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[waterfae]

Kill My Lord Husband [Part 2]

Summary: Your father has decided to marry you off – and to a Blackwood no less! But you want nothing to do with the famously known Bloody Ben, not when your heart already belongs to another. Your solution? Kill your lord husband.

Pairings: Benjicot “Davos” Blackwood x Reader, Aeron Bracken x Reader

Warnings: !MINORS DNI! canon-typical violence, adult language, slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, arranged marriage, house-neutral fem!reader, no use of Y/N, absolute nonsense, no beta

Word Count: 1.9+ K

Part: 1 | 2

Benjicot continued to quietly observe you, even as Atlanna marched up to pluck you from his arms and steer you towards the rest of the family where you were greeted by Lady Blackwood and Lady Alysanne. Now and then, you would do the same, catching his eyes several more times before quickly looking away after each occurrence, heat rising to your cheeks. A familiar feeling. A cursed feeling. The persistent fluttering within your stomach only further made you feel as though you were burning up from the inside – from sinful hellfire, you decided.

Atlanna caught the flushed look on your features and whispered with a knowing smile, “At least he is pleasing to look upon.”

“It is not a good thing.” You whined in reply, although it was a lie. Who wouldn’t want to have a husband that was delightful to look at and he was indeed a handsome one, but he was not Aeron; you didn’t want him to be pleasing.

His gaze lingered. You could feel the heat of it as you were led towards the castle and ushered into the dining hall for dinner. It lingered still after Atlanna left you to be seated while the servants brought out various dishes to set onto the table. With great effort, you ignored his attentions and withheld your own. It had taken you by surprise, the initial reaction to your betrothed as he held you in his arms. You had felt that jolt only once before; for only one man before. It was jarring. It disgusted you – made you sick with guilt. You pushed the feelings away, just as you pushed the boiled potatoes about your plate. You wanted to hate this man. You needed to hate this man.

“She looks even more like her mother than the last I saw her.” Lady Blackwood’s comment pulled you out from the swarming thoughts of your husband-to-be. You looked up from your plate and smiled politely at the compliment; one you were frequently given.

“Indeed, she does.” Your father said beaming at you as he patted your hand lovingly, “My late wife would have been so proud – so happy to see our families united.”

“You are blessed by the gods.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed at Lord Blackwood’s latest remark, unable to control the impulse and catching your actions too late; you hoped no one had noticed. “Fuck the gods.” Was your following thought. You hadn’t believed in the gods since your mother died six years ago; not really – just enough to still have anger towards them. And considering your current predicament, you most certainly believed in them a sufficient amount to be just as – if not more – resentful.

As the evening wore on, bellies grew full and people shifted their seats in favor of conversations. Lord and Lady Blackwood continued to discuss with your father about the upcoming nuptials. Ser Willem and Lady Alysanne bickered over the superiority between his sword and her arrows with Benjicot cutting in as it became more heated to claim his own caliber to be greater than that of his aunt and uncle. Eventually, you found yourself leaving yours to wander over to the balcony, finding no common subject matter to insert yourself.

The clouds above were just as thick as when you arrived, blocking out most of the light from the moon, yet still from where you stood, regardless of the dimly-lit night, you were able to make out the ancient weirwood you had only ever heard stories about; colossal in its size with hundreds of ravens perched against its branches.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Came a voice suddenly from behind. It startled and urged you to search for the speaker. You found Benjicot slowly making his way forward until he was beside you, leaning against the balustrade. “Despite it not having shown a single leaf for nearly a thousand years.” His eyes stayed fixed on the giant, “Poisoned by House Bracken.”

“It certainly is a wonder.” You replied shakily, your heart wrenching at the mention of the Brackens.

“We shall be wed there. Before the old gods.” He said, finally straightening himself to face you, “But you do not seem to believe in the gods.” Benjicot stated it rather than asked.

Your eyebrows raised at his statement. It appeared your reaction earlier at dinner had not gone unnoticed. Had he really still been watching you at that moment? You wondered. His attention span was remarkable, “It’s not that I don’t believe, because I do.” You paused to heave a sigh, “Enough for them to anger me.”

He let out a low laugh, “Do they?” He took a step towards you, “You don’t seem angry.” He scanned your face, searching for what, you weren’t sure, but the look on his was one that hinted at nostalgia, “Annoyed, perhaps, but angry? No.” He shook his head with feigned disappointment, then suddenly smirked, “I’ve seen you angry.”

You sent him a questioning glance.

Before you could voice the query, he explained, “Years ago, I participated in a tourney held by Lord Tully for his nameday. You and your father were there. It was the first time I heard mother and father bring up a marriage between our houses, but your mother had just passed and your father too distraught. Out of friendship and respect, they didn’t pursue the issue further.”

You were taken aback, shocked that as early as then there had already been plans to attempt a match between the two of you; there was never any mention of it before.

“Such a pretty thing, even then.” He added softly, your mouth went dry and gulped as he took another step forward, towering over you, “Prettier all the more when you knocked that Bracken off his feet.” He flashed an amused smile, “Such rage.”

Your jaw fell open as Benjicot continued to speak of it, the memory of that particular time rushing back to the forefront of your mind and it clicked; you knew the exact event he was referring too. That had been the day you first met Aeron – right after you lunged at one of his cousins and struck him over the head with his own helm; retaliation for a remark made about you being half an orphan. Aeron had been the one to pull you off of him and restrain you.

You scrunched up your eyebrows and slowly asked, unsure if you were understanding correctly, “I somehow gained your favor because I was...pretty...and angry?”

He chuckled, “Not so much your anger, but your spirit.” His stormy eyes found yours again and you couldn’t look away, “There was a fire in your eyes and it told me that if my parents wishes were to be fulfilled then you would make an exceptional addition to our house; you were meant to be a Blackwood.”

“You wanted this union?” You breathed as realization hit you.

“I wasn’t against it.”

You suddenly became very aware of how close Benjicot was. Too close. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face and it caused your heart to beat rapidly. You quickly tore your gaze away from his and took a step back, chest heaving, your lungs screaming for air. How long had you been holding your breath?

“I am sorry to inform you, but I am not that girl. Not anymore.” You said in a rush and hoped your words would make him think twice of his opinion of you, “I was young. Still growing, still learning. I’ve matured since then and have become a proper lady.” Distance, you thought as you took another step back, you needed more distance. “I was also grieving for my mother. Not in the right mind. That girl wasn’t – isn’t me. I no longer participate in such uncouth behavior.”

‘I was also not yet in love with Aeron.’ You kept that declaration silently to yourself.

Benjicot tilted his head, studying you for several moments before finally heaving a sigh, “That’s rather unfortunate. For such a flame to burn out.” You noticed him bite his lip before going further, “Mayhaps, overtime, we can reignite it.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your stomach lurch and your head dizzy; you had not even taken another step, yet it still made you stumble. He made a move to try and catch you, but you were able to steady yourself with a nearby pillar, one arm outstretched signaling him to stop and keep the space between you.

“I should retire to my chambers!” You blurted out in a panic.

He blinked at your sudden outburst, “Are you alright, my lady? Have I done something to offend you?”

“I am tired.” You replied while steadying yourself and straightening your skirts, “It has been a very long day.”

“Shall I escort you –”

You cut him off, frantically waving him off with your hands, “No. It’s fine.” You turned on your heel, ready to get as far away from him as possible, “I am capable of finding my own way.”

You weren’t. As soon as you left him on that balcony and bid your father and the Blackwoods good night, you immediately turned the wrong corner exiting the dining hall and had gotten lost. You mentally kicked yourself while you walked around aimlessly for gods know how long, regretful of turning down Benjicot’s offer to escort you to your chambers. You buried your face in your hands at the thought and stomped your foot like a petulant child. As helpful as it might have been to have him, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to withstand another minute. The emotional turbulence, the way your body reacted to his proximity, the things he said and did...it wasn’t love by any means, but it was overwhelming all the same.

“What in the seven hells is wrong with me?!” You asked aloud to no one in particular. In your turmoil, you almost didn’t noticed the brisk footsteps echoing down the hall.

“My lady!” You looked up to find Atlanna scurrying towards you, “There you are!”

Relief washed over you, glad to have been found and not left to wander the halls all night. She stopped in front of you, pausing to catch her breath; she must have been running and searching for you for a long while to be in such a state. You questioned it.

“I was waiting for you in your chambers – unpacking more of your belongings and to help you get ready for bed – when this arrived.” Atlanna held up a piece of parchment, “When you still hadn’t come, I went looking for you. It seemed important.” She scanned the corridor, making sure the two of you were truly alone before whispering, “I think it’s from him.”

For a moment, it felt as though your heart had stopped. You eyed the little scroll in both excitement and fear of what its message may contain. With much hesitation, you accepted and unrolled it. You immediately recognized the handwriting scrawled upon it and a rush of different emotions came to hit you all at once. There was not much to it – the message was very short with simple instructions. You read over his words repeatedly, until you were overcome. You burst into tears without any sort of warning and began to sob violently, shocking Atlanna in the process.

“It’s from Aeron.” You stated the obvious as the tears you held onto for so long finally streamed down your face. Atlanna caught you just as your knees gave way. Unable to carry your weight, she instead guided you to the stone floor. She held tightly onto your trembling form, rocked you from side to side while rubbing your back to soothe you, your cries muffled as you buried your face into her bosom and Aeron’s message crumpled in your tight grip.

a/n: This chapter was getting too long, editting was killing me, and I became too impatient to update. So I broke it up. I made you guys wait too long and simply wanted to serve something. I'm hoping to get the next part out very soon, since it's technically already written. I'm just polishing it up at this point. Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated and my askbox is always open. ♡

I accidentally made myself cry. Woopsies! Aeron will actually show up next chapter. Shenanigans will be had.

taglist: @pantheonofbeauty @cregansfourthwife @spicyteaandcrumpets @accidentpronedork @cococrazy18

@witch-moon-babe @a-romantic-twst @flusteredmoonn @nixtape-foryou @flowerprincezz

@trouble-sistar @username199945 @claire-loves-music @lady-dragon-rider @spider-stark

@moonnicole @hardkiddonut

[centrally-unplanned]

I find myself interested in how ineffective integration was for Ireland vis a vis the UK in the 19th century. Certainly after 1832 voting reforms and the 1829 repeal of the ban on Catholics serving in parliament (UK-wide but ofc hitting Ireland the hardest), the Irish were at more-or-less equal footing as the English or Scots when it came to voting rights and the legal system (I think most people don't know this! They think the Irish couldn't vote in the 19th century!) And it wasn't even an "on paper" deal for voting rights, Irish were active in government (they even had Irish PMs, though ofc Protestant), by the latter half of the 19th century economic regulations were equalized, and they got within a hair's breadth of Home Rule before some munitinous unionists and WW1 got in the way. Despite the rep a lot of countries have gigantic ethnic minorities, and liberalism/equal franchise is actually pretty decent solution to that problem. Why didn't ~100 years of representation in the House of Commons, in the era when "nation building" was at its peak, not work?

From what I can tell, timing is of course part of it. At a simple level, World War One was such a nationalist godsend; it created the "radicalism cascade", a weakened center and domino revolutions inspiring everyone with a cause with a sort of temporal Schelling Point. Without it, would the 1912 Home Rule have just been implemented in due time, and Ireland would be like Scotland today? At a more structural level, the timing was particularly rough because WW1 was the tail end of the age of religion in Europe. So much of the conflict was over Protestant vs Catholic, and after WW2 if Ireland was united under one home rule government in the UK it's hard to imagine the secularizing age powering so much conflict. Had they "held on" a few more decades you could see it calming down.

I think those are true enough but you do gotta dig down to another level. "Protestant" wasn't really just a religion in Ireland - it was the Protestant Ascendancy, a ruling class of combined English settlers and converted Irish who, during the imperial era before the 19th century, built an entirely separate ruling class in Ireland. And it was a deep ruling class - Catholics were barred from voting in even the Dublin local parliament, they were banned from being judges or lawyers, inheritance law was rigged to privilege Protestant sons while converting away from the Anglican church came with property confiscations. Depending on what counts, at its peak in the 18th century up to 30% of the country had opportunistically converted, in a system rigged top to bottom against the Catholics.

Imagine for a second India was given representation in the House of Commons and given self-rule. Just ignore the distance and demography issues for now, this obviously wouldn't actually work, instead think about what that transition would look like. The British "Indian Civil Service" would have to be dismantled...which was like 10k brits vs over 100k Indians. Actual british military officers in the country in the 19th century was less than 100k - and it was a rotating duty, they didn't all live there. Dismantling that really isn't that hard! Those people just go home. The core that ruled was deeply integrated into the country, but it was tiny - the vast majority of India was ruled by Indians, in the name of the Crown. They would just...keep going but now be in parliament.

That was impossible in Ireland. Britain had actually launched one of the most intensive cultural conversion programs of a foreign nation around in the 17th and 18th centuries, it was nowhere close to the "light imperial touch" of elsewhere. But it never...worked. Instead it just built this gigantic ruling class, deeply enmeshed in both Ireland and England, completely dependent on that superiority economically, but seen as outsiders by the Catholic Irish majority. "Protestant & Catholic" is at least half a gigantic class war. And in the 19th century the UK brought "laissez faire liberalism" to Ireland and was like "look, we are equal now!" after two+ centuries of rigging the system. It was literally the "kicking out the ladder after climbing up" equality meme.

This was why Home Rule was so bitterly contested, why Protestant Anglo-Irish officers threatened to mutiny in 1912 if it was implemented. They understood that the first acts of Home Rule were going to be, essentially, reparations. Which the Irish almost surely deserved. But Imperial, Liberal, 19th Century UK was not going to give reparations to the fucking Irish, it was not ready to dismantle its dejure and defacto aristocrats in that way - or at least not until it was too late, some land reform for example did begin in 1903. Scotland didn't need it, Wales was too weak to fight it, but Ireland was in the sweet spot of being weak enough to be oppressed but strong enough to oppose it and fight back once the culture changed.

Or at least that is my current read, this is a low-confidence post. Curious to learn more!

[luminouslywriting]

Can I request a BOB headcanon where you haven't been sleeping well recently and the boys begin to notice that you're a bit sleep deprived, please?

^^Gif is not mine and belongs to yourspeirs^^

A/N: Hello darling! This is a great request and I'm super excited to get this out to you guys! School started today, I got to wear my vintage 1955 lipstick that I ordered, and I'm chillin! So enjoy!

Dick Winters:

-Honestly, he probably clocks it before you even realize that the exhaustion is setting in. He's someone who pays close attention to the little things and is going to encourage you to get some rest.

-And yes, this may be given in the form of an order if you don't listen to him at first

-But if he also realizes that you're having a hard time sleeping, he's going to have a few good ol' home remedies for such a situation

-There's this wonderful tea that he makes (if the resources are available), and it absolutely helps you relax right before you go to sleep. He's also more than happy to talk to you about plans for the future as you try to fall asleep if that will help.

Lewis Nixon:

-Haha, he's not getting any good rest either. But worry not, he's got a great solution 👀

-Yes, it's literally just: "You're having trouble sleeping? I'm having trouble sleeping? The solution clearly is that we sleep together. But literally, just sleep."

-He's a chronic cuddler and this is a great way for you to get comfortable and relax. If not, he's also more than happy to look for alternative means

-Otherwise, get comfy as he doesn't like to let go until late morning haha

Ronald Speirs:

-Is probably too busy to notice?? At least at first. If it's to a point that he's noticing it, then it's probably a definite problem and he's definitely going to just give you an order to go to sleep.

-And yes, he'd go to your superior officers about it or even to the medics and order you to have a nap

-He's not above using his position to ensure that you get the proper rest that you need

-Speirs cares...it's just in his own way and that means that he's going to do whatever it takes to ensure that you're feeling better :)

Buck Compton:

-Someone who picks up on it pretty quickly and gently prods about it. He's got all sorts of stories that he remembers from his history and literature classes in college that he can tell you about while you're trying to fall asleep

-He's also pretty attentive to figuring out if it's a noise issue or a light issue and finding ways to block out sound or help with the light.

-He's going to check in and make sure that the sleep is getting better and this is something that continues well after the war

-He remembers the little things :)

Carwood Lipton:

-A mother hen about the entire thing—he's out here clocking immediately that you're exhausted and not looking too good. He's worrying incessantly.

-He's not going to overstep his boundaries...but he might kindly suggest that you speak to the medics or to a superior officer about catching a few hours of rest

-Will check back in with you to see if you were able to rest. If you were, then great. If not...then he's going to be pulling out all the stops and is going to come and lay by you until you fall asleep.

-Literally the sweetest man to go to if you're sleep deprived.

Joe Liebgott:

-Doesn't really realize that it's a problem until you're probably swaying on your feet

-It's at this point that he's going to gracefully guide you over to a cot or somewhere that you can nap and is going to sweet talk you into getting the rest that you need

-Wants to know why you didn't tell him that you haven't been sleeping well lately....he just wants you to be okay and well rested

-Also might bribe you with some slightly dirty promises haha

Donald Malarkey:

-Has clocked this a while ago and is just patiently waiting for you to realize that you need to get some rest. He's very respectful of boundaries and wants you to make your own decisions.

-Is not above stealing some chocolate to bribe you into taking a nap haha

-Absolutely the type to encourage you to count sheep or stars to try and help you fall asleep

-Also a very good cuddler to help people fall asleep

Eugene Roe:

-The sweetest bestest man for this situation??? Like, listen, he gets it. This is also someone who is sleep deprived. However, he worries way more about you and your health.

-Will pull medical rank to ensure that you get your nap

-Also more than willing to sneak you something to make sure that you fall asleep haha

-But more than anything, he's the type of man to tell you old Cajun tales in his soft voice to get you sleepy

Bill Guarnere:

-Literally will point blank tell you to go take a nap

-Then in a much softer and sweeter tone, will swing his arm around you, and ask if he can take a nap with you

-He's very invested in making sure that you're well rested and is the type of man to bribe with food and other means to ensure that you listen to what your body needs—and that's sleep

-Will talk your ear off about what it's going to be like when you're sleep deprived after the war and WHY you're going to be sleep deprived. I promise it's for a much dirtier reason lol.

Joe Toye:

-Acts as though he himself is tired and needs to take a nap. And point blank asks if you'll help him fall asleep.

-This technique is sneaky and though you might pick up on it, it's the thought that counts here

-He's out here ensuring that you don't feel like you're stressing him out by doing this—and making you feel as though you're helping him just as much as he's helping you

-Honestly, this man is a 10/10 in this situation

George Luz:

-Makes you laugh so hard that you cry out of exhaustion and then asks you if you're tired so that you have to admit it

-At which point he just takes your hand and declares that you're going to take a nap and he's going to watch your back for you

-It's all very sweet and very Luz of him tbh

-Holds your hand until you're asleep and presses a kiss to your forehead

[colibrie]

Confrontations: Friendly Fire

Credit to resident art genius (and Donatello consultant) @trilobitepunch.

Keep your head centered, and shoulders down. Align hips, knees, and ankles to ensure even weight distribution. Space feet twelve inches apart…

“You good Don?” Raph whispered, his deep voice rumbling like thunder in the dense hush of the corridor.

“Fine,” Donatello replied, eyes trained carefully forward as stark gray walls loomed large and cold around them. Dull steel gleamed weakly in sterile light, painting the world in somber shades as the brothers moved swiftly towards their destination.

Arms to the side, hands open. Do not fidget or flex your fingers. Chin at a 45-degree angle to the chest. Eyes following the same line to the floor. Facial muscles must remain in neutral position three. No chewing of the lips, cheek, or tongue. Blinking limited to fifteen to twenty times a minute. Respiration rate will hold steady at twelve to eighteen breaths per minute.

“Ya sure?” Raph prompted; an emotion Donatello could not identify at the moment slipping hesitantly into his tone. “I know things got kinda crazy out there for you. I can give the report this-”

“No,” Donatello quickly cut in, neck muscles groaning with tension as he jerkily shook his head. “I already told you; I am fine. Further, you conveying the report will only arouse suspicions.”

“Oh…right.”

Keep your voice at neutral level one. Present the data, and only data. Maintain calm. Maintain control.

Carefully he gathered those volatile elements within him. Emotions, incomprehensibly sharp and barbed, hazardous as an untested solution. Once he had them, he reached for the box that he kept in the deepest recesses of his mind, the only other survivor of his time within the temple. It was a heavy thing, reinforced in layers of steel and will and sealed with a thousand locks. Its fathomless depths swallowed his burden, stripping away the unwanted and unnecessary to allow data to flow through his thoughts uninterrupted. The ache in his heart deadened, permitting his body to shift and morph in accordance with his thoughts.

“Everything is alright Raphael,” he assured, allowing himself the space of one heartbeat to feel relief as his words came out with the desired lack of inflection before he shut that emotion down too and locked it away with the rest. The door at the end of the hall loomed large, a maw reaching out to swallow them as they passed through “I will handle it.”

I will do this.

I can do this.

“Inquisitors.”

He bit down on the urge to shiver, steeling his spine as both he and Raph snapped to attention. He carefully kept his eyes forward and breaths measured as his superior’s exoskeleton stepped from the gloom of his inner office. Burning yellow eyes swept over them, a long mechanical tail lazily swiping from right to left as clawed hands folded behind his back.

“Inquisitor Krang,” they intoned together, dropping into identical salute that their leader dismissed with a lazy flick of his tail.

“Back so soon,” Krang mused, baritone voice dangerously light in comparison to the baleful red eye that glared unceasingly down at them.

The claws of one hand rose to casually trace his metal faceplate, producing a shrill screech that stretched the uncomfortable silence. Beside him Raph shifted slightly, discomfort evident as the permission to speak continued to be withheld, but Donatello resisted. His posture remained perfect, his face still and breathing metered as the sound assaulted his eardrums. He knew this game. He had played and lost so many times before. This time, this time he would win.

I can do this.

“Report.”

He closed his eyes and took half a step forward.

 “Sir. Following the reports of possible Jedi in sector 4B, we deployed and identified two individuals. Upon confrontation…”

Carefully chosen words poured past his lips, a clinical and concise script that outlined events in as few details as possible.

I can do this.

In his mind the box shivered, the tiniest of cracks opening.

Mikey eyes reflecting fear and a lack of recognition for the strangers who shared his blood.

I can…

Leo, frozen. So close but so far…

No.

He pushed the images back, forcing them into the box.

I can do this.

“…Neither target demonstrated force related abilities, even when pressed. It is possible that the informant was wrong or lied to curry favor with the Empire.”

“And where are these subjects now?”

“We were separated from them when the building came down. They escaped.”

“Oh?”

Such a soft syllable, yet it sent a bolt of icy fear through his gut. He forced down the urge to swallow as Krang turned away, claws rasping stridently against the floor. His shoulders hitched half a centimeter upward before he could stop them.

“Two potential force sensitives, ostensibly untrained, managed to thwart two fully trained inquisitors. Unusual, given the lack of displayed talent. Tell me more about these two subjects.”

“They-”

“Not you.”

Wh…What?

Lightning speared him, eyes flaring wide as his thoughts ground to a halt. In the corner of his eye Raph flinched, shock telegraphed for the whole galaxy to read.

“M-me?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“N-no sir. Sorry.”

 Raphael stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with Donatello once more.

No.

This wasn’t right. Krang never asked Raph to report. Why was he asking Raph? What had he done wrong?

Stay calm. Stay calm. You can fix this, just…

“The subjects were like us. Looked and acted like they were siblings. The older one was Donatello’s height, bright green, with red crescent markings on his face and blue face mask. The younger one came up to the first one’s shoulder, was a darker green, and had an orange face mask.”

Sweat broke out along the back of his neck, the muted lights within the room becoming painful as the images of his twin and baby brother broke free from the box once more. His eyes slammed shut against his will, squeezing tight as he fought to push them back down.

He knows what they look like… oh force he knows what they look like.

Mikey’s sweet round cheeks, the left one smudged with hints of orange and yellow paints. Leo’s brilliant red crescents, his pride and joy, perfectly framing dark eyes that mirrored Don’s own.  

Stay calm. Stay. Calm. It’s fine. Appearances can be altered. Breathe. BreatheBreatheBreathe. You can turn this around. You can do-

“And how did they act upon encountering you?” Krang prompted. Even with his back to them, Don could feel the weight of those eyes, yellow and red, bearing down to delicately carve his nerves from their protective sheaths. Pins and needles prickled down his arms and legs, stinging and nipping the tips of his fingers and toes as his armor chaffed against unbearably sensitive skin.

Don’t answer that, Raph. Don’t…

“They were surprised. The older one kinda froze up when he saw us. It was like he was looking at a ghost, or something. The little one seemed clueless and freaked out. He tried to get the older one to leave, but, uh, we moved to separate them. I took the little one, Donatello handled the older one. The little guy had a lot of agility. Looking back, that might have been from some force abilities. Not trained though. Kid was running on instinct. I didn’t see the older one fight, but he survived getting thrown around Donatello, so he could be-”

Don’tdon’tdon’tshutupraphhowcouldyou-

Nothisisyourfaultyourfaulthowcouldyounotprepareforthis?

His hands clenched, nails biting deep into the meat of his palms in search of something grounding. An anchor against the sensations crawling through his veins like sludge.

StopstopstophowdoIstopthis?

The crack in the box grew a little longer.

Mikey. Effervescent and unguarded, brighter than a star. His baby brother, force signature bubbling with innocence and raw ability, defenseless against shadows that would snuff out his firework soul within a heartbeat.

Leo. Shattered and fragile and vulnerable within the force. No shields or walls to hide behind. A cracked shell that would be obliterated with a flick Krangs claws.   

Donatello could not let that happen. And that meant he had to pull himself together.

He forced himself to suck in a subtle breath, ignoring how the air shredded his throat on contact.

Calm. Down. You are probably giving away more than Raph is at this point. It’s just Krang playing games to get under your skin. Stop giving in. All these details are inconsequential so long as he does not have the context to put it all together. He doesn’t know. No one knows. And that gives you the advantage.  

"Interesting," Krang purred as he turned back to them, slit pupiled eyes flickering over Donatello’s body as though it were a particularly intriguing holopad.

He does not know. Breathe. Stay calm. Don't give in. He doesn't know. He can't know...

Krangs smirk deepened to as he caught and held Donatello’s gaze, a cruel sneer that shone with wicked delight as his superior’s gaze then slid pointedly to Raphael.

"Very interesting."

He knows...

All the air in the room disappeared, evacuating his lungs as a wave of terror swallowed his thoughts. His limbs locked; muscles durasteel ridged as Krang sauntered away. The lights in the room were lasers, piercing flesh, and bone to shred his brain. Every tap of Krangs claws crashed against his ears like cymbals, deafening him to all but the pounding of his heart. In his periphery Raph’s gaze bore down on him, the silent questions within it pinning him down as the guillotine hung high overhead, doom preparing to drop.

“Your failure might have revealed a unique opportunity,” Krang mused, the barb at the tip of his tail flashing like a knife as he strode back towards his desk. “I must decide the best course of action regarding it. Your punishments will have to be decided later.”

“Yes, sir” he mumbled, the words barely whispering past his lips as his throat threatened to close around them.

“You two are temporarily dismissed.”

[fudanshipoe]

bsd character design analysis ★

– part 1: borrowed clothing and its symbolism

word count: 1.3k

includes: dazai, beast dazai, akutagawa, ranpo, yosano

1.) Dazai's Coat (PM vs ADA)

Following the Port Mafia tradition of giving a new subordinate a superior's item as a sign of loyalty, Mori gives Dazai his jacket upon his entrance into the mafia. Dazai never wears this coat correctly, instead draping it around his shoulders.

On the other hand, the coat he wears in the ADA is not only worn in the correct fashion, but it also closely resembles Odazaku's coat.

The way Dazai wears his coat symbolizes where his loyalties lie. He was never loyal to the Port Mafia, or Mori himself. Hedoes takes on Mori's influence, specifically in his acts of getting something done no matter the means. Dazai does not mind playing dirty, and this follows Mori's own ideas of finding the most optimal solution. While I don't believe Mori is entirely the reason Dazai follows this path of action, it is clear that he did have some influence on Dazai with his teachings.

Dazai is loyal to the Armed Detective Agency, however, and goes to extreme measures for his comrades, including sacrificing himself in various ways. (Meursalt, dead apple, etc).

Going back to how his coat resembles Oda's, it gives light into Oda's influence on Dazai, that being him planting a moral seed in Dazai. His final request is for Dazai to strive to be a good person and not dwell along the dark side of humanity any longer. Oda is arguably one of the most important relationships Dazai has over the course of the series. He is the one who sets Dazai on a better path, and Dazai takes his words to heart. Otherwise, he would not have joined the Armed Detective Agency and found people he is loyal to.

2.) Beast Dazai

Beast Dazai noticeably has the same scarf Mori does. This could be a signifier of position as the Port Mafia boss, but I believe it represents tactics that Beast Dazai learned from Mori. I am specifically talking about the control they both excise on others. In order for Beastzai's plan to work, he had to gain an almost absolute hold over the world immediately surrounding Oda. This is why it is mostly him, SSKK, and Oda whose lives are affected by his actions. Most everyone else's lives remain similar to the original BSD verse. The members of each organization are the same, is what I mean.

The iron grip that beast Dazai has over the Beast universe in order to reach his goal resembles the tactics Mori uses as the Port Mafia boss. Absolute control.

Beast Dazai's coat is another important factor. Unlike PM Dazai in the main BSD universe, beast Dazai wears his coat correctly and not around his shoulders. Beast Dazai is dedicated to his goal of securing a world where Oda can stay alive and freely write his novels. His loyalty is not to the Port Mafia, but that goal.

3.) Akutagawa's Coat

This is another item that follows the Port Mafia tradition and Dazai gives him his own coat on the night that he picks up Akutagawa from the slums.

Akutagawa's coat is a representation of his trauma and dependence on Dazai's recognition to live. His goal is to receive the recognition he never got from Dazai in the past, and this hinders his own development. While Akutagawa does not care about Dazai as a person, the effect Dazai's training had on him was creating a dependence on this approval.

His coat is his most important item for the greater majority of the series. He does not use his ability without it, and keeps it on at all times, which is another topic to discuss upon his coat/ability and protecting himself. In fact, he believes for a while that he can't use his ability without his coat, either, or that he is defenseless without it.

This changes during the Decay of the Angel's arc, specifically in the SSKK vs Fukuchi fight. In a pivotal moment, Akuatagwa discards his coat in order to aid Atsushi in delivering a powerful blow to Fukuchi. He uses Rashomon without his coat for the first time in this scene, too, which shows his growth as a character, and no longer relying so heavily on having to prove himself to Dazai for a reason to live. It is an example of him making his own choices and not being under the influence of Dazai's teachings onto him that he needed to prove himself useful, or that he is even useless in the first place.

4.) Ranpo's Glasses

Fukuzawa gives Ranpo an ordinary pair of glasses in the Untold Origins novel as a way to "control" his ability. Now, it is well established that these are a cheap pair, and that they are useless since Ranpo is not actually an ability user, however, the importance of it lies in Fukuzawa's influence on Ranpo, and the facade Ranpo subscribes to.

Fukuzawa is a figure that represents an integral point in Ranpo's life. Before the events of Untold Origins, Ranpo had no one in his life as a result of his parent's death. Fukuzawa is the first figure to step up for Ranpo and try to guide him, he is the sole reason Ranpo realizes he is not isolated in this world. This is important because Ranpo needs that at 14 years old. Fukuzawa is the cause if Ranpo's worldview changes, otherwise he would have continued to stray on his own uncertain path.

This also marks the beginning of Ranpo's attachment to being viewed as an ability user. He has an innate need to prove himself above the extraordinary because he cares about protecting the ones he values, namely the Agency. His resolve to be strong for his friends and family is strong, and this relates to the fact that he is so driven on remaining this image of an astounding man. He can't afford to lose his place in this light precisely because he is such an important piece of the Agency. The Agency was created because of Ranpo, after all, as a place for him to utilize his intellectual gift and to belong with Fukuzawa to.

His glasses tie back as a symbol of this in the Ranpo and Poe chapter (32). He loses his glasses while in Poe's ability space, and has a meltdown over the fact that he can't use his ability without them. It has also been established that Ranpo is self aware of his non-ability reality, yet he still clings to it because he needs to live up to that self standard, and his glasses are the object of this.

(I had images for this and yosano but Tumblr has a 10 image limit ://)

5.) Yosano and Her Butterfly Pin

There is a strong theme between life & death, and rebirth & transformation within Yosano's character.

Yosano gets her hair pin from Tachihara's older brother, who was a soldier in the "immortal army" unit under Mori's command. The way she acquires this hair pin is important because he represent a huge aspect of her trauma during this time, as the repeated abuse of her ability on him ended with his suicide. This time also cements her connection with life and death through her ability. She has the ability to control life and death itself, after all. Life is important to Yosano, this is established from her herself during her fight with Kaji through her comments on death is the lack of life, and the way she strives to save lives with her ability.

Butterflies serve as a symbol of metamorphosis, whether physical or emotional, and Yosano follows this theme well. She changes drastically as a person, as she does not let her past nor her ability connect her to that level of inhumanity she is pushed into by others' views. Golden butterflies specifically represent transformation, hope, or something along the lines of past souls as well, which fits with Yosano well.

[sky-kiss]

Okay I had a thought and you can do with it whatever you want... but Raphael speaking infernal is so underrated. Even in game when he casts spells during battle, he doesn't really verbally say anything which is a shame (but is kinda cool if certain beings are powerful enough to cast nonverbally. Either that or my game is hella bugged). When you had that moment in your latest chapter of him speaking infernal to transform that made me 😳Like the way it'd described of being this harsh language and Raphael speaking it just snapped some part of my brain and I'd imagine it'd do something for Joi/Tav too. Like would Raphael still somehow make it sound beautiful (to quote Mamzelle, "a voice that could make the foulest blasphemy seem the sweetest hymn" or it would he still sound harsh but it's still hot because it's flying out of THAT mouth?

__________

A/N: There’s an actor I used to adore who was German, but often spoke a lot of french. So his German would come out with that gentle French lilt. Gonna channel that.

__________

He comes to her in the evening, this devil she loves, and the scent of cherries, sulfur, and musk hangs about him like a shroud. Raphael prowls about her suite like some great cat, his dark head held high. In the hells, his hellfire eyes will light with their inner fire. On the prime material, he’s softer. Warm brown, a touch of honey, almost sweet enough to make her forget. 

“You’re late,” she says. 

He hums lowly. The natural theatricality of the noise does not rob it of its power; Tav shivers. The devil sees; he knows. He always knows. “Ah, but there is such beauty in anticipation, wouldn’t you agree? Desire honed to a knife’s point.” A turn of his right hand, long-fingered and elegant. “Before one tips over the edge.” 

It’s a fine enough point in principle, but less appealing in reality. Their time is short, limited to stolen moments when their schedules align. She has a city to rebuild. He has the lower planes to conquer. 

Her devil smiles, patronizing. “If you feel neglected, mouse, I have already proposed a solution. You’ve only to accept the offered hand.” 

“Join you in Hell?” He nods, eyes wide and lovely. It strikes her that he has cultivated every aspect of this human skin: the smile is so wide, so open, and so nakedly suffused with guile that it wraps back around to innocence. 

Raphael steps close. The scent again: cherries, sweet and delicate. Her devil, wearing sweetness and silk to hide his uglier underbelly. He brushes the fringe of her hair back from her cheek, touch lingering. “Deny me all you like, pet. It shall make the eventual fall all the sweeter.”

Anticipation. Tav shivers. 

Some nights, they fuck in front of the fireplace or on the chaise. Never in the bed. It’s her stipulation. Raphael crinkles his nose at the coarse language and indelicacy of the location. She deserves better, he says. The phrase always comes with an accompanying hand gesture, as if he's framing her for a portrait. Something pretty he can lock away from the world, point at when he wants to feel superior. Admire his wealth, this wild adventurer he’s collared. 

Most nights, they work. Tav shuffles through requisition orders. Raphael amends his contracts. She watches him work, more often than not, gaze flicking across the elegant script. It burns, and there’s an undeniable elegance to the infernal ruins. Tav reaches out to race a line, mouthing the words. She’s out of practice. Infernal is not a pretty language; it fits particularly poorly in her untrained tongue. Raphael rests his chin in his palm, amused by her attempt. 

“Allow me.” 

The devil repeats the phrase. It may as well be a different language. The words drip off his tongue, the harshness erased in favor of a lilting cadence. Tav chews the inside of her cheek, brow furrowed. “Is that…is it a regional dialect? Something distinct to Cania?” 

“In all likelihood, you’ve only heard the lower dialects. The least baatezu are harsh and guttural. The higher speech has a grace to it, provided one is willing to learn. It is a melody, dark and heady as any wine.” Raphael places his hand, palm up, on the table. “Allow me.” Tav sets her hand in his. “Close your eyes, pet.” 

She does. 

Raphael traces lines across her palm, humming to himself. “There are four tongues, sweetling. Lower, lowest, high, highest. For the sake of your sanity, we shall avoid the dialect of the archdevils. But the language of the courts might please you.” 

“And is there a reason my eyes must remain closed?” 

He chuckles, thumb pressing against the veins of her wrist. There is an awful note of potential in the touch; he could break the fragile bones with half a thought. “Feeling, Tav. Like the steps of the dance, it should fill you, move you.” 

She shivers as his fingers ghost up her forearm, featherlight nerve strokes. Raphael repeats the lines of infernal, his fingers drifting up on the mouth melodic stretches, dipping down when the words adopt a guttural edge. It is never grating, never clipped; some of that is exclusively him, years of experience and language marrying in a distinctive vocal pattern. Tav chews her lower lip. She’s too aware of his heat, pinpricks of warmth dancing across her skin as he plays his game.

It is beautiful and dark, and she feels the words on her skin. Raphael traces the runes. Her mind struggles to translate the higher dialect, flowing until it isn’t, succinct until double-meaning creeps into the terminology. Tav feels drunk in the darkness. 

“And now,” his voice is closer, spoken against the shell of his ear. The devil gathers her into his lap. He smiles into the curve of her throat. “The student demonstrates what she’s learned. Come, pet, impress me.” 

He traces the runes on her thighs. Over the skin of her belly. Between her breasts. And if she loses the thread, if her voice gives way, her devil stops. He’ll suck a bruise into her throat, press teeth until they threaten to breast skin, tease, tease, tease…

Anticipation, she thinks, that earlier word flitting across her awareness. 

And her devil is ever patient.

[bubblegum-gf]

"The concept of RTGame lives on here somehow. But was RTGame ever real to begin with? Who knows!"

-RTGame 2023

do we still like the renounce your flesh vtuber video from almost a year and a half ago?

well I'm still obsessed with it so I made lyrics to Mesmerizer by 32ki but about about the vtuber

the black text is normal daniel (miku's parts) and the purple text is the vtuber RT (teto's parts)

mostly based on trickle's english cover

Cuz thinking ‘bout the future only makes me sick Already one lung down, I’ve gotta make it quick If horrors of the flesh have hit your limit Virtual RT will do the trick 👍

Full lyrics below ⬇️

MesmeRTizer

One night RTGame got like big drunk On shots of good tequila When a revelation turned into obsession

We’re in a nightmare society Absurd, disturbed, and boring Real life goes on until we die

You’re feeling down on your luck? Disillusioned? Need a solution? Sure I can provide Try it online, a higher superior form - it’s all customized!

If immortality is your gamble, trade your body to be vtuber-fied I think it’s pretty clear to see that the meta is cheating in this evil game of life

Cuz thinking ‘bout the future only makes me sick Already one lung down, I’ve gotta make it quick If horrors of the flesh have hit your limit Virtual RT will do the trick

I won’t be caged by the space that my body wastes There’s a better way to play this game Cyber waves entertain as they take over Hurry make me a vtuber soon, each second getting older Watch as your strength slowly starts to fade Um we all are gonna die someday Why be bound? Just renounce your eyes, ears, and mouth Cuz instead of living in distress At count of three, renounce your flesh

You’re wanting freedom and eternal life An organ or three is a sensible price Why be a king when you could be a god? Faster than lightning and speaking in tongues Stare at the screen til your body is numb With purpling vision you fully succumb Virtual world is your job and your love Daniel.human is SHUT DOWN

I’m wanting freedom and eternal life 1080p graphics, a beautiful sight Still hanging on to those old mortal ways? Just upload your soul and the world knows your name Strip off your skin and come join in my cause You’re scared, but humanity’s already lost

Blue glowing light leaves me hypnotized Fully modeled with anime eyes Hit the bell, notify, donate, like, subscribe To stay primed on unreality And Miku’s society Run from your cage, if you can escape And accept that what is real is fake These constraints of the flesh I will terminate And your body I will now remake A digital masquerade

Break from the waste of your human cage It’s the only way to beat the game No more pain, only fame, and no climate change Feel the cleaner air invade my lungs Or I would, if I had one Wake from your nightmare, your dream awaits It’s a roleplayed but still pleasant fate So don’t blame me if you stay in the “real life” I’ve left And die an avoidable death Become RT, renounce your flesh

[twstunes]

(makes an au, forgets about it, abruptly remembers it, writes nearly 4k words about it)

Ramshackle Recruitment AU – from the outside in

Normally, transferring dorms at NRC requires redoing the dorm assignment ceremony. Transferring to Ramshackle dorm, however, only requires filling out some paperwork and getting approval from the Headmage. Sure, there’s still the matter of cleaning up a room to live in and getting all their stuff moved over, but it’s a much easier transfer process in comparison to the other dorms.

So, how do the other dorms feel about all this? Or, better yet: how do the housewardens react?

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Characters: all Housewardens (+ Jamil & Ortho cameos)

Notes: gn Yuu

Warnings: some spoilers for the main story

Riddle Rosehearts originally pays the matter no attention. Who in their right mind would transfer to Ramshackle? The building is dusty and decrepit, the surrounding grounds are a mess, and the so-called ‘housewarden’ can’t even use magic. Clearly Heartslabyul is the superior choice through and through, especially under his skilled leadership. Those few that decided to leave during the recent Unbirthday Party would come crawling back soon enough, and he would dole out the appropriate punishments for such insubordinate behavior.

…of course, then he catches some of his dormmates talking about transferring as well. It’s obvious that they’re just joking around, but when one of them laughs about “getting out from under that half-pint’s thumb,” Riddle sets a new record for how fast his face can go scarlet. The students involved—and even a few who just happened to be nearby at the time—are collared and assigned a 10,000 word essay on the history of Heartslabyul. They obviously don’t realize how lucky they are to have been assigned to his dorm if they’re making wisecracks like that! Riddle throws such a fit that the whole dorm winds up aware of what happened, which inadvertently causes a number of students to seriously consider transferring.

After his overblot, Riddle is…a smidge more calm about things. He’s still not happy that someone would want to transfer out of Heartslabyul, and still feels that it reflects poorly on him as housewarden. Anyone wishing to transfer to Ramshackle will have to explain their reasoning for doing so, just in case it’s due to a problem that can be easily fixed.

Riddle checks in with Yuu regularly to ask how the Heartslabyul expats are doing, if they’re following the (Ramshackle dorm) rules, so on and so forth. He also asks after Yuu themself, wanting to know how they’re faring as both a freshman and a new housewarden. Having embarrassed himself so thoroughly early on in their acquaintanceship, he really wants to rehab their view of him into something more like “a reliable upperclassman.”

However. There’s one thing he refuses to let go, and it’s the fact that Ramshackle has no ‘official’ dorm uniform. Changing their school uniform is as simple as switching out vests and ribbons, but how are students meant to present themselves during formal events?! No, they can’t just wear their ceremonial robes for everything! He’s absolutely going to keep badgering Yuu about this until they come up with a satisfactory solution.

General Heartslabyul reaction: As previously alluded to, “running off to join Ramshackle” becomes a running not-so-joke in the dorm, especially among freshmen who keep getting collared left and right. For all the talk, though, a lot of them choose to stick it out in Heartslabyul anyway—it’s just nice to know the option is there. Those who do follow through on transferring might face some light jeering from their peers, but there’s rarely any legitimate ill will involved. Transfers are more worried about how Riddle will react to the news. Prior to his overblot, he’s liable to forbid them from setting foot in Heartslabyul ever again. Afterwards, he’s just…kind of overbearing, which can make interacting with him awkward.

It’s all fun and games to Leona Kingscholar until someone transfers from Savanaclaw, which has him spending roughly the next hour or so being noticeably agitated. And then he gets over it.

Sure, he’s not pleased that someone from his dorm would rather cast their lot with the dilapidated, rickety dorm being run by a total rookie…but so long as the outgoing student isn’t mouthing off, it’s no skin off his back. The situation as a whole is too funny for him to resent for long. Some frosh poaching students from Heartslabyul, right in front of Riddle, just to irritate the guy? Priceless. Crowley not even knowing until it was too late to break up the dorm? Comedy gold. Watching Riddle and Vil get worked up over ‘losing’ students to Ramshackle? That’s what they get for constantly upbraiding their dormmates. It’s a free fireworks show to him.

Truthfully, he expects Yuu to crash and burn within the first month of playing at being a housewarden. As fun as it is to watch them get under Riddle’s skin, their lack of planning is painfully obvious. A bold opening move isn’t worth much without a good strategy to capitalize on it with. Plus, being a magicless student at a mage academy, Yuu doesn’t exactly command respect from their peers; as the threat Riddle posed starts to fade, it’ll be hard for them to keep their newfound dormmates under control.

After his overblot, when it becomes apparent that Ramshackle dorm isn’t going under anytime soon, Leona can admit to being a little impressed. There must be more to Yuu than meets the eye if they’re still holding their own as housewarden, especially after dealing with two overblots in just as many months.

That doesn’t mean he has any intention of going out of his way to help out, of course, and he’s happy to remind Yuu of that as needed. He has his own agenda to attend to, even if a solid chunk of it consists of lazing about. But if someone happens to harass another student for being in Ramshackle, and it just so happens to disturb his sleep…well, it’s on the harasser for not being more aware of their surroundings. Sloppy work on their part.

Speaking of his naps, he’s fairly consistent about taking up real estate on the Ramshackle common room’s couch. He’s been using it as a secret nap spot for years now, and he’s not about to give it up. All the other housewardens are liable to invite themselves over to Ramshackle for one reason or another, anyway, so he hardly sees why this should be a problem. And hey, would you look at that! The place is a lot less dusty nowadays. Thanks, herbivores.

General Savanaclaw reaction: Savanaclaw’s treatment of Ramshackle transfers can range from “playful heckling” to “active ostracization.” Even if a Ramshackle-bound student is well-liked by their peers staying behind in Savanaclaw, there’s a good reason the latter dorm is often seen alongside the term ‘pack mentality.’ Once someone is out, they’re out—not just from the dorm, but from the various social groups within it as well. That said, even the meaner ones mellow out after the first time Leona gets on someone for hassling Ramshackle students. If their housewarden isn’t cool with it, then they should probably lay off…

For expectedly capitalist reasons, Azul Ashengrotto is greatly frustrated by these proceedings. Normally, a “for so long as the signatory is a resident of [insert dorm here]” clause is good enough to keep contractees firmly under his thumb for the rest of their stay at NRC. Does Yuu even realize how many Deals he has to go and re-negotiate now?? He supposes this is what he gets for thinking he could get away with not being as thorough as possible with each contract. He likely approaches Yuu to discuss the matter directly, especially if students start trying to change dorms just to render their contracts null. Of course, his version of “discussing the issue” feels, looks, and sounds a lot more like “trying to lure the Prefect into a Deal where they’re required to reject any Ramshackle applicant who has a standing contract.”

Apart from that whole headache, he’s incredibly calm about students transferring out from Octavinelle. Far be it from him, a model businessman, to discourage a fellow enterprising spirit! To tell the truth, he’s less interested in the transfers themselves and more interested in whatever Yuu is up to. Propping themself up as a housewarden despite having neither experience nor magic, getting Crowley to agree to a dorm transfer process leagues easier than the normal method, accepting just about any applicant who wants to join Ramshackle…why, NRC’s newest housewarden might be just as ambitious as himself! Post-overblot, he makes sure to notify them that even with his Deals business cut down at the knees, he’s still happy to lend a listening ear (or a helping hand) to any poor souls in need!

…which is to say, he’s getting antsy waiting for Yuu to actually do something with all the clout they’ve been accumulating. Even trying to open a competing café would make more sense than just…going about normal housewarden duties. But they have to be after something, right? It wouldn’t make sense to engineer such a perfect “rise to power” otherwise, even if it all seemed to have begun as just a way to spite Riddle. Being stuck watching and waiting like this is going to drive him nuts. To make matters worse, Floyd keeps whining that he’s going to run off to join Ramshackle dorm whenever he especially doesn’t feel like working at the Lounge. (It was funny the first couple times, admittedly, but now it’s just annoying.)

General Octavinelle reaction: The students of Octavinelle dorm might hold respect for their housewarden, but it’s also incredibly funny to watch him be inconvenienced like this. Most of them aren’t afflicted by the capitalist brain fungus Azul has going on, so they don’t see Ramshackle dorm as much more than Yuu trying to make the best of an exceedingly strange situation. The only time students from this dorm will cause a fuss about Ramshackle transfers is if they cause Mostro Lounge to be short-staffed for a shift. Azul is quick to set a rule that no one is allowed to transfer out of Octavinelle on days they’re scheduled to work.

Kalim Al-Asim is, for all intents and purposes, perfectly okay with everything! It’s sad to see people from his dorm leave, sure, and– okay, maybe it causes the people-pleasing part of his brain to itch and wonder if he’d upset them somehow, or if they don’t like him anymore or if he needs to apologize or– well, he’s fine! Really! None of that is gonna stop him from wishing them well! And besides, they’re just changing dorms. It isn’t like he’ll never see them again.

Unlike Riddle, he doesn’t check in with Yuu about how ex-Scarabia students are doing over at Ramshackle. Social butterfly that he is, he just goes and talks to them directly! He also checks in less than Riddle, though that might be because he occasionally forgets just who exactly has transferred…

Of the housewardens, Kalim is the most supportive of Yuu from the get-go, even if a lot of his support involves him delegating to Jamil in one way or another. Fortunately, as the eldest brother out of 30 kids, his Big Bro Instincts are sharp—he’s genuinely a good person for Yuu to go to if they start feeling lonely, homesick, or overwhelmed by housewarden duties. It’s amazing how much a magic carpet ride and a good talk can do!

He suggests throwing a party in celebration of the new dorm as soon as he hears about it, but Jamil is quick to talk him out of the idea. Better to save the celebrating for when (and if) Ramshackle is officially added to the lineup, rather than when it’s just Yuu, Grim, and the Heartslabyul expats squatting in a dusty old building. (And rather than when Riddle is still fuming over being ‘betrayed’ by his former dormmates. Jamil swears he could hear the guy shrieking “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD” all the way from Scarabia…)

Following Jamil’s overblot, Kalim tones down his “Jamil can help!” version of support in favor of helping out personally. Or, well, trying to help. Even for an upfront guy like him, it’s a little embarrassing to admit that he often finds himself floundering to figure out what he’s supposed to do as housewarden. He got the title dumped in his lap pretty much out of the blue, after all. From the looks of things, Yuu didn’t really plan to take on such an important role either…sooo, it’s the perfect opportunity to learn from each other!

Kalim’s probably the reason Ramshackle gets proper uniforms lbr. He feels bad that Yuu and Grim got pulled into the Scarabia mess (during vacation no less!), so he wants to make it up to them somehow. When Grim complains about how his bow got damaged during the overblot fight, it clicks—he could get Ramshackle dorm some nice uniforms done up, no problem! It’d be one less thing for Yuu to worry about, AND it would be a nice “welcome back” surprise for when the rest of the Ramshackle students return from winter break! He already has his personal tailors on standby when he pitches the idea to Yuu. (He completely forgets to run the idea by Crowley, but in his defense, the headmage isn’t answering his phone anyway.)

General Scarabia reaction: Out of all the dorms, Scarabia is the most friendly in their treatment towards Ramshackle transfers. Since Kalim is housewarden, there will almost invariably be going-away parties for the transferring students—this unintentionally causes Scarabia to have a more favorable view of the process than other dorms. They might not really understand why someone would want to transfer out of Scarabia (especially not to a dorm as dingy as Ramshackle), but hey, it’s their prerogative to do so.

Vil Schoenheit finds the situation laughable right up until someone actually tries to leave Pomefiore for Ramshackle, upon which he finds it pitiful. They want to leave Pomefiore—prestigious, comfortable, tidy Pomefiore, with all the amenities a student could need and its own private lab—for a run-down wreck of a dorm??

Later, he quietly kicks himself for not seeing this coming. He’s in charge of the Film Studies Club, for crying out loud; he should KNOW how attention-hungry his dormmates can get, chasing the spotlight whenever it presents itself. What better way to stand out than to surround themselves with less stylish peers, all while taking part in a sensational addition to the dorm lineup? It’s a cheap trick to boost their image, certainly, and Vil makes sure to give a stern lecture to anyone he catches entertaining the thought. (“Fame is earned through hard work and perseverance, not by making oneself the crown jewel of a garbage heap.”)

During his stay leading up to the SDC, he’s pleasantly surprised by the conditions at Ramshackle. Much of the building still needs patching up, and it’s very basic in terms of aesthetics, but it’s at least cleaner than he thought it would be. The other students living there seem to be doing well for themselves, too, even if all the dust has done nothing for their skin. He’s not going to say anything about it himself (at least not when he’s busy stressing out over the SDC team’s training), but Rook will probably let it slip to Yuu that Vil is impressed with how well they’re handling Ramshackle dorm.

After his overblot, Vil is…still fairly critical of both Ramshackle and its housewarden, but less disparaging overall. He can see now that he was wrong to dismiss the dorm so quickly, comparing it to an uncut gem: in need of refinement, but no less valuable for it. He’s far too busy with his own housewarden duties, modeling/acting work, and running the Film Studies Club to make it his sole mission, but he still finds the time to nag advise Yuu about their skincare, clothing care, etc. As a housewarden, they’re among the best NRC has to show to the world; they need to present themselves accordingly.

(Needless to say, Vil is holding Epel back by the scruff of the neck. If he has to become a one-man PR team for Harveston to keep this feral country boy in Pomefiore, he will.)

General Pomefiore reaction: Most Pomefiore students aren’t quiet in their contempt for their former dormmates, even if they do offer praise for “bringing a higher standard of beauty” to Ramshackle. A number of them combine their condescension with genuine concern, though, reminding the transfers that they can always come back to Pomefiore if things don’t work out. There’s no shame in admitting they made the wrong choice, after all! (…well. Maybe a little shame.)

Idia Shroud is a little baffled by the whole concept, but otherwise the most neutral of the housewardens. Sure, he briefly considers changing over to Ramshackle to escape being housewarden, but…ehhh. The fact he’d be dealing with a bunch of outgoing normies is a dealbreaker. Better to stay in Ignihyde with its unmatched Wi-fi and folks who understand his reclusive, nerdy ways. Housewarden is a pretty cool title anyway, even if its required questline is a pain sometimes.

He is a bit worried that students transferring from Ignihyde might reflect poorly on him as a housewarden, but…nah he actually couldn’t care less. Big “wow, that’s wild. GLHF tho” energy. He makes a token effort of calming Azul down whenever the guy works himself into a tizzy trying to figure out what Yuu is “angling for”—it’s pretty obvious (to him) that they’re just collecting allied units to help mitigate any plot-mandated threats that come their way. It’s not like they have any magic of their own to work with, so this is the next best thing.

The dread only sets in when Azul points out that Crowley will probably ask Idia to make sure Ramshackle is covered by the school’s security system sometime soon. It’d be cheaper than hiring a licensed electrician, and Idia wouldn’t really be able to deny the request, seeing as his shut-in behavior is only being allowed in exchange for him personally seeing to NRC’s security…man, what a pain. Getting scans of the building layout and planning where to put what would be a cinch, but just thinking about dealing with whatever nightmare wiring situation Ramshackle has going on sends his blood pressure skyrocketing. Maybe if he doesn’t say anything, it’ll slip the Headmage’s mind…

Post-overblot, Idia is fairly determined to never show his face around Ramshackle dorm, ever. Hepta team caused a lot of damage while capturing Vil and Jamil, and more than a few students got hurt in the process. AND they kidnapped Grim! Everything gets fixed up in the end, but most of the dorm is still justifiably unhappy with Idia.

Though he cautions Ortho against going over too frequently, Ortho doesn’t share the same reservations as his brother. He even volunteers them both to help do more renovations to the dorm! In-person, at that! Between getting the Wi-fi set up, improving the heating & AC, and replacing/repairing various kitchen appliances, Idia just barely manages to redeem himself in the eyes of most Ramshackle residents. He can feel his soul dying through every second of social contact.

At least Ramshackle no longer has wiring problems?

General Ignihyde reaction: Students from Ignihyde rarely consider changing dorms at all, so when someone does decide to take the plunge and transfer to Ramshackle, it’s a surprise to the whole dorm. Some students lament that they’re losing a fellow geek to The Normies™, some make bets on how long they’ll last before they come running back to Ignihyde, but most return to doing their own thing after the shock wears off. Those closer to the outgoing student might put together an Ignihyde-style going-away party—that is, they play video games together in the same room and eat snacks. The roughest part of the transition is being removed from the Ignihyde groupchat.

(Note: this is being written prior to the eng release of the Diasomnia arc and I am fighting for my life to not witness any spoilers)

Malleus Draconia finds himself growing increasingly amused the more he hears about Ramshackle dorm. His favorite abandoned building is certainly going through a metamorphosis, isn’t it? And he somehow stumbled into a friendship with the new housewarden, too…this year is proving to be an interesting one.

Like Leona, it doesn’t matter much to him if students from his dorm leave for Ramshackle, so long as they’re not badmouthing Diasomnia in the process. The only ones he would notice the absence of are those who would never transfer to begin with. He doesn’t make a point of checking in on former Diasomnia students, though he may ask how they’re settling in if he happens to encounter them—which is a much more likely scenario than they realize!

It quickly becomes a running joke that the Diasomnia transfers never really leave Diasomnia, considering how often they run into Malleus over at Ramshackle. They probably see him more frequently now than when they were still in his dorm, actually! When asked about it, he explains that housewarden Yuu was kind enough to extend him a standing invitation to visit the dorm as he pleases. Who is he to turn down such a gracious offer? (Also, it’s funny how awkward some of his former dormmates get upon spotting him.)

(He’s also a little smug whenever someone asks “What brings you here?” and he gets to respond with “I was invited.” Especially if it’s another housewarden. And especially if the other housewarden showed up without an invitation at all. Which is most of them, most of the time.)

As fond as Malleus was of the old, abandoned Ramshackle building, he finds he enjoys this new version of it as well. Maybe even more so. The lively bustle of dorm life fills up the structure now, some amount of sound seeping in from around every corner. Even at night, the hush that pervades the halls is gentle—a far cry from the suffocating, empty silence of before. The restoration work is tasteful, too, preserving the original aesthetics and architectural style while making the whole deal more habitable. And, thanks to Yuu and Grim’s combined influence, the students there are much less timid about approaching him than the rest of NRC. All of this change, compacted into such a short timespan…

…it’s odd. For some reason, recalling how deserted Ramshackle used to be makes his chest hurt.

He winds up with much to think about during his nightly walks.

General Diasomnia reaction: Despite their housewarden being perfectly fine with people transferring out, the idea of someone “defecting” leaves a sour taste in the mouths of most Diasomnia students. Unless a transfer happens to be especially well-liked, they can expect to be treated rather coldly by their former dormmates. Fortunately, this behavior lessens as the bizarreness of transferring to Ramshackle wears off—and especially after it comes out that Malleus considers Yuu a friend. (Some of them still cause a fuss, of course.) (By which I mean Sebek.)

[sylhorn]

I’m kind of baffled about the state of dawntrail discussions having two parties in regards to Living Memory, one being “shutting it down is amoral” and the other being “it’s moral and not at all like what Emet-Selch wanted to do with us”. It’s like a lot of people refuse to engage with the narrative from any other perspective other than their own when the game essentially hits you over the head with the message.

Yes, the existence of Living Memory is unsutainable and amoral and, frankly, pointless – you can make the very valid argument that the people there were just AI chatbots trained on the memories of a given individual, leeching off of the souls of others, their existence demanding the genocide of the entire universe in the end. I agree, in our eyes, Living Memory is an affront to life, sure!

Nobody seems to talk about that this is the exact same perspective Emet-Selch had about us, or when mentioned, people say that it isn’t the same. It is? He very explicitly tells us that the people living on the shards today are pale imitations to what he considered to be life, and thus shutting it down and trying to undo his mistake IS the solution (he is very much like Solas from DA in this regard), because in his eyes there’s nothing to lose but everything to gain. Emet-Selch saw us in the same light we see the people of Living Memory, and the game is painfully unsubtle in drawing this parallel. Even with the differences (we are not recreated memories but actual souls being reborn from the aetherial sea, etc-etc), the game WANTS you to make this connection between Emet and what we do. It is quite literally the point!

Yes, Living Memory has to be shut down because its biggest drawback is that it’s unsustainable and would continue to destroy what we deem to be lives. It is also arguably an affront to what we consider life and its natural end (directly opposing the message of Endwalker). The Endless aren’t even too hung up about this shutdown, bar Sphene. Shutting down Living Memory is necessary.

But you can’t say it was morally good and unquestionable if you can’t give Emet’s views the same grace. In the end, both his plans (and the Ascians at large, frankly) and Living Memory had to be stopped because that means survival for us, but to divorce the two narratives to maintain the WoL and co.’s moral superiority is disingenuous and does the story a disservice.

[kaonarvna]

Feathers Rotting on the Isles

Summary: Not long after Lazard's departure from SHINRA, Genesis-like figures are spotted occupying territory on a chain of islands to the south-east of Gongaga. General Affairs approaches Sephiroth, hoping he will agree to eliminate the likely base of copies swiftly.

Having largely refused to engage with the so-called "Genesis War" up to that point, Sephiroth concedes to take on the assignment so long as he can work unaccompanied.

Characters Featured: Sephiroth, Genesis, Genesis Copies, Tseng

Contains mild/coded sephesis, though not explicitly sexual-romantic.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Terminal Illnesses, Degradation, Light Angst, Angst, Genesis Copiers Just Existing, Sane Sephiroth/CC Sephiroth, No Smut

WC: ~10,000 (a 25-40 minute read)

brief sample below the cut

Ring—ring—ring—Sephiroth glances at the desk-phone’s caller ID: 5006 Public Relations. He lifts the phone off the hook just to set it on hold indefinitely, before popping the receiver back down. He has better things to do than speak to Heidegger’s Head of PR. Not now. If it were important, he thinks, PR would surely come upstairs himself.

He redirects the attention back to the spray of briefing papers and training records laid across the Director’s desk. Well—it was the Director’s. Now, it is his. Amidst it all lays a note from the Public Safety Director himself: “Out-of-Midgar assignments for SOLDIER are restricted until everyone in the division is screened for collusion with Deusericus. Every excursion requires a General Affairs or PPF escort. Get everyone a new training plan and superior. Recruitment has been suspended for the meanwhile. Not replacing Deusericus. If you encounter any difficulties, create solutions. Do not come to me with your problems.” On the one hand he appreciates the minimal oversight for managing the demoralized remains of SOLDIER. On the other, Lazard managed to leave the department in a state of extreme disrepair. It’s as though he wanted the department to sink as soon as it left his hands, Sephiroth thinks. The lack of support from Heidegger, too, feels like a recipe for decay.

Ring—ring—ring. The caller ID reads again: 5006 Public Relations. He does the same again: lift; hold; abandon. Sephiroth picks up the record of a promising SECOND—he drags his pointer finger down its centre. “All assignments successful over the past three quarters…frequently top ten in group and solo simulators…” he whispers to himself throughout the speed-reading. “…should be able to delegate some of Angeal’s THIRDs to him…” he reaches across the desk to place it in a pile of other packets, laying it crossways to differentiate it from the one below.

The phone rings again. Caller ID: 5006 Public Relations. Sighing to himself, he picks up properly, “This is Sephiroth speaking.”

“It’s Tseng.” The TURK’s voice sounds clearly through the phone.

“Why are you in Quirinus’ office?” the FIRST asks, though the questioning inflection is nearly absent.

“He called me up here for a conversation, I wanted to include you. Would you rather we discuss it over the phone, or come to you?”

Sephiroth says nothing.

“It’s about Genesis,” Tseng clarifies.

( Read the rest on ao3! )

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Heart and Alchemical Womb-Centered Grounded Spirituality and Leadership From The Melody of Love, Pre-View

We are in the middle of an incredibly important shift in consciousness, a real transformative time and turning of the Ages. In this new era, we either ascend or face the consequences—this is grown woman speech here.

Humanity gets to decide whether we journey towards truth, meaning increase our value so that we can ascend with Mother Earth and create what is termed “The New Earth” or stay on the path of violence, pillaging, materialism, domination, individualism, competition, sex trafficking, and senseless destruction. This world needs its Mother. Bring love, but also bring her a machete, meaning—some level of destruction and death are always necessary, but the senseless destruction, death, and complete disregard for human life are harmful to the bodies and psyches us all.

This paradigm shift requires a certain type of woman, female bodied person, or feminine soul; one who recognises the isolation, pain and destructiveness of the old ways, is ready to carve out paths to the new ways, and acknowledges the sacredness of being on this incredibly loving and rigorous journey of full aliveness within our body. If you are reading my work, I believe this woman is you and you deserve a vibrant body and lively life because you need to be in a space of full power in order to release your unique gifts. More than ever, we need courageous way showers like you who are not afraid to do their own internal and external ‘work’ in order to remain steady and grounded in the face of present and future chaos and who will continue to shine the brightest wettest light and hold space for others, no matter what. I call this archetypal frequency in female form the lover-warrior. We deeply need to love. But also need to remember how to fight..spiritually. Because when we understand who we really are, then we can favorably shift the reality, our own individual reality and the collective one. That's how powerful the feminine is.

As womb holders, even if our wombs have been surgically removed, energetically our wombs are still present and available which means that we have access to the grandest intelligence: the ability to feel… deeply. We can intuit next step directions and solutions that do not look like those same old archaic solutions.  That’s because we are natural born leaders and if you study human behavior and psychology objectively, you will realize how women have always been leaders. Males are generally and wonderfully physically stronger but females are mentally, psychically, and spiritually superior which makes us natural leaders. I do want to be clear— I’m not talking about status quo women. I am talking about awakened women. We are experiencing the results of a world built and run by men--and we have to be honest about that without ego. And men, especially, have to be more honest about what's happening. We are not to be at odds with one other or we all lose this game.

We live this robotic, unnatural, anti-nature, anti-care system that was designed by males for the wellbeing of men. . We may be female but our bodies are living in a male energy system and the result of it has been exhaustion, lack of fulfillment, burnout, heavy monthly bleed times, an increase in infertility and other female reproductive chronic issues, and the like. Everything about life, including the structure of marriage, how a typical work week is organized, the 9-5 Monday-Friday toxicity, exhausts women but gives men more energy, status, and power. As a woman of African ancestry who feels deeply connected to many parts of the global world, I always found it fascinating that even though men were out front acting as "leaders," it was the African wives behind the scenes giving direction and counsel to their husbands while holding a baby in one arm and stirring a homemade pot of stew with the other one. Any African woman knows this to be true. But the continent of Africa has massive issues and shadows, as does the rest of the entire world. The lack of true feminine energy present on the planet is making us all unwell and the earth will kick us out of here if we don’t discover better ways to align. I know women want to hear that men are the saviors just like what we read in Disney books. We fall asleep then are magically awakened by our Prince Charming who awakens us from our ignorant sleepy frequency. But, my love, these were all deliberate programs planted into the psyches of little girls that bankrupted us of our real power. Primal power.

We were lied to and all must deprogram from the scarcity, greed, and lack neurology we learned as little girls so that we can have full access to our intelligent alchemical natures and female resources to live more as magical women, divine beings, fulfilled wives/spouses, daughters, nieces, and mothers and less needy, victims, or prey.  We must get to know our feet, our calves, our legs, our hips, our pelvises, our asses, our spines, our bellies, breasts, throats, mouths, etc. Women/female bodied people are leaders (and the first teachers and healers as well) who will always give birth to new leaders no matter what. We are the ones divinely designed to midwife the New Earth through the magic of our frequency, vibration, thoughts, beliefs, and habits/action terrestrially and cosmically, and sometimes while in the embrace of a mature lover which can beautifully be a man (or not). But having a man, being with a man, in the way it is being falsely taught in male-centered women spaces online is never required and easily can separate you from the truth of your full aliveness -mainly because you are living through the programming and script and not fully conscious and accessing your entire body and its potential. And when you do, you can easily trigger a male’s fragile ego.

Ma’am, I’m going deep and wide in this book series—no tip-toeing around. A book series of love that isn't fluffy and is willing to tell the whole truth.

India Ame'ye, Author mmm-inbreath!

[inkblot-mirror]

Diasomnia Dorm Headcanons:

-Contrary to popular belief, the students are not all fae. There’s mainly humans, some beastmen and one or two merfolk as well.

-There’s very few fae in NRC to begin with, it just so happened that some of the most prominent (Malleus and Lilia) ended up in Diasomnia. There are others in other dorms, such as Pomefiore and Heartslaybul.

-Disputes are solved through one way: duels. Can be with magic or with weaponry, like swords.

-Everyone is required to train in swordplay. Lilia is the instructor. Riding lessons are also given.

-Malleus, is worshipped and seen as a central figure, through both fear, peer pressure, and genuine admiration.

-Biggest dorm in size, smallest dorm in population. Sebek’s year (1st years) barely had any new students sorted in Diasomnia aside from him and a few others. This kind of feeds into their superiority complex/arrogance!

Doesn’t help that having Malleus as a housewarden no doubt scared a few individuals into transferring dorms.

-Very chilly and drafty, even with magical fires and heating spells. The dorm outfit only helps mitigate some of that.

-With the exception of Lilia’s room, pretty spotty or non-existent wifi connection overall. If you need internet, stand outside Lilia’s door.

-Previous housewarden was basically pressured into almost giving up the position on the spot when Malleus joined NRC. (I mean he could of fought for his position through a duel, as most housewarden duels are, but that’d hardly be fair).

-Back then, Diasomnia was basically split into two factions: those who were loyal to the then-current housewarden, and those who wanted Malleus to be in power immediately.

-Solution: the then vice-housewarden was booted and the position given to Malleus. He became housewarden at the beginning of his second year.

-Lots and lots of hidden corridors and winding passageways, super easy to get lost in. The fourth floor corridors in particular are magically enchanted to change their layout every hour because that’s where the treasure rooms are (where Malleus keeps his hoard).

-Because it’s a medieval castle, it has dungeons (complete with prison cells). Lilia jokingly (?) scares freshmen by saying that’s where all misbehaving students will get sent.

-The outdoor walkways leading to the castle front door is surrounded by invisible magical barriers. That way a poor student doesn’t accidentally loose their footing and go plummeting into the abyss.

-Due to Malleus’ little tantrums, its often rainy and thunderstormy outside. Good thing the lights inside are magically powered, otherwise there’d be alot of power outages. But rooms can occasionally get leaky.

-Aside from Lilia’s erratic bagpipe playing, one can sometimes hear haunting string melodies coming from somewhere in the castle. Younger students say the dorm is haunted, but its really just Malleus practicing his violin or cello.

-It’s not unusual to see flocks of bats fluttering around indoors. Yes, they are Lilia’s familiars.

-The dorm of LARPers and theater kids (yes Diasomnia are theater kids, like Pomefiore.) They way Malleus runs the dorm can be seen as a bit archaic and straight out of the middle ages to outsiders.

-Has its own library, filled with books on Briar Valley history and ancient magic.

—————————————

Ignihyde Dorm Headcanons:

-Boasts super high speed wifi and best connection on campus. Password is changed weekly and posted in the dorm Twstcord (the dorm’s primary source of communication with one another)

-Daily messages and announcements are all pinned in the dorm Twstcord, head mod being Idia.

-Idia once lost a game of Fortnite to the previous dorm head. And that was how he become the current Housewarden.

-Anime constantly plays on the holographic TV screens in the lounge.

-Anime and video game music play through the speakers in the hallways.

-Disputes resolved through PVP online matches in TWST LoL/Valorant/Fortnite, etc.

-It’s always, duper, freezing cold with AC on blast at max. Gotta cool down all the servers and PCs.

-The more social students play tabletops and card games at the lounge tables.

-Idia has access to everyone’s phone passwords and laptop history just cuz.

-Lots of labs and private work spaces for students to tinker with their tech and projects

-Despite being the geeky nerdy gamer dorm, it mostly smells very sterile and clean. Like a hospital. Ortho is equipped with “Disinfect Mode” just in case—he’ll spray down smelly, nonbathing students with the strongest dose of body spray and deodorant.

-No one knows how to cook and the kitchen area is stocked only with ramen, chips, and energy drinks.

-No 1 Rule: DO NOT BULLY ORTHO (unless you wanna get doxxed and blasted to smithereens by a laser).

-All non Ignihyde students are subjected to a finger print, iris and facial scan upon entering (security purposes ofc!) the data is entered into Ortho’s database for future reference.

-All doors are activated by either keycard or number pad. Lights and water and other amenities are voice activated.

-Like Diasomnia, the outside walkways are lined with an invisible barrier to prevent wayward students from falling into the depths of the underworld.

-The lone fae student in Ignihyde is no doubt fascinated by all the technology and innovative devices.

[archduke-enver-gortash]

gortash & the steel watch hcs ramble

thinking about how in that universe specifically it’s literally entirely one man that starts the process of industrialisation… how insane and more importantly terrifying it is that gortash is essentially creating a mechanised police state with the steel watch all under his control to control.

with some of his other inventions being shit like the scrying eyes or that submarine skype call thingy, i can also imagine that they definitely capture and maybe save pictures or even footage besides just “regular” extreme surveillance everywhere. maybe there are also like. integrated facial recognition, blood, fingerprints, etc etc scanners. every person in baldur’s gate is sure to have some kind of file on them in there somewhere at least. recorded usual schedules that automatically alert gort and activate a watcher to keep a closer eye on someone who doesn’t adhere to those.

that’s the thing with fash cunts though isn’t it. he himself creates a myriad of problems/violence, general feelings of unsafety and terror-inciting chaos to make his horrible creations not only accepted, but wanted by the general population. not that he ultimately cares even one bit for people’s approval or disapproval for his plans—he will do whatever is necessary to realise them and in his ideal world people wouldn’t even be capable of such things anyway—but turning more and more people into nothing but willing tools in his hands which know how to work and shape everything into the (machine’s) ideal design for it is certainly useful, and it’s always about usefulness with him isn’t it.

also one more quick note i mentioned it earlier but i fully believe that gortash sees this whole causing terror shebang as more of a. making something, namely the “problems with free will/all those illogical feelings and urges/people not controlled by the one superior, himself/the machine”, that is already there merely more obvious to the general public. shining a light on it and immediately presenting himself as judge, jury and executioner, someone who steps in to fix malfunction rampant in the world—the solution to this problem.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Muscle Cars Legends: Dodge Charger

From today’s perspective, governed by modern standards and principles, it is totally inconceivable the very existence of famous and immortal Muscle Cars. Cars designed to “burn tires” on the streets and asphalt, However their enormous popularity, which only grows with ages, thanks to the inevitable charm, performance and power, which still today are at the very top, and the quality that best reflected the surviving models.

We’re starting with one of the most typical representatives – Dodge Charger.

In the early 60s the US auto industry was affected by the great wave of modernization, which is reflected in superior design forms, a higher degree of comfort and most importantly – the more powerful engines.

Dodge factory at the time was a typical American company with a wide range of models. The new model, called Charger, was officially presented in 1966 and was a positive shock that American and World public, experienced in the 60s.

It is a very modern design fastback coupe with huge dimensions, which had double hidden headlights and rear light units along the entire width of the vehicle.

The Interior applied some unusual solutions, such as the center console that stretches to the rear seat of the car, so there were four separate seats in the cabin. In addition, the already huge trunk could further be increased by pushing the rear seats, so this model became surprisingly practical.

Technical solutions follow astounding view of the Dodge Charger. Under the hood, you could find four units with volume 318 cid (5,1 liter with 230hp) 360 cid (5,9 liters 265hp) 383 cid (6,2 liters 325hp) and a monstrous 426 Hemi engine (7 liters with 425hp). All engines except the weakest, serial deliveries were 4-speed manual transmission, while Torqueflite automatic transmission was available only in an altered form, where the gears are changed at the maximum of 5,500 RPM per minute. The list of accessories was long, and besides factory relying on modifications, it could be obtained a slip differential, for serious street racers.

Next year Charger undergoes minor changes, and the biggest news is the legendary Mopar engine – 440 cid (7,2 liters 375hp).

In 1968 Dodge presents the public second-generation Charger. The technique remains the same, but with a new look has been one of the most beautiful and biggest Muscle Cars coupes of all time.

The next year, in addition to the minimum design change – vertically divided grille and new rear lights, Dodge with this model was increasingly affirms the racetrack. Through the smoke of burning tires and obtained many bets on the asphalt, the street reputation and honor was already been guaranteed.

[enaelyork]

Love all of your headcanons and posts!

What are your headcanons for being on the ship and thrown into another galaxy with Exile Thrawn?

Hiii i'm so so so sorry for delay ! I was sick and my work takes so many time. So here we are =D So many things to say about, so i decided to limit myself to the very beginning of the exile. Hoping you like it.

There's a lot of talk about officers appreciating and admiring Thrawn for his military prowess, but you're clearly not one of them. For you, Thrawn got to his position by luck and above all - and you must recognize this - because most Imperials are idiots.

However, you were assigned to the Chimaera, which did not help your good relations with your superior. You are also very surprised to see the calm with which he handles your protests. Because you are the first to contradict him, the first to never agree with him and... Very strangely, the one who spends the most time in his office.

When the incident took place, when the shock carried you and the entire ship into the unknown, you were unable to contain your anger. You were afraid, but above all, you were mad with rage against him who predicted everything and who was not able to anticipate this catastrophe.

The idea of ​​being stuck there, somewhere, far from everything with him is literally unbearable for you. Seriously ? You would rather end up in a sandy desert and die of thirst.

You notice that despite the fiasco you are the victim of, Thrawn remains surprisingly calm when observing the damage to the ship. Yet there is something hovering above him and you are unable to define it. It drives you crazy this constant indifference to everything that seems to happen to you because of him.

In your own way, you try to act to find a solution. You note the damage suffered by the ship, count the number of deaths. Discovering that some of your friends did not survive the shock is difficult for you to take. The worst ? Report it to your superior who remains impassive in the face of your distress and the seriousness of what is affecting you.

After several days of struggle, your body becomes exhausted as much as your mental strength. Nothing seems to allow you to be located by the Imperial forces. Nothing tells you where you got lost. Distraught, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, you notice that Thrawn is watching you.

And it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

You walk up to him, your eyes filled with anger and tears, and throw your badges at his feet. Deciding that being far from the empire allows you to free yourself from its authority. You scream. You fume to see him so indifferent, so impassive while there are still lives to save on this ship, that the empire needs your help.

He lets you explode, remaining impassive in the face of your anger. The truth is that the anger you direct at him is also directed at you. You are unable to admit that despite all your efforts and the accumulated fatigue you are unable to find a reasonable solution.

You thought you would make him react by putting yourself in this state, but he just asks you if you are finished and leaves without another word.

At nightfall, when you have been in exile with him for several weeks now, you are wandering aimlessly in the carcass of the Chimaera when you notice a light on the main command deck. Thrawn's shadow casts over you as you sneak in to spy on him.

He looks defeated, the light from the holoprojection further stretching his already tired features. Even though he remains in a deep state of concentration, what you see on his face that evening upsets you more than you would like to admit.

Trouble. Disappointment. Pain. Guilt. Thrawn probably realizes that he will be stuck here for a long time and that he will miss important feats of arms for the empire. That he will be cut off from the world and his loved ones for much longer than expected.

And it breaks your heart.

On the holovid, you discover that the Grand Admiral has also put his time to good use. Rather than looking for a solution inside the ship, he has undertaken excavations outside and numerous symbols are projected onto the central table. Symbols that you have already seen in books when you were a student and which are not that foreign to you.

-Dathomir. You said in a breath. The look he gives you then petrifies you in a strange way. As if your heart had just stopped beating and started beating faster than normal. Had you ever realized the intensity of his gaze before this moment? You put these strange emotions down to fatigue before he speaks.

-Perhaps we have before us the solution to all our problems, lieutenant. He whispers in a monotone voice. You are stunned by the amount of work he has accomplished in such a short time and you are angry that you were so wrong.

-Will you help me? He ends up murmuring at your silence. That’s when you realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off you for many minutes. After a brief moment of hesitation, you end up nodding your head.

-I've never been very cooperative, but I'm willing to make an effort. You admitted slowly, eyes glued to the ground.

-Stay as you are. It’s your spirit that I’m going to need to bring us back. For your mind and your intelligence.

These words hit you like a crashing space cruiser. It’s violently sweet and you’re not sure your heart will survive it. Either way, you're convinced this is the start of something different. That this exil will introduce you to Grand Admiral Thrawn like no one has ever seen him.