#temporary beastly state

[kellyvela]

In my Segismundo/Jon Snow era. They are too similar. Bye.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!Rhysand x reader: Desk Pet[***]

A/N: if you’d like more, try the sequel: play-mate 🧡💛

Warnings: non-con, dark!rhysand, collars + leashes, impact ‘play’, oral (m!recieving), arguably torture, degradation, smut, cum play?

Word Count: 3,993

Even freshly oiled hinges make noise if you know what to listen for.

The air shifts, a lock clicking softly, followed by the muffled scuff of shoes over a hardwood floor.

You curl into a tight ball, knuckles of your spine pressing against the back of the desk, huddling your knees to your naked front.

Dark, polished leather comes into view. Shift as he reaches for something on the surface of your ceiling. Papers rustle, the smell of ink and parchment bursting in the air, and you curl yourself tighter, pressing as far away from him as possible.

He reclines in the padded chair, cushioning thick and luxurious, nothing but perfection for Night Triumphant. Bare skin prickles with fear, dark power thrumming thick in the air, static buzzing beneath your skin, bones heavy with the weight of his magic. Lower lip wobbles, but you keep yourself stiff, spine rigid—hardly even breathing. Above you, a quill scratches away on the desk, tapping out a slow, steady beat. Bored, and lazy. Taunting as he sets you on edge.

Nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms as he pushes his chair back, enough space for you to peek your head out, if you had the foolish courage to try. Instead, you cower back into the darkness, wishing to be reduced to dust; to fade into nothing. Lurk like a spider in a corner, remaining unseen but able.

“I’d been wondering where you scuttled off to,” he muses, pushing further from his desk. Toes curl, arms wrapping tighter around bare shins, ankles crossing in attempts to shield yourself from his prying eyes. “Come out here,” he commands smoothly, “I want to see you.”

Something sharp slices into your gut, twisting sickeningly as you squeeze your body to the point of cramping, shrinking away into the darkness below his desk. Heart pounds in your chest, counting out the menacing tap of his fingers, drumming out your sentence. He hums softly, as if bored by your terror. “You’re going to be like that, then.”

Hand flexes, a shadowed leash materialising in his palm, fingers wrapping tight as he jerks on it, roughly.

You choke, gagging as you’re flung forward, landing on your hands and knees, pushing with all your might to return to the temporary safety beneath his desk. There’s no give on the collar, the leash might as well be made of iron for how far you’re able to pull away from him. Nails dig into the floorboards, gouging into the crevices as you attempt to scramble away from him, skin prickling as his attention licks over you.

The High Lord tuts softly, jerking your leash so you have to raise up onto your knees, hands leveraging yourself on the plush cushion of his chair—space between his long legs. Fear pounds through your head, ears ringing as you meet his gaze: cold, cruel violet narrowed upon your lower form. Eyes widen, edges of your mouth twisting down as your lip wobbles, pressure tightening around your throat. A faint smile crinkles the edges of his mouth, recognising your fear, marking the tremble to your fingers.

“So much resistance from something so small,” he muses, hand cupping your jaw, fingers and thumb squeezing your cheeks. “I take that to mean you’re well rested?”

Lip wobbles, a tear spilling over as the muscles in your shoulders contract with tension, trying to shrink away from him. Violet narrows, jerking on your collar. You gasp, darkness tightening around your throat. “I’m not in the mood,” he snarls roughly, brow deepening into a scowl, lip curling back from sharp, gleaming canines. “Now on your knees, mouth open.”

Terror floods your veins, and you tug on the leash, shaking your head as you use your hands in attempts to shove him away.

A beastly snarl rips from his throat, forcing you into a state of petrifaction, his inherent dominance over you making blood freeze in your arteries. The back of his palm connects with your cheek, smacking your face to the side, skin stinging as pain bursts at the corner of your mouth. A metallic tang coating your tongue.

He jerks on your lead, commanding your attention, tears mixing with blood as they drip down your jaw, splattering on the floor. A low laugh drags from his chest, violence prowling just beneath as he forces you to straighten your spine, lead pulled taut as you kneel between his long legs. “You’re going to hurt so bad,” he snarls, grinning, nothing kind in the display of piercing, white teeth. “Does that excite you, pet?” He practically spits, leaning to be closer to you, your hands having to brace themselves atop his powerful thighs. “Knowing how I’m going to use you?” He growls, arousal dilating his pupils.

“I’m going to make sure you hate this,” he snarls, violet practically glowing as he bares his teeth.

Terror roils in your gut, and you spit at him, saliva splattering just beneath his left eye, digging your nails into the muscle of his thighs.

He’s still for a moment, a storm brewing as magic crackles in the air.

Pupils tighten into slits, fury whitening his features, carving out animalistic lines into his cruelly beautiful face. “You want it rough, today?” He growls, lowly, fingers biting into your jaw. “Want to have this experience scarred into you?” He mutters, shadows flickering at his back, those great, powerful wings materialising, tipped with piercing talons. “Want me to break something?” He hisses, jaw straining beneath his grip.

Thunder storms in his eyes, snapping all at once, releasing the damper on his power, pressure almost crushing you as your heart strains beneath the weight of his darkness. Magic is unleashed, and your lips part in a silent scream as talons rake along the soft, tender adamant of your mental shields, ripping them apart in a single beat of your heart. Mind is torn away; claws touch the most intimate, sacred parts of you, pawing and scraping at your soft centre.

Spine curves, head tipping back as your eyes widen, as if lightening it crackling beneath your skin, pure, undiluted power searing into your body.

“Are you sorry?” He muses, pleased with your suffering. Arousal thickens as tears streak down your throat, dripping between your breasts as you sob at the invasion. Lips tremble, aching from being stretched taut, jaw feeling like it might crack from being forced open.

Talons squeeze tighter, a stomach-ripping scream tearing from your lungs, blood-curdling from the exquisite agony he’s inflicting. “I’m— sorry!” You scream, having trouble forming the words from blazing pain. “Please!” You cry out. “Please! I— I can’t—”

Claws retract, and you slump forward, spine aching from bowing at such a steep angle, as though something else had taken ahold of you. “Better,” he croons, pulling on the leash, dragging you back between his thighs. “Now settle down and get to work,” he snarls, working himself free of the infuriating ties keeping him from the wet heat of your mouth.

Breath shudders from your lungs, chest spasming from the force of his power, stinging aches lacerating across your torso with every inhale. He’d promised he’d make it hurt.

Tears spill fresh down your cheeks as his hand fists in your hair, nails scraping viciously over your scalp, guiding you to his tip. “Open that mouth for me before I unhinge your damned jaw,” he snarls roughly, releasing your leash in favour of gripping his base.

Loathsomely, your lips part, dread coiling in your gut at his barbarity; the brutality he’s inflicting upon you with such glee. He shoves into your mouth; you choke, spluttering and convulsing as he pushes you down, nose pressing tight to his abdomen, dark hairs trailing a path from his muscled stomach to his cock. Instinctively, you try to pull your tongue away, but it only brings his flavour deeper, the invasive taste of him spearing through your mind.

He laughs darkly, “isn’t that better, pet? Don’t have to worry that dumb little mind about trying to fight me. Just focus on doing the one thing you’re good at.” His fingers curl in your hair, slowly dragging you up and down his cock, as though you’re a toy he has no worry for. Hips buck lightly, breaths deepening as his head tips back against his chair, skin dusted with an orange-pink flush.

“Do you like knowing this is what you’ve been reduced to? What I’ve reduced you to?” He muses, quirking a brow as he stares down at you, head dipped as though you’re bowing, mouth sealed tight around the thickness of his length. “A pretty little cock toy,” he mocks, “isn’t that right?”

Your nose burns, throat aching from the intrusion, tears dripping onto his tan skin. Palms splay over the leather clothing his inner thighs, nails stabbing into the muscle as he keeps you pressed into his lap, grinding up into your mouth.

When he pulls you off, you gasp for air, spit drooling from the edges of your lips, spilling down your chin, attached to his tip by thin, silvery strands. Chest heaves as you splutter, gulping down breaths desperately. The High Lord groans, thumb swiping over your swollen lower lip, saliva tinted with precum. “Such a lovely accessory, aren’t you?” He growls, hand fisting in your hair as he guides you to his hips, head pushing into your mouth, his taste prominent and distinct.

Eyes burn as tears drip onto his skin, tongue writhing in your mouth as you press your hands against his thighs in protest. He widens the stance of his legs, pushing you down until all you can see is the hot skin of his abdomen, flecked with small scars. He curses under his breath, rolling his hips as you gag, tightening around him. “Relax,” he mutters, sharply bucking up, thrusts turning rougher and faster, picking up the rhythm.

“I’m going to fuck you raw,” he groans, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping you, setting a punishing pace as he fucks your mouth. All you can do is stab your nails into the muscle of his thighs, but he twitches in response, enjoying the pain: inflicting and receiving it. A strangled whimper spills onto him, and he snarls in pleasure, making you squirm at his barbarity.

“You’re going to swallow it,” he mutters, nails raking over your scalp. “Every last drop, and you’re going to be thankful for it.” Hips buck sharply, twitching on your tongue as he nears his peak. “Grateful you’re the female who gets to be on her knees for me.”

Eyes squeeze shut, arms aching from trying to shove away from him, but he keeps your head tucked between his legs, lips flush to his abdomen as he releases down your throat. Giving you no choice but to swallow as his hips stutter, nose hurting from how heavy his hold is. Low, rough groans drag from his throat, thighs parting as darkness envelops your body, wrapping around your waist, sliding up your front, licking between your thighs. Like dozens of pairs of hands, fingers grazing down your spine, thumbing your nipples.

You shudder, crying out at the invasion; the violation as he feels the soft heat of your skin, darkness building between your legs as you try to wriggle away. Try to push further up onto your knees but shadow wraps over your thighs, binding them to your calves so you’re forced to keep still as they writhe and flick against your heat.

He pulls you to his tip, just as the last spurts shoot from the slit, hot droplets of cum splattering over your lips, smattering like freckles on your cheeks and nose. You splutter, gagging and gulping down air, desperate for a breath at last. Through your spotted daze you can make out how he’s fisted his cock, pumping slowly, easing down from his high. Breathing heavily, skin hot and flushed.

“Lick it up,” he murmurs, panting deeply. Jerks your hair, making you wince. “Lick it up.”

You glance down, spotting the stray drops that have latched onto the dark fabric of his leathers, remnants still at his tip. Involuntarily swallowing, you lean forward, feeling piercing violet weighing as you poke your tongue out, lapping up the mess he’s made. Swiping over his inner thigh, dragging up the seam.

Gritting your teeth, you lick his tip, tongue flicking over his slit, suckling down the stray droplets. He growls, thumbing at your cheeks, scooping up the last few spurts of his cum, peering at it; smearing it across the pad. Lips quirk in a cold smile, violet flicking to weigh down on you. “Up,” he murmurs, as if coaxing a pet into being good. “Up here.” Pats his thigh with his free hand, “up into my lap.”

There’s no way for you to protest, dark magic handling you onto your feet. Flinch as he brushes his cum-slicked thumbs over your nipples, circling and pinching softly, grinning at how they stiffen into peaks as the air hits the cooling liquid. His hand trails down your stomach, gaze following with interest, pondering how next to torture you. How else can he degrade you?

A mix between a whimper and a hiss spits from your chest as those cum-covered fingers swipe over your heat, darkness keeping your arms immobile at your back. His eyes latch onto yours as his digits dance between your legs, a wicked smirk twisting his lips, grin the embodiment of cocky, male arrogance. “You’d taste wonderful right now,” he drawls, middle finger circling your clit, playing with the soft, sensitive bud.

Lip wobbles as your vision blurs, struggling against his dark power, keeping you from so much as squirming.

His grin widens, noting your disgust. One finger pushes inside, and you whimper, face screwing up as it curls gently, rubbing against soft, sensitive spots that would feel nice if they were being stimulated by anyone but him. “Should I spread you out on my desk, hm? Get you all nice and wet” —punctuated by the curl of his finger— “for me? I bet you’d hate that.”

Eyes remain screwed shut, nails digging into the flesh of your palms, teeth prickling at your lip. A second finger prods at your entrance, and you try to squirm away, try to close your legs, or even just squeeze them together but he’s got two digits inside, and tears drip down your cheeks. “Stop,” you whisper, shakily, voice trembling. “Stop it.”

He hums, grin widening as he drags you closer by your cunt, so you’re stood over his left thigh, free hand gripping your hip. “But you’re so fun to play with,” he replies, mirth dancing in the violet of his eyes. Wet splashes down, landing on your chest. “You’re a monster,” you breathe, voice breaking. “A filthy, fucking, monster.”

Teeth flash in a grin. “You love me really,” he says, fingers rubbing over a spot that has your breath catching. Brows narrow together, mustering up a glare, “I hate you.”

“You hate me?” He replies, laughter in his voice. “You don’t know the meaning of the word,” he drawls. “Lovely, soft, lamb. Never faced a day of hardship in her life. Kept safe, by me, while the rest of the land was brought to its knees by that bitch of a Queen.”

“You’re worse than she was,” you snarl, baring your teeth as you feel yourself crumbling further. Fingers still inside of you, thumb prone to press against your clit.

“You think I’m worse than her?” He mutters lowly, something dark and sinister sharpening it’s claws within him, violet plummeting to indigo. Fury glitters in his eyes. “I know you are,” you seethe, tears still dripping steadily.

Hellish mouth slowly quirks into a smile, dragging his fingers from your heat, raising his hand for you to see: the arousal coating his digits, glistening with slick. “You seem to like that.”

Humiliation swarms your body, and you look away, shame slicing into your gut despite knowing it means nothing. You hear him laugh, low and dark; hear the sound of clothes ruffling as he raises his hand, followed by wet, lewd noises. “You taste like you do, too,” he muses. When you don’t reply, he grips your jaw, other hand resting possessively at your hip. “Say you like it,” he commands, palms sliding over your hind, digits prodding at the intimate skin. “Ask me to fuck you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hiss, glaring at him beneath narrowed brows. “You’re vile, and cruel, and utterly, utterly, disgusting.”

“That’s not how you ask, little lamb,” he remarks, mildly. “Did having my cock in your mouth somehow skew your brain?” He muses, hand sliding over the plumpness of your rear to grip the back of your thigh, handling you so your leg slides over his hip—straddling his lap. “Maybe we should work on your articulation?” You debate spitting at him again. The way he quirks his brow in challenge makes you believe he’s inside you already, cataloguing each of your thoughts. When his lips quirk, you hiss.

“Get out.” The High Lord grips your hips, moving you so you’re flush against his chest, cock hard and stiff, and poking into your abdomen. ‘But it’s so cozy in here.’ Nausea roils in your gut as you attempt to squirm away. “Stop it,” you hiss—comes out like a whimper. He grips your jaw tight, “beg.”

Blood freezes in your veins; you stare at him. “What?” His hellish mouth twists into a feline grin. “Beg.” Heart pounds in your chest, his cold, violet eyes devoid of any hints to whether he’s offering you reprieve this time. He’s proven himself to be sick enough to get off on begging alone.

Lower lip wobbles, arms still trapped at your back by his dark magic. “Please,” you murmur, unable to meet his eye. Heat flushing your skin as sickening shame burns in your gut.

“Please what?” He drawls, taunting you softly, grinding his hips against you, the rough material of his leathers scraping your nipples, making you squirm in his hold. “Please, stop it,” you mutter, trying to blink away those tears—he probably gets turned on by them.

Darkness lessens at your back, giving you enough leeway to shift as he—

“You’re a fucking psycho.”

The High Lord grips your hips tighter, your nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders, front pressed tight to his chest as you’re forced to lean into him to keep from sliding down onto his cock—tip eagerly pressed to your entrance. “You didn’t sound believable.” He answers nonchalantly, smiling cruelly. Hips buck, his head nudging the soft dip between your thighs. “We need to work on your begging,” he growls up onto your mouth.

Terror coils in your gut as he makes to drag you down, sit you on his cock like a prized accessory, nothing but a toy for him to enjoy. Tears brim at your lash line, nails biting into his skin. “Please…” you whimper, breasts pressed flush to his chest, feet hurting from perching on the points of your toes. “I…Please, Rhys.”

Tears drip-drop, splashing lightly onto his cheeks, face below your own. Violet widens marginally, revelling in the hot liquid, feeling it roll down to his jaw. A muscle feathers, and he curses lowly. “You beg like a fucking whore,” he snarls, lips grazing your own. “Where do you get off on acting like that, huh? Acting like it’s not all your dumb mind can think about.” His thumb and fingers squeeze the skin of your cheeks, making you cry harder. “I know you want it,” he breathes, words carving into your lips from the proximity. “Can’t wait for it. You’re practically dripping on me,” he snarls, pupils dilating to something wild and dangerous.

Then he’s slamming you down, and your mouth parts in a silent sob, collapsing against him, bodies pressed flush as your muscles give out, flopping into his shape, moulding against him. He’s filling you up entirely, spine arching as involuntary pleasure spasms across your lower tummy, heating your skin until you feel like you’ll never move again.

Rhys curses, low and viciously, hand gripping the nape of your neck to pull you back. You can hardly function. Disgusting, violating pleasure twists through your abdomen from being seated on his cock, your entire weight pressing him deeper. “Look at you,” he mutters lowly, taking in the heat flushing your skin, the part of your lips, the fluttering of your eyelids. “So fucked out already” he growls, hot lips brushing against your neck; you shudder.

“I told you that you wanted it,” he drawls, large palm spanning the width of your back, encouraging you to curve into him, arms draping over his shoulders, between the great wings. “Even your cunt was begging for me,” he snarls roughly, softly grinding up into you. You shiver from the exposure, feeling more naked now than you ever have before. Knowing he can watch as you loathsomely respond to him: the delicious press of his cock, how ecstasy is burning beneath your skin.

He laughs lowly, teeth scraping the soft skin of your throat. ‘I know you like it like this,’ he gloats in your mind, nipples peaking from the invasion. ‘You can’t lie to me, even if you manage to deceive yourself.’ All you can do is release a strangled sound—a bit too close to a moan for all the locked up hatred you can feel coiling in the pit of your stomach.

The High Lord begins bucking his hips, hands forcing you to grind against him, despite how you’re rendered immobile from shock and pleasure, slumped onto his chest as he uses you. He picks up the rhythm, setting a brutal pace that has disgust bubbling in the pit of your belly. His cock shoves into you, touching those sensitive spots he’d sought out with his fingers, sending you deeper into that mind-numbing state of disassociation.

“Do you still hate me, huh? Still hating this as much as when we started?” He growls, pounding up into you while you can do nothing but accept every sharp thrust, every buck that has you tightening around him. Slick’s probably dripped down onto his leathers by now—he’ll probably force you to lick it up afterwards.

“I know you’re enjoying this,” he murmurs beside your ear. “Such a filthy liar, aren’t you? My lovely, lying, lamb.”

You hiss as pleasure spills over the edges, ecstasy erupting within you as you’re sent over the edge. He snarls in response, rationality breaking beneath the strain of animal instinct. He surges from the chair, shoving you on his desk, papers flying as he grips your hips, slamming you back to meet him as he pounds into you. Sharp, gleaming canines pierce his lower lip as his own high crashes into him, cum shooting from his cock as his thrusts become sloppy, grinding into the wet, messy heat of your cunt as you flutter around him. Eyes are rolled back as you helplessly buck against him, body moving on its own while your back bows from his desk.

Ink is no doubt staining your skin, but you’re too far away to care. Grateful for the reprieve, finally leaving your body, escaping from his brutality, even for only a few moments.

Pleasure numbs your mind of pain, blanking out the violation and basking in the warm tingle he’s put into your bones.

Heavy pants fill the air as he keeps his hips pressed tight to the backs of your thighs, wings taut and shuddering as the last spurts of cum spill into you, making sure to pump everything he has deep inside.

He needs to be certain you’re completely his, filled with him at all times.

And when you’re eventually empty again, he’ll just repeat the events.

Filling you up all over again.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

Rhys Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[alwaysdevilday]

Talismanner

Of all the martial warriors of Spine’s ranks, the Talismanner is perhaps the most unconventional. These powerful combatants chiefly occupy the front lines of heavy skirmishes, employed as shock-and-awe troops feared for their vicious tactics and inhuman strength. Unfortunately, due to the conventions of their discipline they are often inflicted with the stigma common to those who meddle in the Anthropogenic arts.

While there is no inherent component of morality involved with the Talismanner way, it is true that from the outside their powers can appear visceral and disturbing. The Talismanner relies on their namesake tool–a fetish often constructed of one’s hair, skin and possibly bone–to channel internal energies into forcibly molding their corpus into a beastly form more befitting their will. This transformation process, though typically temporary, is invariably bloody and upsetting for bystanders.

Due to their sheer fortitude and talent for violence, Talismanners are coveted by nearly all organizations of the Spine, even if they frequently draw the ire of the Church and flesh purists.

Though the exact origin of their art is unknown, what is certain is that all Talismanners that exist today are self-made. The process of creating one’s own talisman requires the determination and intent to not only remove a part of your own body and fashion it into a morbid trinket which you will wear for the rest of your life, but also to surrender your body to magic which will rend it asunder and reform it into a living weapon, over and over. As far as anyone knows, it is not a process that can be coerced or inherited through bloodlines. The ritual can only be taught. Ironically, this tends to cause more problems than it prevents in a social sense.

The scripture of the Red Church states that all magical and aetheric powers which originate from a human source are inherently corrupt, not possessed of the purity of the Corpse and therefore at the very least not worth pursuing if not outright heretical. Talismanners tread a very fine line in their eyes, drawing upon internal magic to forcibly warp the blessed form granted to all humans by the will of the Corpse. Given the influence of the Red Church in Spine, this often leads to no small measure of ostracization for Talismanner warriors, despite their history of service for Spine’s people.

Some weather this as some sort of noble trial, convinced that it simply reinforces the sacrifice involved in their duty; others consider it an injustice that merits retaliation.

While Talismanners in the midst of a transformation retain their core motivations and morality, in moments of extreme stress or bloodshed all but the most stalwart of them will find themselves occasionally surrendering to animal instinct and snapping or swiping at an unintentional target. Between their heightened senses, the flow of adrenaline and the overwhelming potency of the magic flowing through them, they may lose track of the flow of combat for just a moment and strike out at those they would otherwise not wish to harm. This may at least explain part of the xenophobia they experience, as the claws of a Talismanner in beast form are deadly weapons when backed by their supernatural strength, even if swung in error.

Only the most powerful of Talismanners–those who have succeeded in tempering their will and magic to razor sharpness–can claim to have infallible control of themselves while transformed. They tend to become elders of their clans, as all who understand their plight cannot help but respect the sheer strength and discipline this requires.

[carolinedoesmagic]

More quests and something important happens

I’m sorry for skipping a day, I found myself quite busy. Back to your regularly scheduled mediocre fiction.

A part of me told me that I was hurt, frightened, and most importantly, just a little girl who should give up, but another section of my mind was stronger. I required at least an explanation, and heard a story of age-old wars between the guild and the druids.

‘We only want to make the city better and stronger but whenever we introduce something new, those filthy bastards try to sabotage us. You have no idea how many fires they set on our homes and shops. We would set fire to their forest, but we actually respect nature,’ he spat.

I tried to persuade him, although half-heartedly, already sensing a failure and feeling somewhat swayed by his bias at that point. Seeing the look on my face, he offered a compromise.

‘Tell you what, girlie. I can get you the stone but only if you solve one of our issues.’

I knew that another quest should make me happy - after all, wasn’t that what adventuring was? - but I felt tired more than anything else. I took the detailed description of the important log book that held all of their secrets but went missing and said my goodbyes.

David’s shop was my next stop, and I got an idea on my way there. The kind mage was shocked at the sight of me, but not as mindlessly as the villagers. I briefed him on my daily encounters and told him about the conundrum with the double quest, to which he had a much simpler solution.

‘I can get you the obsidian myself, but for half the profits.’ 

The hero in me was not satisfied by the idea of not solving both issues, so I inquired about a particular spell to help me find the missing book. He switched his demeanor to one of business, telling me that he could perform a ritual that would meet my demands and asking for payment of 10 gold if he were to do that.

I agreed, albeit reluctantly, and watched him perform the spell I remembered from a book I once read. It was supposed to help the caster locate the object by showing them visions of the location, and it included several valuable objects, complete silence, and from the vibrations I sensed in the air, a powerful mage. The very act was much more impressive than the results, which only told me where the missing object WASN'T, which was the entire city, apparently.

‘I’m sorry, Caroline, but it only reaches a certain radius around me. Perhaps I am not powerful enough to help you locate this object. Perhaps it is hidden under spells which mine cannot counter. In either case, this is all I can tell you.’

Trying to hide my disappointment, I went out soon after, murmuring something about it getting dark and promising to return the following day. 

Driven by final shreds of hope, I dropped by the blacksmith's again, sharing what little info I had without getting anything in return. I don’t even think I managed to help them, at least not for real. I dragged my feet back to the inn, feeling like crying not for the first time since I started my adventures.

Returning to my temporary home, I had to state my name and business before being let inside. The inn was close to deserted. The only people inside were the keepers - Ericson, Arin, and the elderly halfling, as well as Trevor, a small party of adventurers, and myself. Everybody seemed busy when I first entered the room, busy with little nothings to distract themselves from the thoughts of what the night could bring. I decided to go to my room and wait it out, but Trevor stopped me in his usual friendly manner. 

We chatted idly for a while, and he made me promise to tell him all about my day later in a feat of such amicability that I almost felt a bit better about life. Perked up by the talk, I went to sit with the party, asking their permission to listen, asking for company, feeling like a child. They astonished me a bit by gladly accepting me to their table, but paid very little heed to me from then onward. I listened to their stories, making a little sound here and there, until they mentioned shadow creatures. All eyes were on me when I gasped, loud in the room full of quiet, unspoken dread. 

The other members scoffed at my interest, but the lady in the group smiled and gave me an abridged version of their encounter with some shadow cultists. The very knowledge of such people made me hopeful that I would be able to learn about my magic after all, and I was itching to continue asking questions, even at the risk of annoying the group. Our talk was, however, interrupted by a scream and beastly sounds coming from the outside.

[robbyrobinson]

OWL HOUSE X CTHULHU MYTHOS (XVI)

The next thing Eda, Lilith, and King knew, they were being escorted into the dungeon whilst still being stronghold by a few of the imperial guards. Nyarlathotep walked in front of them, humming some tune to himself. Once more, he was in his Black Pharaoh form. He turned to look at the prisoners with a half-amused smile. “Be sure to make yourselves at home.”

At the entrance of the dungeon with its large, heavy iron casing, stood Warden Wrath. He gave a slight bow towards the Crawling Chaos to which Nyarlathotep responded to with a wave of his hand. “At ease, Wrath.”  

Wrath examined the prisoners. His yellow button-like lens of his mask lit up. “Eda, the Owl Lady! We meet again.”  

Eda groaned in irritation. “Oh, Titan, not him.”  

Nyarlathotep smirked and tried to stifle a laugh. “I take it that you know this woman?”  

“Yes, my lord; the Owl Lady was the one that always escaped my clutches! Yet for as much as I desired her, she always rejected my advances.”  

He walked up to Eda and morphed his hand into a bouquet of flowers. He held it in front of Eda’s face. “Perhaps now that there is no escape, you could change your mind?”  

Before Eda could reply, Nyarlathotep broke the two up. While his smile was still visible on his face, he tapped his finger against the side of a wall. The sound of his finger echoed through the walls in a dry, hollow thrust. Warden Wrath immediately backed away. Nyarlathotep’s glare never faltered.  

“The human girl is essential in my plans; what would you think would happen if she knew that you laid a finger on her mentor? Need I remind you of the punishment that could transpire for your insolence?”  

Warden Wrath held his hands up. “Yes, my lord. Forgive me.”  

“You are forgiven; now show the three guests to their room.”  

Warden Wrath and the guards took the prisoners and tossed them into a glass cage. Once all three were in, the bindings that were placed on their limbs were removed. When the last guard exited the cage, the door was sealed shut with a wave of the guard’s finger. Nyarlathotep took a chair and propped it down to sit on it. His smile widening to the point of wrapping around the sides of his head, he crossed his leg and held a cup. Almost on cue, another guard arrived on the scene and poured a liquid into it. Nyarlathotep grasped the head of the cup and brought it to his lips.  

“What is your game, Nyarlathotep?” Eda asked.

The glass clicked against the Crawling Chaos’ teeth. He brought the cup down and sighed. “I really love this apple blood you witches brew; maybe moreso than the typical games I engineer.”  

“What are you planning on doing to us?” King said.

“You are all much too valuable to threaten,” Nyarlathotep stated, “it’s really the most mundane of gambits, but I am keeping you all hostage for as long as I like.”

Eda knelt down and clasped some of the shackles. She then made an unprovoked dash towards the glass. The cuffs slammed against the cage. Instead of doing what she had hoped, sparks of white lightning struck her and propelled her back to the ground. The walls jiggled from the magic that composed them. Once the gelatinous walls settled down, the cage regained its still composure. Eda tried it again only to be met with the same result.  

“What is this?” Lilith inquired. She casually poked her finger on the wall only to draw it back when a surge of lightning shocked her. She clutched her other hand over that one.  

“It is a wall that was created by some alchemist using some of my dark magic,” Nyarlathotep explained. “Any normal magic you witches could dish out will only bounce off it. It has the additional benefit of absorbing the magic and blows of other people making it three times as strong as it initially was.”  

“That can’t be true,” Eda denied, “every cage can be broken...just takes effort.”  

Nyarlathotep got up from his chair and rubbed his chin. “It isn’t like you can do much; I sense that your magic bile sac is faulty.”  

“For your explanation, if you must know that I ended up using it in order to save Luz.”  

Lilith looked down at the floor. She really wished that she could forget driving her sister to that point, but what was done was done. There was little inconceivable way that Eda would be able to perform magic again through the biological way.  

“Even if you and your sister, hypothetically speaking of course, transform into your beastly forms, that will not be enough to free you from that cage. Unless...”  

Eda’s eyebrow arched. “Unless what?”  

“You and your sister can always align yourself with me; I can remove your curses if you so please.”  

Eda turned her head in disgust. “Forget it; I am not going to agree to that deal especially because your little pet project lied to my sister about promising to remove my curse.”  

“Of course, he was unable to remove it; he represents only a sliver of my power. If he was able to cure anyone of their ailment, it would only be a temporary fix for a temporary situation. But once I have the Necronomicon in my possession, I can remove your little curse if in return you become my acolytes.”  

“I said no, Nyarlathotep. I will not spend the remainder of my days serving you until the Boiling Isles crumbles away.”  

Nyarlathotep sighed in disappointment. “Very well then; I may as well should just leave you condemned to your tragic fate.”  

The Black Pharaoh snapped his fingers not taking his eyes off the cage. In walked in Kikimora with a plate in her hand. On it was a silver cloche to conceal the contents within. She made a slight bowing gesture to Nyarlathotep and directed one of the guards to create a hole big enough to slide the plate into it.  

“What are you doing now?” Lilith asked in confusion.  

King grabbed the cloche and pulled it away. Underneath the plate were three sandwiches comprised of peanut butter and jelly. The crust of the bread was cut away leaving only the whiteness of the loaves. The three eyed the sandwiches suspiciously before directing their attention back to Nyarlathotep. He sat back down and drank more apple blood from his cup.  

“You may want to eat that,” he said.  

“You can go to Hell for all we care,” Eda declared.  

“Hell? Aw that’s cute,” said Nyarlathotep in a chuckle. “But I do insist on eating those sandwiches; it could may as well be the last time that you eat something in your life.”  

“You likely laced them with some...alien drug,” Eda said, “we do not want anything to do with your sandwich or you.”  

Nyarlathotep shrugged. “No skin off my back then; the clock is ticking.”  

He waved his index finger back and forth as a visual metaphor. “The Day of Unity is just about to take wing.”  

“You always say things on Day of Unity this; Day of Unity that. What exactly are you detailing?” Eda asked aloud.  

“It comes in two forms: first, my servant, Belos, wanted me to specifically destroy the Earth for his cause. I will admit that while I hate the idea of him gaining free will away from my control, he did keep the Isles nice and tidy while I was on temporary leave. I will do such once I regain my full power.”  

Eda tensed up. Her blood ran cold; shivers went up her spine. “Why does he want that?”  

“It is a very interesting story he told me: the reason he hates the Earth so much has to do with him being a temporary parent of sorts.”  

Eda sat down with her sister and King. “A parent? Belos?”  

She turned to look at Lilith. Lilith shrugged her shoulders expressing the same confusion that her younger sister was showing. “Belos never mentioned having any children.”  

Nyarlathotep laughed. “I would suspect not; one day, some human girl found herself wondering in the Boiling Isles along with scraps of metal and other things coming from the human realm.”  

“There were more portal keys out there?” Eda asked.

“I am certain that there were at least a few keys aside from the one that you had in your possession; whatever means she came here, Belos saw some potential in raising the child as a mentor. The child was always kept away in the deeper parts of his kingdom where he bestowed some of his power to her whilst keeping her being a human a top secret. The old man taught her every kind of magic there was under some belief that she would likely continue in his footsteps.”  

King was ripping his teeth into one of the PB&J sandwiches and shoveling large chunks into his mouth. “Wvell, hwhat rappened?”  

“She started to realize the corruption he was poisoning the Boiling Isles with, and she fought against him. Before she vanished, she left Belos in such a bloodied, beaten state, he swore to have his vengeance. From the way he described the beating he was delivered, Belos can now barely hold it together. Give or take a year and a half, I am quite certain that he would be shuffling off the mortal coil soon. With no heir to succeed him, this may as well spell the end of the coven system.”  

The three prisoners looked at each other whilst mentally trying to figure out what human girl would have even dreamed of defeating Belos and leaving him in a near-death state for the rest of his rule.  

Luz and Amity were arriving to Earth at a skyrocketing speed, the pressure of the air around them smacking into them. The brown rat was already further down and using the streams of cloud as a surfboard. Hypnos was following closely behind. Unlike the two girls who flailed their arms against the winds, Hypnos gracefully floated through the mist, his arms pinned squarely on his sides.  

“No fair, how can you do this?” Luz asked.

“Tons of experience, and...lots of drugs,” Hypnos bluntly stated.

“Oh.”  

The two turned back to glaring at the brown rat. “I have the tiniest inkling of where he is going.”  

“Where?” Amity asked.

“Let me confiscate the rat, and you can find me then,” Hypnos stated.  

Hypnos’ astral body curved in the air and jetted down like a heat-seeking missile. It was now just Amity and Luz plunging towards the Earth. Amity’s eyes were open in small squints. The pressure bounced off her eyes shifting them behind the back of her head. She grabbed onto Luz’s hand for dear life hoping that with her combined strength, they could slow down the speed with which they were free falling.  

She looked up at the sky seeing the portal that they had just leaped from. She could hardly believe it: she was now in another realm filled with alien tech her little mind couldn’t even bear to understand. Naturally, she knew that the Earth existed because Luz was a denizen of that world. But never in her imagination or calculations could have prepared her to the implication of a multiverse. The scenarios were limitless: in one, Amity could have been the one who was not born with magic whereas Luz was. She could likely be some other species on another world with a completely different personality. Perhaps there was one where she and Luz..she couldn’t finish that thought due to her feeling the warmness of her cheeks.  

“Amity, is the motion sickness making you sick?” Luz asked.

Amity shook her head to keep her thoughts at bay. “Oh...no. No, I’m fine.”  

She yelped when Luz placed her forehead onto hers. “Are you sure, Amity? Your head feels warm.”  

“Pfft...I’m fine, hahahaha...who’s Amity?”  

Amity’s oddness aside, Luz shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway, we should probably brace ourselves.”  

She pointed to the ground which was now within reach. “Makes me wish Hypnos considered giving us parachutes.”  

Amity was confused. “Par-A-what now?”  

“Whatever, get ready...set....”  

Luz wrapped her arms around the witch girl’s waist. The pupils in Amity’s eyes shrunk. “L-Luz!?”  

Before she could say anything, the air tightened around the two as they faced the full brunt of the fall.  

[c-atm]

Feral play

Steven couldn't believe his eyes as he looked upon his lady. Sitting on the floor in the middle of her workshop with paper scattered and clawed walls, looking lost and enchantingly beastly was one Connie Maheswaran.

Her usually brown skin was a few shades darker, her black eyes now replaced with purple slit irises on a black background. Her hair usually in a neat bun now moved as if it was alive. On her cheeks were now the tell-tale circles of a demon. 

Not that the horns, floating eye and reptilian tail helped.

Steven took a cautious step as towards the crouching human turned demon, gulping and trying to hide his concern. 

"Connie? Do you remember me?"

The demoness looked at him quizzically as she hung her head to the left, blinking.

"It's Steven...Your familiar. Do you remember, My lady?" He gave her a slight strain smile as he held out his hand towards her.

"Steven?"

Steven felt a bolt hit his spine at her voice. It was a bit more raspy and slurred with an almost silky tone, but undoubtedly hers. His face blushed purple as she took his hand and stood. Her figure was more curvaceous and defined. Her shirt rode up a bit as she stretched giving him a view of her stomach now with a glyph around the navel.

"What did you do? " Steven pressed his hand on her stomach causing her to tremble.

"Cold." She moaned to his touch.

"Hold on, My Lady." Steven encouraged. Looking at it closely he saw that it ran lower than her pants line. He stood to his full length, eye to eye with her and sighed. "Guess this is something you can do now, but it shouldn't last long...What were you trying to do?" 

"Steven."

Steven was caught off guard at her sniffing below his chin, like an animal. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back gently.  He looked at her completely flustered. "My lady, that's inappropriate during this time."

She took his left hand and sniffed  it..before humming in familiarity. "Yes..Yes.I know you. "

Steven nodded, "that you do. We live in this house together."

Connie took his words into consideration, before taking in his appearance. Images of their time together playing in her mind as she did. "We're contracted to each other, yes?" 

Steven nodded slowly as he caught a lingering scent of attraction, coming from her.

"We're close to each other." She purred as she pressed her palm on his chest and pushed him on to the nearby chair.

Steven gulped as he saw the feral and a bit lustful look in her eyes.

"My lady, you're not in your right mind. "  Steven suggested as Connie climbed on his lap

"The transformation has affected your modesty."

He added as he held her now clawed hands. 

"I know what I'm doing..." She argued with a smile, before moving towards his neck. "I just wish to even things out a bit and feel as powerful and inhibited as you do?"

"My lady, I..You."

"Hehe. My, is my dapper demon speechless." She removed closer to his face. "Do I make you uncomfortable like this?" She looked at him expectantly.

Steven looked into those eyes of her and despite the ferocious appearance of them, still felt his heart thumped against his chest, due to the raw emotion they held. 

"It's different My Lady, as temporary as it is." Steven admitted.

"A bad difference?" The disappointment was evident in her voice as she looked down. The floating eye between her horns seemed to close a bit, looking ashamed. Her tail even dropped low.

"I didn't say that."  Steven assured as he took his lady chin and held her face in place. "I said it's different, cause you never did anything like this." He smirked before giving the sad demoness, a small kiss on her forehead. "Never said it was bad." Steven chuckled as she covered the spot he kissed. 

"So this is ok. You still find me..Desirable?" She blush the color of deep violet, looking hopeful.

"Of course, my fiery lady. There's not a moment in time, I do not wish for your companionship."

Connie grinned at her familiar, pride rising in her heart. "Good."  She clenched her fist in victory.

 "So..What happened?" Steven examined the damage of her workshop stone walls, they appeared to be carved and melted.

Connie shrugged. "I guess having all that demonic energy hit me at once caused me to be a bit erratic.. Feral."

"Very feral, you didn't recognize me at first." He chuckled at her pout.

"Don't tease me.." 

"Or what you gonna bite me."

Connie didn't say anything as Steven continued to chuckle, smirking before making her move.

"Ah!" Steven yelped as her fanged mouth met with his chin in a nip. He rubbed the spot where she bit as she smirked arms crossed.

"Feral girl."

Connie nodded with pursed lips before nipping his neck, his throat and various places above his shoulder. Making her giggle each time he yelped or growled In slight annoyance.

"Ok..That's how you wanna play it, My feral lady." Steven announced before nipping her ear.

"Ey!" Connie barked at the feeling, before nipping him back behind his ear. 

"Hm!"  Steven snarled as he prepared to strike again.

What started out as a playful, gentle biting game, slowly but surely evolved to a wrestling match as they interlocked their hands and dodged each other's attempts to bite. Their movements rocking the chair they shared as they bobbed, weaved and struck out each other.

One particular dodge had them spilling out of the chair and onto the floor, with the witch turned demon under the natural demon in a very suggestive position..His knees were outside of her hips, he hands above her head still interlocked with hers.  Their faces, just a few centimetres apart…

"You ok Connie?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm alright. Two feet to a stone floor is not gonna hurt me."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Yeah."

Steven started to blush as he looked at his lady spread out and messy hair, the glow of the evening giving her a sinfully attractive appearance as she smiled at him with a fang peeking out. 

"Think I can 'make a contract' in this form?" She teased. 

"I think you just want to bite me." he retorted, getting a chortle from his roomie. 

"Just a bit, but it's mostly for research." She sniffed him, smelling a certain  emotion. "You're not really against the idea, I see."

"Guess, I can't really hide it with you temporary prowess."  Steven lowered his face towards her. "What do we do now?"

"Let's conduct a test, shall we?" She stated as she reached up licking her lips, her mouth ready to sink in..When she felt a wave of fatigue hit her..

"Steven... Catch me. Please."

Steven caught her head as he fell back. Crawling over to her side he lifted and cradled her as he watched as her skin slowly turned back to it's normal shade. 

The last thing she saw was his concern yet reassuring face as he carried her.

Connie woke up with a stretch, rubbing her eyes as she gathered her senses. Feeling more refreshed and energetic than usual. She looked around realizing she was in her room, in her bed. Climbing out, she walked into the bathroom, turning on the light and heading to the bath to run the shower. As she stripped out of her clothes she took a look in the mirror, seeing the faded glyph along her lower torso. Memories of her time as a demoness flashed in her head. 

A small smile appeared on her face. "Yes, It worked...A one time use it seems, though." She looked at the slight change in her stomach as well feeling how tight her skin felt. "I'm a little toner than usual..a side effect, maybe."

As she continued to look at herself in the mirror, she blushed marooned as she saw little bites along her neck and behind her ear.

Steven nearly dropped his watering can when he heard her shrieked out his name. 

"It seems my feral and firey lady is up." He chuckled as he rubbed his own bites. Smiling an anticipation of the day of teasing he was about to put her through.

[jackidy]

If You Let Me: Chapter 1

Rating: T Pairings: Demyx/Zexion, Demyx/Ienzo (Eventual/Slowburn) Characters: Various, Zexion/Ienzo Centric Setting: BBS to KH3, Canon compliant mostly 

Warnings: Canon Character Death (Temporary)

Summary:  “It’s almost a shame really, that you probably won’t survive this.” Only he did. Spending the prelude to adulthood as a nobody, a supposed empty husk of a being was never an option any of them considered, least of all a newly named Zexion who would be living every last one of them.

Note: I’ve been wanting to write this since KH3 came out, finally got round to planning everything after a recent stint in hospital haha. I’ve not written Multi Chapter in a while so lets hope I can keep going with it. 

Chapter One | Next Chapter

---

Year 0

He’s half asleep when the shouting begins, Even shaking him awake with a panicked look on his face and Ienzo doesn’t understand it, not fully, blinking slowly as he attempted to register what was going on. Panic. Shouting. Even holding his arms, a little too tightly with a frantic look in his eyes that does nothing but scare Ienzo. Why was he so scared?

“I need you to hide for me, hide for me and don’t make a sound. Can you do that, Ienzo?” Ienzo doesn’t get chance to respond, Dilan shouting something outside catching Even’s attention, something hissed under his bis breath that’s drowned out by the noise outside before he turns back to Ienzo. His expression softens, hands brushing hair from blue eyes as a kiss is placed against his forehead. “Go on now, go hide.”

The child does as he’s told, ducking under Even’s desk, curling up in the corner. Hands slide over ears as there’s a scream, something thudding against the door. Was Dilan hurt? Shouldn’t they help? He doesn’t understand, why are they hiding when they could help? Even could heal Dilan and then they could find everyone else and leave before whatever attacked Dilan attacked them all too.

He doesn’t want to lose his family. Not again.

The office door doesn’t slam open so much as creak, eerily quiet and somehow more terrifying than if it had slammed, Ienzo clamping his lips together to stop himself from letting out a shuddering breath. Even had told him to be quiet so he would be quiet, he’d looks so serious, so afraid. What was scary enough to make Even scared and Dilan shout?

Where were Aeleus and Braig?

“Where is Ienzo?”

“Not in here, what do you want?”

Static seems to build in his head, setting his brain alight as his heart rate spiked. He knows that voice, the new member of the family who didn’t speak to him much unless he wanted something. The one who told him to ask Ansem for the lab where the bad things always happened.

“Research.”

The pressure on his ears grows as he hears them fight, clamping his eyes closed and counting to ten and then back again in his head, the static almost painful when he feels it. The desk pushes against him as a thud echoes above him, eyes flying open to look above him then to the side as a hand comes into view. Pale, weathered, almost as familiar as his own.

Why wasn’t Even moving?

Hands clamp over his mouth as a whimper leaves his lips, pacing footsteps stopping before coming closer, slowly as if the owner didn’t know he was here and he didn’t, right? He’d behaved, he’d been quiet. Even wasn’t going to be mad with him when he woke up, he stayed quiet like he was supposed to. He’d behaved. He’d been good.

The creak of wood beside him makes him jolt, eyes flicking from the hand to the side of him. The static stops. Everything stops bar the impulse to run, wanting to desperately to move but paralysed as blue meets orange, a tanned face flickering between a lack of surprise to something almost feral and beast like. Lips curve up into a smile, in no way friendly, the need to run growing larger and more desperate as Xehanort leaned forward.

“Found you.”

Ienzo bolts, not making it far before he’s grabbed, a scream ripping from his throat as he’s dragged, over Even’s crumpled form, the grip ever tightening the more he tried to pull away and he knows. He knows he’s not felt fear like this since he lost his parents and now, he was losing them all over again, desperately reaching for Even before being thrown to the floor.

“I really should thank you, if you hadn’t convinced that old fool, we’d never have reached such marvels.”

It was his fault? He’d caused all this? Ienzo looks from Even to Xehanort, another whimper escaping his lips as the tears welled up. It was his fault Even and, most certainly Dilan, were hurt. Were Aeleus and Braig hurt too? What about those two strange boys who kept wandering in and bribing his silence with ice cream? How many people were going to be hurt because he convinced Ansem to build a new lab?

“It’s almost a shame really, that you probably won’t survive this.”

He only sees the glint of light on the keyblade before he succumbs to the darkness.

---

Year 1.

“You need to focus!”

He hates the lessons, Zexion swallowing back a retort as Vexen’s voice cut through his concentration once more, the image of what he was trying to manifest crumbling into nothing, leaving nothing but the dark space of the lab once more. As Even he’d been warmer in voice and spirit, he’d lectured him enough when he’d misbehaved but his voice was never as cold as ice when he did it, never cutting in the way it lacked encouragement.

“I’m trying.” Zexion responded, training the anger out of his voice least he be admonished for expressing emotions as well. We don’t have hearts, we’re not supposed to feel, he’s been told this time and time again yet each one of his mentors has exhibited something close to the human range of emotion. Was it one rule for them and another for him?

Letting out a deep breath he tries again, taking his time as he tries to picture what Vexen wants. A Shadow Heartless. This should be easy, there were thousands of them outside in the city below, Zexion furrowing his brows as he focused on the image, managing to drown out Vexen’s ever helpful criticisms.

It’s then he feels the shift, staring in confusion at the blank space before him before looking up to Vexen who was quiet but not mad. Why wasn’t he mad? He hadn’t don’t as the other had asked, there was no Shadow Heartless, just the blank white floor of an overly white castle.

“Not what I expected but impressive all the same.” Vexen mutters, scribbling something down on the clipboard he held, Ignoring Zexion in favour of recording whatever feat Zexion had apparently performed. Looking down at his hands, Zexion falters, expecting gloves hands but instead finding small black claws.

He hadn’t made the heartless, he’d become it.  

---

The library is the safest space to hide, Zexion has found, heavy book in hand and a secluded corner to hide from the other seven but someone will find him eventually, they always do and, as always, he can only hope its Lexaeus as opposed to Xigbar or Axel, the latter of which continues to look at him like everything was his fault.

Maybe it was, Xehanort had stated as much before he became this husk and now, now someone who wasn’t there joins in the conviction.

The guilt gnaws at him, book abandoned on the floor beside him as he tries to remember the smell of the gardens in spring, when Kairi’s grandmother would bring her to visit whilst she talked with master Ansem. The ever-present rain around the Castle the Never Was fades away, replaced by a gentle breeze and a shadow of the feeling of sunlight on his skin.

Was Kairi okay? He can barely remember her voice now but he remembers the red hair, how she’d pull him round the gardens, telling him about the different flowers how one day they’d go on an adventure today. How she’d make sure to keep him safe from monsters. He’s not sure how she could do that now, since he had become the monster.

“Do you think we could still be friends?” He mumbles to his silent illusion, watching her run amongst the flower beds, picking one or two and always bringing them back to him as their guardian and protector until she’d finished collecting one flower seemingly of every colour and every type. “I think she’ll love them; she always does.” He replies to her mouthed question of if he thinks her Grandma will like her make shift bouquet.

He’s not sure how long he lingers in this illusion of his own memories, all most lost in the sea of flowers and warmth when he smells it. The scene shatters into nothing as fire and ash fill his senses, swallowing thickly and curling up as the smell got ever closer. It hadn’t worked before when he was under a desk, why would it work now?

He’ll be shouted at. He doesn’t want to be shouted at. Tears already pricking at his eyes when the smell of a forest fire becomes too much, he has to become smaller, has to disappear. He needs to hide. He needs to hide. HE NEEDS TO HIDE. His body screams at him to move as the footsteps finally round the bookcase, a click of a tongue and the sound of a hand hitting another body.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the li- Oh shit, are you crying?”

Two bodies press against him, fire on one side and something almost beastly on the other, Saix had joined Axel then, Ienzo finding some comfort in the sudden warmth and pressure but it was still not enough to fully dampen the sudden spike of anxiety. The silence isn’t as tense as he first believed, Zexion slowly calming down to the point he could look at the pair who had joined him only to find Saix glaring at Axel who at least looked sheepish.

“I feel-“ A clearing of the throat interrupts, Axel glaring at Saix before sighing. “I have misplaced anger towards you, I’m sorry for snapping at you. You’re a kid, I don’t see how you could be involved.”

He wasn’t expecting an apology, Zexion looking between the pair again, knowing he was missing something important in the discussion but perhaps not something to ask about. The last time he’d tried to help it had inevitably ended with an abyss for a chest and a spreading darkness. Perhaps this time, this time he doesn’t ask, he doesn’t intervene with his help only to ruin the result later on.

It would be better that way.

---

Safety also came with Lexaeus, Zexion decided, sitting on the stool by the counter as the other prepared food, Zexion easily loosing himself in the smell of the raw ingredients, legs swinging idly as he sat simply watching. Lexaeus doesn’t expect too much from him, doesn’t look at him as if it’s his fault, he treats him almost the same as he did when they were both human.

It’s nice, comforting.

“How have lessons been going?” His deep voice is soothing, Zexion hesitating vocally but his face spills all, a look of distaste and annoyance twisting his features, causing a chuckle from the taller man. “That good, hmm?” He’s teasing, Zexion knows this, but still feels somewhat told off, blowing his hair from his eyes and crossing his arms. It’s childish, he knows but, memory serves, he was only nine regardless of his ability to feel emotions or not.

“I’ve discovered more things on my own, he wants me to do things I don’t really want to.” He receives a hum in response, both in agreement and encouragement to go on, as if genuinely interested in what Zexion had to say about his lessons with Vexen. But would he share these thoughts or keep them to himself? Was it worth the risk?

Apparently so, words spilling from Zexion’s mouth before he could really stop himself. “They’re boring, if not that he tells me to concentrate and then speaks halfway through and ruins my concentration.”

“He says that you mimicked a heartless.”

“Yes, once.” It’s all Vexen wanted him to concentrate on now, it seemed, the blonde growing more frustrated with him when he couldn’t, a blessing in and of itself as it usually meant Zexion would be left alone for a little while until Vexen came back and the rigorous routine of failing to become a replica would start all over again. He should probably practise more without his mentor present, Zexion thinks, knowing things came a bit more naturally when he didn’t feel under observation.

The conversation ends there, the comfortable silence settling back over them again. Zexion has always found it a wonder that someone with such large, strong hands could be so gentle with food, wrinkling his nose at the sting of onions in his sinuses but staying silent otherwise. Maybe he should learn, free up time for Lexaeus whilst also add a task to his schedule that extended beyond lessons with Vexen and the frequent trips to the library.

“I can show you what else I’ve learnt.”

Lexaeus stops working then, turning to the child Nobody with an almost confused yet utterly curious look, raising an eyebrow at the young boy who feels almost giddy for once. He hadn’t shown anyone else this, not even Axel and Saix when they would now occasionally join him to, in Axel’s own words, make sure he grew up with a sense of humour.

He gets no prompt to continue but Zexion does anyway, taking a deep breath before twisting the landscape of the kitchen into something more friendly and familiar. The white floor fades away to stone, the walls swallowed by the landscape of Radiant garden, an autumnal breeze in the air as the sun offered little to no warmth from its rays.

The flower beds have mostly withered away, the sea of colour now replaced with muted browns and greens, the brilliant oranges and yellows of fallen leaves offering the only real splashes of colour in the imagined gardens. What smells, what smells, Zexion racking his mind for anything before landing on spices. Cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and pepper, warm and hearty, comforting and familiar. The kitchen is no longer the kitchen but the gardens of the old castle they called home.

Sounds. It needs sounds. Zexion furrowing his brow as he concentrated, eyes screwing shut as the sound of water trickled in, accompanied by bird song and the sound of the town below. It’s perfect, his breaths coming a little harder from exertion as he looks to Lexaeus for a reaction, hoping for happiness only to receive concern.

“Did I do something wrong?” His voice is quiet, insecure, mind running a mile a minute as he tried to go over what he did to cause such a reaction only to snap out of his thoughts as a hand comes down on his shoulder, gentle yet firm, grounding him as he nearly sent himself spiralling into another downward trajectory of ill thoughts.

Lexaeus offers a smile, small but still there, not as warm as it used to be but Zexion was growing used to the changes in his other apprentices now. “No, it’s beautiful.” There’s something else there, something the giant wants to add on but is seemingly fighting with himself over admitting before sighing, inhaling sharply and seeming to regain his apparently fleeting confidence in his words. “Let’s keep this a secret for now.”

“A secret?”

“Yes, a secret for just us.” He doesn’t fully understand the need for secrecy, biting his lower lip as he thinks for a moment before nodding, wondering if it was a touch more serious than he first thought as Lexaeus relaxes, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Taking a deep breath, Zexion lets the illusion of Radiant garden fade away, the grey blue sky replaced by stark white, metallic walls as the patchwork of stone dissolves into nothing. There are no more birds, or breeze, the warm smells of autumn fading away into the smells of whatever dish Lexaeus was making this evening.

He could keep a secret. Axel and Saix had a secret, Xemnas also had secrets. What was another secret after all that?

[of-forossa]

"Words uttered through prison bars lose their charm, Brom. Not that we've much of a choice." Her words were uttered with a sense of bemusement at thier predicament. The doctor remained settled where she was, watching unblinkingly through the iron bars of her temporary prison. Even in that state there was something viceral, utterly primeval in that gaze of hers-- that animal glint that flickered across reflective disks that focused solely on him, "I dare say, releasing me may be only choice now."

“You never seem to have any doubts when it comes to those you seek to save, Helena.”

Even imprisoned behind the iron bars of a Healing Church cell, deep underground where so many likeminded heretics have lost their lives to the hands of the faithful and their holy instruments of torment, the cold flame of her resolve still burns without so much as a flicker in the face of destruction. Rather than a woman scared witless at the thought of the fate that surely awaited her, she seems more a serpent coiled upon herself; one patiently lying in wait for an opportunity she appears all but certain will come.

An opportunity she no doubt sees in him, keys dangling from one hand and the hilt of the silver sword sheathed at his hip occupying the other.

Perhaps it should disturb Brom, safe as he might be on the other side of the bars, that one in such a predicament as she holds none of the fear or madness that the others before her held. But in the days and weeks and months since she found him kneeling in the remnants of a broken faith and the blood of a loved one slain, he’s seen far too much of the woman to associate that stalwartness with fear for his own sake. Within her mind is an intelligence that he has so often seen reflected in the eyes of the Choir with none of their infectious fanaticism, within her will a determination that defined the forbears of his own order from their founder down to his own mentor... and within her gaze the very same beastliness that infests his own heart with a hunger that can only be sated by blood.   

No, no, unlike the hasty fellows among the clergymen that still possessed the wherewithal to call themselves as much, Brom isn’t haunted by the specter of her intentions so much as he is wary of his own place within the ever twisting narrative of this dying city. Whether or not Yharnam is still standing at the climax of these seemingly endless hunts no longer seems to depend on the strength of men such as himself or the might of the Vicar, but in the simple pursuit of the truth that this outsider has set upon; one pursued not for ascendancy or an eldritch knowledge but the salvation of those he himself once swore to protect. Where he had been blinded by faith and bound by oath to walk in that sightlessness over the corpses of those begging him for deliverance, she had only seen through those falsehoods to see and hear and act in the pursuit for that deliverance those she treated deserved.

A deliverance his fellows have deemed her worthy of silencing to prevent, if only for their own gains.

“You’ll have to keep a low profile, at least for now.” The keys noisily clank and clang against the rusted iron of the lock before finally giving way. With a deep groaning, Brom pulls open the cell door with little fanfare, warped eyes already scanning the darkness for any intervention from his former compatriots. “I’ve convinced them of the value of allowing you to lead them to more likeminded individuals. They’ll expect me to keep an eye on you, so our meetings will have to be handled with greater discretion lest they suspect our aims align.”  

[jewlwpet]

From George Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia

The workers' militias, based on the trade unions and each composed of people of approximately the same political opinions, had the effect of canalizing into one place all the most revolutionary sentiment in the country. I had dropped more or less by chance into the only community of any size in Western Europe where political consciousness and disbelief in capitalism were more normal than their opposites. Up here in Aragón one was among tens of thousands of people, mainly though not entirely of working-class origin, all living at the same level and mingling on terms of equality.

In theory it was perfect equality, and even in practice it was not far from it. There is a sense in which it would be true to say that one was experiencing a foretaste of Socialism, by which I mean that the prevailing mental atmosphere was that of Socialism. Many of the normal motives of civilized life – snobbishness, money-grubbing, fear of the boss, etc. – had simply ceased to exist. The ordinary class-division of society had disappeared to an extent that is almost unthinkable in the money-tainted air of England; there was no one there except the peasants and ourselves, and no one owned anyone else as his master.

Of course such a state of affairs could not last. It was simply a temporary and local phase in an enormous game that is being played over the whole surface of the earth. But it lasted long enough to have its effect upon anyone who experienced it. However much one cursed at the time, one realized afterwards that one had been in contact with something strange and valuable. One had been in a community where hope was more normal than apathy or cynicism, where the word 'comrade' stood for comradeship and not, as in most countries, for humbug. One had breathed the air of equality.

I am well aware that it is now the fashion to deny that Socialism has anything to do with equality. In every country in the world a huge tribe of party-hacks and sleek little professors are busy 'proving' that Socialism means no more than a planned state-capitalism with the grab-motive left intact. But fortunately there also exists a vision of Socialism quite different from this. The thing that attracts ordinary men to Socialism and makes them willing to risk their skins for it, the 'mystique' of Socialism, is the idea of equality; to the vast majority of people Socialism means a classless society, or it means nothing at all. And it was here that those few months in the militia were valuable to me.

For the Spanish militias, while they lasted, were a sort of microcosm of a classless society. In that community where no one was on the make, where there was a shortage of everything but no privilege and no boot-licking, one got, perhaps, a crude forecast of what the opening stages of Socialism might be like. And, after all, instead of disillusioning me it deeply attracted me. The effect was to make my desire to see Socialism established much more actual than it had been before. Partly, perhaps, this was due to the good luck of being among Spaniards, who, with their innate decency and their ever-present Anarchist tinge, would make even the opening stages of Socialism tolerable if they had the chance.

Of course at the time I was hardly conscious of the changes that were occurring in my own mind. Like everyone about me I was chiefly conscious of boredom, heat, cold, dirt, lice, privation, and occasional danger. It is quite different now. This period which then seemed so futile and eventless is now of great importance to me. It is so different from the rest of my life that already it has taken on the magic quality which, as a rule, belongs only to memories that are years old. It was beastly while it was happening, but it is a good patch for my mind to browse upon. I wish I could convey to you the atmosphere of that time. I hope I have done so, a little, in the earlier chapters of this book. It is all bound up in my mind with the winter cold, the ragged uniforms of militiamen, the oval Spanish faces, the morse-like tapping of machine-guns, the smells of urine and rotting bread, the tinny taste of bean-stews wolfed hurriedly out of unclean pannikins.

[thinkingagain]

“Remember: we are Magic Animals, and we have many ways to resist Beast power. But Beasts are still the most effective creature at murder in the world.”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book Two: Empire Chapter 9

Everyone at the Demesne spent the day talking about the news that a Beast had made purposeful contact with the Demesne wall.

The Commandant’s organization likely had been responsible, the Madam told everyone. Ling Ling alerted many Magic Animals around the world and asked them to provide what information they had. In the days that followed, many past stories regarding the Commandant rolled in. Not much was known about that infamous Beast’s current whereabouts.

The Commandant’s name and organization, The Commandant Foundation Inc., were well known in the Animal Magic world. Still, The Commandant did an excellent job of keeping its own personal movements mysterious. Its activities were often rumor more than fact.

Only a few animals had met The Commandant face to face. They told stories of its surface friendliness and charm and the power of its smile and eyes, which promised benevolent and wonderful things that often later turned deadly even to Magic Animals.

The Commandant had won the trust of small Magic Animal groups and led them into disastrous attacks on Beast strongholds. El Tigre and the Rattler knew of a magic white tiger who had been killed attempting to break open the gates of a so-called tiger “park” in Harbin, China where tigers were imprisoned. Similar stories emerged of misguided assaults on Beast military posts, hydraulic dams and high pollution mines.

The information suggested that The Commandant knew how to win the trust of less experienced Magic Animals with big dreams, encouraging them into overambitious plots. Even the few living animals who had encountered that infamous Beast could only speculate about why it did what it did.

The Madam understood it best, although even to her, some of The Commandant’s emotions seemed inexplicable. “When a person, or a Magic Animal, dies for him,” she explained many times, “he believes he has absorbed their power and has become greater and more magic than before. And I do mean dies for him, not just dies. Anyone, Beast or other animal, killed in a mission which The Commandant has talked them into becomes for him a sign of his own greatness. He collects the death of others like the medals he wears on his shirt.”

Growing concern about the nature and goals of The Commandant’s organization led to a morning when all the animals went to the Meeting Ground for a lecture by Leo about Beast organizational systems and the Commandant’s relation to them. The lecture was called “The Commandant in Context.”

“Early Beast groups were mainly small wandering clans,” Leo told the gathered members of the Demesne, “much like those that survive to this day in a few isolated areas.” The animals, sitting in the meadow or on the rocks and raised ground on the meadow’s edge, listened intently. Their usual exuberance had turned grimly serious. “At that stage, Beast organization was at its least harmful, and most resembled a pattern common to all animals who live in groups.”

Leo paced as he spoke, his large rabbit voice booming across the field. “They ate only the food they needed to survive, whether other animals or available plant life. They made no claims about land ownership. Clans were often led by strong individuals and often clashed with other clans or tried to get along with them.

“In clans that tried to get along, we see the beginning of the behavior that Beasts call diplomacy. In diplomacy, through repeated patterns of greeting, gift exchange, and temporary verbal agreement, Beasts obtain their own ends from other Beasts non-violently. When diplomacy breaks down, which, since it’s full of manipulation, it often does, Beast violence follows.”

Murmurs of approval for Leo’s points, and anger at Beasts, moved through the gathered Magic Animals. They had all seen firsthand how Beast behavior led relentlessly to violence.

Leo went on. “Beast group behavior in many places eventually outgrew the wandering clan stage. Beasts rapidly developed larger social arrangements in which individual Beasts often didn’t know each other. They began to claim land, plant food, and build Beastly abodes where they stayed permanently, although some Beasts continued wandering.

“The fundamental Beast desire to control land and objects which they then will defend from other Beasts emerges more fully in this period. Remember though: Beasts do not wish to claim ownership only of that which they see. A fundamental characteristic of Beasts is their urge for abstract acquisitive longing. They imagine things they have never seen and imagine themselves owning those things. Just as importantly, they imagine controlling and owning other Beasts and animals.”

All the animals were listening closely, many leaning towards Leo at attentive angles.

“Through these longings for what is not immediately visible, an early Beast form of large scale organization began: the monarchy. In monarchy, in a defined Beast territory one Beast is treated as in charge of all other Beasts. The territory is often so large that a given monarch is unlikely to see all of it, although his conquering ancestors wandered most of it at some point. The Beast monarch, often called a ‘King,’ was considered more important than all other Beasts and gave orders that other Beasts had to take, although they often resented those orders and sometimes tried to get rid of the king.

“Beast monarchies often grew very large. Over time they began to be challenged by new types of Beast organization and eventually all the largest Beast monarchies crumbled and changed into other forms of Beast government. Since each individual Beast wants to be a monarch over all other Beasts—though some Beasts want this more than others—Beast monarchies were filled with constant fighting between and against monarchs.

“Out of this fighting grew two opposing Beast government principles, though at times these principles were united: Capitalism and Democracy.

“Capitalism relies on the belief that every Beast has the right to seize as much as it can of anything. In Capitalism, no Beast has a special monopoly on this right. Each Beast can then fight all other Beasts to acquire as much as it can.

“Of course, Beasts have always behaved that way. But Capitalism states directly that a Beast’s right to seize as much as it can from other Beasts is what makes Beast life virtuous. In principle, according to Capitalism, any laws placed on the right of Beasts to seize resources from other Beasts are wrong. In practice, Beast diplomacy sometimes leads to compromise. Capitalism also includes the belief that there is no reason why Beast fights over ownership should be fair. Any advantages a Beast already has over another going into a fight are not only allowable, but a sign of virtue.

“Democracy, on the other hand, appears at first as the idea that all Beasts should have an equal say in how any given group of Beasts governs its life. In theory, in Democracy no Beast has more power than any other. Ideas about Democracy have existed in many eras. Here and there, one Beast society might be more democratic than another.

“Democracy and Capitalism are linked, historically. Both became more prominent at the same time, and both rejected the concept of monarchy. Practically though, the idea that a Beast can seize anything it can, and the idea that all Beasts should have an equal say in Beastly government, are opposites. If a Beast has more things and more power, than it has more than an equal say.

“The result in Beast societies that try to be both capitalist and democratic is usually that a minority of powerful Beasts runs most things. This organizational pattern is called Oligarchy. Its basic system of power is a combination of public government and private organizations called corporations. In Oligarchy, corporations and the government work together to make sure that powerful Beasts maintain their power.”

Anger about Beast organizational lies was now moving energetically among the gathered animals. Leo, noting it, said, “Yes, it is certainly appalling. But it has its fascinations. In any case, however much we may disapprove, understanding these things is crucial to the success of the Demesne.”

The animals signaled assent, and Leo continued. “The idea of Democracy led to other ideas about government systems in which less powerful Beasts could be protected from more powerful ones. These ideas are interesting, and attempts have been made to put them into practice.

“One thing needs to be kept always in view: the capacity that Beasts have to lie to themselves, to think they are doing good things to and for others when in fact they are doing harm. Perhaps just as importantly, one of the basic patterns of Beast life is that when Beasts turn especially cruel, other Beasts will sometimes, for a while, try to make Beast life less cruel.

“Ultimately, although Beast cruelty may be less prominent in one moment than another, it always returns. Beast kindness is usually no more than a reaction against Beast cruelty. Almost never in the history of Beasts has kindness been in charge for more than brief moments.

“Communism is one of the extensions of the idea of Democracy. Communism rejects the Capitalist idea that a Beast has the right to seize as much as it can. Instead, in Communism, in theory there is only one Beast organization allowed, the government. All Beasts are in theory equal owners of the government, contributing what they can to its work, and receiving the goods and services they need from it.

“The failure of Communism is that it becomes Capitalist Oligarchy pretending not to be. It says all Beasts have an equal say, like Democracy, but in fact more powerful Beasts still run everything for their own benefit, and Beasts still fight each other relentlessly over government power. It’s similar to the way Capitalism sometimes pretends to be Democracy. However, Communism says competition between Beasts is bad rather than good. Beast fighting takes place, in theory, within a single organization, instead of multiple organizations fighting each other.

“Anarchy is a development related both to Communism and Democracy in terms of claiming equal rights for every Beast. Its central idea is that the basic problem of Beast government is any organization with too much power. Through ideas of Anarchy, Beasts imagine that they can split themselves into smaller Beast groups uncontrolled by larger ones. Those smaller groups will then govern themselves more democratically.

“In some ways, Anarchy indulges the fantasy that Beasts often have of returning to their early days of small clan units. Those clans would now not be organized as early versions of monarchy but as democracies in which members of the Beast group share power.

“The problem with Anarchy is that Beasts living in small groups, isolated from others, are no less likely to seek control over other Beasts. Anarchic groups often become groups in which individuals struggle for control over each other by insisting that their ideas are more beneficial for the group.

“Another common idea about Anarchy is that in a Beast Anarchy, every Beast has the right to do what it likes. Anarchy based on the idea that individual Beasts can do what they like often quickly becomes Capitalism. Other Anarchic groups want to limit what a Beast can and can’t do. That version of Anarchy becomes more like Communism, with Communism’s same problems.”

Leo took a moment to breathe and looked around as if remembering that he too was still a Magic Animal in a field, not a brutal Beast. Then he drew himself up, focusing his energy. “There’s a lot we still don’t know about The Commandant. Based on what we do know, I believe it likely that The Commandant controls an organization that operates with high effectiveness through its combination of Capitalist and Anarchic elements.

“The Commandant Foundation does not have one easily identified center of operations. Instead it has a false front headquarters to distract attention. The Commandant works from small, bland, anonymous buildings in any number of locations in the world. These locations change, and The Commandant moves between them rapidly. Sometimes The Commandant may use no buildings at all. The organization then consists mainly of Beasts in motion.

“The Commandant also has massive computing and financial resources that it can access from anywhere. Its financial power consists of numbers calculated on computers and stored in temporary, well protected data files. The fact that this financial power is no more than a concept does not prevent it from being changed quickly into weapons and other physical resources when necessary.

“The Commandant wields all three main kinds of Beast power: money, weapons, and dreams. It employs the most contemporary techniques available on how to use those powers to manipulate other Beasts. It is capable of moving those powers, and itself, quickly, to anywhere in the world. It can attack quickly. It has significant ability to prevent others even from learning that an attack has taken place or who has done it.

“We do not know how many devoted personnel The Commandant has. Some, most likely, but a large number of Beasts who work for The Commandant Foundation probably do so temporarily and know more about small, temporary goals than overarching ones. In fact, we need to be honest and admit that we ourselves don’t know much about The Commandant’s goals. Still, sources of information like the Madam have made us more informed about its activities than most Beasts are likely to be.

“All told, I believe we can say this much. Given that the Commandant is a Beast, its goals are likely crude, although they will be wrapped in complex layers of Beast perversity. The Commandant’s methods, however, are sophisticated, efficient, and brutal.

“Remember: we are Magic Animals, and we have many ways to resist Beast power. But Beasts are still the most effective creature at murder in the world. And The Commandant, if even some of the stories about it are true, is the most effective Beast murderer of Magic Animals that has ever existed.”

The animals gathered for Leo’s speech talked about it all day, and a long time after. No one who was there for the speech ever forgot it.

[worrentigre]

Mastering Myself (RP Scene)

Upon his visit to the formal Astral Agent’s property to discuss business, Worren Tigre has suddenly fallen ill.  Syelira has remained by his side since finding out the news, and others begin to show up after receiving a letter Worren sent out several days prior.  It seems he knew this day was coming and had a contingency plan.

((https://youtu.be/rQVRaHRLB5c <---Scene BGM))

The pain in Worren's head starts to subside.  However, he seems to be in some unfamiliar area. He looks around and is surrounded in total darkness, except the area immediately around him, which is illuminated with a faint light who's source is unknown. "Hmhmhm... well, well, well.  Here we are. It's time, Captain Linh.  Time for one last dance." He easily recognize the voice, and now knows exactly where he is. However, he is especially surprised when the owner of the voice makes itself known by calmly walking from the shadows.  It has the voice of Worren's lifelong adversary, but it looks just like him cloaked in darkness.  A shadowy reflection of himself.  "Surprised?  You shouldn't be.  I've been talking to you this whole time." The figure raises it's right hand and examines it while moving and flexing the fingers.  "I must say, I truly enjoy this form a lot more.  I can see why you've been able to easily best my fighters in the past.  This form is a lot more agile."

Worren grunts out, "Why are you still here?  To further try and torment me?"  The shadowy figure laughs. "Of course!  It's like I told you back in Zan'rak.  No matter who dies, you just need to suffer.  It looks like neither of us are dead, and you are suffering.  It's a win/win if I do say so, myself.  Though, times are changing..." Worren stands stiff, fists balling and eyes narrowing while the shadow continues speaking.  "You see, spending this intimate time with you has opened my eyes to many different things.  I am experiencing new pleasures I've not had in a very long time."  He gets into Worren's boxing stance and throws a few punches.  "I see what you see.  Feel what you feel... almost.  I almost know what it's like to move in this body, to feel with soft skin instead of numb, hard scales.  To move fluidly, and feel the vibrations of someone's bones as they break in my hands.  I want that feeling. That Amalj'aa body was inadequate for this, and I thank you for introducing me to these new feelings.  This is the body I now crave.  You understand, don't you?  After all, you too disliked your old body, and greatly enjoy this."

Worren's eyes widen in realization, then frowns.  "No way.  Not gonna happen.  I'm going to purge you from my mind and get rid of you for good."  The spirit of Arajj Goh laughs again.  "Oh really?  Well, guess what?  You can't!  I am you, and you are me!  We are one in the same.  Listen to your friends.  Some of them have the right idea.  To purge me is to purge yourself, you need me.  Accept me."  His hands come down to his sides and he steps closer to Worren.  "You're tired.  Your mind is tired.  This I know... I've made sure of it.  Allow me to relieve you of your fatigue and let me take over for a while." Worren was indeed tired.  Me was mentally tired of it all.  He was ready to give up and give in.  How long has he worked and been promised peace of mind?  And yet, something always comes up to ruin that moment, bringing him back to the brink of depression.  There have been many times where he'd be fine with just going inert, leaving behind everything and starting over.  Until suddenly, a second light source appears, flowing in nature, coming right to him and surrounding him.  The shadow frowns at this and growls, but remains in place.  "They're trying to interfere.  They always do, and you know how it will turn out.  Temporary relief before the suffering begins again."

"I love you..." These faint words whispered in the wind from the light source that entered Worren and disappeared from view.  They were from Syelira, his soon to be wife and mother of his unborn children.  Worren closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them.  "I know."  He responds to his dark doppleganger.  "I know they interfere.  They do it because they care.  A feeling that you have lost so long ago."  He puts his own fists up now, by his chin.  "If only you knew this feeling, then you'd understand.  But, I am not giving you my body for you to do that."  The figure stands still with a stone faced expression, his eyes intense.  The sides of his jaw bulge a few times, showing him grinding his teeth in thought, before he finally responds.  "So be it."  The shadowy body is then suddenly engulfed in flames, and his fists come back up once more.  "If you will not accept me, then I will just have to take it from you.  Your God has given you significant power, and so has mine.  But, I have also learned your god's gifts from you, and for that I thank you. Now, let's see if you can overcome the power of Rhalgr and Ifrit united as one."  Worren snorts.  "Your avarice is so great that even Ifrit's will cannot temper you.  I will relieve you of this ailment."  The flaming body of Worren's shadow lashes out with a beastly roar.  "ENOUGH!"

And so they fight. And fight and fight.  Stone clashing with fire, sparks and energy light the darkened room.  They are evenly matched, with Worren's decades of fighting skills countering the warchief's overwhelming power.  Time feels distorted here, and it is unknown to either of them how much time is passing, but they just keep on going.  Fatigue and pain mean nothing inside a mine that has lived it for so long, but everything has a limit.  Worren's own aether is beginning to wane, and he slows down.  His stone constructs begin to falter under the warchief's flames, and molten rocks are a result.  Fighting against his own skills on top of the power of two gods is wearing him down, and once more a familiar feeling flows through him.  His will to live, to overcome his obstacles; they get stronger and stronger.  But, with Arajj Goh being a part of him, he also feels this.  His own will to hate and destroy his enemies in totality begin to flow through him as well.  They become locked in a state of purpetual conflict, and Worren's body reacts, slowly drawing in tiny amounts of aether from the area around him in the former Agency's infirmary. This aether sustains the both of them, but this time it's different.  There is a different source of aether that the body absorbs as well, unbeknownst to either combatant.

However, the tide turns when this flow of energy becomes much stronger.  It has a profound effect on Worren's will, and with the more of this energy he recieves, the more he wants it.  The flaming shadow opponent also feels it, but the feeling is foriegn to him.  He does not know what this means, but he too wants more of it.  Outside, it can be seen that this reaction is caused by Worren's body being taken to Gyr Kehim, Worren's favorite meditation place.  An old Fist of Rhalgr monastary relegated to ruins due to the Garlean occupation and misuse, it is rich in aether and the spirits of Fists fallen in battle during the purge and Empirial takeover.  Worren's body reacts with his will and begins to absorb this aether at a very accellerated rate.  His comrades around him protect him from any wayward bhoots and provide him with their own aether for protection and comfort.  This reaction feeds him, and Worren's will to live begins to push back against the warchief's unyeilding hate.  Hate that is, for the first time, starting to deminish.  The conflict in Worren's mind continues as his body begins overflowing with aether.  His chakra points begin to open, one by one, until six points of light glow on his body.  Soon, a seventh point on his head forms, and slowly begins to glow as a light purplish hue hazes around him.  Worren's companions want to help, distraught at this display, but Syelira prevents them from doing so, understanding that this is an ordeal that he alone must overcome.  They've done enough already by just utilizing their aether.

The feeling of hate in Worren's mind begins to ebb away, as well as his need for absolute survival.  Both opponents begin to slow down in their movements.  They start changing as they strike each other, with Worren's form starting to slowly become covered in stone.  This stone skin slowly turns more and more orange with each strike they deal to each other, and eventually it becomes a molten shell with small flames flickering over it.  Worren doesn't even notice this change happening, while the same thing is happening to the figure representing his shadow.  The flames on the warchief begin to shrink as his skin also starts to form a rocky exterior.  And then, the both of them stop fighting altogether, looking like mirror images of each other.  They stare at each other, and Arajj Goh finally speaks.  "I understand now."  His voice is even. "This power we are obtaining... I know you feel it, too.  Look at us.  We are one in the same.  I am you, and you are me.  You are fighting the inevitable."  Worren remains in place and simply nods.  "Is it my will overpowering your hate, or your will overpowering mine?"  They both step into each other until thier chests touch.  Worren's thoughts begin to intermingle with his shadow's.  It's a strange feeling to him, but also a natural one.  In this moment, they both feel something very important.  Acceptance. "I will stop fighting.  I accept your presence, we are one."

The two of them merge into one being.  He stands there in place as his thoughts are now jumbled.  His memories race back and forth with his mind trying to reset itself.  He sees less and less of his own memories, and more of the warchief's.  He fan feel his own former personality starting to slip away as the other starting to take hold.  The ambient light in the dark room starts to dim until there is no light.  In Gyr Kehim, Worren's body is absorbing so much aether without stopping, that his friends begin to worry.  All of his gates are now open and overflowing when suddenly the seventh point on his head bursts into a brilliant display of light.  The energy released is enough to push those around him back.  And then just as fast as it has happened, all of the points close.  There is no more aether being absorbed around him, nor is there any tainted feelings coming from his own.  Inside his mind, the darkness in Worren's mind flashes away quickly, and as that seventh chakra is unlocked by the warchief's own power hidden within Worren this whole time, it fuels Worren's mind to take hold once more.  No longer feeling the hate he once had, Arajj Goh's spirit now also accepts this fate, and for the first time in decades feels something positive.  Relief, and possibly happiness to finally be freed of the hate and anger that has held him for so long as something he only knew.  Worren is now back in control of his mind, as his memories all return in place, intermingled with new ones.  The two are now one whole, and the molten skin on the mental avatar crumbles and melts away, revealing Worren underneath with a smile on his face.  And then, his vision fades as the avatar also fades away.

Pain.  There's a sharp pain in his head as he hears voices in the darkness.  Worren twitches as his muscles feel extremely sore and tight.  His eyes then open up to the sight of Syelira holding him in her arms.  He coughs and looks around bleary eyed, remaining silent to process everything that just happened, even though his comrades bombard him with questions of concern with his well being.  After a moment, he finally smiles and speaks. "Man, I'm so hungry right now..."

@syelirakaisuri @interdimensionalpeacekeeping @moralistcyclops @astraladvent @the-original-rel @flamesonhammersmith @crooked-tarot-rp @valentinoix @dynamitecowboy @florihilda @chiyohoshi @thetaleofoldmanmaruud @grandmastream @supermeganick @jancisstuff @berrodarmstrong @nhara-tia @cfs-melkire @fyrrdetelemagna @astraladvent

[chimerabal]

Session.... what are we at four?

I lost track. Oops. Thankfully tumblr is in reverse chronological order so it’s not actually an issue.

I WAS WRONG THIS IS SESSION NUMBER FIVE.

I am So Pumped for flavoring out my new spells that I almost forgot I needed to type this play by play--- which is super important because this week was full of dark humor and stupidity.

We started the session with all the players plus a giest and Ugly, our ~8ft by ~4ft scaab, having barged into a kindly (yet grumpy) man’s house and locking ourselves in for temporary shelter from an approaching cult. We were all pretty beat; with our cleric and necro-alchemist having just kicked the shit out of each other, and a ghost having kicked the shit out of my character. No one even thought to ask this dude’s name before our dumb asses started in on our bullshit. War cleric Mikela immediately found a crack in the boarded up windows to watch the cultists pass by. Sibyl, necro-alchemist, put herself in a cozy corner to sit out the rest of her post-brawl-trauma. After sitting Ugly in front of the door as a barricade, and offering a hollow and uninterested ‘sorry’ to the guy who’s door we just damn near broke down, my scaberen Uriel got hit with a wave of paranoia and started rifling through all the guy’s stuff looking for traps to disarm or Something. Before the man got too angry Mikela came around and spoke to him some and Uriel sat their dumb ass down next to Sibyl in the quiet corner to also chill the fuck out.

Mikela asked the man some questions about the town, and the cult, and all the happenings; then hit the helpful giest with some as well. We learned that before the cult started showing up two orphans appeared in town, a young man and his even younger brother. They were from a neighboring town, and were recently orphaned by something bloody and unpleasant. Unsatisfied with these answers, Mikela did some scouting from the upstairs window, got a second wind or Something, and decided that we should immediately leave the shelter we just worked so hard to Get Into and chase these cultist jerks down. Right Now. After all, the cult was recruiting--- or something loud--- just a few streets over, and we might not get this chance again before they kill more innocents. Uriel argued against this for a bit, since shes a coward they got indoors to Rest and that it would be stupid to throw ourselves back into battle unprepared and we should Really just take advantage of Finally being under a roof for a while. Sibyl agreed, more or less, that it was probably dangerous and stupid to back out without healing. This went back and forth for a bit, as it does. I manage to get a Super Abridged version of the script I had written out for learning All Of Sibyl’s Mysterious Secrets... got basically nothing outta her :P Scripts don’t work in RP settings, I get that now. Mikela did a healing spell that brought everyone back up to full health and the party agreed to head out.

We decide to leave Ugly with the man in his home, but the guy takes a little bit of prodding to agree to that. Uriel--- not totally over the paranoia from earlier--- is a huge asshole to him and he gives the party a time limit of three hours to get the hell back and take their awful zombie abomination. She almost commands Ugly to destroy the fucking house if they’re not back in time but Ugly is a good boy and wouldn’t have done that anyways ;w;b. The party stealths on over to where the Loud Cult Noises are coming from. There’s this... ascension? of very colorful giests centered around where we are headed. Sibyl is the only one who notices this and calmly instructs Mikela and Uriel to keep cool, and for Uriel specifically Not To Look Up. Uriel apparently really trusts Sibyl because she listened... until Mikela failed her perception and fucking started screaming. That many giests simply isn’t normal so... we were all pretty shook okay? 

Mikela’s scream alerted some of the cultists and we scrambled to hide. Uriel and Sibyl hid fabulously in the alleys... the exact same alley... in the same spot... against what our plans were. Mikela went upwards and scaled a building which.... wasn’t very stealthy but the cultists never bothered to look up, so ultimately the best hiding spot. Uriel tried distracting the cultists by throwing a gold coin into their area--- hoping it would distract them and they’d fight over it. It failed, they ignored it. Sibyl tried to divert their attentions to a near by area by firing a flame spell into said area.... which also failed and blew our cover. 

The cultists were unable to hit either Sibyl or Uriel with attacks normally, BUT THEN one of Sibyl’s ghost-spells backfired a bit and she started glowing Very Brightly, blinding the enemies and also Uriel. Uriel was able to land a devastating hit on one of the cultists even when blind before backing the hell up and regaining her eyesight. Mikela got the jump (ha) on the enemies by launching herself off the building and into the fray, doing a lot of damage. Sibyl- still super glowy- electrocuted one of the cultists with a VERY COOL TASER GAUNTLET. Uriel ended the battle by strangling the remaining cultist into unconsciousness. Mikela looted the body and shouldered the unconscious dude and Uriel tried to carry the dead guy--- saying it would be disrespectful or something to just Leave It There Like That. Definitely not weird scaberen motivations no sir. We ended up giving the dead guy to Katya (who is here in spirit for this game- and here for when we can’t do things with our own bad strength stats) to carry.

The group hears the loud cultists from a neighboring road fussing over ‘that strange glow over there’ (Sibyl) and heading our way. The party runs through the town in weird ways to throw the group off our tail until Sibyl stops glowing, and then runs even more after that; we weren't able to shake them. The dead guy was leaking and leaving a blood trail. The group deliberates for a bit and decides to tourniquet the bleeding leg just above the offending wound, then cut the rest of it off and make a fake blood trail away from where we were going. The amputation is done with Great Somberness (because its so morbid on the party’s part, and because it’s ruining an other wise Lovey Corpse on Uriel’s). Uriel is then given the leg to make the fake trail with, which they do gladly.... probably having a bit too much fun splattering blood everywhere in the process.

The group returns to the grumpy man’s house with a body and a hostage and don’t immediately see the grumpy man. We find him barricaded on the top floor of his house with a spear poking out his only sight hole, ranting about how he KNEW that beastly thing was going to come after him, and trying to stab poor Sibyl who and just wanted to let him know we came back. Both Sibyl and Mikela try to talk the guy down, while Uriel is losing their god damn mind laughing at the situation. The hostage begins to awaken (Sibyl punches him), catching the guy’s attention. He disarms and sees Uriel and Katya holding a limp form, and Mikela shouldering a gagged and bound man. Pretty sure Uriel blew whatever positive progress we made on the grumpy dudes mental state with all the laughter and smirking... especially after asking What The Fuck she was holding. The group leave him alone to work with the hostage downstairs.

Mikela and Sibyl work a bit on getting the hostage to stop Screaming--- half because he’ll attract unwanted attention and half because, you just can’t interrogate like that. Uriel steps in and tells the guy that if he doesn’t shut up they’ll feed him to Ugly (who is still sitting in front of the door being a Good Boy). He stops screaming and pisses himself, which is gross on its own, yeah, but Mikela still had him on her shoulder. Uriel falls back into hysteric laughter as Mikela doffs her armor as quickly as fuckin’ possible. She then hurls all the piss covered armor at Uriel, who effortlessly dodges it. The armor hits Ugly--- making Uriel laugh even Harder--- then it tries putting ON the pissy armor--- and at this point Uriel is basically crying. Mikela is busy cleaning herself off, and Uriel is trying to regain composure, so Sibyl starts the interrogation on our prisoner. 

The interrogation is pretty long, Sibyl asks a few questions before Mikela takes over, and eventually Uriel joins the group mostly to observe. We learn that this guy had Literally Just Joined the cult today. He joined because the church’s  protections aren’t doing Shit in this crappy fucked up little town and almost everyone here is totally disillusioned. The dude Sibyl killed was the only person he actually Knew in the whole cult and he really couldn’t offer us much info on members... or really much of anything. He didn’t know the name of the demon they follow--- only that it’s name began with an N and that it was calling itself ‘the whispered one’ and ‘the heir to Griselbrand’ (which Uriel pointed out, is kinda stupid, why follow some lesser demon when Griselbrand is still in power?). Around here is when Sibyl checked out to work on her Mystery Notes... and Uriel got bored almost immediately after when the leader was described. The cult is run by a young twiggy male with long blond hair, and he often has a child with him (not even a partial demon or something cool and grotesque--- why even bother). Mikela asked some more questions and eventually came to the conclusion that it was the weird orphans from earlier who are now running the cult. I hope I got all the deets from that- this was Late Game and I’m not the best note taker lmao.

When Uriel got bored with the interrogation she noticed that Sibyl had left the room and, quietly, went to go find her. Sibyl had taken out the same note-filled bible from the other night and was flipping through it. Uriel got close enough to see the pages that Sibyl was focused on were written in code--- code that Sibyl obviously didn’t know. She startled Sibyl by asking what was up and took 3 points of head-to-jaw damage when Sibyl jumped up and bolted. Nosy persistence didn’t really pay off much for Uriel; Sibyl claimed to not know what the book was about, or if it was related to the cult-shit, and just gave some really vague and suspect answers that Uriel took at face value. And, although Sibyl is the most interesting character overall, Mikela barged into the room with her “ITS THE ORPHANS” revelation and won Sibyl some reprieve from my nosy character.

Uriel and Mikela discuss the orphans a bit, the ghost tells us that the town they are from is still there- but gives us Cryptic Horse Shit about how far away the town is from where we are. While we’re all distracted our hostage slips out of his restraints and flees the house, and we Only notice because the door is squeaky. As he leaves he says “I’m not the only one who’s heard the call” and we see a bunch more people walking towards where the cultists Probably are. Spooky.

The campaign ends here, and I shortly after realize I forgot entirely about the body I should have been working with... OOPS. I’m honestly only even mentioning that here because I don’t want to forget about it AGAIN come next week I need that for spells.

And per usual, not proof reading or anything, and I don’t trust that I didn’t miss details- I kinda check out sometimes on other peoples turns... Its the curse of an ADHD attention span without visual input  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I try.

[arinfmdxcs2]

Discussion of Work

ILN2001 2020/21

Nature / Ecology / Animals Project

A discussion of your graphic media project, in relation to the texts, ideas and issues raised in the taught sessions, and in relation to one or more examples of visual art that resonates with your project.

In the initial stages of this project, we were asked to write a stream of consciousness about our personal thoughts on humanity’s relationship with nature. In this task I focussed mainly on the aspect of disrespect towards nature and animals, how the narrative of technological advancements has evolved a false narrative that humans are the superior force. Civilised society has been reminded that we are not in control, despite currently being a dominant force of destruction, the capabilities of nature is far beyond what we are able.

Though not initially intentional, one film greatly influenced my perspective towards this project. As I was developing my ideas after reading ‘Trouble with Wilderness’ [Cronon, W. "The Trouble with Wilderness, or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature," in Uncommon Ground: Rethinking the Human Place in Nature, ed. William Cronon (New York: Norton, 1996)] and ‘Caught up in Representation’ [Aloi, G. Art and Animals (2012) London: IB Tauris.] this film was taking up a lot of my thought. It is very well known to me, yet I decided to rewatch it with these newer ideas fresh in the mind. This film is ‘Princess Mononoke’ [Princess Mononoke (1997) Directed by Hayao Miyazaki. Studio Ghibli], an animated film written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki, a fantasy tale depicting a struggle between humanity and nature, whereby destructive habits cause the downfall of both. It is a film based on themes of loss of respect, where conflicting opinions of a technological driven human society and forest of spirits and animals highlight the lack of peaceful living between them. This film shows that peaceful coexistence is the right way to live on both poles of the argument, this is similar to the reading ‘Trouble with Wilderness’ where Cronon discusses the need to recognise that nature is all around us, that we are not a dominant force and should reintroduce respect for nature. This film has a strong theme of Shintoism, indigenous to Japan, this is the religious belief that humans are fundamentally good, with a devotion to spiritual beings, especially presented through nature. Explored through the lack of respect towards spirits of the forest. One poster in particular titled “THESE THINGS WILL KILL YOU” shows this inspiration clearly, I came up with this idea and concept before thinking of the film, yet there are obvious, unintentional inspirations. The choice of depicting a boar head was somewhat random, though this is a key piece of imagery within the film, the first scene being a boar ‘infected’ with hatred from humanity. I think this shows how impactful this film is, especially to watch as a child, it impacted millions of children similar to myself, Hayao Miyazaki cleverly uses ethereal imagery and magical storylines to convey important messages. One of his other similar works titled ‘Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind’ is a post-apocalyptic film with themes of nuclear damage and the poisonous and destructive impact of humanity.

The general plot of ‘Princess Mononoke’ follows the conflicts of both parties, where the protagonist symbolises a mostly unbiased opinion, sympathising with both the human expansion (masked as the leader wanting the best for the town’s people) and the disturbance of human presence on the forest and suffering caused by this. There is hatred on both sides of the conflict, which is believed as a strategic way for Miyazaki to show that there can be flaw in all aspects of the earth, one perspective states “A parable of man versus nature, Princess Mononoke is a damning, pessimistic, and downright angry environmentalist screed. But in refusing to draw a line in the sand between good and evil, Miyazaki presents a thoughtful, intelligent mosaic of visual and thematic ideas that ignores neither the brutal elements inherent in nature nor the potential for courage and compassion that lies within mankind. In the film, humans and animals alike are full of contradictions, which serves to consistently complicate Miyazaki’s initially straightforward message of humanity’s thoughtless destruction of the natural world.” [Smith, D. (2019) Review: Hayao Miyazaki's Princess Mononoke On Shout! Available at: https://www.slantmagazine.com/dvd/review-hayao-miyazakis-princess-mononoke-on-shout-factory-blu-ray/ (Accessed: 13/01/21)]. However, this is not an equal distribution of hatred, bias is typically given to the natural side of this conflict. These conflicts are summarised by quotations (English Dub/Translation 2001) such as: Nature’s perspective "I'm not afraid to die, and I'd do anything to get humans out of my forest”, "Typical. Selfish. You think like a human.", "The trees cry out as they die, but you cannot hear them. I lie here. I listen to the pain of the forest and feel the ache of the bullet in my chest, and I dream of the day I will finally crunch that gun-woman's head in my jaws." Contrasted to the human perspective "Now watch closely, everyone. I'm going to show you how to kill a god. A god of life and death. The trick is not to fear him." And “These days, there are angry ghosts all around us. Dead from wars, sickness, starvation, and nobody cares. So – you say you’re under a curse. So what, so’s the whole damn world.”. The leading characters of humanity in this film symbolise greed and human arrogance, with an apathetic perspective towards nature in attempts to expand their industrial society, the rest of the humans as a whole are not demonised by this film, but their impact is. The animals and spirits present their hatred for this, blinded by hatred they cannot see a possibility of peaceful coexistence; as a contemporary viewer however, sympathies lie entirely with the natural side of this conflict, their hatred is ultimately justified and the biggest take from this film.

 Human arrogance and greed ultimately cause the downfall of itself and the beauty and magic in the nature surrounding it. The forest spirits death is destructive to both sides of the conflict, the forest being destroyed with life sucked out of it, and a human village trampled. The ending however is hopeful and reflects how they will try to rebuild each other back, recovering from their own mistakes. However, it is worth noting the facts that human settlements are temporary, they can be rebuilt somewhat easily in comparison to nature, this is referenced in the last scenes of the film, “Even if all the trees return, It wont be his forest anymore” balance is not restored, the lives lost are still gone and the spirit and ancient forest is destroyed, though the ending provides a sense of hope regardless, with humans learning of their ignorance; “I didn’t know the forest spirit mad the flowers grow” and rebuilding a better and more peaceful lifestyle.

I wanted my graphic media project to induce thought, therefore I purposefully left questions and imagery unexplained. I wanted the viewer of the piece to reflect on the same question I did at the beginning of the project; what our asymmetrical relationship with nature is and why are we not the innocent.

In the development of my work, I experimented with a range of ideas and visual imagery, all in reference to the broad theme of false superiority. Some of the unfinalized pieces explore further into the concept of dystopia or false utopia, the Anthropocene passing, and respect given back to nature. One draft looked at how humans will return to the soil eventually, so there will always be a superiority there, after this exploitative domination of the earth we will wipe ourselves out and the earth will rebuild itself over us. Another displayed the concept of technology breaking us, with imagery of robotic figures showing struggle and confusion, where their identity as a natural being is unrecognisable, they have become something they are not. My initial ideas with the concepts of these pieces were the idea of flipping the narrative, where humans are overrun by animals in an apocalyptic setting, this idea branched off into the futuristic themes as it is along the same lines of narrative. I used the two readings as quite heavy inspiration for my final pieces, as most of my work here is reflective of our one directional relationship.

The first poster titled ‘THESE THINGS WILL KILL YOU’ is a concept themed around the flawed human perspective. The image shows a human with a boar’s head, or even a boar with a humans body. This piece is supposed to encourage thought about which perspective the words are coming from. On one hand it shows the human lack of empathy for animals, seeing them as beastly or dangerous to civilized living, whereas on the other hand it shows the animal perspective of humans wanting to kill them. There are some perspectives that believe animals are a threat to our lives and society, whereas in reality we are more likely to destroy each other’s living and our own society through greed and ill-moral. There is room for interpretation here, with various messages, for example one interpretation could be of a human wearing the animal head intentionally, to hide sins or communicate a false narrative. There is also subtle reference in the hand position to a gun to symbolise killing. Again, this provides support to the last idea around false narrative, the hand is not a real gun, yet humans pretend that animals are the real threat. 

The second poster titled ‘HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN?’ is themed upon the concept of humanity returning to its roots. The false superiority humans have is diminished over time and nature is the real dominant force. This piece also references technology around the themes I previously explored, linking to this - futuristic depictions of humanity where humans return to submission and being dragged down by technology. This piece has a strong theme of time based upon it, included in the question asked, it is intended to provoke thought about humans undergoing so much time and struggle that respect is brought back to nature. The link between the rustic skulls and technology wires again highlights the contrast between priorities. 

[loudlytransparenttrash]

This Week Within Our Colleges

A female student’s nomination for director of student safety at Tulane University has been rejected because she called anti-Trump protesters ‘toddlers’ and denounced safe spaces in a Facebook post. One of her critics stated, “I don’t think someone is qualified for this position if they don’t value how I feel and my opinions as a student of color.”

Donna Hylton, feminism’s hero and icon who spoke to her adoring fans at the recent Women’s March is also a woman who spent 27 years in prison for kidnapping a 62-year-old man, starving him, torturing him and forcibly sodomizing him with a 3-foot steel pole before eventually killing him. She was paid to be a guest speaker at Manhattanville College to talk about how dangerous Donald Trump is and the impact of the fear resulting from the vulnerability to being deported because she understands what it feels like to be a victim and a mere prisoner. When a student asked why she refused to mention the crimes which lead to her incarceration, the student was shut down and told not to embarrass the murderer. 

Graduate student-teachers at Yale University have launched a hunger strike to demand that the school recognize their newly-formed union and negotiate a contract with it. Here’s the funny part - they have promised to substitute strikers as soon as they’re hungry or aren’t feeling well. Kind of making a mockery of real hunger strikes for real causes. 

A gigantic, colorful-haired trans “woman” in a denim vest began destroying a Trump sign and then turned her rage onto a little guy who made the huge mistake of mistaking her for a beastly man during a UC barbecue. When asked why she had vandalized the Trump sign, she responded by indicating that she doesn’t “believe in property.”

Robots are just as racist and sexist as humans, according to a recent study conducted at Princeton University that uncovered gender and racial bias in an Artificial Intelligence machine. According to the researchers, robots have always exhibited racist and sexist word associations, such as connecting women with families and households but not professionalism or careers.

A geology professor at Pomona College says she will prioritize non-white students, immigrants and low-income students for enrollment in a class. Unlike most Pomona classes, the course is offered on a permission-only basis. It was put in place simply to ensure that students majoring in a particular field of study are able to enroll in courses for their major ahead of others who take them to fulfill requirements. Linda Reinen, however, plans to use her approval authority to prefer students who aren’t white and aren’t from stable homes. 

University of Wisconsin-La Crosse students have protested the cancellation of a Hmong “language-heritage” course, calling the move “racist” despite historically abysmal enrollment. Students gathered to protest against the school, carrying banners that asserted “white supremacy is alive” and “UWLAX is racist."

A coalition of leftist groups at Harvard University spread hundreds of fraudulent letters across campus telling students their dorm mates had been “detained indefinitely” by the school’s Special Investigations Unit. On the reverse side, the flyer revealed that “this is not a real notice,” but expressed hope that “the unsettling nature of this notice allows Harvard community members to reflect on the reality of people who face these kinds of unwarranted disruptions of life,” and continued to list "facts” regarding blacks and Latinos being pulled over and shot by police and Israel’s supposed crimes against Palestinians. 

Students at Pomona College have published a letter demanding that administrators rescind their offer to hire Sociology Professor Alice Goffman because she’s white. The letter complains that the Sociology Department has not hired enough faculty of color to match the increased proportion of minority students. The collective of “Sociology students, alumni, and allies” open their letter by expressing their “anger” and “concern” regarding Goffman’s hire, calling it a “failure” to address the lack of professors of color on campus. They argue that because the majority (56.7 percent) of students in the Sociology department are now people of color, it is problematic for the department to continue hiring white people.

A Macalester College student organization referring to itself as “Stop White Noise” recently held a moment of silence to protest “the centrality of whiteness and Eurocentrism on campus.” “The intent of this action is to raise awareness of the space whiteness takes up in our classrooms and curriculum,” a website created for the organization explains. Initially, the protesters had intended to require only “white students and professors” to be silent, but ultimately decided against that approach because it would “put undue pressure on students of color” who “may be the only PoC” in class.” lol

Students at Hood College want a temporary display put up by the College Republicans chapter to be taken down early because they feel "threatened" by some of the "hateful" quotes from conservatives. The school's president issued a statement saying she shares the "anger and dismay" of those who have been "hurt by the messages." The display was originally intended to encourage discussion on controversial issues such as abortion and gender identity but is instead being met with criticism, anger and vandalism.

The San Diego State University student government voted Wednesday to keep the school’s Aztec warrior mascot, rejecting claims that the mascot is a symbol of cultural appropriation. One member of the student council became so angry over the vote, which was debated for four hours, that she immediately resigned from her post, while another shouted, “Do your damn jobs.” 

The office of BGLTQ Student Life at Harvard University has released a new school-sponsored guide telling students to “fight transphobia” and “get the facts about gender diversity.”The guide, which was distributed to students on campus, declares that “there are more than two sexes” and that “gender is fluid and changing,” adding that someone’s gender identity “can be affirmed and/or expressed in many ways,” and can even “change from day to day.”

A dean at Case Western Reserve University spoiled opening day for some Cleveland Indians fans by telling students that the team’s “Chief Wahoo” logo is oppressive and racist. Grover Gilmore admitted that he is a Cleveland sports fan but declared that he does not wear clothing with the logo and requested that students “consider the full impact on members of our community when choosing attire” and “the racism and oppression represented by the Cleveland baseball team’s mascot.”

A California State University at Fresno professor who was reported to the FBI for suggesting that Donald Trump should be sentenced to death has been placed on paid leave. Lars Maischak came under fire for stating that “Justice = The execution of two Republicans for each deported immigrant” and “In order to save American democracy, Trump must hang, the sooner and the higher, the better.” Now, the school has announced that, as a result of his threatening remarks, Maischak agreed to be placed on voluntary paid leave for the remainder of the semester.

[imaginesfrommetoyou]

Beauty and the Beast •Part 2• (AU Newt Scamander x Reader)

A sniffle escaped you as you sat in the man’s shack. He had brought you back to his hotel and forced you into his case before letting you sit in his shack. His wand had created a chain that kept you linked to a tree outside; you were thankful you at least had enough room to walk around.

“Who are you?” A voice asked from the table beside you. You startled slightly and looked to see a Niffler sitting up and looking quizzically at you.

“Y-You can talk?” You questioned through your shock. Being from New York, you didn’t know much about majical beasts except for MACUSA claiming they needed to be exterminated. However, you knew enough to know that a Niffler should not have been able to talk.

“Don’t worry, it’s only temporary,” the Niffler reassured you as it picked up a coin off the table and shoved it into its pouch.

“What do you mean?”

“When the master goes back to normal, so do I,” the Niffler explained. “I used to be the greatest thief in the world, and then I was cursed. I can talk now, but I lost my abilities to steal, and… I don’t want anything I used to. Everything is meaningless and life is simply sad. Maybe you can help, though.”

“How can I help?” You quipped as the Niffler sat down and began to scratch it’s head.

“You want her to break the curse!” Another high pitched voice piped up from behind you. You whipped around to see what appeared to be a stick walking around on a bookshelf.

“What are you?” You asked as it watched you carefully.

“I could be asking you the same thing,” the stick replied as it crossed its arms. “But I’m Pickett, a bowtruckle.”

“Well,” you began before performing a small courtesy. “I’m Y/N, a human and wizard. Now tell me, Pickett, what is this curse you mentioned?”

“That’s classified,” the Niffler pointed out.

“Why is that?”

Before either one could answer, the door to the shack burst open. The man stood in the doorway, his cloak still over his face.

“Leave the girl alone,” he growled at the creatures who sheepishly nodded in response. The Niffler and Pickett left the shack slowly after saying a brief goodbye.

“Why can they talk?” You questioned as the man stepped into the shack and went over to the table. You leaned against a counter on the opposite side of the room and watched him sort through a stack of papers.

“I don’t know,” he grumbled lowly.

“I don’t believe you,” you stated with eyebrows raised in disbelief. The man stopped sorting through the papers and turned to face you.

“What?” He hissed out, angry that you would dare to talk to him like that.

“You obviously know why,” you began as you crossed your arms. “The creatures said there was a curse.”

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” he huffed as he clenched his jaw.

“I’m sure they will tell me sometime soon. In the meantime, what do you need me for?“

“I already told you, you are the new addition to my collection.”

“Am I allowed to contact my friends?” You asked after a moment. “They’re expecting me for dinner tomorrow and-”

“No,” the man growled.

“Please, I don’t want them to worry and-”

“I said no!” He yelled, turning to storm out of the shack.

His foot got caught on your chain that went out of the shack and he pulled harshly to get out of it. You went tumbling to the floor, knocking down an empty glass and it shattered as soon as it hit the floor. Your hands were stained red as you came in contact with the shards of glass and you let out a cry of pain.

“I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed as he rushed to help you stand up. For the first time in years, he felt guilt. He felt like he was just a human again who had made a terrible mistake.

“I’m fine,” you snapped as you flinched away from his large hands that had reached out to help you.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered sadly as you got up by yourself. You winced at the blood on your hands and a throbbing pain on your back from where you hit the counter as you went down.

“I just need to get the glass out,” you sniffled as you became dizzy from the sight of the blood. You swayed slightly and he took you in his arms, picking you up and sitting you on the table.

“Your name is Y/N, isn’t it?” He asked, trying to make sure you didn’t pass out. The last thing he wanted was for you to injure yourself more than what he had done to you. You gave him a weak nod, your skin pale as your stomach became queasy. “I’m Newt, Newt Scamander.”

“After I’m hurt you think it’s best to finally tell me who you are?” You joked lightly. Newt couldn’t help his lips from turning up slightly at your words; it had been a while since he had talked to someone with a sense of humor.

“I’m going to take my cloak off,” he told you quietly as he noticed it getting in the way. He was shaking nervously, scared to reveal himself to you. After the last time he had shown someone who… what he was, he vowed to never do it again. However, he seemed to have no choice in this situation.

You just watched him closely in response, wondering why his cloak seemed to be such a big deal. Newt breathed in deeply to gather his courage before slowly dropping his cape from his beastly. You let out a shocked gasp as you took in the sight of the man before you.

His black scars that covered his body and face. His dark eyes and messy hair, the small horns that sat on top of his head. His arms were covered in thick dark hair that could easily be mistaken for a thin layer of fur. He barely resembled a man.

A gasp escaped your lips and your eyes widened. You had never seen anything like his condition before.

“I know that I’m hideous,” he whispered quietly as he looked away from your shocked face. “But this is what I am, and you need help.”

“You’re not hideous,“ you promised as his eyes flickered up to yours. He went to protest before you stopped him. “Your curse has made you… exquisite. A true beast, yes, but you are completely different from anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“That doesn’t make me exquisite,” Newt argued as began to prepare his supplies to remove the glass from your hands.

If you had said those words to him before he was cursed, he would have been blushing like a mad man and stammering out a thank you. But there he was, appearing calm despite the feelings building up inside of his chest. He cursed himself for being so impacted by your words before attempting to forget what you told him. The last thing he needed was for you to build his hope up only to be crushed when you didn’t have the power to break the curse.

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