi started, taking some time to gather his thoughts before he launched into the main part of his explanation.

“You triggered… something in him when you met him,” he continued, putting it as delicately as possible. There was a lot of information that you probably shouldn’t have yet, and all of the brothers were in agreement that regardless of whether you bound yourself to Hoseok, it would be too soon for you to know the full extent of your significance to them. Hell, not all of them were even ready to admit to themselves what was going on.

“What is it?” Curious, you leaned forward.

“His body is rejecting packaged blood,” Namjoon cut Yoongi off smoothly with a more elegant explanation that was less likely to send you screaming for the hills. “He can’t keep any of the blood we have on hand down. He needs a live donor.”

“A live donor…” you murmured to yourself, turning back towards Hoseok thoughtfully. You didn’t know if what they were telling you was true, or even plausible, but then again, you weren’t really an expert on vampire anatomy and biology. Unless it was about the most efficient way to dispatch one, of course.

“Not just that,” Namjoon continued. “There are… some people who are more compatible with certain vampires than others.” That was an understatement of the mate bond so severe it was basically mischaracterization. “You and Hoseok just happen to be compatible in that way. Once he drinks from you, he will need to keep doing it.”

That was the key information you needed, they thought. The mate bond, and all of it… none of them were quite ready to lay all their cards on the table, but you had to know that this wasn’t a one-time deal.

You blanched, your head whipping back around to Namjoon, who was leaning against the wall next to the bedroom door. “I… what?” you breathed in shock and some horror. This had to be a trope from a horror movie, right? Being a permanent blood bag, getting drained of your life bit by bit until there was none of it left to sustain you…

There was nothing you could imagine that was more terrifying. Visions of all the drained bodies you’d come across in your life flashed before your eyes, pale, cold, hard, their necks torn and bloody. You didn’t want that, you thought, feeling like you were sinking into a black hole.

Taehyung sprang forward as you swayed slightly, your face pale as you processed the bombshell Namjoon had dropped on you. “Y/n! Are you okay?” he asked in concern, his hands outstretched to catch you if you fell.

“No…” you murmured. “If you’re going to drain me, do it in one shot. Don’t draw it out.” Even faced with the fear of death, your commitment to the debt you owed Hoseok won out. He’d saved your life, and now you would save his – even at the expense of your own. It was the hunter code, and even if you weren’t a hunter anymore, the habits ingrained in you since you could remember were impossible to break.

Despite how faint and thready the sound of your voice was, all the boys heard you fine. It was so silent in the next moment that even you could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then the room exploded into action. There was indistinguishable yelling, and Taehyung lurched forward, grabbing your hands. It seemed you’d tripped over a land mine somehow, though you weren’t sure what it was, or how you’d triggered them.

“Y/n,” Taehyung said, getting way too close to your face. He gave you an imploring gaze, and the sadness in his eyes made you want to turn away in discomfort, though you couldn’t bring yourself to. “Hoseok would never drain you.” His voice, filled with sincerity, made you feel almost guilty for ever thinking that Hoseok would do such a thing, but then you remembered your first encounter with him, and pulled your hands out of his grasp.

“Y/n, I promise you,” Namjoon added. “The bond between m—vampires and their feeders is all but unbreakable. When… if,” he amended hastily, “you let Hoseok feed from you, he will do everything in his power to keep you safe, including from himself.”

You looked up, and Namjoon nodded at you, the conviction in the set of his jaw clear. The rest of the boys were nodding in agreement, and you turned to look at Hoseok, who was still leaning weakly against the headboard. There wasn’t much expression on his face, but he’d marshalled what seemed like the last of his strength to nod at you, leaning forward slightly.

You took a breath, steeling yourself. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice sounding like it could dissipate into the wind. You trembled as you walked towards the bed, but your steps didn’t waver. The time it took you to cross the room felt like a microsecond stretched into eternity, and you were almost surprised when you reached the bed.

Hoseok’s eyes immediately fixed on your neck, watching the almost imperceptible way your vein throbbed. He could hear the thrum of the blood rushing through it, smell the delicious aroma wafting off you. In your agitation, your heart had quickened, and your face had become flushed, making the scent all the stronger.

You could sense more than see the ravenous hunger pouring off the vampire. It might have been because of your hunter training but, you thought, it was more likely the survival instinct of prey animals that made you hyperaware of the intense stare you were pinned under. That same instinct made you want to run for the hills, but instead you fisted your hands in the sheets to anchor yourself.

“Okay,” you repeated, almost like a mantra to keep yourself calm – or at least, looking that way on the outside – as you steeled yourself, leaning closer to Hoseok as you tipped your head to the side to expose the vein that he’d been eyeing so hungrily.

There was a breathless second of anticipation… and then he struck.

Almost absently, you noted the fluid grace to his movements as he grabbed you, the fingers of one hand spearing through the hair at the base of your head to hold your head in that position as the other rested on your shoulder. There was something almost tender about the way his thumb stroked your collarbone. By contrast, the inhuman speed he used to move his head to your neck and sink his teeth into the flesh reminded you that this was no intimate encounter. You were food, and from the muffled moans of satisfaction you could hear coming from Hoseok, a rather delicious meal at that.

Helplessly, you let out a small whimper, your fingers loosening from the sheets. You wondered if it was in your head, or if the slight weakness you felt in your extremities was because of the blood loss. Despite the boys’ assurances that no harm would come to you, the way Hoseok continued greedily gulping down the blood currently gushing into his mouth was definitely cause for concern, you thought.

Just as you were sure you were going to pass out, Hoseok extracted his teeth from your neck, lapping at the wounds to close them and clean the errant rivulets of blood running down your neck. Hopefully he got them all, you thought slightly dizzily. You liked this shirt.

It was nice that Hoseok was still holding on to your hair, you noted as you leaned against his arm. He was basically propping you up at this point.

You were conscious, but just barely, as you felt Hoseok lower you onto the mattress. Yoongi was the first one to step forward, and he pushed your hair out of your face and behind your ear tenderly. “You took too much,” he castigated Hoseok.

“I know,” Hoseok mumbled, looking ashamed.

“No, you’re good.” You didn’t know why, but the misery radiating from Hoseok stirred something in you. Despite how weak you felt, your priority was making him feel better instead of your own self-preservation. “I’m fine, see?” Taking in a deep breath, you tried to push yourself into a sitting position, but the arm you were using to support your weight collapsed, and Yoongi caught you before you flopped back onto the mattress.

“We should let her rest.” Seokjin came closer and rearranged you, tucking you in next to Hoseok. “She’ll need a cookie or something to raise her blood sugar level.”

You meant to get up and protest that you were fine, you could take care of yourself, but you were suddenly so tired and cold, and it was so cozy and comfortable under the sheets that you just let yourself drift off.

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

Your head hurt like you were hungover, but you knew that definitely wasn’t the case because there hadn’t been any parties at the manor. With a groan, you turned over and opened your eyes slightly, wincing.

In a flash, Hoseok was there beside you, slowly helping you up. He looked a lot better than he had earlier, his cheeks rounder and fuller, his eyes sparkling again.

“How long have I been out?” you asked, your voice raspy. Immediately, Jungkook appeared, holding a glass of water out for you. You reached out to take it from him, but he refused to hand it over, instead holding it in front of your face.

Annoyed, you sighed. “I’m not an invalid,” you told him, grabbing the cup anyway. He didn’t let go, and in the end, your hand was around his as you both tilted the cup towards you.

When you drained the glass, Jungkook took it away from you, putting it down on the bedside table, before returning to fuss over you.

“You guys, I’m okay,” you protested, trying to push the covers off your body to get out of bed. This clearly wasn’t your room, and you wanted to go back. “Where’s Injeolmi?”

“Jimin’s looking after him,” Hoseok reassured you. “You can go back to your room, just eat something first?” The imploring gaze he levelled on you left you powerless to do anything but nod at him.

Seokjin must have been eavesdropping, because it wasn’t even thirty seconds after that that he appeared in the doorway, holding a giant tray of food that he set down in front of you.

“Where did you get this?” you asked, bemused. You hadn’t seen a bed tray in the manor before, and it wasn’t something you’d have thought seven vampires living alone needed.

“Just laying around,” Seokjin said cagily before taking the covers off the food. A hearty beef stew, rice, and an array of side dishes sat neatly on the tray.

“Wow,” you marvelled as you picked up the spoon. Seokjin, despite being unable to eat, constantly wowed you with his culinary creations. The boys watched over you closely as you stuffed your face merrily, only seeming to relax when you’d finished every last morsel of food and slumped back, spent, against the pillows.

“You should get some more rest,” Seokjin said as he picked up the bed tray and made to leave the room.

You nodded in response. The carb coma was starting to get to you, and you pushed the covers off, intending to go back to your room to sleep it off. The other boys protested, but eventually gave in, on the condition that Jungkook would walk you back to your room.

Thankfully, you made the short walk back without any mishaps. Jimin was still there with Injeolmi when you came in, but after making sure that you were okay, he left too.

“Hey, baby,” you crooned at Injeolmi, who leapt off the couch and came to weave around your ankles. You picked him up and went to sit on your bed, leaning against the pillows. Leaning your head back and staring at the ceiling, your hand came up to your neck. The wounds had healed almost instantly – some sort of supernatural magic, you were sure – but the skin was still tender.

For the first time, the gravity of the situation sank in. What the hell were you doing? Sure, you’d wanted to save Hoseok, and the vampires had been nothing but nice to you, challenging your perception of them, but one split second decision had shackled you to them forever. All your grand ideas of using your newfound freedom to do something more normal with your life, or maybe travel… all gone in a second. You had to be here at the manor now.

Was this really okay? Being a blood bag for Hoseok? It wasn’t as bad as you’d thought, but that was because you’d been prepared to die today. Losing consciousness from blood loss definitely wasn’t great, and if this was going to happen frequently, your health was definitely going to suffer for it.

You were on the brink of spiraling into a panic when you heard a knock on the door.

“It’s open,” you called, not moving from your position to see who it was.

“Hey,” Namjoon said when he entered, standing in the entrance of the room.

“What is it?” you asked, lifting your head off the pillows to look at him. You shifted the hand that had been resting on your neck down to your stomach, but Namjoon had noticed it anyway.

“I went out and bought those brownies from that shop you like,” Namjoon said, holding up the paper bag.

That was sufficient to tempt you, and you sat up on the bed, crossing your legs. “Wow, what’s the occasion?” you asked, holding your hands out for the brownies.

Namjoon shrugged, handing them over. “You need to get your blood sugar levels up.”

“Right,” you said, scooching off the bed to sit on the floor. You weren’t about to get crumbs on your sheets. Namjoon came and sat down next to you, both of you leaning against the bed frame.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as you popped the box open, picking up the little plastic fork that came inside. Salted butterscotch, your favourite flavour.

“I feel a lot better now,” you said, half distracted watching the fork sink into the brownie. You popped it into your mouth and groaned in bliss. This one shop was open at odd hours of the night, and sometimes you used to pop by to grab a snack after your patrol when you’d had a particularly bad week, or when you were expecting your period.

“I can tell,” he responded drily, watching you savour the sweet treat. Despite his deadpan countenance, the fact that he’d managed to make you so happy made joy unfurl in his chest, suffusing him with warmth. “Jin-hyung told me that you finished all the yukgaejang.”

“Mhm,” you hummed around another mouthful of chocolatey goodness.

“I was talking about emotionally, though. A lot happened today. Are you okay with it?” he asked carefully, ducking slightly to get a better look at your face.

That statement stopped you in your tracks. You swallowed the mouthful of food, then laid the fork back into the box and put it on the ground carefully. Reaching up, you took the bottle of water on the bedside table that you were sure Jimin had left for you when he came back with Injeolmi.

You opened it and took a long, slow sip of water. Then another one, as you gathered your thoughts. When you couldn’t drink any more water or draw it out any longer, you bit your lip before speaking slowly and carefully. “I’ll learn to live with it,” you said, trying to tiptoe around it.

Namjoon frowned. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

You shrugged wearily. “What difference does it make? I made a commitment, and I have to see it through.” As you said it, you knew it was the right answer. You’d give up all the new dreams you’d been nurturing deep in your heart since you’d come to terms with your expulsion from the guild, and repay your life debt to the fullest.

Namjoon hummed. “Why do you seem unhappy, then?”

“I just…” You tried to choke back the sob, but your voice went high and weird, and you had to stop to compose yourself. “I’d been thinking about what I could do with my life, now that I’m no longer a hunter, you know? Maybe travel, or pick up new interests, or something. Normal things that normal people in their twenties do.”

“Well, you could still do that,” Namjoon said, bumping his shoulder against yours.

“How? I have to stay in the manor forever. I won’t be able to travel.” Your shoulders slumped, and you leaned slightly into Namjoon, unconsciously seeking his support.

“You know, we used to travel around the world all the time,” Namjoon said lightly. “So don’t rule it out yet. Things might change again.”

You were about to interrupt to question him, but he’d continued speaking. “And if you want to find new interests, I’m sure we can figure something out. Between the seven of us, our interests run the gamut.”

That made you crack a smile. “Really?”

“Really,” Namjoon confirmed, turning to look at you. You brought your knees into your chest and rested your cheekbone on the tops of them, facing him.

“You already know that Jin-hyung loves to cook. Yoongi-hyung likes music and I’m sure he’d be glad to teach you if you asked. Hoseok used to love dancing, although he hasn’t in… a good while.” Namjoon grimaced at the thought. “You’re always welcome in my library or garden, you know that. Jimin… well… you seem to have bonded well over your love for Injeolmi. Taehyung, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is into fashion and has been dying to revamp your wardrobe.” He gave a little eye roll at that. “And Jungkook, that little muscle pig, is always working out.”

Blinking, you tried to digest all of that. To be frank, you’d never quite bothered to take note of the boys’ individual personalities and interests, something that made you feel a little ashamed now, since it was clear that they’d been so conscientious about you.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, shooting Namjoon a small smile. “Thank you.”

He smiled back at you, and feeling a lot better, you picked up the pastry box again.

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

“Report.”

“The target was dispatched, sir.” Jennie stood at attention in front of the imposing desk in the Head’s office. Her toes twitched uneasily in her boots, but her gaze remained resolute and steady.

“Excellent. You are dismissed.” With that, Master Bang looked back down at the papers on his desk.

Bowing, Jennie turned to see herself out. It wasn’t until she was back in her room that she allowed herself to relax, sinking onto her knees right in front of her closed door. The bald-faced lie was the last favour she could do her ex-best friend. At least now Master Bang wouldn’t send anyone else after you… at least as long as you were smart enough to lay low.

The moment the door had shut behind Jennie, Master Bang stood up and made his way down the narrow flight of stairs in his bedroom.

“The plan is moving along smoothly, Sir. Y/n has thrown in her lot with the vampire brothers.” There was no way you were actually dead, as Jennie had reported. If you were, he would have a massacre on his hands, led by the born vampires holed up in the manor. Master Bang wondered idly if he should punish Jennie for her dishonesty, but then discarded the idea. He had much bigger fish to fry.

“When I take back my birthright, you will be by my side forever.”

The words warmed Master Bang’s heart. Forever was a long time – just long enough for him to spend with the love of his life.

[niuttuc]

I want to hear more about your fan-planes! Tell me about the creatures that can be found there, what are the staple creatures like? Most importantly what are the dragons like!

Let’s see, I’ll make non-comprehensive lists because that’s a lot of different species.

Winrovah: Humans, goblins, elves, leonins, nagas, gnomes, djinns, wurms, drakes, serpents, elementals, demon(s), angels, hydras, sphinges, dragons, aetherborn versions of most of those, and maybe a few more species that are extinct or even closer to extinction than the rest, since the end of the world isn’t being kind on ecological preservation.

Dragons on Winrovah were formerly a powerful force, and loosely organized too. Like most iconics, what happened to the plane wasn’t kind of them, and most were too proud to ask for any help. There aren’t really many large enough hunting grounds to sustain dragons anymore on the plane, so even the ones that didn’t die from the destruction or in fights mostly died from hunger, or raided settlements which further worsened conditions for people living there and only delayed the inevitable for the dragons. Like most iconics, there’s only a handful of Dragons left on the plane, exact numbers are incertain.

Moloni: Humans, elves, nagas, viashinos, dwarves, griffins, Guardians (Angel, Sphinges, Demons, Dragons and Elementals), probably others.

Dragons on Moloni are Guardians, born from, controlling and defending a Source of magic. Dragons tends to see their Source and magic as their treasure. While some do hoard it for themselves, most have understood that sharing it doesn’t remove it from their possessions, allows others to gaze upon their treasure, and can be negotiated for other kinds of things they might value... But not be able to obtain without leaving their source. Wild dragons can protect a Source fiercely, making sure nobody else lives in its surrounding, but most civilized ones have a more mercantile state of mind.

The Federation of Cyr’s capital, Ganara, has five Guardians, one for each color, leading it. The dragon is called Protacus, he’s in charge of Cyr’s diplomacy, and can temporarily possess his emissaries as long as they’re within range of a Source, allowing him to be one of the very few Guardian that can travel beyond their own source’s influence.

Geonne: Mostly undevelopped, but Geonne is mostly human... Kind of. Geonne’s magic allows humans to fuse with another creature in some situations (or rituals), which means the plane contains a lot of subspecies based on most types of animals and creatures.

Dragons on Geonne are more legends of the past than reality. If they exist still, they’re hiding well.

Ferely (not entirely mine): Ferely has humans, elves, minotaurs, azras, angels, (a handful of very powerful) demons, probably dragons but haven’t developed them yet... Probably more. Sapient species are way more intermixed on Ferely than on most planes, though, the demon blood that spawned the azras in the first place allows for reproduction between all sorts of species that would normally be incompatible, so belonging to a species is more a matter of choice than anything there.

Ocaelum (not entirely mine, but my version might be separate at this point): Humans, merfolks, elves, coralfolks, giant sentient Lifetrees, dwarves, dragons, and then the amphibious Family made up of many species, but the main two are Lutrives (otterfolks) and Axoltians (Axolotl-based species) with rarer ones like Ghavaleks like Arnoss. Add to that a thriving marine ecology ranging from plankton to giant sea monsters of all sorts.

Dragons on Ocaelum come in two kinds (well, three, but one is extinct and forgotten). The more bestial kind can be found swimming in the water, majestic but dangerous serpent-like beings. Other than those, there’s the Primordial dragons, born of the earth and residing within the air-filled tunnels and caves there, some legends claim they were the ones to dig them to emerge of the ground like one would from an egg. The primordial dragons are ancient beings of great power and wisdom, connected directly to the Sun at the center of the world, and generally benevolent. They created the Dwarves and see them as their children, and know more about the history of the world than most.

[fatehbaz]

In a way, I was raised by strawberries, fields of them.

Not to exclude the maples, hemlocks, white pines, goldenrod, asters, violets, and mosses of upstate New York, but it was the wild strawberries, beneath dewy leaves on an almost-summer morning, who gave me my sense of the world, my place in it. [...] Our mental maps had all the landmarks we kids needed: the fort under the sumacs, the rock pile, the river, the big pine with branches so evenly spaced you could climb to the top as if it were a ladder - and the strawberry patches. [...]

White petals with a yellow center - like a little wild rose - they dotted the acres of curl grass in May during the Flower Moon, waabigwanigiizis. We kept good track of them, peeking under the trifoliate leaves to check their progress as we ran through on our way to catch frogs. After the flower finally dropped its petals, a tiny green nub appeared in its place, and as the days got longer and warmer it swelled to a small white berry. These were sour but we ate them anyway, impatient for the real thing. [...]

Even now, after more than fifty Strawberry Moons, finding a patch of wild strawberries still touches me with a sensation of surprise, a feeling of unworthiness and gratitude for the generosity and kindness that comes with an unexpected gift all wrapped in red and green. "Really? For me? Oh, you shouldn't have." After fifty years they still raise the question of how to respond to their generosity. Sometimes it feels like a silly question with a very simple answer: eat them.

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

It's funny how the nature of an object -- let's say a strawberry or a pair of socks -- is so changed by the way it has come into your hands, as a gift or as a commodity. [...]

The pair of wool socks that I buy at the store, red and gray striped, are warm and cozy. [...] The exchange ends once parity has been established, an equal exchange. They become my property. I don't write a thank-you note to JCPenney. But what if those very same socks, red and gray striped, were knitted by any grandmother and given to me as a gift? That changes everything. A gift creates ongoing relationship.

Wild strawberries fit the definition of gift, but grocery store berries do not. It's the relationship between producer and consumer that changes everything. As a gift-thinker, I would be deeply offended if I saw wild strawberries in the grocery store. I would want to kidnap them all. [...]

I'm a plant scientist and I want to be clear, but I am also a poet and the world speaks to me in metaphor. When I speak of the gift of berries, I do not mean that Fragaria virginiana has been up all night making a present just for me, strategizing to find exactly what I'd like on a summer morning. So far as we know, that does not happen, but as a scientist I am well aware of how little we do know. The plant has in fact been up all night assembling little packets of sugar and seeds and fragrance and color [...].

What I mean of course is that our human relationship with strawberries is transformed by our choice of perspective. It is human perception that makes the world a gift. When we view the world this way, strawberries and humans alike are transformed. The relationship of gratitude and reciprocity thus developed can increase the evolutionary fitness of both plant and animal.

The stories we choose to shape our behaviors have adaptive consequences. [...]

In material fact, Strawberries belong only to themselves. The exchange relationships we choose determine whether we share them as a common gift or sell them as a private commodity. A great deal rests on that choice. For the greater part of human history, and in places in the world today, common resources were the rule. But some invented a different story, a social construct in which everything is a commodity to be bought and sold. [...]

One of these stories sustains the living systems on which we depend. One of these stories opens the way to living in gratitude and amazement at the richness and generosity of the world. One of these stories asks us to bestow our own gifts in kind, to celebrate our kinship with the world.

We can choose. If all the world is a commodity, how poor we grow. When all the world is a gift in motion, how wealthy we become.

In those childhood fields, waiting for strawberries to ripen, I used to eat the sour white ones, sometimes out of hunger but mostly from impatience. I knew the long-term results of my short-term greed, but I took them anyway. Fortunately, our capacity for self-restraint grows and develops like the berries beneath the leaves, so I learned to wait. A little. I remember lying on my back in the fields watching the clouds go by and rolling over to check the berries every few minutes. When I was young, I thought the change might happen that fast. Now I am old and I know that transformation is slow. The commodity economy has been here on Turtle Island for four hundred years, eating up the white strawberries and everything else. But people have grown weary of the sour taste in their mouths.

A great longing is upon us, to live again in a world made of gifts. I can scent it coming, like the fragrance of ripening strawberries rising on the breeze.

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

Robin Wall Kimmerer. Braiding Sweetgrass.

[queroze]

Holding back

Happy holidays, @worrynotso ! I hope you enjoy!

@sanderssidesgiftxchange

Summary: A vampire merman and a marine biologist meet. Love at first bite? Not quite....

Angst with a happy ending, Analogical 

TW: its a vampire mermaid: fangs, blood, water, biting, non-consensual biting

Word Count: 3533

Link to AO3

Virgil was hungry.

Very hungry. It had been far too long since he had eaten. He was desperate. Weak and dizzy he looked up from his cave of coral on the seafloor, the sandy muck and seaweed around him swirled as he moved. Shadows moved over him, blotting out the small amount of light that managed to make it to his glowing purple eyes.

Food.

A grouping of large sea animals cast dark shapes above him. They were too large to be fish. And it didn’t matter what they were. If they moved in groups and they were as bulky as they seemed, they were warm blooded. And that’s what Virgil needed. His stomach panged as he moved out of his cave and up and out with a quick flick of his tail. The bodies were sleek and quick.

Dolphins.

He swam, lithe and fast toward a pod of dolphins. Darting, chasing, gabbing, squeaky skin just out of reach. They scattered, each going a different direction, effectively confusing Virgil's luminescent violet eyes. Because there wasn't an old weak one among them, Virgil didn't get a chance to pick one off. He let his body fall listless to the bottom of the sea, the sand catching him and puffing around him.

Virgil would have never tried for a dolphin were he not confused by hunger gnawing away at his gut. His hands went into the sand, hoping to find some kind of mollusk to chew on at least. It wouldn't give him the nutrition he craved, but it would at least give his pointed teeth something to do, rather than him biting his own tail. The thick, strong and rough appendage was tucked under him as his thin pale hands came up empty of shells.  

Blood.

Mammal blood. That's what he needed. Warm, live and pulsing. Heart pumping away into his mouth, veins his glass, teeth his cutlery. Seals were ideal. Slow on land, thick with blubber sure, but at least it wasn’t that rubber band bounce of a dolphin. Whales were marginally better than their squeaking cousins. But also, extremely hard to catch. But their size made it easier to feed off a single one for months before Virgil sucked them dry. But he needed something, anything now.

There was no warning when the net fell on him, other than the slightest change in the shadows that surrounded the merman in the sand. It tangled him, caught his hands and arms, twisted at the base of his tail, cut into his skin. The net was making it hard to breathe, restricting his movements, until all he could do was a pathetic wiggle, sand filling his mouth as he struggled. After what seemed like an eternity, water catching in his gills frantically, a new movement happened. Virgil was being pulled up.

Virgil thrashed against the net, as he moved from the sea floor thru the empty middle expanse of the ocean. The thin twine cut into his tail, his back, his face.

But up he went.

His sharp teeth were useless, because he could not get purchase with his mouth against the tight weave of the net. But that didn’t stop him from biting the water uselessly.

And up he went.

The merman’s arms were pressed, folded awkwardly at his sides, as he attempted to claw at the net to no avail. The short stout claws would have done the job in a hurry if he could only get to the net.

Still up he went.

Until he broke the surface, rump first, tail flopping his own face as the full force of gravity hit his body dripping over the water. It was dark. It could have been a day with a storm, or a clear night for all Virgil was aware. Something jabbed at his side as he slowly turned in his dangle. Rough voices excited and fearful hit Virgil's ears as his body turned sluggishly around. A fishing boat, men in bright yellow shiny coats, as rubbery looking as a dolphin. Virgil snarled at the men, wiggling like a worm on a hook.

Something jerked and his body was moving closer to the boat. The movement was smoother than the easiest swim. The merman kept thrashing, snapping and snarling in vain. When he got close enough, hands grabbed him, callus and rough, pulling him into the boat. There was yelling, incomprehensible and confusing. The people aimed the merman over a large hole in the deck, dark and menacing to Virgil's violet eyes.

Trapped.

Virgil was dropped into the darkness, the deck of the ship disappearing above him. He landed with a splash into water. The water was wrong. It was too warm, too still, too hard, too scratchy. It stung his glowing eyes, the gills along his neck and his tender and pale upper body skin. Virgil’s body dropped like a stone, until it hit the hard and smooth bottom. The net loosened around his body and Virgil moved and thrashed until he was free, the net an evil puddle on the smooth floor.

Free finally to move about Virgil swam quickly around a small circle. A tank, he was in a tank. Legends of humans and their cruelty were abundant. Catching, killing, eating, maiming. He had heard them all….before. Before the only thing that sustained him was blood. Before when flesh was what he needed to survive. Before his tail turned dark, his torso pale and his eyes glowed. He had heard about the cruelty of humans.

And according to Virgil, those legends were right.

Chapter 2

"Unusual coloring on the upper quadrant of the specimen indicates a wider variation in population than previously hypothesized." Logan pressed pause on the recorder. He cleared his throat and turned to the merman in the tank. The 9-foot-long merman was laying at the bottom of the tank, its eyes tracking Logan's movement. Pressing play again he continues. "Incisors and canines are also 60% larger than other specimens that we have studied." Logan continues to take notes walking up the ramp that curved around from the bottom of the tank to the top. He paid no mind to the glowing violet eyes following him.

"The specimen is also at the point of starvation. Live fish, dead fish, and processed food have been offered and so far, rejected. The specimen…." Logan, nearing the top of the tank, checked the tag. Each of the merpeople that have been caught had been assigned a letter. This specimen was assigned the letter V. "The specimen V, as it will henceforth be referred to, seems to be on the brink of malnourishment. Because of this, in order to keep the specimen V alive in captivity for as long as possible for optimum scientific inquiry, some kind of nutrition needs to be entering its system without delay. Intravenous methods are being considered at this time."

Logan looks down into the water holding the merman, purple eyes look back from the bottom of the large tank. The merman wasn’t moving. But it’s fluttering gills and open eyes the only thing betraying the fact that it was alive. "The specimen V has been tracking me all the way up the ramp. That suggests alertness and awareness of its surroundings. This is encouraging as its malnourishment has not yet affected its cognitive abilities." Logan bent down to take a sample of the water. "A water sample of the specimen is going to be taken at...gaAHHHH!"

As quick as lightning, a pale arm breaks the surface of the water and pulls the marine biologist down under. Artificial saltwater fills Logan's mouth and lungs burning his esophagus and nostrils. He fights for the surface, reaching with his hands but the edge is getting further away. He fights against the strong thin hands that hold him, one around his torso, and the other around his face. But already the lack of air makes it hard to fight, to struggle, to get away, to get to the edge of the pool that was only 2 feet away.

A clawed hand tugged his hair, pulling his head back. Teeth sharper than scalpels cut into his neck, staining the water red around him. Logan's body, already heavy with clothes, is impossibly heavier as blood is drained from him. Darkness creeps the edges of his watery vision. Logan is being drained and drowned at the same time. The only thought in his head, clear despite facing impending death was: What is going to kill me? The water in my lungs or my blood in the water?

Blackness overtakes him.

.

.

.

.

Thump

Thump

Thump-thump

Thump-thump

Stinging, salt and chlorine erupts from his face. Logan coughs, fresh new air burns and it begins to fill his chest. He is laying precariously close to the edge of the tank. Something hard and plastic is pressed into Logan’s hands by someone pale and wet, his apparent rescuer. His glasses. Logan smashes them onto his face, blinking away the harsh water.

The merman looks back, mouth painted with blood. Logan's blood. Logan clutched the wound on his neck, still wet. But from his own blood gushing forth or from the saltwater clinging to him, he can't tell. He scrambles up, but almost falls back into the tank for his trouble.

"Dude. Chill."

Logan tries to focus on the voice, but as it happened to be coming from the direction of the merman, the very same merman who currently has Logan's blood on his lips, Logan was looking for any other source of the sound. Hand still clenched on his neck, stemming any potential blood from escaping him he finally makes eye contact with the…. vampire merman.

"Sorry about that." The voice of the vampire merman was low, gravely, and rocky in all the right places.

"Biting me?!" Logan asks, finding his own voice to be higher and raspier than it normally was.

"Yeah...I uh...hadn't eaten. And you were right there." The vampire merman actually looked embarrassed, his hand on the back of his neck, eyes downcast.

Logan looked dumbstruck at the sea creature talking to him. None of the other specimens had even said hello, let alone mumbled an embarrassed apology for blood sucking. But Logan's instinct for correction overrode the astonishment.

"You didn't eat. We provided a variety of options."

"I don't eat fish." Came the simple yet significant reply.

"You suck blood." Logan hypothesized, hand still on his neck, still stemming whatever bleeding was happening there.

"Mammal blood" The vampire merman corrected with his rocky stormy voice confirming what Logan was about to say.

"Mammal blood. You drink mammal blood." Logan plops hard on his rump, blinking in disbelief, his hand still on his neck. It was cold, not warm. Did that mean there was no bleeding?

The vampire merman reaches out and gently moves Logan's hand from his neck. "Your fine. You won't bleed out." The care in his gravelly voice is apparent.

Logan goes along with the movement, looking wide-eyed at the most unique creature he has ever studied. "I won't? But the blood...my blood...it was in the water."

Specimen V's pectorals turn a dark purple. "Yeah, my bad. I was starving, so it got everywhere. Usually I'm cleaner than that."

Logan nods dumbly unsure how to respond. He finally looks at his hand, the one that was supposed to be stopping the blood from the bite wound. It was clean, as Specimen V had said. “How?” was the only word the biologist could form.

“oh…uh…I don’t really know?” The merman looks everywhere but at the human. “Something to do with the venom….”

“Venom?!?!” Logan says moving away from the fanged monster.

“Woah dude…It won’t kill you…probably…” The merman winces. “I’ve never fed off a human before…So probably.”

Logan shakes his head a hundred questions lighting up in his brain. “How are you talking? None of our other specimens talked.”

Specimen V's looks at the slightly cowering human with sharp eyes. “Other …specimens?”

“The other merpeople.”

“How many?” The fanged voice is all sharp rocks and crumbling cliffs.

“You are the 22nd” Logan says scooting away from the merman, the tank, and all the mysteries they hold.

“Oh no…” The merman grabs at the scientist’s ankle like lightning, even quicker now he was out of the water. “You’re not just going to leave. You have to let me out of here.”

The vampire merman, after displaying a surprising number of emotions, now shows the most surprising one of all: fear. Terror is etched into every line of his skin, bone, and body. From the way his muscles were taunt as he held Logan from escaping. To his pale face, violet eyes frantic and darting, looking for an exit. His angled jaw set, fangs poking out of his lips menacingly.

Logan pulls his leg hard trying to get away, but the creature's grasp is tight. “Let me go, I cannot release you from here.” He reasons confidently.

Specimen V, eyes still looking for a way back to the ocean himself, finally settles on the man he is holding distrust in his eyes. “How do I know you will?”

“You don’t.”

Chapter 3

Virgil lets go of the human. There wasn’t much more he could do. His captor was probably telling the truth, as there was nothing within reach that looked like the ocean to him. The human scrambles up and runs down a curve and out of sight. And Virgil waits, skin feeling tight as the too clean saltwater dries on his skin. He rubs the gills on his neck in a self-conscious movement. He could dip back in the tank with the water that was all wrong, relieve his gills, give his tiny lungs a break. But being out of the tank gave him a better view of the goings on of the human. The human who had been gone for an exceedingly long time….

“Hey! Don’t you dare do anything funny!” Virgil calls, his voice echoing unpleasantly off the metal walls making him wince from the reverb.

Nothing calls back. In fact, is suspiciously silent. Virgil pulls himself forward, tail dragging on the grates under him. “Are you there?” he calls again, voice high and tight in suppressed panic.

Then footfalls, fast and heavy are coming up the ramp that hugs the tank. The man comes into view, this time he is armed with a spear as long as Virgil.

“No! No please!” Virgil yells holding his arms up to protect himself.

“Get back in the tank!” The human yells at him.

“Please! Please just let me go!” Virgil cowers now, the human getting closer. He had never seen spears up close, but the victims of such weapons left little to the imagination.

“Back in the tank! Did you really think I am going to let such a unique specimen go?” The scientist laughs hauntingly. “In addition, you speak. You and I are going to have a number of conversations.” With a free hand he holds up an impromptu muzzle made from a bungie cord and some extremely large fishing hooks. “One way or another.”

The cruelty of humans is well known from before his tail turned dark, his skin pale and his eyes glowed. But never did he hear of the cold calculation of a man of science. Of an ambition and ivory towers. No, if Virgil had heard about that he would have starved himself at the bottom of the tank, with its too clean saltwater and too smooth floor.

And there he heads now, splashing sideways, spear poking at his side, just this side of cutting into his skin. He looks at the man bearing the spear defiantly. “Someday you will get too close again. And I will not hold back.”

The vampire mermaid and the human scientist stare each other down, each one a monster in the other’s eyes.

 Chapter 4

         Months pass.

And Virgil is fed. Not always on purpose, and sometimes on accident, but he no longer starves.

                          Months pass.

And Logan learns more. Not always on purpose, and sometimes on accident, but he knows more now than he ever has.

                                                Months pass

And each of the monsters grow softer to the other.

Logan is kinder and gentler now to the merman he has learned the name of. Logan learns he doesn’t like it too bright, too warm, or too loud. The biologist learns that the merman in his care knows all about the prey he hunts, doesn’t know anything of his kind. That after being left for dead by the one who had bitten him, he had not interacted with merpeople since. He had no mate, nor friends.

Virgil is softer and sweeter now to the biologist he has learned the name of. Virgil learns he hates to repeat himself, dislikes not being listened to, and craves praise. The merman learns that the biologist who harbors him knows all about the creatures of the sea, but knows nothing about his own race. He didn’t know how to interact with them, how to find a mate, and how to make friends.

As they pity each other for what they don’t have, each develops a want. One that they each try and squash.

When Logan feels the want, he refuses to meet Virgil’s eyes.

When Virgil feels the want, he can’t stop looking at Logan.

                                                      Months pass.

                                                                    And the want grows.

 Logan is reading to Virgil. Virgil is on the outside of the tank, laying on a makeshift sofa made from an inflatable raft. Logan is on a stool, hunched forward, nearing the end of the tale. Virgil is enraptured by Logans voice, the story, everything, his eyes drilling into the hunched figure in front of him. As Logan concludes the book, he closes it and looks up at Virgil, meeting his eyes.

“Did you enjoy that one?”

“Yes….and I liked you reading it.”

This catches Logan off guard. “Only because you’ll get the pages wet.”

“I like your voice Lo.” Virgil says his own stormy and rocky tones  that send shivers up Logans spine.

“Your sample size isn’t that large.”

“I still like it. Its soothing.”

“It’s monotone.”

“Same difference.”

Logan smirks setting down the book. Virgil perks up. “What are you doing now?”

“Not leaving. Don’t worry. Its Friday night, so I have no plans.”

“Lo?” Virgil’s voice is soft, like the foamy part of the waves.

Logan looks toward the merman, and notices his chest is a darker purple again. That happens sometimes. But Virgil assured him it was not bad. But it was still curious. “Yes Virgil?”

“You can plan to stay here. Then you would have plans.”

“Well reasoned. That does make me feel better. Plans created and executed. I am now fulfilled.” Logan says deadpan.

The merman laughs, fangs catching the light.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Logan asks undoing his tie already.

The purple on Virgil’s chest gets darker, eyes not leaving Logan’s face. “I mean…. we could find someone else…”

“It’s the weekend. It isn’t good when you go three days. If you drink today, we will get you someone else on Monday.”

Virgil’s stare intensifies. “Alright.”

Logan comes closer, and sits next to Virgil, shivering next to the colder merman. Virgil reaches for Logans head and pulls it down into his lap gently. The merman cradles Logan’s head, his neck exposed and waiting. Logan breathes steady under him. Virgil bites, fangs going deep into the pulse of the human’s veins. Logan hisses until the toxin makes its way into the wound, numbing the area. Logan’s eyes flutter closed, the toxin and the blood loss a potent combination. Virgil drinks deeply, brine and blood in this mouth and on his tongue. He finishes with a press of his lips on the open wounds, and they knit close, new skin tender and shiny.

Logan opens his eyes, and he sits up unsteadily. His face close to Virgil’s, he can feel the sharp breath on his cheek. His eyes drop to the dark purple chest of the vampire merman. Virgil’s chest was always dark purple when he drinks from Logan, but never when he drinks from someone else. When Logan smuggles him someone homeless, drunk, or drugged it’s a ghostly pale white of his normal coloring.

Virgil tips Logan’s chin up, their eyes meeting. “My eyes are up here sailor.” He whispers playfully.

Logan swallows, eyes stopping at the lips of the merman, one of his fangs caught on the outside of his bottom lip. “Virgil?”

“Yeah?” As he speaks, the fang is tucked back to where it belongs.

Eyes still on his lips Logan surges up and kisses the vampire merman. Virgil, surprised, is knocked back, into the inflatable raft, his tail squeaking against the rubber. The biologist, embarrassed, scrambles back.

“Oh no you don’t…” Virgil grabs the human by the ankle and pulls him into the raft. “I have been wanting to do that for months!”

Logan laughs crawling into the raft, “Why didn’t you?”

“I was already drinking…it seemed a lot more to ask…but now…” Virgil brings Logan into a Vampire kiss, fangs pressing into Logan’s lips. “Now…I’m not holding back.”

[half-man-half-lime]

SBURB in the Pact/Pale/Otherverse

There’s a series of Reddit threads where people come up with versions of story characters, settings, elements, etc. that fit into the mechanics and style of the Otherverse from Wildbow’s Pact and Pale web serials and Pactdice game. In the last thread someone posted an idea of Sburb as a ritual, and while I was stewing on my own ideas for that, I didn’t want to hijack the comment. I was waiting for another thread to pop up but for now I’ll post it here. Sorry if some of the stuff doesn’t fit the tone or style of Pact and Pale. This is what I’ve come up with:

Nobody remembers the name of the small European colony on the Pacific Ocean where the war between Angels and Demons took place. It was literally wiped off the map, from most people’s memories, and from most records. It’s quite possible that if the humans, Angels, and Demons involved hadn’t taken part in this war, their cooperation would have sustained better relationships between the human and celestial forces, which are distant and oppositional to this day.

By some unknown series of events, only a few hundred years ago, a war sparked between many Greater Angels and Demons. Many Others and practitioners were roped into fighting for both sides. Evangelists, Diabolists, Greater and Lesser Angels and Demons, and greater gods and non-Angelic architects of Space and Time, standing on the same level as the most powerful Angels and Demons. Old grudges and rivalries had come to a head here, and the battle was bloody.

The final escalation happened when the Angelic forces were losing, and the Demonic side elected to deal the finishing blow. One of the Greater Demons called the stars to fall from the sky and crush the enemy. Others and Practitioners mounted defenses, and the arbiters of Time and Space tried to displace some of the stars, but weren’t strong enough to prevent the entirety of the damage, and so a Greater Angel elected to make sure the enemy didn’t survive to advance their agenda, pulling down more stars to destroy the Diabolical forces.

What resulted was a destruction so thorough that most of the island was wiped out, leaving a small sliver of volcanic island in its place. Nobody remembered what happened there, as the destruction was thorough, and brought on by Demons. However, nobody disappeared exactly. The whole country was pulled down, as the stars burned holes in reality, past the known homes of the forgotten, including the Abyss and the Paths. They were pulled down to the void beneath the void beneath the void, far beyond any realms known to Practitioner or Other.

Those pulled into this realm were shredded apart into simple and complex spirits, and larger fragments of beings still not whole enough to live on their own. Spirits and fragments were attracted to things similar to themselves as if by some gravitational pull, and slowly coalesced into whole beings. These beings were massive and godlike, eschewing conventional bodies, becoming a patchwork of flesh and mouths and eyes and tentacles.

The architects of Time and Space re-formed, merging with the remained of what temporal and spatial elements once made up the island colony. The Angels and the ideas they embodied tried to reform, embodying forces of knowledge, fortune, and Light, as well as creation, faith, and Hope. The Demons re-formed as amalgamations of darkness, emptiness, and the Void they found themselves in, and the sin, destruction, and Rage against the flawed structures and conventions of the world they once sought to destroy.

Most people and Others were broken down to their base elements. Their capacity for thought, and the forces of Karma and the laws of the Seal of Solomon, as well as choices, promises, and words, came together and took on a Mind of their own. The Selves of these beings, their feelings and identities grew their own Heart. The cycle of birth and death, and the beings who sought to take the dead to their final resting places, became the overseers of Life and enactors of Doom in this strange new world. The old relationships, connections both natural and Practiced, they came together to embody the ties of Blood between those who lived in this realm.

And, lastly, the one force that had no hand in this war was the air spirits, who only ever sought freedom. When the stars fell from the sky and burned a hole in the ground, sucking everything in, it was the air spirits that coalesced of their own accord, seeking to escape the horrible fate that befell the island, but sadly they weren’t strong enough to escape. The complex air spirits were torn apart, but became whole again long after they drew their last Breath.

These new Horrorterrors who ruled this realm remembered the echoes of their old war, and their old desires to tear down the old world as Demons, and the Angels’ original role as creators, long before they fell into their role as caretakers of the world the humans inherited. As such, the seed of purpose was planted here, to become the seed for the old world to be torn down, and a new universe to be created.

The problem was, this place was empty. There were spirits, fragments of animals, humans, and others, and the broken landmass of the forgotten country, but this wasn’t enough. This place was like the Paths, needing context and ideas in order to become solid. Guided by its new gods, it became hungry for definition and ideas it could use to build its new world, a bare canvas to be painted, a Medium for creation.

It reached out to the world, searching for anything to give it definition. It couldn’t bring in much at first; stories of heroes and adventure, of war and conquest. Games of cards and chess. Study of planets and stars. These things were reminiscent of the war that echoed through the memories of the Horrorterrors, and so the Medium sculpted two new kingdoms, Prospit and Derse, to wage a war like the one it remembered. The kingdoms’ citizens didn’t have enough definition taken from humans, and so they took on bodies more like chess pieces, and organized themselves like card suits. If the Battlefield could ever become ready, they could wage a new war, build a new world. But for now it was just a chessboard, with two kings narrowly avoiding one-another, never ceasing.

This didn’t become a full-fledged Ritual Incarnate for several hundred years. A group of technomancers and programmers in the nineties found the remains of that small volcanic island in the pacific, tended to by an elderly practitioner who had retired from traveling the world, retiring to this place with his young daughter. He showed the technomancers how this place harbored some faint, distant connection to the Medium, and they all worked together to find ways to channel it, and use its hunger for definition in constructive ways. They created a language of new symbols connected to this place to use in diagrams, choosing spirographs, as circles distorted by circles distorted by circles, to signify the circular, self-fulfilling loop of space and time in a void beneath the void beneath the void. These symbols were inextricably tied to Paradox Space.

These practitioners, now calling their group Skaianet, tried to bind the Medium to punch cards, to record the spirits making up an object or being within the Medium, and retrieve or create those objects from anywhere using an associated Hexadecimal code. These Captchalogue Cards were a success.

However, the connection to these technomancers was a potential foothold for the Medium to pull in more ideas from the world. The practitioners became Harbingers for the Horrorterrors without even realizing it, and the horrorterrors used their incredible powers to rewrite these practitioners’ lives, little by little. At first the members of Skaianet were only creating Captchalogue Cards and other associated odds and ends for their own gain. Then, suddenly, they had always been studying the ruins on this island, which had always been there. Then they had always been working on using their experience with text adventure games to build a ritual around the Medium. And then they had always been translating the code in the ruins into a video game that could be mass-produced.

And finally, these practitioners and their children had always been born in the Medium, destined to play the game and create themselves.

The Medium and the Horrorterrors finally had access to enough spirits to build new worlds. Other practitioners were beginning to use Captchalogue Cards to store items and build new ones out of the composite spirits by punching the cards a certain way and writing down the codes. Some could gather information on how a piece of technomancy could grow this powerful this quickly, but few could do anything about it in time for the game’s release. Skaianet’s members communicated through the internet via a chat program, and so the internet and the chat program became more footholds for the Horrorterrors. The game’s beta would go public, and people everywhere would be consigning themselves to doom in sacrifice to the Medium.

The four players (children and grandchildren of three of the members of Skaianet, and one practitioner related to the old man) would enter the game and complete the ritual.

The new structure of the game, a new Ritual Incarnate, would be as follows: The four chosen players would enter the game using the game disc and captchalogue cards. Like other Practitioners who became Harbingers, they were each chosen by Horrorterrors in charge of one of the Twelve Aspects, taking on a Class, a relationship to that aspect based on their personality and the archetypes of old stories and new games. The sacrificed players, their homes, and the objects they deposited into the Kernelsprite, all destroyed by meteors, would provide some definition to the new universe the players would create, and to the Lands they would adventure in.

The players, meanwhile, would deposit objects or beings into the Kernelsprite, and the spirits making up these things would provide definition to the warring kingdoms and their battlefield, allowing the war to properly begin. The pseudo-Lost Others of this realm took on roles as Imps, Ogres, and other, greater enemies, to challenge the players, once there were enough things prototyped to make them whole again. The children would set out on their adventure on their personal lands, completing quests and fighting the emissaries of the Horrorterrors hidden as Denizens deep within this land.

The quests would lead each player, playing out their own coming of age story, to save their Land, fight their Denizen, and assist the Kingdom of Prospit in defeating the Kingdom of Derse, completing the war that had never been fully won by either side in the old war. They would create themselves, fulfilling the time loop the game created, breed frogs (frog breeding was another bit of information the Medium found relatable for some reason) and create a new universe to rule. Everything would tie into itself using the portals utilized in the Reckoning, both protecting Skaia from the summoned meteors, and sending the meteors through time to Earth to fulfill each time loop.

[kaboomatic]

Give the Devil His Due

Roger steps onto Raftel and nothing is ever the same. 

Only the souls who pledged themselves to him, from Silvers Rayleigh to Shanks and Buggy and everyone else in between, Roger Pirates one and all, know what happened on that island, only they know the truth.

(And if you get Crocus drunk enough on enough whiskey to kill a giant, if Rayleigh sees something of his old captain in you and doesn’t recoil in fear, if you pay Buggy enough money and he obliges for an island’s ransom, if you ask Shanks kindly enough and he obliges for a story and a song, they might tell you.)

Raftel twists and it shifts and it warps and it breaks as the first king in history (but not the last, never the last) to walk its shores strikes a deal with an entity older than time. And the world twists and it shifts and it warps and it breaks as history is rewritten.

(For Raftel is the present and the future and the past all wrapped up in one, the graveyard and prison and killer of the gods of time and fate and the devourer of their power).

History is rewritten, stretching back to the death of the gods, and none are more changed than those damned souls that pledged themselves to Gol D. Roger.

Rayleigh changes first. The crew always joked that he was the shadow of Roger, and now he’s that and more, a wraith of darkness and blackness and void, a being who could strip life from anyone with just a touch. The Dark King, Roger’s dark reflection. 

(And after Roger’s death, after the crew became less demon and more human, he was still called the Dark King, and while Shakky loved him with all her heart, some days the shadows in the bar became longer and sharper and inched their way to her husband and Shakky wondered what exactly had she married.)

Crocus goes second, and becomes more flower than man, a thing of plant and change and bloody bloody mutation that can turn men into hellbeasts with a thought, sustain life after death, and create ghosts of those who would never come back. 

(And after Roger’s death, after the crew became less demon and more human, Crocus was horrified by what he’d become, and, using the skill of the King’s doctor and the powers of a demon, excised his demon and tossed it into the sea. But the corruption is still around, and the Lily Carnation still hungers for blood.)

Oden goes third, and unlike all the others, while his body doesn’t change (for Wano is a place of ancient gods and ancient pacts and Raftel will honor all agreements, even the ones it was forced into), his mind, soul, and even his past are warped beyond recognition. No child can kill a bear at age four, and the red light district of Oden’s home has too much pride to let a six year old roam their streets. Oden was already immensely strong, but Raftel changed that, giving him the strength of a demon and the appetite to match. 

(And after Roger’s death, after the crew became less demon and more human, Oden was the only one to stay the same, for Wano supped from the blood of gods, same as Raftel, and it protects all its children.)

Inuarashi and Nekomamushi go fourth, even after Oden begs them not to, and become whirling death and a darkened moon and howling beasts, animals twisted into something dark, primal, and ferocious. (For the Mink tribe and their electro have existed for ages, but the sulong was a creation of Raftel.)

(And after Roger’s death, after the crew became less demon and more human, the sulong was locked behind the full moon. But while Roger lived, there was a reason why the mink tribe was the most feared group in the New World, and why no sane man ever ventured close to Zunisha.)

Scopper Gaban and Nozdon and all the others change too, into death and pain and war and battle, demons of the sea and the salt and the blood red sand, but they leave something behind and they're never the same afterwards. 

(Raftel rewrites history for the Pirate King, but nothing comes without a price, and that price is the history of most of his crew. They aren't people anymore, just tools and weapons. The world remembers nothing about Scopper Gaban and Nozdon and all the others, just names, faces, and power. A weapon needs nothing else.)

Shanks and Buggy go second to last, even while everyone else begs and pleads and threatens and bribes them, anything in order for them to stay children and not become demons like the rest of Roger’s Crew. (Because even demons have those they care about, and the Oro Jackson’s cabin boys are theirs and should never have to go through what they did). It’s the first time Buggy stands up to the crew and the first time Shanks ever disobeys their wishes. Both Buggy and Shanks change, and nobody can stop them.

Shanks changes in body, becoming blood on the wind, a keening tide of red that hungers for pain and fear and loss, a demon whose hair is made of blood. (Rookies find it odd that the epithet of one of the Four Emperors is ‘Red Hair’. The veterans hear that name and remember a man who’s every hair is a soul he killed.)

(And after Roger’s death, after the crew became less demon and more human, Shanks becomes less blood and more man, but still keeps some of that cruelty and sadism. Luffy had to learn how to destroy dreams from somebody, after all.)

Buggy’s body and soul belong to another, a foul tasting fruit sealing a pact with the Sea Devil, the last of the Old Gods. Raftel cannot change his body. Instead, Raftel changes his mind, turning it into a twisted, mad thing, a thing that allows Buggy to create cannonballs that can obliterate fortresses and destroy islands. (If CP9 had managed to get Pluton’s blueprints, they would have gone after Buggy next, for he was the only one able to make ammunition worthy of an Ancient Weapon)

(And after Roger’s death, after the crew became less demon and more human, Buggy sealed that part of him away forever, out of fear, not for what others would do to him, but what he would do to others.)

Roger, of course, goes last, not out of cowardice, but because his crew insists that they go first. He doesn’t change. Roger has always been the way he is, larger than life with a grin wide enough to split the heavens, and a darkness large enough to swallow the earth.

(And who do men fear more, the demons, or the one who holds their leash?)

Ace is not and will not be changed in the slightest, for while Raftel changes all who are related to the Pirate King, past, present, and future, Portgas D. Ace is not related to the Pirate King. He is the son of Whitebeard now and forevermore. 

(For what are the ties of mortal blood to an island who has already drunk deep of the ichor of gods?)

Ace might not be the son of the past Pirate King, but he is the brother of the future one, and when Luffy made it to Raftel, he would have become a thing of blood and flame, a demon of hellfire with a burning crown, a prince of the inferno. 

(But Ace did not live to see his brother become the King, he died in magma and war and a broken promise and a ‘thank you for loving me’, and Raftel will never reverse death. It did once, only once, and Joy Boy has been a thorn in their side for millenia)

There are other changes, of course. Garp’s fist was always strong enough to demolish mountains, but he would have never harmed a hair on a child’s head. Whitebeard was always near-invincible, but there are always pirates willing to stab someone in the back. Kaido was always the last of the true dragons, but no dragon was ever as impervious to pain as he is. Big Mom always loved sweets, but not to the point of near-mindlessness. The World Government was always ruled by the World Nobles, but once upon a time they were people, not the caricatures they’ve become now. But the changes to Roger’s crew were the greatest, and the main reason for Raftel to slumber for over a decade.

Now, a generation after its last change, its last pact, Raftel wakes up. But this time, it isn’t content with merely waiting for the King to walk its shores. The king is right there, carrying a piece of Raftel’s power on its brow, and the tendrils of the island of death (and demons and corruption and pain and loss and a hundred other dead gods of sin) stretch far indeed.

A/N: @whirlybirdwhat Well, here’s part 1 of that demon fic you wanted me to write. Been a while, but better late than never.