#the fights that matter are out beyond this fucking bubble

[f4irys4n]

this isn't us pt1

park jisung x afab!reader

tags gender neutral terms. cliche best friends to lovers trope. reader and jisung are both at uni. jisung is an art student. jisung pining over another person. jealous reader. jisung being a bit of a dick. arguments upon arguments. a lot of angst. mark looking out for you. jealous jisung. lots of swearing. jisung being very indenial. mutual stuborness. slight mentions of blood. violence and fights. kissing. a lot of crying. there will be a pt2 with smut.

wc 3k

one month.

one whole fucking month since you last spoke to jisung.

you were as stubborn as each other, everyone around you both knew that, and everyone around you knew that no matter how much they pushed you to speak to one another; it wasn't happening. the stubbornness, however, was only making things worse. the longer you went without speaking, the more resentment built up.

it all started over one particular topic. well, person.. jung jieun.

it was her second year at our univeristy, and your friendship group; jisung and you included; had all gotten much closer ever since her first few weeks.

ever since jieun was thrown into the picture, it allowed jisung to worm his way in. and what came with this was jisung slowly drawing away from you, and being attached to jieun's hip.

maybe you were jealous, you didn't deny that, but it just hurt that your best friend of 3 years started leaving you on read for days at a time and was willing to drop you any time of the day just to meet her as if all the time you'd spent together didn't matter to him anymore.

you're not usually one for confrontation, you avoid arguments and any sort of tension like the plague, but the way he was acting caused something to boil inside you and it caused you to snap.

you and jisung had plans to go to the cafe right next to campus after your final lessons of the day, and that caused excitement to bubble in your stomach. that was until he cancelled, babbling on about how he was ill and couldn't muster the effort to even get out of bed but denied all your offers to come over and look after him; like you've always done these past few years; only then to see him not long after this conversation walking to this said cafe with nobody but jieun herself.

now that hurt. that hurt a lot.

it's not like you could even be mad at jieun. she was your friend, possibly even one of your closest, and had absolutely zero interest in jisung. promising you it was solely platonic after overhearing you talking to your best friend, lola, about how you might have a 'small' crush on jisung.

but jisung, on the other hand, you were beyond mad at.

it started off with you ignoring his already very few messages, not even bothering to open them days after they were sent, despite him so obviously seeing you on your phone in lessons and around the halls of uni. and after a week or so you, you just started avoiding him completely, too scared you'd end up saying something you didn't mean out of angry if you spoke to him.

that was until he cornered you one day whilst you were in your dorm. so apparently annoyed at how you were ghosting him for so long, completely oblivious to how they were a result of his own actions.

"what have i done?" jisung asks bluntly, standing in your doorway so it was difficult for you to budge past him to avoid having this conversation.

"you'll have to be more specific," you countered, trying to shut down any sort of argument as fast as possible.

"you're obviously ignoring me and i just want to know what i've done wrong."

you scoff slightly, unable to hold it in. this made jisung cock up his eyebrow in confusion, curious as to what that was for.

"as if you don't know... everyone else has noticed it, why haven't you?" you sigh, trying your best to move past his taller build and get inside your room.

"clearly not. or i wouldn't be asking," he snaps sarcastically, his jaw tensing a little.

"maybe that's the problem."

you shove past him, attempting to slam the door behind you but he was too quick, squeezing himself through the door before it could close fully.

"look.. i don't know what i've done but-" "you've been fucking ignoring me for weeks!" you yell, taking jisung by surprise, his eyes wide in shock. he can't recall you ever yelling, not once in the 3 years you'd been friends.

"plans upon plans cancelled, rescheduled and cancelled again," you continue, venom dripping from your tongue. "we're supposed to be best friends, best fucking friends, and it takes you 5 days to reply to a message from me yet you can spend every waking minute with jieun."

"so this is what it's about?" jisung snapped back, pocking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "fucking jieun?" "well.. i apologise for wanting to hang with a friend that isn't you for once."

"jisung! you're not getting it!" you yell, slamming your books down onto your desk in frustration.

"what am i not getting, y/n?" jisung yells back, hands balled up in anger. "that jieun's more fun that you? that she's easier to hang out with than you? that she's not as annoying as you? that she's basically better than you in general? because no! i get that, y/n! i completely get that." it left you speechless, hands shaking subtly as you try and hold in the sob you so desperately wanted to let out. you daren't even look at him.

jisung didn't even bother to look back at you before he stormed out, muttering something under his breath as he slammed the door behind him.

once you were certain he was gone, a loud sob left your mouth, tears immediately running down your face. your closest friend had just walked out on you, and you were more than certain that he wasn't even planning on coming back.

and that's what brings us to the present day.

one month without speaking to jisung.

you pretend to like it doesn't hurt, that it doesn't bother you, but it really does. seeing him walk away whenever you go to speak to mark or lola, not even wanting to breathe the same air as you anymore.

you were sitting in your room with lola, she was telling you about how she overheard mark and jisung having an argument, and she believed it could have been about you.

"mark said something about jisung being selfish," lola said, scrolling through her phone as she spoke. "he said that jisung was hurting someone, that someone being you, and that it was unfair he treated them that way. jisung obviously didn't like it, saying that there was a reason he was ignoring you."

"sounds about right, but what does he expect?" you ask lola "he can't just drop me for someone else all the time and expect me to still be all over him."

"don't you worry.. i'll ask mark all about it when i go to his dorm later," she grins.

"god.. your relationship makes me feel morbidly single."

you both continued to chat for around 10 minutes before you heard a knock at the door. lola jumps up to answer, a frown appearing on her face as the door opens.

"who is it?" you ask, before turning your head to glance at the doorway.

jisung.

"i'll... uh, leave you two alone," lola mumbles, quickly grabbing her things and hurrying out the door.

it was silent for a moment. it was suffocating. like a grip on your neck so tight it felt like you were gasping for air. you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, not wanting to see the barren look on his face.

he cleared his throat as if he was about to speak, but nothing came out, the silence lingering on for much longer.

"if you have something to say, just say it," you mumble, flicking through the pages of your homework, still not being able to build u the courage to look at him.

"i just- i just wanted to say-" he paused for a moment "-could you please look at me?" he asks.

your head raised slowly, eyes looking straight into his for the first time in what felt like years. his were red and puffy, they almost looked sore to touch; like he'd been crying nonstop for this entire month of no contact. gazing at him for the first time in a month felt terrifying, and it honestly brought butterflies to your stomach.

you almost felt joyful that he was here, but then his cruel words came flooding back in. 'that enid's more fun than you? she's easier to hang out with than you? she's not as annoying as you? that she's basically better than you in general?' and it made your heart tighten, and your stomach feel the same sickness it experienced that day.

"may i?" he asks gently, pointing towards the empty space on your bed, and you nod, mind feeling too fuzzy to even speak.

he once again stumbles on his words, unable to get anything out that was understandable or could even pass as an actual sentence. he takes a deep breath, inching closer to you until your noses were almost touching.

"i'm sorry.." he mumbles, and you could truly tell he was, but after what he said; that wasn't enough. sorry wasn't ever going to be enough. before you even had time to think, his lips were pressed against yours and you couldn't help but melt at the feeling.

despite this being all you've ever wanted, it still felt wrong, it felt forced. so you pulled away, to jisung's surprise of course. "w-what.." he stuttered, looking at you with a saddened expression on his face.

"y-you- you can't just-" you stumble on your words, not being able to think of what to say, your mind so clouded by the feeling of jisung's lips on yours.

jisung stood up, looking worried, questioning whether he had made a mistake and whether he should have even turned up in the first place.

"you can't just kiss me like that!" you scolded, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at him, what seemed like hatred feeling your eyes. "you can't kiss me and expect everything to be okay, not after everything you've said! you don't get to say sorry and kiss me, things don't work that way jisung," you continued, feeling even more hurt than before.

"but i thought you- i thought you liked me.."

"whether i do or not, you can't just come here and kiss me like that after what you said to me. you can say you're sorry all you want but you don't accidentally say those things, you only say stuff like that if you truly believe it," you spoke, voice shaky whilst sticking up for yourself.

"i see.. yeah.. i get it" jisung chuckles sadly "dont worry, y/n," he says in an almost bitter tone. storming out just like he did a month prior.

in that moment, you pulled out your phone and messaged chenle.

'hey.. can we talk :)'

mark: 'of course! right now? i'm free!'

'please.. it's about jisung.. meet in the courtyard in 10, it's late so barely anyone will be there'

mark: 'sounds great! see you soon!'

jisung storms back to his dorm, slamming his door behind him due to the anger built up inside him.

so much rage and aggression was trying to claw his way out, that he let out a straight yell, knocking over one of his art desk.

after breathing for a moment, he picked up the canvas, noticing it was ripped down the middle. it was a painting of you; he hadn't been able to get you out of his thoughts, his mind racing back and forth, burdened by the image of you all day long. and whenever he feels, he paints. that's why almost all of his entire workload recently was infested with images of you, some small sketches, others big canvas pieces fit for a gallery.

"what am i gonna do?" he mumbles to himself, chucking himself down onto his bed and running his hand through his hair in defeat.

honestly, he was so confused and didn't even know how he was feeling anymore. for a while, he was convinced he liked jieun, seeing her every day caused a spark inside him to light up and he chose to chase it. but then there's you, he'd never noticed it until after the argument, but being away from you, not speaking to you or even being able to indulge in your presence was physically painful.

seeing you every day but feeling too ashamed to speak to you felt like something worse than torture, it became too much that he was convinced he'd rather die than be away from your bright light. after feeling such loss, despite still seeing you around, made him realise he didn't like jieun half as much as he thought.

the constant longing he felt for you, the need to be around you and see you, to touch and hear you was all too much for jisung.

he started to realise that he liked you. he.. he loved you.

and suddenly those 3 years of friendship didn't feel so platonic at all. it felt like every second you knew each other, you were in love.

i mean who platonically spoons their friends until they fall asleep, who platonically gives their friends forehead kisses, who platonically would do anything and everything for their friend just because they had asked you too.

"but now she hates me.." jisung whispers, eyes welling up in shame.

you stepped towards the bench you spotted mark sitting at.

barely anyone else was around at this time, besides two girls you recognised from one of your classes sitting towards the main doors gossiping about some random boy you'd never heard of.

"hey," mark hummed, giving you a comforting smile. "lola told me jisung came to see you earlier..."

"he kissed me," you blurt out. "w-what?" mark choked, extremely shocked by jisung's sudden and bold move.

"he kissed me," you repeated "he didn't even say anything, he didn't explain himself or anything of the sort. he just said two fucking words; i'm sorry; and then kissed me, and thought everything would be okay. i said he can't say or do what he did and expect a kiss to make everything better, and then he stormed off once again."

"i told him to talk to you... just not like that," mark sighed at the younger boy's actions. sure, chenle wanted you both to get along again; you were two of his best friends and seeing you not involved anymore was heartbreaking for him and the rest of the group, but he didn't think jisung would be so tone-deaf to the situation.

you and mark talked for a good hour, originally about jisung but then you delved into other topics as he saw talking about the boy was really starting to get you down, surely some other conversation would take your mind off things.

and suddenly, there he was again; jisung slumped through the doors that lead to the doors, instantly making eye contact with you and mark giggling at whatever you two were talking about at the time, and he saw red. he knew full well that mark was with lola, he knew you saw mark as an older brother but that didn't stop his mind from wandering and creating impossible scenarios as to why you were both out here so late. alone. together.

"what the fuck?" jisung yelled, thankfully, anyone else that was sitting outside was long gone. he approached you and mark, jaw clenched just like his fists. "what the fuck is this?"

"what is what?" mark asks in confusion at the boy's sudden surge of aggression.

"this!" jisung yells, pointing at the two of you. "whatever this is!"

"it's a couple of friends... talking," you reply dryly.

"talking about what? huh?"

"you.." mark chuckled "and how much of a dick you're being. playing with people's emotions isn't cool, man. kissing them? what were you thinking? did you really think kissing them would fix everything? don't be so delusional. do you even like them?"

"yes! of course i fucking do!" jisung replies. you could see the anger in jisung's face rising, not pleased by mark's constant digs. "and then i come out here to you and them giggling and being too friendly," he spits.

"at least i'm being nice, jisung. treating them how they're supposed to be treated," mark growls back, becoming progressively annoyed with how one of his best friends was acting towards you and the situation. "someone has to fucking do it," he finishes, rolling his eyes.

"don't you think- i've always fucking tried... you will never-" and suddenly, jisung's fist came in contact with mark's face, not even finishing his own sentence due to how much rage he was being to see.

"jisung! what the hell!" you yell, holding mark whose nose was now dripping crimson red. "what the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

"i.. i.. don't know," jisung stutters, not being able to process what just happened. "mark.. i'm sorry- i really didn't mean to. i just- i couldn't stop myself!"

"jisung just leave," you mutter, trying to clean u what blood you can with the sleeve of your shirt. but he just stood there, watching you, unable to speak or do anything at all. "i said leave!" you yelled again, tears in your eyes as he began to walk away.

it'd been a few days since anyone had heard or seen anything from jisung. but at this point, not many of you really wanted to see jisung in the first place, not after everything he's done. he was constantly in his room, locked up, painting pieces for days on end.

no sleeping, no eating, no nothing.

for once, he was truly alone, and he didn't like it at all.

in the few days of isolation, he managed to complete the biggest painting he'd ever done. it was an abstract piece, a result of him just throwing random paints at the canvas in anger to see how it'd turn out, and to his surprise, after some touching up, the image started to look just like you.

he smiled at the painting, remembering how beautiful you were at all points of the day. you were the most stunning person he'd ever laid eyes upon, no wonder you made such a perfect piece of art.

in that moment, his eyes started to tear up. he was worried, fear coursing through his veins with every beat of his heart.

he was honestly terrified; terrified of losing you.

and he feared that he already had.

[sebsallowapologist]

Bathtub

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC

Rated: M - 18+

Warnings: naked mc, making up after a fight, post Hogwarts, auror Sebastian, curse breaker mc, comfort, fluff, female body worship

After a horrible fight about MC risking her life at her job Sebastian makes it up to her with a little bit of pampering.

I apparate outside of the small home I share with my husband in the small Hamlet of Feldcroft.

The light was on, so I knew he was awake. Fuck, he’d be waiting up for me after our knock down drag out fight this morning. All that work staying late at the office to avoid him for nothing.

Since the Ranrok fell when I had been in school, the hamlet finally came back to life, new families moved in bringing children, new businesses and a lively hood that Sebastian said he hadn’t seen since he was a child. When the two of us graduated and got engaged it only made sense to move back to the small town.

It had been over six years of married bliss. Sebastian fixed up the house and expanded it, adding rooms for Anne or Ominis to visit should they want to. He even put up with me when I took absolutely forever redoing the kitchen, spending hours letting me change the cabinet color.

The married bliss has been interrupted this morning, after Sebastian brought up his distaste for my job for the millionth time. I was a curse breaker, he was an auror. They were both exciting, but sometimes dangerous jobs but he was keen to cut yours down any chance he took. I loved my job, loved helping people and he just seemed to think it was a fun little hobby.

It all came to a head this morning when he simply told me the work you did wasn’t WORTH it. I’d come home late again, but he’d come home late often for work.

It would have hurt less if he had slapped me. After he said that I had gotten up from bed, threw on the first thing I could find and spit out that I was going to your worthless job, and he shouldn’t wait up for you that night.

That was about 19 hours ago, and now here I am, standing outside your home, too nervous to apparate directly into your living room.

The nurse who worked at my office had done a fine time patching me up after the mission had gone somewhat sideways, but there I was again - coming home banged up. It was just going to give Sebastian fuel for his stupid argument.

Before I could gather your nerve the front door to the cottage opened, your husband backlit.

He was still wearing the clothes from his office, but his cloak was gone. His shirt sleeves rolled up to rest right above his elbows.

“Come here, love.” He says and gestures for me to come to the house. I sigh and give in, pushing my anxiety aside as I limp into my home.

When I reach Sebastian I’m ready for the lecture to begin, but he simply pushes my hair behind my ear, gently cups my cheek and gives me the softest kiss I’ve ever had. He pulls back, not before giving me a few extra pecks.

Sebastian takes my limp hand and leads me to the bathroom connected to our bathroom. The tub at the back of the room was steaming, a layer of bubbles peaking out over the edge of the porcelain. 

Two candle sticks sat on either side of the tub, basking the dark space in a warm glow. Fresh cut flowers from the garden sat in a beautiful vase on the stool next to the white clawfoot tub. 

Sebastian looks proud of himself as you take the room in, “Seb.” You whisper. “This is... beyond.” 

He squeezes my hand and drags me toward the center of the room. “I have to apologize.” He sighs, his hands reaching for the lapel of my coat, helping me slide it off my shoulders. Neither one of us makes a move to catch it s it falls to the ground. 

“It wasn’t fair of me.” He continues. “To not take your job as seriously as I take mine.” He sighs, lifting my chin up so our eyes meet. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been together, my heart races as soon as he looks at me like that. Like I’m the only thing worth being soft for.

I sigh and he starts slowly, carefully undoing the buttons on the front of my button up shirt. “To me, my job is worth risking my life for. That’s easy.” He sighs, sliding my shirt off my shoulders, letting it fall to join my coat on the ground. 

“But when you risk your life.” He sighs. “For as noble as a reason can be- It’s impossible that your life is worth risking for anything. Your life is the most important thing in my world.” 

He easily pops the button of my pants off and helps me step out of them. He makes quick work of my undergarments, and when I’m fully naked he takes my hand and helps me into the bath, still kept warm by his magic. 

I sink into the water and moan, the heat helping to relax all the well worn muscles. I rest my head on the side of the tub and look up at the man I love. “Do you understand?” Sebastian asks. “It’s not that your job isnt important. It’s just that to me- you’re more important.” 

I turn my head to stare up at the ceiling for a second before closing my eyes. “I think you’re going to have to get over that.” 

Sebastian drags over the chair thats next to my vanity, sitting down next to the tub. “And I’m working on that, but you’ll forgive me if it takes me a while to get used to it?” His hand laces through my hair, tugging ever so slightly at the root. I hum in satisfaction and nod, “I think I can give you a bit of grace.”

“Thank you, my love.” He sighs and keeps petting my hair, kissing my forehead every now and then as I relaxed in the tub.

When I make a move to get out of the tub he stands up, holding out his hand to step out of the tub. The water slides down my naked body, droplets running in the valley between my breasts.

Sebastian slowly works his way down my body kissing each bruise, nick, scratch that littered my skin. When he was done kissing every mark he moves his mouth back to my lips, more firm with his kisses now. “I mean how could I not think you are the most important thing in the world.”

He starts at my collarbones skimming his nose down my neck. My husbands hands run over my breasts his fingers pinching my nipples lightly. “Bad boy.” I smile, bringing his face up to meet mine.

“I’m apologizing.” He explains, going back to his assault on my neck.

And so Sebastian apologized.

[wannaeatramyeon]

or a continuation of Samuel with the unhinged reader? He would be a fun pet! (thank you so much for your writing and putting up with my rambles in the askbox)

Fuck, you twisted my arm anon. Thanks for the ask and enjoy!

Samuel Seo x Unhinged F!Reader: Desire

He comes back for more (Part 1)

After your initial meeting, you tire of Samuel quickly.

Toys that are easy to break can never hold your attention for long, no matter how fun at first glance.

But he sought you out again and again anyway. How peculiar, you seem to have picked up a stray.

With every fight, Samuel loses a little more sanity. The difference in your skill level remains an endless gulf.

You know why he does this dance with you. His inferiority complex loudly thrums beneath the surface, always having something to prove and overwhelming all other logic.

It becomes a routine of sorts. You're not sure how you feel about it, you're not used to having a constant.

Nevertheless, you flitter in and out of his life while he waits and waits. Sometimes Samuel wouldn't see you for weeks, sometimes he sees you for days on end.

.

.

Once again, Samuel is at your mercy.

You have him up against the wall, one hand squeezing his throat, the other grabbing and crushing his crotch (you never minded playing dirty).

One wrong move from Samuel, and he knows he's either losing his life or his dick. He's not sure which is worse.

"Y... y-"

"Hmm? What was that?" Your death grip around his windpipe loosens.

"You fucking cunt."

Oh! Most of your opponents in this position would be begging for their life. The insult releases both your holds on him. Your laughter bubbles up as Samuel's entire body slackens and he falls onto all fours.

Not bad, what a wickedly delicious man. You lick your lips.

You crouch down next to him as he desperately tries to gasp for air.

"You're so pathetic."

Samuel turns to glare at you. He resents and despises you yet he doesn't know how to escape your clutches.

You trace your nail along his neck tattoos, digging in enough to leave a mark, "You're beyond useless. You're a mess."

"Fuck you," he spits, but he can't repress the shiver at your touch, your closeness, your breath fanning over his face.

You chuckle and savagely yank his hair, narrowing the distance between you two, "Maybe in your dreams."

Samuel swallows. His eyes flicker down to your lips and back up again. You smirk, you can read this man like an open book.

"I bet you already do. Do you like thinking about my body completely dominating yours? You not being able to keep up? You're disgusting."

He lets out a whimper at your degradation. You can smell him: cigarettes and submission and desire.

You trail your tongue along his ear and whisper,

"Defeat me, and I'll make all your dreams come true."

[supercap2319]

Not A Bloody Original

The Church of Blood was quiet. Too quiet if you ask Y/N. He expected a great quantity of cult worshippers chanting over the ominous bubbling pool of blood in the center of the room, arms raised and praising their lord and savior Brother Blood. Or as Y/N and other Titans called him: Sebastian Sanger. He was someone they tried to save, but he made his choice, and now Y/N would make his, no matter how much he didn't want to.

The man in the center of the room never took his eyes off the glowing red pool of magma. Either he wasn't aware of Y/N's presence, or he just didn't care. Perfect. "Phasmatos incen–"

"Now, that's not a friendly way of saying hello." Brother Blood turned to Y/N with a smile. "Ahh, Y/N, so nice of you to show up. I was afraid you'd miss out on all the fun."

"Give up, Sebastian. You can't win. It's over."

"Is it? I feel like it's just beginning." Brother Blood teased. "This is the final stretch like you Americans like to say."

Y/N huffed. "One more chance, Sebastian. Give up and surrender."

"Before you continue with your threats, I'd like for our friends to join us. Or should I say… friend?"

Y/N watched as someone else came into the room and before Y/N could send this new enemy back with magic, he realized the person was Dick in his Nightwing costume. "Dick? You're here." Instead of coming to his side, Y/N watched as Dick walked towards Brother Blood and kneeled before him.

Brother Blood smirks underneath his mask of bone. "I'd say I've caged this bird, wouldn't you agree, luv?" Dick had a far off look in his eyes and it didn't take a genius to see that Sebastian was using his powers to control him. Y/N took a step towards Sebastian. "If you don't, let go of him right now, Sebastian, I'm gonna…"

Brother Blood's whole body began to glow a violent red as he raised a hand, and Dick suddenly produced a knife and held it to his throat. "Uh-uh-uh. I wouldn't do that if I were you. Unless you want your precious Nightwing to slit his own throat?" Y/N backed off and leered at Rachel's half-brother.

"Good boy." Dick stopped, but he still held the knife close to his throat. Brother Blood looked pretty confident and cocky at that fact he had Y/N backed into a corner. If he tried to attack him, Sebastian would have Dick slit his own throat, and a part of him wonders if he could teleport the knife away before Nightwing slashed his own windpipe. "I wouldn't try anything funny, Y/N." Brother Blood warned, almost as if he was reading his thoughts. He probably was.

"Why are you doing this, Sebastian?"

"What? You mean getting power, respect, and everything that I ever wanted? Everything I so rightfully deserve. And I've never been fond of the name 'Sebastian.' I prefer something bold, like Klaus."

"Klaus? Who the hell are you, Joseph Morgan?" Y/N asked.

"I think I'm beyond fictional vampires, but I have something to offer you. A deal if you will." Suddenly, all around Y/N, the Church of Blood worshippers came into the room in robes. They chanted low underneath their breath as Y/N had to fight the urge to set them all on fire. "What kind of deal?"

"I'll let your precious Dick go and promise not to harm him in any way. If…" Brother Blood began.

"If what?"

"...If you let me fuck you on my throne in front of my Church of Blood." Brother Blood smirked underneath his bone mask.

Y/N looks completely taken aback. "What the fuck? No way. Why would you want that?"

"I've got almost everything that I want. Sexual gratification is the only thing that's alluded to in my grasp. And If I'm being honest, it's the perfect way to solidify my place as leader amongst these worshippers. Seeing their leader take one of the most powerful magical users and fucking his brains out." He smiled.

"Fuck you, Sebastian!" Y/N said.

"Fine, have it your way, Luv." Brother Blood's body glowed once again as Dick started to dig the knife into his throat as he groaned in pain.

"Okay. Okay! Stop! I'll do whatever you want, I swear. Just don't… just don't hurt him."

Brother Blood stops his magic and nods as he walks towards his throne and sits down as he spreads his legs wide and smiles. The pool's reflection made him look ominous and eerie as the whole church waited to see what the hero would do. Would he swallow his pride and ego and degrade himself for their leader, or let his boyfriend die?

Y/N flushed and looked at Sebastian with such hate as he began to strip his clothes off until he was buck naked for all the Church of Blood and Brother Blood.

"Good boy. Now, come here and bend over my lap." Sebastian ordered.

[imfromthemiddlekingdom]

Maybe it’s because I’m a fundamentally spiteful and resentful person but whenever I read Beren and Lúthien I cannot help but despise how selfish and self fulfilling they are without any benefit to the people around them.

Lúthien is, according to Thingol’s claim of being King to all of Beleriand, Princess to the entire continent. Surely, no matter how politically disinterested she is in Menegroth’s court and how contently she is to dance her days away under her mothers protection, her father claiming the entirety of the land under his dominion means she surely has some responsibility to the people living in it? She is THE princess, her mother is a goddess and her father, for better or worse, is a king. She should have some sort of responsibility to her people, even if we discount the Noldor in Beleriand there are still many Sindar outside the girdle that she should, in practice, hold responsibility over as their princess.

We know she is powerful, perhaps the most powerful non Maia entity in the whole of middle earth during the first age, yet she has never shown any interest (not necessarily a fault if she does not design to enter the war at all and only stay in her bubble, it’s not a flaw not to fight if you chose to stay out of it entirely but it is more so when you do have the power to do something but only use said power to benefit yourself) in defending, or even aiding in the free people of Beleriand. I don’t think I would have as much of a problem as I do with her IF she didn’t choose to use her ridiculous plot armor to only further her own interest whilst having the narrative paint her as a hero and a saint. If the narrative allowed her to be shallow and vain and all in all uninterested in anything but herself it would be different and I would like her so much more for it. But Tolkien wrote her as a heroine, wrote her as a selfless being who is perfect and flawless who has a hound of Valinor by her side to aid her in her “righteous” quest of true love.

It’s jarring to me to read about how “selfless” and “brave and self sacrificial” she is when she challenges Sauron and sung Melkor to sleep when it benefits no one but herself. It’s frustrating how people paint her as someone who is entirely in the right for her actions when in the larger legendarium it is very obviously out of place for such a victory to be had. Sure, you may say that the Doom lay over the Noldor, kinslayers and not, but even the Men who came later who have no Doom beyond Erus gift have it as easy and as fantastical as them.

Lúthien is a Demi-goddess. Not only that she is also a leader of her people no matter if she likes it or not. She has a responsibility to those living under her fathers protection (the griddle) and less so to those outside living on his claimed lands. She has the power to back up her authority if need be as shown during the entirety of her story yet she chooses not to use any of it if it is not to benefit herself. She has the power to sing the greatest of the Ainur to sleep, to sing Melkor the mighty to sleep, to send Sauron his lieutenant fleeing, yet she uses none of it to help others who her father has claimed under his protection. 

“Oh but the Noldors goals were selfish in origin too! They only crossed the ice/sailed to defeat Morgoth and reclaim the Silmarils!” Yes that’s true but their actions in holding back Morgoths forces were also beneficial to all people living in Beleriand. The siege allowed for centuries of tentative peace and allowed mortals with shorter lives to live in relative normality under the shadows of Angband. What did Thingol do in the meantime? Turn away refugees during the aftermath of the Bragollach? Be so isolationist that his own people chose to go with Turgon to Gondolin instead of seeking shelter with his Maia Wife’s protection? What did Lúthien do whilst the Noldor were bleeding and dying for the forces of Morgoth to be kept at bay? Dancing in her glade and doing fuck all with her extremely over powered abilities that could have been the thing needed to turn the tide of war if we discounted the doom?

If the narrative allowed her to be what she is, self serving, selfish and in the end extremely in love, I would not be so much of a hater for anything related to her. But instead because she is a self insert of Tolkiens wife she is idolized and put on a pedestal. That I could not stomach.

“Oh but Fei! Without her stealing a twice stolen jewel the Union would’ve never been planned and because of her bravery in storming Angband Maedhros was given hope that he was slowly losing!” Yes. Exactly. But look where that went. Menegroth didn’t join because of C&C’s actions and Nargothrond barely sent any troops due to it. And boy do I have things to say about people not setting aside their differences to fight against a common foe but I won’t bore you with my own ramblings about how egotistical fantasy elves are and how they can’t be arsed to set aside their own hurts for the good of all for a campaign today.

Beren isn’t any better ngl. As someone who’s people have been targeted and murdered en mass, displaced and had their homes stolen from them, I should be able to relate to Beren. But I never could. I never saw him as anything but a person who ran from his own responsibilities to his tribe when he saw a pretty lady and then sacrificed his best ally to get what he wanted without thinking of how it would’ve affected anyone else other than him. He knowingly accepted a doomed quest, a quest that should’ve otherwise killed him if not for plot armor and in turn killed all his allies that his ancestors cultivated and adored. His own feelings took precedence over an entire kingdom. No matter how eager Finrod was to assist him, he still weighed his own happiness against an entire kingdom of people and found it more important and that I could not stand.

Maybe it’s cultural. Maybe it’s because of my culture that such selfishness and self righteousness never sat right with me. Coupled on with how the narrative justifies twice stolen artifacts as the thief’s since they “won” it and since it was hallowed it never belonged to Feanors sons anyways because I guess a higher being thought their judgment had any right to be extended to the people they abandoned, never sat right in my mind. I really don’t care how fans justify the works of someone’s hands being no longer theirs because of holy judgement. A council of higher power who never did anything to help the ones their kindred wronged beyond a cursory “they’ve changed and repented and therefore we would do no more than to warn him of his own folly” has no right in dictating how said beings own works should be inherited or how said beings magnum opus should or should not be held by worthy hands. If they had no hand in creating it they have no right to dictate who is worthy and who is not. Lúthien and Beren stealing a stolen work does not give them rights to it. No matter how much people would like to argue that “oh the Silmarils would’ve rejected the sons of Feanor anyways so why not let prettiest elf maiden ever to have it instead of those dastardly kinslayers!!!” It does not belong to the person who stole it no matter how justified it may have been in their minds. Morgoth probably thought his theft of the Silmarils was justified too, and pretty sure if you asked him he would’ve had a very convincing argument on how since the light of the two trees was created by his kin and Feanor only found a vessel to hold it, it technically is still the light of the two trees and therefore it belongs to the Valar instead of the first born of Eru.

“Oh but Fei! She kept it as a compensation for C&C keeping her without her consent and Celegorm trying to force her to marry him!” You do realize for compensation to be valid for a crime committed against another the perpetrators must be aware that said compensation is taking place right? If let’s say, Celegorm somehow managed to be less oath bound along with the other SoF and decided that yes, his actions towards her was monstrous and out of line and decided that the Silmaril was his way of apologizing it would be a different story. It cannot be a compensation without both parties being aware of it! Why do you think my county and Japan still haven’t made up and have rocky international relationships despite how many times they’ve individually apologized? Nothing in the text suggest that Lúthien claimed the Silmaril as her compensation against Celegorm and Curufin. Nothing in the text suggest that the SoF ever decided that, yes, they should do something to smooth over hurts caused by themselves with the Silmaril. So all arguments of “it belongs to them because of xyz and is compensation” is void and non cannon.

Why can’t people let Lúthien be selfish and self serving? Why can’t they look at this elf maiden who is quite grown may I remind you, and think ah yes, she puts her love above everything else and that is a flaw but she is still a good person. Without putting her on a pedestal of sainthood?

But then again I am a hard core Feanorian supporter and I really don’t like the Ainur and anything that has anything to do with them so I am biased.

[ademonandherbentley]

He thinks it's a few days later when someone finally comes knocking. He can’t be sure - thoughts and time have been… blurry, ever since news of Bonnet’s death reached them, and as long as they’re stuck anchored in this port making repairs Blackbeard is not going to be seeing daylight. It’s stupid, it’s not like it happened here, but any glimpse of the land he was abandoned for might prove too much, and really what does any of it fucking matter now?

So yeah. Probably a few days when he hears a knocking at the cabin door.

“Piss off Izzy.” His voice isn’t slurring which he supposes he’s grateful for, somewhere in the back of his mind where human feelings have been buried alive.

Heedless of his command, the door swings open. Blackbeard twists to face it, hand seeking for something to throw; the last thing he wants to see right now is his First Mate’s smug fucking face. The downright euphoric look he’d sported while imparting the news of Bonnet was still burning behind his eyes.

He stills when he sees Jim.

Have they finally tired of playing it safe; come to finish him off? Fuck, he feels defenseless enough. Frenchie could probably take him out right now. He might not even fight that hard.

Instead of reaching for a blade, however, Jim simply stops halfway across the room and regards him from beneath the brim of their hat.

Blackbeard gathers himself. “The fuck d’you want?”

Jim lets the silence stretch another long, cool moment and he wonders whether they’ve simply come to enjoy the show. Bonnet for Oluwande, a broken heart for a broken heart, he supposes he can’t begrudge them a little revelry in his despair. He’s about to roll over and leave them to it when they finally speak.

“Been doing some scouting,” they say, “while we’re stuck in port.”

“Okay?”

“Chased a few whispers. Found out exactly how Stede died.”

If Blackbeard were a little more alive he might have flinched back. He’d kept Jim around precisely for the ruthlessness he knew them capable of, but this was a cruelty he’d thought beyond them. Had he driven them to this?

“You wanna hear about it?” They ask.

He lets a deep-sea snarl into his voice “No.”

“He was attacked by a jungle cat.”

Something simultaneously hot and cold and sharp and suffocating lances through Blackbeard’s chest; a laugh just the wrong side of hysterical bubbles up in his throat. 

“He - he was killed by a jungle cat?” God. Only Stede fucking Bonnet could be taken out by something so ridiculous, so outlandish, so perfectly on brand right until the last-

“No.”

His spiral hits a bump in the road and skitters to a halt. “No?”

“I said he was attacked by a jungle cat. He survived.”

“Then why did you-”

“He was injured though,” Jim ploughs on, “too injured to get out of the way of the carriage before it hit him.”

A carriage? It was almost worse than mauled to death. In the short time he’d known him Stede had survived two - count them, two - major stabbings, and being hung by the neck, and that was only the start of the list of nonsense that would have killed a normal person. The idea he could be taken out by something so pedestrian…

“And that’s what killed him?” 

“Maybe.”

“The fuck you mean ‘maybe’?” If he were more confident in his ability to read Jim he might call that look on their face amused.

“He might have survived the carriage. We’ll never know.”

“Jim, if you don’t get to a point-”

“No one was able to get to him before the piano fell on him.”

The world crystallises. He finds himself blinking stupidly at Jim.

“A piano?”

“Yup.”

Just like that it’s like he’s been plunged into ice water -  there’s a roaring in his ears and his chest is collapsing in on itself, but out of the past days’ malaise everything is suddenly bursting so bright and so sharp it feels like he could cut himself on it.

He draws a breath and can’t even care that it comes out ragged. “He was attacked by a jungle cat… then run over… then hit by a falling piano?”

“Pretty nasty way to go.” Fuck, that look on their face was amusement, wasn’t it?

“Yeah. Nasty.” He says slowly. “Bet his face was pretty smashed up after all that.”

“Completely caved in.”

“Beyond recognition you might say.”

“You just might. In a way it’s lucky there were so many witnesses. To corroborate the story.”

Ed’s going to kill him. He’s going to wring his fancy, idiot, perfect neck the melodramatic, insufferable genius.

Gears in his head - gears that have been gummed up and gathering dust for days - are grinding back to life, and a thought emerges from the chaos. He looks at Jim.

“Why are you telling me this?” He asks.

Jim shrugs. “Figured you’d enjoy it,” they say, but they hesitate a fraction too long and they aren’t looking him in the eye, and Blackbeard knows full well Jim holds him in neither fear nor reverence.

He leans forward and regards them as they manage not to fidget. After a moment they huff an annoyed breath.

“Look,” they say, “Everyone on this ship follows you, si? So you need to be a Captain. I’m not getting killed ‘cause you were too busy moping in here to rally us.”

Ed has the nagging feeling that isn’t the whole truth either - Jim’s one of the most physically capable people he’s ever met. They could be alone on deck when another ship came at them all cannons blasting and he’d still bet on them making it out unscathed. But if that’s the answer they want to sell him he’ll accept it for now. All of a sudden there are more important things to think about.

“Who else knows about this?” He asks.

Jim shrugs again, much more naturally this time, “Just Frenchie.”

Ed nods, “How about we keep this between the three of us for now?”

Jim’s mouth quirks up fractionally in what Ed might call a smile if he was mad and keen on getting a knife thrown at him (which, despite what the whispers might say, he was neither). He jerks his head at the door and Jim takes their leave, clicking the door shut behind them.

For a long time he sits staring into the distance as his mind whirs. There are too many questions and far too few answers, but the one he finds himself circling back to again and again is what now?

Stede went home - that makes sense, in a blistering, bleeding sort of way. But then he left again? Where has he gone? Is he coming ba-

No. Ed’s not going to finish that thought. Finishing a thought like that leads to things like entertaining the thought, starting to believe the thought, letting hope settle in around the thought in the dark with only his ruined makeup for company. Hope has not served Ed well over the years, and putting any hope in Bonnet…

Ed steers his thoughts onto safer ground. He’d much rather they left port quickly, before Izzy hears anything he shouldn’t. Time to get back onto the water anyway, this stagnation is making Ed itchy, and who knows what might be waiting for them out - bad, bad thought, put that thought down.

He briefly considers getting drunk, then realises that would make it worse.

He shuffles back round until he’s staring out of the cabin window overlooking the ocean. He still hates Stede, he reassures himself. He’s still going to kill him if he ever lays eyes on him. He’s glad that there’s still a chance he’ll get to, that’s all.

There’s still a chance…

God, Ed is so fucked.

Swearing under his breath, he stands and exits the cabin for the first time in days. The sun is high and hot and Ed definitely isn’t grateful that squinting his eyes against it does most of the work of putting on his now-habitual glower.

As always, his crew jumps to when he barks orders and Izzy doesn’t seem to suspect anything is up with him (never suspects, never asks, so long as Blackbeard is dancing the right steps) and sooner than planned they’re sailing back out of the harbour.

Ed stands at the bow, letting the wind and salt spray bring him back to life. He tells himself that the feeling twisting in his gut and lancing at his heart is just the thrill of the chase; the call of the deep beckoning him home.

He isn’t hoping. Not for anything. Blackbeard doesn’t hope. If Jim soon finds their curfew lifted and the constant guard gone from their door, well… Blackbeard is erratic and half-insane, and his motives are frequently impenetrable, and fuck you for asking about it.

Its Captain’s gaze trained on the horizon, the Revenge sails forward. 

[nightspires]

After seeing the clip of the boxing match in 1x08 from the trailer, I couldn’t get the idea of Rose and Dimitri having an argument about the trials, layered by all the angsty goodness of what happened in 1x07, out of my head. So, here you go:

“Please tell me you’re not actually going to fight for Tatiana?”

Rose finds Dimitri after his name was announced alongside hers. The two of them will face one another in the trials to decide the next monarch of the dominion. Even while actively avoiding Dimitri, she can’t seem to escape him. If she was pious, she might think it was through some sort of sick excuse for divine intervention — but as it is, she’s pretty sure she just has terrible luck. 

It’s dark, Dimitri is outlined in moonlight, his arms crossed. Tall and broad and stoic, as ever. His jaw clenches. He takes a measured breath before responding.

“Yes, I am,” he confirms. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“Why?” Rose crows, anger bubbling to the surface. “Why would you agree to that?”

Dimitri uncrosses his arms, letting them hang by his side.

“For the same reason you agreed to fight for Victor.”

Rose actually laughs. He can’t be serious. She’s known Victor most of her life. He’s looked out for both her and Lissa. He is a good man. He would be a good king. 

“That's not the same at all, and you know it,” she says, venomous.

“I know you like to think you’re above it all, Rose, but you’re not. We don’t make the decisions here. The moroi do.”

Rose feels a stab of irritation, sick and tired of everyone around her telling who she’s supposed to be, how she’s supposed to feel, what she should be doing with her life. She doesn’t get to make many choices about her future. The one thing she really wanted for herself — the one thing she has ever ached for this much — is beyond reach. Even if he’s standing right in front of her.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Rose cries, taking a step closer. She’s in his space now, close enough she can almost feel his warmth. She has a flash — a dark night, a warm embrace. It’s all gone now. 

There’s nothing left of what they were except this painful awkwardness between them.

“Rose, I—” Dimitri starts, but Rose cuts him off.

“You can’t do this, Dimitri. Tatiana is the worst. She’ll set us all back a hundred years. She’s the reason Mikhail is dead.”

Dimitri’s eyebrows snap together, a tick of annoyance. The first crack in the glass. 

“You think that I want to fight for her? That I have a choice in the matter?” Dimitri asks, frustration lacing his words.

Of course this all comes down to choice. 

When they first met, Dimitri had been buttoned up. He was closed off, and he liked it that way. A dutiful guardian, through and through. She could never get a read on him, and she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to.

But in the months since he unceremoniously tackled her to the ground (which, rude, by the way), Rose had started to recognize his tells. When Dimitri crosses his arms, frustration roils off of him. A roll of his eyes tells her that he’s exasperated — either at her, himself or a situation. When he clenches his jaw, Rose wants to kiss him. She’s pretty sure he wants to kiss her when that happens too. 

One thing Rose is painfully familiar with is Dimitri’s sense of duty. His fear of losing control. It shows in his careful gaze, the way he chastises her when she pushes the boundaries a little. She has weeks of wanting so badly her chest feels like it’s going to break open to show for Dimitri’s inability to ever choose something for himself.

She’s tired of it.

“Of course you have a choice! We all do. This place has you and everyone in it so fucking brainwashed,” Rose barks.

Dimitri’s eyes soften for a moment. His gaze roaming Rose’s face. When he speaks, his words are soft, muted. Almost pleading. 

“What would you have me do, Rose? Turn her down?”

“Yes!’ Rose insists. “You turn her down. You have to turn her down.”

Dimitri shakes his head, rolling his eyes ever so slightly.

“You want me to say no to the potential future queen of the dominion? A woman who, as you well know, is no friend to dhampirs? And certainly not to those that go against her.”

“If you wanted to do it, you would,” Rose says. 

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yes. It is that simple,” she replies. Rose hesitates for a moment. Then lands her killing blow. Drives her stake home. “You just don’t want to try. Which seems to be a pattern with you.”

Dimitri flinches, like he's been stung. His voice is low and measured. He's angry now. “Rose, not all of us have the luxury of a princess' favour. It's not up to me."

He's lost, Rose thinks. Everything she saw in him locked away, hidden behind a glass of fear and duty and fucked up morality. It hurts to look at him.

“Save it, comrade. I’ll see you in the ring. Maybe then you'll listen."

[pesterloglog]

Vrissy Maryam-Lalonde, Harry Anderson Egbert, Aradia Megido, Sollux Captor, Jade Harley, Karkat Vantas, John Egbert, Dave Strider

Candy, page 27

VRISKA: What took you so long????????

HARRY ANDERSON: hey, give me a break here vris. my auntie has guards breathing down my neck day and night.

VRISKA: Ugh. How’d you get out this time?

HARRY ANDERSON: fucking gamzee.

HARRY ANDERSON: he was all like:

HARRY ANDERSON: Yo HaRrY mY dAwG, yOu Go OuT aNd GeT yOuRsElF uP a SlIcE oF tHaT pRiMe BeEf VrIsKeT, mY oNe TrUe HoMiE. lOvE iS wHaT mAkEs ThE mOtHeRfUcKiNg EaRtH sPiN oN iTs AxIs. ThAt, AnD bEiNg PoLiTiCaLlY nEuTrAl, BrOtHeR.

HARRY ANDERSON: god! he always makes sure to point out that he’s politically neutral in literally every sentence that comes out of his mouth, even though he’s *definitely* still fucking my aunt.

VRISKA: Ugh, so l8me.

VRISKA: This is all so l8me!!!!!!!! All in all, such a Deeply Unsatisfactory state of affairs!

HARRY ANDERSON: yeah. i hate sneaking around like this. i wish i could see you every day.

HARRY ANDERSON: or even, like, tell my mom that i have a girlfriend so she can stop pestering me about it.

VRISKA: In thaaaaaaaat case...

VRISKA: Why don’t we run aw8y and join the rebellion together, Harry Anderson? Wouldn’t that be Terribly Rom8ntic????????

VRISKA: We could be wild rebels in love, like Karkat and Meenah!

VRISKA: Isn’t their story GR8? I get so inspired thinking about it.

HARRY ANDERSON: oh, i don’t know if i could pull that off vriska... i don’t really have the, y’know, rebellious *stature* of someone like karkat vantas.

VRISKA: Pffft, ahahahahahahahaha. He’s Extremely Short in real life, you know!

HARRY ANDERSON: i don’t know if that’s actually true? i think it might just be something people assume because of, y’know, his personality. like he’s overcompensating or something.

HARRY ANDERSON: i mean, i don’t *remember* him being that short.

VRISKA: Oh yeah? The last time you saw him you were like three years old. Get real, Harry Anderson!

HARRY ANDERSON: oh? and when’s the last time *you* saw him?

VRISKA: ...

HARRY ANDERSON: ha ha! :p

HARRY ANDERON: oh my god, vriska, you always talk so big but you’re not any more of a rebel than i am!

VRISKA: Oh shuuuuuuuut up. You don’t know shit, Harry.

VRISKA: My moms are totally gonna get me a Prime Commission in the Resist8nce when I turn sixteen!!!!!!!!

HARRY ANDERSON: yeah yeah, whatever you say.

VRISKA: It’s TRUE!

VRISKA: But until then, guess we’ll never know whether it’s an official f8ct that Karkat is short or not.

HARRY ANDERSON: i guess so!

HARRY ANDERSON: but anyway i wasn’t talking about his height. i was talking about the eyepatch.

HARRY ANDERSON: i mean, i believe in troll rights and everything...

VRISKA: Um, I should HOPE so.

HARRY ANDERSON: ...but not enough to lose an eye over it.

VRISKA: Don’t be ridiculous Harry.

VRISKA: If we really do end up absconding from our mediocre Hot Teen Lives to become rebels, then OBVI8USLY I’m going to be the one with the Extremely Dashing And Sexy eyepatch. H8h8h8h8h8h8h8h8!!!!!!!!

ARADIA: hmm its getting pretty bad down there

SOLLUX: wh0 cares.

SOLLUX: this is 0fficially s0mething we d0n’t care ab0ut, right?

ARADIA: i dont know

ARADIA: is it

JADE: this world is inconsequential.

ARADIA: well there you have it

ARADIA: karkats really going to fight that war isnt he

SOLLUX: yeah.

SOLLUX: i didn’t think he had it in him, but apparently all it takes f0r him t0 bec0me the her0 he was meant t0 be was f0r things t0 get extremely fucking stupid.

SOLLUX: like, WAY m0re stupid than usual.

ARADIA: yes

ARADIA: it really is too bad hes reaching this heroic apotheosis of his in a world that doesnt matter

JADE: please do not mistake the essence of my words for indifference.

JADE: when i said that this world was inconsequential, i was talking objectively. we’ve moved far beyond the realm of canon relevance, but on a subjective level we can view this world as a glass bubble.

JADE: fragile, solitary, with a surface uncracked.

JADE: the actions, struggles and feelings of its inhabitants are certainly not inconsequential to them.

JADE: while abstracted heavily, and fully freed from all forces of narrative gravity, these events still represent possibilities that slept within the hearts of all who reside here.

ARADIA: hm

ARADIA: in that case i guess we should keep watching

KARKAT: HI AGAIN IDIOT.

JOHN: what are you doing standing out here alone like a creep?

KARKAT: I REALLY SHOULDN’T BE HERE.

JOHN: why not? you were on the guest list.

KARKAT: OH, HMM, I DON’T KNOW. MAYBE THINK ABOUT IT FOR TEN SECONDS, JOHN.

JOHN: i guess this would probably be pretty hard to watch if you were still, you know, all heartbroken about it.

KARKAT: I WOULDN’T SAY THAT I WAS STILL “ALL HEARTBROKEN” ABOUT IT.

KARKAT: BUT...

JOHN: but?

KARKAT: IT’S JUST THAT BREAK UPS ARE HARD, AND OFTEN HAVE UNEXPECTED CONSEQUENCES THAT CAN LINGER FOR YEARS.

JOHN: you’re telling me. when my wife left me, she took an entire political faction with her.

JOHN: those chess guys sure do love roxy, don’t they?

KARKAT: UGH.

KARKAT: YEAH, THE CARAPACIAN-HUMAN ALLIANCE HAS BEEN CAUSING US NOTHING BUT PAIN TO BE ENTIRELY FUCKING HONEST.

KARKAT: NO ONE WANTS TO BE AGAINST THE *CARAPACIANS*. THEY’RE HARMLESS.

KARKAT: THE FACT THAT THEY DIDN’T EVEN GET TO VOTE ON WHETHER OR NOT THEY SHOULD RATIFY THE TREATY REALLY COMPLICATES THE MATTER. THE WHOLE THING IS A DISASTER ON JUST ABOUT EVERY LEVEL.

JOHN: oh. sorry about that.

KARKAT: OH MY GOD JOHN, STOP BEING SO FUCKING PATHETIC FOR JUST A MINUTE. COULD YOU DO THAT FOR ME?

JOHN: i don’t know. that’s a pretty big favor you’re asking me there, karkat.

KARKAT: LOOK, I DON’T PERSONALLY BLAME YOU FOR ANY OF THIS.

KARKAT: FIRST OF ALL, FOR YOU TO HAVE HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH A MASSIVE SHIFT IN GEOPOLITICAL ALLEGIANCES?

KARKAT: THAT PROBABLY WOULD HAVE REQUIRED YOU LEAVE YOUR FUCKING HOUSE FOR MORE THAN AN HOUR.

JOHN: wow.

JOHN: good pep talk.

JOHN: i’m 100% over my separation now. thanks karkat.

KARKAT: JOHN, SERIOUSLY THOUGH.

KARKAT: YOU DO HAVE TO GET OVER ROXY EVENTUALLY. WITH EVERYTHING THAT’S GOING ON, CAN YOU REALLY AFFORD TO WASTE ANOTHER FIVE YEARS MALINGERING IN YOUR BEDROOM LIKE A PIECE OF FUCKING GARBAGE?

KARKAT: YOU KNOW

KARKAT: THE REBELLION COULD REALLY USE A GUY LIKE YOU.

JOHN: if you think that i haven’t been given the exact speech you’re about to give me, except about six or seven times the length, then you don’t know rose lalonde.

KARKAT: OK. THEN WHAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM?

KARKAT: YOU HATE WHAT THE GOVERNMENT IS DOING AS MUCH AS THE REST OF US DO!

JOHN: i dunno. it doesn’t seem responsible, really... to dedicate my life to something so important when i’m in a place where i can’t even find the energy to think that getting out of bed in the morning is “important.”

JOHN: in fact, it seems like it would be a pretty fucking selfish thing to do.

JOHN: what if i get distracted because i’m sad?

JOHN: what if i fuck up by staring too tragically into the distance on an important mission, and i get killed in a stupid way?

KARKAT: JOHN, AREN’T YOU TECHNICALLY IMMORTAL *SPECIFICALLY* IN CASES OF “GETTING KILLED IN A STUPID WAY”?

JOHN: yeah. but you aren’t. and neither are most of your followers.

KARKAT: OH SHIT.

KARKAT: HERE COMES DAVE. I HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.

DAVE: no john dont do it

JOHN: huh? don’t do what?

DAVE: oh you looked pretty bummed when you left the reception and then i find you staring at the ocean like you just snorted six lines of powdered midlife crisis off the bathroom counter

DAVE: so i guess “the joke” was like

DAVE: haha dont literally commit suicide at my wedding dude lol

DAVE: not to commit suicide at my fucking wedding is pretty obvious

DAVE: but in retrospect i guess its not that funny

DAVE: but seriously john dont kill yourself

JOHN: i wasn’t going to kill myself!

DAVE: id miss you and also itd bum out jade pretty bad and i have so thoroughly hitched my star to that yifftrain in case you havent noticed

JOHN: yifftrain?

DAVE: yeah man you see she-

JOHN: i don’t wanna know!

JOHN: anyway, i was just, uh...

JOHN: ...appreciating how pretty the view is.

DAVE: hm yeah i love the sight of the military industrial complex destroying the landscape in the evening

JOHN: come on, that’s obviously not what i meant.

JOHN: you okay, dude?

DAVE: eh

JOHN: having been married once before, i gotta say... it’s all kind of overwhelming, huh?

DAVE: oh

DAVE: yeah i guess

DAVE: i dunno jade and i have been together so long this all just feels like

DAVE: whatever

DAVE: i was sort of hoping that

DAVE: i mean considering that were working together in the rebellion and everything

DAVE: i was hoping that karkat would show

JOHN: oh...

JOHN: so you’re still not... um, over that?

JOHN: the whole karkat thing?

DAVE: i mean will i ever be over it??

DAVE: the way i felt about him probably isnt the kind of shit you just get over

DAVE: you just sorta

DAVE: live with it

DAVE: no matter how it turns out

DAVE: but hes with meenah and im with jade and the whole worlds gone fucking batshit so whats the point in looking backwards now

DAVE: right?

JOHN: right.

DAVE: right

DAVE: yo dude thanks for being my best man

JOHN: *cough* oh. th-thanks, man. no problem!

DAVE: cuz you are

DAVE: ya know

DAVE: youre my best bro

DAVE: my main man

DAVE: my most devoted dude

DAVE: cheers john

JOHN: cheers, dave.

[wellthebardsdead]

Head Torturer: hold his head steady and cut the tendon.

Estormo: b-but what if he can’t eat after this?

Head Torturer: who cares. So long as he’s alive to send him back to the empire as a message that’s all that matters.

Estormo: *looks down at the bosmer soldier tied to the rack*

Flynt: *a soldier fighting for the empire, the best and fastest swordsman on the front line of the Great War, only a young Mer in his 19th summer, now captured, bloodied, Bruised, and his tongue held in a clamp as his high elf captor slices the tendon beneath it so he can never talk again* AGHHHGGHHHHH!!!!! *shakes against his restrains violently, unable to move or shift away from the pain in anyway*

Head Torturer: *inspects the cut, watching the bosmer choke and swallow his own blood as the wound bleeds profusely* well done. Once it’s healed he’ll be lucky to form anything beyond the word ‘help’ *snickers and picks up a strangely coloured vile*

Estormo: I- sir must we really? He’s already mute now do we have to do that?

Head Torturer: We were instructed to make a message of him… so yes… *hands him the bottle* Blind him.

Estormo: *looks down at the bosmer with pity in his stomach, a few days prior watching with awe and fear as the smaller mer dashed through the battle field slicing through dominion soldiers one after another, now reduced to a victim at his mercy* … *sighs and holds open his eyes dropping the poison into the elf’s eyes as he screams gargled cries for mercy*

*A few years later*

Flynt: *was released from the dominion and sent back to the front lines as a threat, their greatest soldier now a blind, mute, husk of the Mer he used to be… only to arrive too late as the concordat was signed… declared dead in battle and no pension received, no words available to his damaged tongue that he could use to protest… now a frail beggar sitting in the streets of cyrodiil. The only thing to his name a rusted tankard he’d tap on the ground to beg* …

Estormo: *walking through the street ready to take a carriage to skyrim for his new placement under Ancano… only to stop upon recognising a now very poorly elf* … *walks over slowly unsure if it’s really him at first before kneeling down to see his face*

Flynt: *ears twitching as his nose catches the scent of someone in front of him, taps his empty tankard on the cobblestone* h-helrp- mme…

Estormo: *feeling indescribable guilt bubbling inside him* … *grabs the elf from under his arms lifting him up with ease* After everything you did for them, this is how the empire treats you in the state we left you in…

Flynt: *blind eyes widening and ears tucking back recognising his voice, drops his tankard in fear and if he had any water at all in him he would have certainly wet himself from pure terror. Instead only manages to whimper as he tries to wiggle free*

Estormo: *sighs and holds him like a toddler, the smaller elf about the size of one compared to him* enough of that… if the empire won’t provide for its veterans then the dominion will instead… At least… I will… *carries him off to the carriage, taking him with him to skyrim*

*A few more years later*

Flynt: *still blind but can navigate the world through sound and smell, and the help of his friends*

Taliesin: okay we got the staff let’s get out of this pla- *staggers back to Flynts side as the doors to the exit of the labyrinthian open revealing Estormo* Oh great-

Estormo: I’ll be taking that st- Flynt?! What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be back at the embassy where I left you!!

Flynt: *holds up his crossbow aiming it for his voice* Fuck You. *pulls the trigger*

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

Whump 16

Moon watched in horror as the glowing sphere shuddered and twitched, a sickening purple hue washing over it. No, no no no no NO! It couldn’t activate, he can’t let it activate! Yanking himself away from the suits controls he turned and ran deeper into his mind. Before he could reach it, though, a shockwave rippled through the air slamming him into the wall. It pulsed erratically as it rose in the air, giving off waves of energy that got thicker with every second. He gagged, clutching at his throat; Despite being unable to breath, the sheer force of the energy it was giving off made him feel light headed. Like he was struggling to stay above water while wave upon wave crashed down over him. Pushing him farther down under everytime he reached the surface.

The program tugged at his brain, urging him to rest. To go silent and immobile. His body felt heavy and weak, like he would drop at any second. Before he could adapt to this feeling, the floor was swept out from under him and he was plunged into the darkness.

---------

Moon twitched violently, lurching forward and falling onto his knees. Freddy put a hand on Suns shoulder, signalling him to stay put. No matter how much he wanted to run to check on his brother, something was clearly very, very wrong.

Suddenly the seizing came to a complete halt, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Sun held his breath, eyeing him for any sign of life. Time dragged on for what felt like forever before he got to his feet in one fluid movement. An action that was far too crisp, too robotic even for him. His fears were proven correct when his eyes opened, revealing blank pupilless eyes. One red, one purple. That simple static smile that he had hoped he would never see on his siblings face again. 

Security mode. She had activated security mode. 

But something was wrong. Unease prickled at his joints and he moved further infront of the little boy, eyeing Moon suspiciously. His void eyes snapped to Gregory immediately and he shot into the air in a lunge. Sun and Freddy scrambled out of the way, pulling Gregory along with them seconds before Moon landed directly where the boy was before. Large cracks spidered across the floor from the point of impact. Sun grimaces thinking of how much damage that could’ve done had they not moved in time. Though that relief is short lived as ‘Moon’ immediately goes on the attack once more, getting a clean scratch across Suns side.

He gasped, clutching his chest as pain ran up his side. Fuck, fuck this was bad. What is he doing? Security mode can’t attack children, especially not unprovoked! What the hell is happening?! What did she do?!

Another swipe, another lunge. Pain exploded from his head, one of his rays having been cut clean in half. It’s because he’s infront of Gregory, he quickly realizes. He’s trying to get to Gregory. 

He scoops up the boy, sprinting across the tile floor. Sun doesn’t know what they’re going to do about him, but... they can’t stay. He won’t let another child die under his watch. He can’t.

----

Moon slammed against the barrier, trying to push himself back into his mind. His BODY. He couldn’t stand this, watching his body move without his consent, working to meticulously tear his brother apart. 

If this were an earlier time, the sight wouldn’t of bothered him. It might’ve even delighted him, in fact. But this wasn’t earlier in the month or even the day. Moon finally- finally- has a reason to care beyond this monotonous draining job! A reason to fight! He couldn’t just sit aside and see the person who opened his eyes die by his hands!

But he couldn’t get back in! It felt like he was hitting a brick wall. Frustration and desperation bubbled up in his chest.

He has to get through

HE

HAS

TO

His fist went straight through the wall, his eyes widening in shock. He brushed off the surprise quickly, pulling his fist back and lunging at the glass wall. It shattered on impact and he landed on the other side with a loud huff. The pressure and heaviness returned but this time he fought it, dragging himself to his feet and lunging at the sphere. it was becoming more and more fragmented as time went on, the sight was making him sick. It’s not supposed to look like that. 

His security mode was such a fundemental feature inside of him. What would become of him if it fell apart? Would it be repairable, or would his own code unravel with it? The thought makes him sick to his stomach.

He yanked it back, the program roaring violently in objection. Vibrant blue strings wound tightly around the fragmented code and he ran past the glitching sphere, grabbing the controls. 

Looking at the scene around him left him horrified, and he jerked himself to the side hard colliding with the wall. He grimaced as pain erupted through his body. That was going to hurt later...

The blue strings snapped and Moon ducked, the programs wild strike barely missing him.

----

Sun weaved through the decorations, darting around walls and over obstacles, Moon right on his tail. He’d given Gregory to Freddy which thankfully went undetected by his persistent brother. The best thing he could do for now was try to get him as far away from the duo as he could. While it wasn’t the best plan, they needed more time!

He yelped and dropped to the floor, barely dodging another aerial attack. Moon went to swoop back into the ceiling when his body jolted unexpectedly, the wire refusing to rise up. With a loud thunk Moon ran straight into the wall. Sun grimaced at the noise, stopping to look up at him. For a brief moment he caught the sight of that single white pupil, his face scrunched up in pain. But just as fast as it happened it was gone, eye returning to that vacant stare and sickening complacent smile.

That’s when it hit him; It couldn’t shut Moon down because of the virus. He was fighting back. That made hope spark inside of him.

“MOON! If you can hear this, whatever you-you’re doing, it’s working! You have to keep trying!”

Moon darted back into the ceiling, and Sun could only hope that his words got through to him.

And... they did. They seemed to, anyways.

Every move was met with some form of resistance, a sudden change in direction resulting in him slamming into a food stand or wall, a miscalculated strike plunging his hand straight through the plaster causing it to become stuck. Sometimes the wire appeared at random, yanking him up into the sky when he got too close. It became clearer that Moon was purposefully tampering with his programming, yet couldn’t get control fully. Everytime he would seize control it would be in sporadic bursts only lasting seconds before the program took back over. It was just too strong.

Sun managed to meet back up with Gregory and Freddy, explaining the situation. There wasn’t much they could do, though, yet Sun continued to shout words of encouragement when he could. He had to do something to help him, he could see how hard he was fighting. 

But it didn’t seem like it was enough. Smoke was emmenating from the gaps in his suit as he dangled unsupported in the air, head spinning 360 degrees in a shuddering disjointed way. He was going to overheat if this kept up. 

Sun ran up to the railing, ignoring Freddys warnings not to get too close. He had to check on his brother, because as much as he wanted to deny it he did care about him. And it was clear he cared too. it was surprising to see how hard he fought to keep himself under control, to stay away from them. Normally in this state he’d never bat an eye at hurting Sun, he never had before. But something changed, he changed. It seems that, infected or not, there’s still a part of him in there that cares. This is his way of showing it. 

His mind was racing as he tried to figure out how to safely get Moon down without hurting him, but was yanked out of his thoughts by a sharp pull on his wrist. He shrieked, grasping the edge of the railing to stop himself from falling over. Moon grinned widely at his brother who struggled in his grip, pulling him closer to the edge of the balcony. A twisted, malevolent little giggle came out of him and he pulled on his arm, hard. Sun gasped, holding in a pained squeak.

“Moon, don’t.. don’t do this. Please. You don’t have to do-do this...” He stared up at him, eyes pleading. Desperate.

----

Moon can confidently say that this was the closest thing to hell an animatronic can experience. The constant back and forth, hopping from his mind to his body back to his mind again was dizzying. If he was a human he would’ve thrown up. Several times. But he kept going, he fought too hard to give up now. Yet everytime he was pushed back, it was getting harder and harder to get back control. He was getting closer and closer to not being there in time. 

And as he watched his brother be pulled closer and closer to the edge, he worried that he would be too late. His soft plead struck a cord in him, a stinging pain in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Rearing back, he punted the small sphere across the area. Seizing control of the body, he forced himself to release Suns arm, going as far as to fly backwards in the air.

It isn’t going to be enough though! He won’t be able to keep control for long. His eyes fell down to the ground far, far below him, and a sickening idea planted itself in his mind.

There is.. one thing he can do. It’s not like he’ll be salvageable at this point, anyways. If he stays in this state much longer, he’ll combust. Still, the thought of going out by his own hands sent chills down his spine.

But what else could he do? It was the only way to stop it. To stop him. His gaze landed on Sun and he grimaced internally. He wasn’t going to like this plan, not at all. But it was for his sake. After everything he had done to him, this was the least he could do. 

His hands trembled but didn’t still as he reached above his head, holding the wire still with one hand. This is it. This is really it. He steeled his resolve, driving his talons through the thin wire. The constant buzzing chaos in his mind went dead silent in that moment. The sharp pop was nearly deafening.

----

Sun sighed in relief when Moon dropped his arm, watching him pull back. His eyes glitched, his eyes returning to their less vacant look. The desperation and fear on his face was evident, but it dropped quickly to a look of... apphrension. And dread. He looked like he was deep in thought, about what he couldn’t start to guess. He was rattling like a heated tea kettle, steam pouring out of him. They locked eyes for a moment, just a moment, before he reached up.

Suns eyes widened, “W..Wait.. Moon, don’t-” 

The wire gave with a single swipe and he plummeted to the floor, a deafening boom rumbling through the air.

The silence was deafening.

[thefirstknife]

If Divinity lost the crit bubble, Vow would suddenly fall off imo. Like. When was the last time you fought Rhulk without Div.

Also given that during a sandbox interview right after the Lightfall reveal, Bungie said Div was a little "out of band" and wanted to reign it in, if a nerf DOES happen to it then I think its clear that Salta wasn't the one who caused it (though he did not do anything to help lmao). I personally think removing the crit bubble is ludicrous and would kill the identity of the weapon. I think reducing the debuff's effect to allow Void to embrace that roll would be a decent tradeoff. A tether or a Warlock with Contraverse can keep that Weaken Effect going for the whole DPS phase if they manage it right. Beyond that, maybe a reduction in reserve ammo.

Bottom line, its a support/utility that doubles as an accessibility tool, it should keep that identity, if Bungie wants to notch it down to allow more breathing room for other support and utility I think that's fine as long as the identity remains, and listening to a fucking 3 times in a row worlds first winner complain about wanting to aim more and blaming the assist weapons when Oryx has a crit spot bigger than the fucking Div bubble makes me eternally thankful I dont use Twitter

Yeah, Rhulk is a really interesting example in that he's a really dynamic boss fight with a lot of movement that discourages standing still in a well and spamming Div at him, but that maneuverability also means that a lot of dps will miss. No matter how good you are, sometimes he will just zip past you and then goodbye dps.

I've personally done plenty of Rhulk without Div, it's not too bad, but it's also very useful for a wiggly target like him. I definitely agree that people would enjoy this boss fight less without Div.

As a void main, I would love for void to have more boss debuff abilities and would love to see some diversity in our options for debuffs and boss damage. I agree that some minor nerf to the debuff % would probably be okay and most people wouldn't even notice. Giving us more tools to choose from would be great. Either putting them on void for the debuff identity or making more weapons like this. Another very much needed option is an overall different approach to raid boss fights. Rhulk proved that a moving target is fine, but there are problems with that as well. It's an ongoing game dev struggle.

This discussion could've been held with much less whining and much less emphasis on the importance of aim in raids, definitely. I genuinely don't even understand that, raids for me are about mechanics and six people working together, not clicking on a boss. It's really not surprising that a lot of people were taken aback by how the discussion was posted as an objective read on the difficulty of raids. "Divinity makes raids too easy" is a take that is simply not relatable to anyone outside of the streamer circle.

And of course, Twitter remains hostile to human habitation, never go there.

[ac-liveblogs]

Big Kazuha Quest Spoilers ahead!

---

Imagine how much stronger the quest would be if Kazuha actually cared about his dead best friend. Imagine how much stronger it would be if he had passion or hobbies. Imagine how much more impactful it’d be if Kazuha was actually mad about any of the tragedies that had happened to him in life.

If Kazuha cared about the sabotage of the isshin clan then the sword could have worked with something. 

If Kazuha felt anger towards the shogun for his friends death then the sword could have worked with something.

Fuck, if Kazuha realised that the sword, as twisted up as it was, ultimately wanted to fulfill its creators ambitions in the exact same way Kazuha fulfilled his friend Tomos ambitions (which I am certain had to be an intentional parallel, right? Like unhealthy destructive grief (the sword) vs healthy accepting grief (kazuha)) then the sword could have worked with that! Kazuha might have sympathised with the sword, and would have had to struggle with a real part of himself. Then there would have been actual tension that Kazuha could lose his body! Maybe he thought he was over his grief, but the moment he picked up the sword he realised he actually wasn’t. The same way the detective accused him of using culturally ingrained humility and politeness to deflect from his accomplishments, his calmness could have been revealed to be surface level as well. The idea that Kazuha tries so hard to feel and seem calm, wise and aloof but is actually a human with weaknesses would have been actually spicy!

But instead we got the fucking Kagome defense. “She’s immune to trauma illusions because she has no trauma” and it actually fuckin worked! (Only in this case it was Kazuha saying he has no passion or hobbies! Hilariously self aware of his blandness!) Kazuha probably felt grief once upon a time, but by now, he blocked the big bad shogun move so he’s forgiven her along with the rest of the goddamn nation. (is that the evil scent of the shogun’s waifufication destroying every inazuman plotline I smell on the wind again?)

Also like, the throughline of ambition vs delusions and reality vs impossible dreams was weird, to say the least. Like is Kazuha calling visions unimpressive and fake? Is he throwing shade at Fischl unintentionally? They needed to do a better job distinguishing valid ambitions from invalid ambitions. Maybe they could have focused more on the emotionally hateful tatarigami side and the resultant contrast between destructive vs acceptive grief? 

Anyway terrible quest specifically bc I see how it could have been great. (Possession plots are my favourite so I was very let down.) 

I've been thinking about this quest, and my issues with Kazuha. Personally, I think this quest's greatest failing is that it's boring, and that comes down to HYV's decision to have Kazuha calmly relay Kagotsurube Isshin's frame of mind to us via very calm dialogue between fights rather than actually show us the internal conflict between them.

Personally, I think Kazuha's philosophies are… fine. Controversial of me! He's the kind of person that cares more about today than yesterday, and has his eyes on the road ahead rather than the path he's already walked. He doesn't care about someone's suffering if they're already dead beyond acknowledging the tragedy, but he will reach out to someone that's suffering in front of him. Revenge is a useless concept to him. He is someone that is uninterested in his own history and responsibilities, but is fascinated by interesting people doing amazing things. In a bubble, these are all fine traits to have, but the real issue is how HYV fails to use them in ways that actually matter for his character. Despite having some pretty controversial beliefs, Kazuha is never really challenged on them in a way that requires any kind of self-reflection or growth.

Kazuha values his own freedom over his clan, and chooses not to restore the Kaedehara clan -> why is he able to do this so easily, with no conflict? He seems to be the clan head now. He has no family that would argue this? The Kamisato Clan has no arguments, the Amenonoma Clan doesn't think the death of the Isshin Art is a tragedy, this decision doesn't matter with regards to the rumours about him having a Delusion? Ayato and Ayaka, who worked exceptionally hard to restore their Clan, have absolutely no moral issues with Kazuha leaving his out to dry?

Kazuha leaves Inazuma during the Vision Hunt to join the Crux Fleet -> no-one in the Resistance ever confronts him about that decision. Probably because the Crux Fleet very conveniently sticks its head into the conflict sometimes, but this still very much reads as Kazuha trying to avoid the fight in favour of focusing on his friend's Vision.

Kazuha outright stating he doesn't empathise with his ancestor's ambitions -> why does this not anger Kagotsurube Isshin, whose entire motivation comes from trying to live up to those ambitions? Why is proving to Kagotsurube that he is unable to attain those goals met with such calm acceptance?

Kazuha blames his friend for his own death because fighting the Shogun is pointless -> he never says this to anyone that might get angry about it. I understand that this is in large part a byproduct of "Ei did nothing wrong", but that that is ABSOLUTELY the state of mind that should cause an argument, especially since Ayaka and Thoma were allegedly friends with him as well.

The Iradori Festival is another matter entirely, since… honestly, I think the connection between Kazuha and Scaramouche should have been brought up during the Inazuma chapters by having them ACTUALLY INTERACT and the drama get brought up more organically than it was, but HYV is apparently unable to balance too many plates at once. I think the issue I have with this quest isn't so much that Kazuha is such a placid person (I mean, I am too, I think I relate to Kazuha most out of anyone else in the cast which……… make of THAT what you will), it's just that you… really, REALLY need to stress-test characters with very rigid worldviews! You need to put pressure on them to see if they can stay true to their ideals, or if those ideals need to grow/evolve, or if those ideals become their undoing!

Why did Kazuha relay all of Kagotsurube Isshin's thoughts to us? Why instead did we not see them in conflict? Why, if Kazuha could read Kagotsurube Isshin's mind and feelings, did Kagotsurube Isshin in turn not try to prey on Kazuha's? Why didn't we see Kazuha taunted and guilt-tripped over his friend's death, his clan's failings and his lack of interest in resurrecting them? Why didn't we see Kazuha have to fight through, having his beliefs challenged or re-affirmed, while he tries to focus on what he really thinks is important - helping Kagotsurube Isshin, who is right there in front of him? After which, Kazuha unwittingly helped Kagotsurube Isshin kill himself! That is the conclusion he helped Kagotsurube Isshin reach and carry out! WHY did that not cause more drama?

Why does everything Kazuha say or do just get…. accepted? Why can't we see his beliefs challenged? I get it would be hard to write and maybe difficult to animate but like - if you always take the easy way out, you end up with this mess.

It's kind of a problem that I read as a fairly selfish person up until this quest (which, to it's credit, helps me understand him a little more now- I just think the way they did it was boring?), when he's SUPPOSED to be, in HYV's own words, a selfless hero.

(And I still think that he is, in a lot of ways that HYV either isn't willing to address or is unable to recognise.)

This quest was boring, because none of the drama involved Kazuha's own philosophies or personality - it was just, as always, a pretty long-winded way to dump lore on us, and if that's what HYV wants it's game to be about, fine, whatever - just at least do us the decency of having the character care about the lore? That's the main issue I had with it.

Besides the lore dump, I think this quest was pretty much setting up the resolution to Kazuha's eventual conflict with Scaramouche. Assuming HYV stays consistent, we… pretty much know how that should end now. In a better game Kazuha, who cares only about the present and wants Scaramouche to let go of the past and move on/redeem himself, vs Scaramouche, who is SO petty that he was still targeting the ENTIRE Raiden Gokaden centuries after Katsuragi was killed by Nagamasa, would probably be a pretty interesting ideological conflict, but I doubt HYV can hack it.

I've come to the conclusion that Kazuha would probably be very fun to write if you're willing to drag him through the wringer. I just think HYV, uh, aren't.

[chromosome23hq]

JUN. 12, 1998. Ramer Cemetery.

Out of the night that covers me,      Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance      I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears      Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years      Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,      How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate,      I am the captain of my soul.

Many were lost during the fight between the Brotherhood and X-Men and Omegas. Funerals and memorial services were held for many. Some were treated with just a night out, their alcohol either poured onto the ground or consumed, and a few nameless individuals didn't receive anything. Elliott Winslow, the former Essex Escapee, and Brotherhood member were loved and appreciated by many. If his ghost was still on Earth, he would see the large group gathered around his grave. The crowd was a mixture of Brotherhood members, Essex Escapees, and his coworkers, everyone dressed neatly in black, mourning in their ways. Even despite his explosive and venomous tongue, Elliott was a friend to many. He was always the type to fight for what he believed was right, and he truly did—too bad he was killed by some fucking cop. It wasn't a death he deserved but a death he got.

For the Essex Escapees, the group was hit with the realization that they'll never be safe. Just because they escaped death at the hands of Essex scientists, they'll never escape the death brought by others. It was a brutal reminder that hit all of them, but Monique Washington took it harder than others. Even after escaping Essex's clutches, Monique has lived within a fictional bubble where nothing could hurt them or their friends. It was perfectly constructed, a world that took them thirteen years to make. But within seconds, it was destroyed by witnessing the death of their friend.

The collapse of this world was the shove Monique needed to change themself and society. After waiting for the Brotherhood and Elliott's coworkers to leave, Monique brought up a solution to their problems before the other escapees. Unknown to the other escapees ( minus Seven ), their parents came to town. After learning what happened to their child, the couple offered to use their position as celebrities to publicly take down Essex House. For Monique, that meant exposing themself to the entire nation and reliving their trauma, and they weren't ready to do something like that, so they rejected the offer. Until now. With the death of Elliott, the fear of losing another friend, and the fear that Essex was seeing this as a win as one escapee dies, it was what they needed to share the plan with the other Essex Escapees and ask for their help.

Unlike Monique, the others all accepted within seconds. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to destroy Essex and their personal hell of many years. Their answer brought relief to Monique but also proved one thing to them: how much of a coward they were. The discussion was relatively short, Monique stepping back and avoiding all of their eyes. "I have to go back to Florida for a few weeks, but I'll be back with more details. I'll contact all of you when I get them."

They were the first ones to leave, not looking back at anyone as they disappeared from their eyes. One by one, each escapee left until it was just Elliott Winslow. Now cold and all alone for all of eternity.

JUN. 21, 1998

They all waited by their landlines and computers, waiting for their friend to get back to them with details. Nothing came from Monique; instead, they saw their friend on magazine stands everywhere. Their face was plastered on every cover, ranging from Tiger Beats, Sassy to Hollywood Gossip. There were candid pictures of Monique Lanchester with their parents, some at restaurants, others at Basketball games—the mystery child of the Lanchester couple that the public has been waiting for. Tiger Beats talked about Monique shooting hoops with their dad and his basketball players, Sassy had pictures of them with their mother, but Hollywood Gossip had the chance to speak with Monique.

It was a private interview with Monique and a Hollywood Gossip journalist. The questions were easy enough, "It's so great to finally see you! We've only seen baby pictures of you, and that's it", and "How did you feel after your father's team lost months ago?" simple things that Monique could easily laugh off and answer. Then came the big question everyone was asking: Why are you now appearing after twenty-three years of radio silence?

Monique shuffled nervously in their seat, fingers tapping on the table as they stalled answering. The journalist waited patiently but was on the edge of their seat. Finally, Monique responded to their question, "I think it's better to show you than to tell you." They then took off their hat, showing the journalist their ears that sat on top of their head. A mutant, of course! It was always a theory that the Lanchester child was a mutant, but no one delved more into it; it was just a theory, nothing more. But now, it was a reality and the perfect story that the journalist was looking for. "I'm a mutant, a wolf, to be specific. It happened so suddenly that my parents didn't know what to do except to hide me, afraid of what the public may do or say about me."

It was the partial truth; they kept to themself that their parents were also terrified of Monique and what they could do. That wasn't important, right? What was important was hooking the journalist in and using them to get the necessary attention for this plan. It was all set up by their father's agent: Monique needed to pique tabloids' interest nationwide to take down the Essex House. Tabloids were the bane of every celebrity's existence but were the backbone of this nation; without them, no one would know anything. And for this situation, the tabloids would help Monique and their friends expose the facility that had ruined their lives for so long.

"No one else in my family is a mutant, so there was no one who could help me with it; my parents didn't know what to do," they said. "Until news about the Essex House came on our television. It was perfect; we were told Essex would help young mutants like myself, so my parents sent me there immediately. And I truly thought that they would help me, but I was wrong… So, so wrong."

"Why? What was wrong with it?"

Their ears lowered, the journalist's watching those specifically. "The Essex House wasn't a safe haven for younger mutants. It was all a lie. They didn't care about us, much less help us with our abilities. No, to them, we were nothing but lab rats who they could torture and experiment on. Thank God I was able to get out there but… the scars… They're still there and will never fade, no matter what I do."

Monique gave the journalist enough information to get them by for the article. Two days later, the magazine article about Monique's interview could be found everywhere. It sparked the necessary attention from everyday people to other reporters and journalists who wanted to know if it was true. If the Essex House really tortured them and other young mutants, how could Monique get out there alive if Monique was telling the truth?

The attention made Monique nauseous, but this was what they wanted, no, needed. The plan that the agent created was falling into place. It wouldn't take long for the second part of the plan to be set into motion: garner enough attention for a talk show to allow Monique and the other Essex Escapees to talk about their experiences. Within a day, the agent was contacted by various talk show representatives who wanted to cover the story. While the number was amazing, it was narrowed down within hours. For all of this to work, it needed to happen right away. They couldn't partner with anyone who said it would take a month or two to cover the story, nor could they partner with someone who would handle the situation without grace.

It was a delicate topic that needed to be handled carefully and quickly, or else everything would end before anything could happen. When it felt like everything was no longer going their way, one representative told them they could meet their requirements. A talk show host who could handle a case like this, who was popular and willing to air this episode within two weeks. Monique didn't even care to see who it was as they ran to the nearest phone to call the other Essex Escapees. The plan was on, and it was all thanks to–

JUL. 2, 1998

Lights come onto a stage where Oprah Winfrey stood alone. There were seven chairs behind her and an audience that surrounded her. As soon as the cameras started rolling, the audience cheered, all excited for the woman and what was to be discussed. The woman tried to smile, but it was obvious that it was difficult to do so; even for a woman with years of experience, nothing could prepare her for this.

"The knowledge of mutants has been made public since the eighties, though, they've been around since, what many believe, the beginning of time. Despite their differences, they still bleed the same color and bruise the same as us. Today's episode is a special one with a sensitive topic. The United States is the land of the free, a country that is founded on freedom and creating a home for our children to live a safe and free life. However, some lost the chance to live such a life. For many mutant children, they're born into a family of humans who don't know how to raise a child with powers. Some of them push through it and continue to love their child despite their differences. Others disown their children, looking at them with disgust in their eyes. And the few who try and seek help for their children.

"The Essex House is an institution that takes in mutant children, promising to help these children learn and hone their abilities. Parents send their children here or teenagers or barely eighteen-year-olds who arrive to get help, only this institution doesn't try to help them. It's all a façade as the institution cares for one thing: conducting experiments on these poor children. 

"With us today are six former Essex House residents who are no longer children but adults, most nearing their thirties. They were tortured, abused, experimented on, and forced to fight for almost twelve years. Let me repeat that; they had to go through almost twelve years of that. Children turned into adults who escaped what they call a Hell Hole. These six have decided to come onto my show to share not only their trauma but to expose themselves to the entire world. Please welcome to my stage Milo Burke, Seven, Jessica Turner, Lachlan McLeod, Jack Torrence, and Monique Lanchester!"

Interview with Milo Burke

"— do you think you're comfortable showing us now, Milo?"

The interviewer's voice was kind and patient, but Milo had been disassociating so aggressively throughout the first part of the interview — it had been all "we" and "us" instead of "me" — that he seemed dully startled by his own name. He swallowed hard, throat painfully dry, and offered a stiff nod. "I- yeah. Um."

Milo stood and reached for the buttons on his shirt, his fingertips already buzzing with familiar panicked energy, panic only compounded by the way he could see the cameras all turn to him in his peripheral vision. It took some fumbling, but eventually, the one thing he'd struggled so much to hide the past year and a half was fully displayed: his scars, the most concrete proof he had to offer of the torture they'd all endured.

"These are, uh. From the fights I mentioned." Milo's fingertips grazed over thick, diagonal claw marks across his chest, but he moved on quickly because he knew Mo was watching — and the scars were from them. "And this was… the experiments." He wouldn't repeat himself, he couldn't, but his hands now framed the suspiciously regular, cross-hatched patchwork of lines across the rest of his torso. "They're… they're all over the rest of my body," Milo continued uncomfortably, a little distantly. "I was awake for most of this."

Interview with Seven

Seven walked into the frame, wearing shorts and little else. An uncomfortable beat as there was no slow reveal: Seven simply sat with every scar on show. They were a pale blue with faint streaks of pink through them. They still looked raw. He found that he spoke carefully under this pressure, practiced everything he wanted to say, and always bowed and obeyed when stressed. They were ignored at first. Seven simply talked about the routine, the experiments, and the fights. The collars. The casual sadism of the guards. Finally, he addresses the elephant in the room.

"A part of my mutation is my heart can heal itself," he carefully trailed a finger down his sternum, under his pec where the scar shows a chest opened like it were on a hinge, "They cut me open, without anesthesia. I feel the same level of pain as anyone else. They tested for that." Seven rolled his left shoulder, showing the mottled burn scar, "Essex employees forced us to fight each other." His hands shook as he opened them to show scars on his webbing. They remained the only sign of nerves throughout his interview.

Interview with Jessica Turner

Jess had come to the interview -- perhaps confessional -- stripped. Just enough to get past censors, all makeup removed, near paper white skin exposed. If she couldn't talk about the scars around her limbs, her wrists, on her head... she could, at the very least, show them. Then, withdrawing many, many, many pages of paper, Jack did what he had too often done for her, becoming her mouthpiece as he read the cards she flipped through:

"I would like to say what the worst part of Essex was, be it the fights in the ring or their' experiments.' But I couldn't. Not just because I physically can't when I'm not talking about Essex on the surface, but because I think that the worst part was being fitted with a ball gag and calling it a muzzle. I don't really know why they did it. I couldn't use my ability, deadliest with speech, with the nullification collar. Maybe they wanted to make camaraderie harder. Maybe they wanted to incentivize me to win those fights in the ring. Maybe it was just another experiment, long-term.

"Sometimes, they would take my only means of communication away if I lost there. It happened each time for the first few months, then it was a gamble after that, and I don't know which was worse. Twelve years, sometimes you get so desperate, you'd rather write in blood! I would've taken more lobotomies, more invasive brain surgeries, hacking off limbs, more temporarily sewn lips, more losses in the ring, more of it over twelve years of silence. Only able to speak when I was trying to maim or kill a friend. (The worst part, I might add, is that you aren't allowed to stay dead.)

"But at least my writing and their reading speed got quicker! Jack and I didn't even rehearse this!"

Interview with Lachlan McLeod

"I checked into Essex House willingly," Lachlan began as the spotlight fell on him. His first thought was why he imagined it was a good idea to show his face, "They fed me lies like they do to everyone else and told me they could help me control my abilities. That I could make sure my family felt safe with me." His family will know he's alive now. He wished that felt more like a silver lining, but he wondered how upset they'll be that he didn't come home. "I wasn't allowed contact with the outside world, and we were barely allowed contact with each other if it wasn't a cage match." There was also something he needed to prove. He wasn't sure if it was to Jess or himself, but he didn't want to be a coward in Knight's clothing anymore. He knew other members of their group looked to him as a leader, brave and steady, but this was his moment to prove it was true. Even if that meant Lachlan was putting a target on his own back in the process. He could only hope that putting his face to this story would appeal to people's sense of compassion.

"Their idea of teaching me control was literal torture." Tentatively, he rolled his sleeves to reveal the lightning bolt scars across his hands and arms. "They electrocuted me; there are more scars like this on my legs and feet. I was told they wanted to see how my skin would react because I can control water. They cut me open like a science project—my hands, chest, and even eyes. It's a miracle I can even still see or feel a thing. I was forced to fight like the others and have the scars to prove it. They forced me to develop parts of my abilities in ways I would give anything to forget. They were monsters who tried to make it seem like we were the problem. For twelve years, that was my everyday. And, not a single day in those twelve years was for my benefit. Not a single one." The nerves were gone, replaced with the outpouring of relief of telling his story for the first time in his life. He had let it fester all this time, building up to the moment when the world finally knew what had happened and that he had somehow survived it.

Interview with Jack Torrence

"—And the scar? That's from Essex, isn't it?"

Long fingers reached to trace along the raised tissue at the edge of his lip, his half-smile. "Yes." He can recall its creation like yesterday, in the same moment, it had happened a million years prior. Vivid but fragmented, memories haunted his days just as well as his nights. "My mouth wouldn't open wide enough for them, so they tore it apart." He remembered the cold bite of metal, of restraints. The sting of blood in his mouth. Them forcing wider, wider, wider until Jack, much like a serpent, could swallow his chosen prey whole.

"What was the purpose of that? Pure torture?"

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Eyes continued to seek out the camera in the background, the millions of eyes upon him. Is it worth it? Is it worth baring the worst parts of his soul so that Essex's could be destroyed? It had to be. It had to be. "The things—" things, living and unliving. "What they wanted me to eat wouldn't fit. I think the torture was just a bonus."

"Could you elaborate on what things they wanted you to eat?"

He felt sick. Dizzy. Nauseous. He remembered the last time he felt nauseous. "They wanted..." he trailed off, out of breath. His heart hammered in his chest, alien to him. "They wanted..."

"It's alright. Take your time. Maybe a drink—?"

"No. No. I'm fine." The force of his rejection surprises even him. He needs to do this. He needs to do this. "They wanted me to..." His fingers locked against the arms of his seat, pure white. He couldn't look at the interviewer. He couldn't look at the camera. His long stare landed on the spot on the floor. "They wanted me to eat someone else."

"—You mean—?!"

"They made me eat another mutant."

Interview with Monique Lanchester

"Do you remember any of your fights with the other residents?"

Monique shook their head. "My situation is different from everyone else's," they said. "When I turn into a wolf, I can't remember anything. I black out, I guess. As the… the wolf takes full control of my body and does whatever it wants. When I come to… I'm back in my room. Even at the end of a fight, the wolf can't change back to normal. Rage fills my entire body, and the wolf runs on the rage because of Essex. They forced it—me, to be like this. Whenever I changed into a wolf, I was provoked because they pushed me to the limit. It was like they were trying to create a killing machine; I was their special project to commit murder."

"Have you ever murdered any of the other mutants?"

"No—I don't think so?" Everyone always kept their scars a secret from Monique; it wouldn't be a surprise if they kept someone's death from them. "I'm sure I've come close to killing someone, and the scientists would just watch… To test everyone's durability and to see if I can do it. If I can kill someone." They paused. "I hate it, really, what they turned the wolf into. I'm not a killer, but in a way I am, and it's because of Essex. I went to their institution to better understand the wolf within me, to have control over it. But instead, they molded me into this monster that attacks their friends and, one day, family."

Monique kept their head up high, but their ears dropped drastically. They wanted to leave right away. "I have wounds that healed or scared over the years; that's stuff I can hide from the public eye. But I can't hide or control this wolf, no matter how hard I try; Essex has fucked me up so much that I'm always terrified of the day that they'll attack someone that I love, and there won't be anyone to stop me."

JUL. 8, 1998

The interviews, newspaper articles, and gossip magazines didn't take long for the public to riot against the Essex House. Protests outside the facilities, parents who had sent their children there were calling and demanding their children to be freed, and reporters who waited for workers to leave and talk; it was a disaster for anyone working there. But it was the hope that all of the mutants needed. It took the Essex Escapees too long to do something, but it was better late than never. By the end of the week, NYPD was given permission to storm Essex House with all parents to get back their children and a timid Monique who hated that damn building.

All mutant children and young adults were freed, families hugging and apologizing to their children, while others without a family stood to the side awkwardly. Not all of them were lucky enough to have a loving family who felt bad for what they did wrong. Many of their families feared them and called them terrible names just because of their abilities; the outside world and the inside of Essex House were all the same.

That was why Monique was there, to offer them a home and a new family. For anyone who didn't have anywhere to go to, Monique had bought a home in Valtoria for the remaining mutants. It was only a temporary situation, just something to help them integrate into society until they were ready to live independently. Many of them accepted the offer, while others chose to leave the city entirely. The situation brought a smile to Monique's face, the Essex Escapee leading their new family out of the facility. For all of their sakes but mostly for Monique's.

It was a win for them, but the facility was still there, and there was nothing they could do to truly destroy it. Against all of their desires, the facility will remain standing as if it didn't fuck all of them over for years. That was a win for Nathaniel Essex, making them sick to their stomach.

JUL. 9, 1998

The Essex Escapees weren't the only enemies the Essex House had to worry about. While the Essex Escapees ruined the Essex House's public standing and released all of their residents, the facility still existed. It was still a reminder of the torture and abuse that many went through for over twelve years as if it was mocking all its former residents. Even after everything the Essex Escapees did to destroy it, it wasn't enough.

That was when the Brotherhood entered the scene. After a month of radio silence, the organization met up again within Club Nyx. Erik Lehnsherr said nothing about the battle a month ago or about the lost members; instead, he spoke of a group mission for the entire organization: to finally destroy the Essex House once and for all.

No one objected to the order, nor was anyone anxious about it. Not even the group tasked with destroying the facility in April objected. They had a score of their own that needed to be settled with the Essex House, and this was the perfect opportunity to do so. The plan was for everyone to meet outside Essex House at midnight Wednesday night. Come prepared in their suits, masks, and anger for those who tortured their kind without proper punishment.

And they all listened. Every single member surrounded the facility from different angles before they broke through the gates. There were still guards and scientists around, guards who put up a fight, and scientists doing whatever they could to protect themselves and their research. But none of it was used as they were stormed by all sorts of mutants. A trail of non-mutant bodies was left both outsides and inside, empty cells and labs were destroyed, and all data collected over the years was burned before the scientists who were soon murdered.

For many, this plan was probably in honor of Elliott, the only Essex Escapee in their organization. But as a unified organization, it was for all mutants for once for those younger mutants who lost their childhood, teenhood, and young adulthood to a facility that lied about helping them. A facility that tortured, abused and experimented on them relentlessly. This was for them and a message to Essex Corporation: try this shit again, and the Brotherhood will be there to destroy them again. 

JUL. 10, 1998

There was something to be said about the organization of power, the heady mix of money and influence that drew people such as herself as metal did to magnets.

January St. James may rush, may come to illogical conclusions brought on by pride and arrogance, but at the end of the day, she played the long game. And by God, she knew how to play it well. Banks to lean on. Favors to take. Locations to put on her lease. The building of power is a slow thing, a careful thing, built upon years upon years of hard work and manipulation, and now, after the whole debacle with the Brotherhood and the Institute, she had enough social capital to play it.

Brandt and Goetsch was a good play, but while Maxine was as much of a viper as Jonas was, she was also a mutant and one that was as close to her personality—both of them could never have survived each other for long. So, with a farewell and nary a shed tear, she fixed everything she could in order.

Disappearing from the building, as if she hadn't even been there, several things happened, all at once. At his desk, Cas saw a handwritten letter apologizing for his current predicament. As Jack was her employee, she will be dealing with him personally and thus returned the money she'd been given for a job with a generous tip once over, and as she hardly reneges on a deal, this was a rare exception.

Another courier arrived with a bouquet of roses and a card that chilled Cas to his core, sent by January herself, with a smile as sharp as her knives.

She knows. Good luck.

In the back of her mind, miles away, Maxine heard January's voice whisper the name of the mole. Castello Laurenti. This was the term of their deal, and with it, she got a clean break from Brandt and Goetsch, off to seemingly do whatever powerful ladies of society were able to do day in and day out.

And all they did was spend.

An old building, built of vintage and glamour, scraping the skies as if it were the Tower of Babel itself. Her old lover would tell January that it would have all the makings of a good tragedy, but he's dead, and what use are the qualms of a dead man to those who still live? So she built, laid out the organization to her friends, business partners, and the more powerful mutants in the vicinity, and put out the invitations.

Letters, sent by a touch of magic and antiquity, found themselves on the desk of the powerful, all for the taking. To only humans, they see invitations to parties, to luxury, to connection. The Hellfire Club was for the most powerful, the most cunning, and the most to dine on the lap of luxury and be seen by only the elite.

But the mutants?

Seats of power are offered to select people through auditions and secret gatherings, the thoughts of connections that reach the country and the other side of the globe. The Lord's Cardinal, the inner circle of the Hellfire Club, an old myth among the old money, using their wealth and influence to turn the world as it spins on its axis, and now she set the foundation on which they'll stand. January may be as hungry for power as the next socialite, but she knew how to use it in the service of the mutant race. At least, that's what she told herself.

In the old building, in the penthouse suite that felt as endless as catacombs, portaled only by her reality-warping, she sat on a chair, on a throne, with a dark figure next to her, only coming to light as the smile on her face grew as she saw all the work laid out before her.

Her friend, her employee, and recently appointed second-in-command, Jess Turner, was invited to join and help build the Hellfire Club, to which she eagerly agreed. Placing focus on the founding of the Hellfire Club was both a welcomed task and a distraction. As January dealt with finances, connections, locations, and all the things she was accustomed to, Jess handled the more minute details. She began running enforcement and completing the smaller errands necessary for its rise, herself rising along with it.

Intimidation and imposition came naturally to Jess. She was built on blood and commandment. Judge of character, on the other hand, had to be polished. The least trustworthy seemed the most, and the most trustworthy seemed the least. Thus, recruiting those on the lower scale was not a talent but rather a skill that January aided in honing. By the beginning, she no longer felt obligated to run all the recruits by the goddess. While those within the high-risk category, such as known Brotherhood members, were one thing, those who posed little to no risk were feely offered recruitment, however sparse.

Cracking heads. Intimidating, hostile bosses. Poaching people off bad contracts. Not unlike her old self, both of their old selves, something discarded. A necessary venture, but one that January's long since grown tired of. Now, she stood tall, along with those closest to her, ready for whatever horrors the world had in store for her—no, for them, for there is no more her.

There is no more I for January, nor any for Jess.

There is only we and they.

There is only Hellfire.

. . . 

While the two sides focused and fought each other, there was a new mutant enemy who finally decided to make an appearance. The city's new mayor watched the woman across from him closely. He had been wary of letting her into his office, much less agree to this meeting. Until he learned that it was a meeting scheduled by the Pentagon, he absolutely could not reject it. But goodness, something about this woman did not sit well with him! Maybe it was how casual she acted while sipping the coffee offered her. As if she owned this place.

"So," he began, clearing his throat. "What brings you here, miss–"

"Linda McCall, but feel free to call me Linda," she answered, smiling.

"Yes, of course, Linda." He nodded his head, smile tight and fake. "What brings you here to my office?"

Linda took a long sip from her cup, and the mayor could only wait for her to stop. And when she did, she took forever to set down her cup. Five minutes in and she was already beginning to annoy him. "Well, it's rather simple." She placed her folded hands onto her lap, leaning back into her seat. "I've noticed that your city has dealt with a certain… population that has done nothing but disrupt the peace for the past year. From the fight last month to the riots and even the assassination of the former mayor—My! It's all so much. I'm sure many of your citizens are in an uproar!"

She would be right. He had to deal with the press every single day, protestors outside of his building, and even corporation’s bigwigs who all complained. Telling him that he needed to do something to fix all of this or if he had any solutions. The most he could think of was to get rid of all mutants that lived in their city and push them elsewhere so they could fight and do whatever they wanted. But he couldn't necessarily do that, not on his own at least. "And you'd be correct," he said, mimicking her body language. "But I'm working on fixing the problem."

"Really? Then what do you plan on doing?"

"There's no need for me–"

"Because if you don't have a plan, which I'm sure you don't… I can offer you some assistance."

He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of assistance?"

He wasn't sure, but it looked like her smile was becoming more and more sinister by the passing second. Linda stood up, heading over to his bookcase, messing with one of the old, worn-out covers on the first shelf. "What if I told you that I have a weapon that is much stronger and better than any lousy officer or gun you own?"

"What, do you have a nuclear missile that could eliminate all mutants?"

"Oh, even better!" She pushed the book back, attention completely on him. "I have mutants of my own but not just any. No, they were ordinary humans like us. Before I turned them–"

"You turned them?" That couldn't be possible! "There is no way for a human to become a mutant. It's impossible–"

"Oh, but it is possible, and I achieved it. Humans that are now mutants, and they're stronger than any naturally born mutant in the world. Not only that, they listen to us, to humans, to me specifically. And I'm willing to offer them to you for your little situation."

"You want me to fight mutants with… mutants?"

"Exactly that!"

"Now, Linda," he said, sighing deeply. "I think you need to understand something… that's what's been happening since we brought in those damn Omegas. And it hasn't made anything better for my citizens or me." Or for the former mayor.

"And that's why you need my mutants because they listen to me and now to you. Not only that, they’re loyal. They'll do whatever you tell them to do whenever you need it done." She walked back to where she was sitting; she picked up her bag and pulled out a manila folder, holding it out for the mayor. "Take the time to read over their files; these are seven mutants you can trust, I promise you."

He took it, though he was still watching her warily. "You have a lot of trust in these people."

Linda chuckled, closing her bag and throwing the strap over her shoulder. "Why wouldn't I? They are my children, after all. A mother must always love and trust her children."

OOC INFORMATION:

Welcome to Arc Two of C23! Again, we'd like to thank everyone for being here. You're all fantastic writers and we love you guys so much!

Also, a HUGE shoutout and thank you to the members who helped us with this plot drop: Kael, Gray, Alex, Cola, May, and Casey. WOO, WOO, YOU GUYS ROCK!!!

If you're wondering, yes, you can start roleplaying! IC, the date is July 10th, 1998 but feel free to do backdated threads that take place AFTER the previous event.

The Essex House facility has been officially destroyed by ALL Brotherhood members. Though, it's because of the Essex Escapees that the facility has lost all trust and public standing. HOWEVER, Essex Corporation is still alive and thriving. 

We now have more affiliations for mutants: The Hellfire Club, The Seven Deadly Sins, and Former Essex House Residents. More about these affiliations will be posted later.

It's here, what everyone has been waiting for, our first-ever skeletons: The Seven Deadly Sins! Please click here to see the six open skeletons. To make it fair for everyone, you can reserve a skeleton on July 10th @ midnight C23 time (PHT). To reserve a skeleton, please open up a ticket on discord and send in your top two choices. This will be based on first come, first served basis. 

Requirements to get a skeleton: Must be a member for 4+ months; active on ALL of your current muses for 2+ months; and you cannot drop this muse. The Seven Deadly Sins will be essential for the arc two plot, so please only take up one if you can handle it.

That’s all! Happy roleplaying everyone <3

[sylseal]

Sam's Terrible Horrible No Good Very Very Bad Day Pt. 1/? (D&D fic, ~1700 Words)

(Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!)

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Sam was not having a very good day.

One of the boxes in the cart slipped and fell down in front of Sam's feet, and she heard something shatter within the wooden cube.

...Okay, so, let's try that again:

Sam was having a really fucking shit day.

First off, she had to pack everything she owned into a horse-drawn carriage all by herself because her parents were both still mad at her for her career choice. Seriously? What kind of parents don't support their child when their child wants to go live their dream!? It didn't matter if the dream was unattainable, or if it had low odds of success. It was her dream, and it was up to her whether or not she wanted to chase it. Her parents didn't get to tell her whether or not she was allowed to do as she wished, she was an adult gods dammit! It wasn't okay that they just told her "no sweetie, your dream is a terrible terrible idea, don't do that." It just wasn't!

Frustration bubbled up as Sam picked the fallen box back up and shoved it back into the cart, followed quickly by the last of the suitcases, to be sure the damn thing didn't fall out again. Then, she slammed the tailgate closed, nearly breaking the wooden thing in the process. She grit her teeth and stomped around to the front of the cart, through the puddles and mud, before climbing into the driver's seat.

On top of the issue with Sam's parents, Riley, her apparent "best friend" who had loaned her the carriage, didn't see fit to come help her because...why? Had Riley even given her a reason? Probably, but, to be honest, Sam was mad, and that meant she didn't really care what the reason was. She just thought it was bullshit that she was the one lugging all her crap from her little backwater hometown to Veldin City by herself.

And to be clear, that was how her day started.

You see, Samara Cinderbrook (Sam, thank you) was the daughter of a somewhat well-known merchant. Naturally, when she came of age, her parents both expected her to follow in her father's footsteps.

The problem was, Sam wanted, more than anything, to become an adventurer. In fact, she had been extremely certain of that over the years, even when her parents insisted that "oh, it's just a phase" or "oh, all the kids want to be adventurers when they're little." The magic for Sam never quite wore off; she knew that the chances of her becoming a world-famous adventurer were nearly zero, but still, she knew how to read and write, she was good with numbers (which maybe meant she had an aptitude for wizard magic~!), and she had some training from a few monks who passed through town at some point, so she wasn't a total flop in a fight! That had to mean she at least had a chance as an adventurer, right?

Naturally, when she told her parents her logic, and that she was moving to Veldin City to start looking for work as an adventurer as a result, they were mortified.

Sam got onto the carriage once she was all finished packing it up, and gripped the reigns; thankfully, her father had taught her how to properly ride these things, so she wasn't wholly inexperienced at this process. Her father... she took one last longing look at the house, and saw her parents watching from beyond the glass of the door. Her father's knuckles were wrapped around his cane, white with how hard he was gripping it. She didn't think either of them actually expected her to go through with this, but...well, here she was.

Pointedly, she turned her head away from her parents' eyes, and thinned her lips to a line. Then, after a moment...

"Hyaa!"

With a crack of the reigns, the horse started its trot forwards, and the carriage soon lurched forwards with it. Meanwhile, Sam tried to ignore the way her vision blurred and wetness streamed down her face. Stupid tears.

-----

It was about halfway through Sam's trip when she really started to feel that horrible sinking in her chest, like someone made her swallow a hot coal and instead of going down to her stomach it magically welded itself to the bottom of her heart and just wouldn't cool. Stupid feelings. Stupid guilt. Stupid mom and dad, thinking she should just have a normal life. She didn't want a normal life! She wanted a life of sleazy taverns where you had to sleep on a bedroll and a life where you went traversing the brave frontier, discovering new things and new places and new people and getting into fights with those people and finding love and loss and-and-and--

She put her face in her hands, and began to weep as her mind spiraled into a wreck of sorrow.

"Why..." she whispered, knowing nobody was around to hear her, "Why? Why would they act that way? I thought they'd be proud of me..."

Sam let herself continue to cry until the feeling of guilt sank into her gut where she was crying so hard she felt physically sick. Then, once she didn't have anything left to cry with, she regained her bearings.

She was just thankful that the carriage kept moving without her having to tell them to keep going. It let her cry a bit more than she would have otherwise been able to.

Part of her wanted to drift into the memories of her father telling her how he was proud of her, and how he couldn't wait to see what she did with her life. But the moment she tried, a fresh wail ripped itself from her vocal chords, so she quickly decided not to do that.

instead, she just tried to keep her focus on the road, as Veldin City came into view.

-----

"You look like shit," Sam heard from the apartment doorway as she pulled up with the cart along the cobbled road, the gentle clops of hooves the only regular sound in this place. It was nighttime, and though street lamps lit the area around her, it was still quite dark. Sam pulled the reigns to slow and stop the horse, and then turned to better face the familiar owner of the voice.

"Yeah, partially thanks to you," she growled, rubbing her eyes and looking up at Riley--a gorgeous long blonde haired elf, with light-tan skin and makeup that was on point, with a red shirt and black pants that complimented her bright green eyes perfectly.

Because of course, Riley looked impeccable.

"Seriously? I prepped the apartment and everything!" Riley pouted, and Sam narrowed her eyes,

"Yeah, that's why you look amazing right now and I look like hot trash." Sam, feeling like her whole body was made of stone, hopped off the carriage and moved to the back, grabbing some of her bags and suitcases and starting to drag them into the apartment. Riley now looked genuinely worried, but she also knew better than to start asking questions without helping at the same time. So, she went and got some of the suitcases, and helped carry them into the apartment, too. Initially, she didn't say anything, but Sam had a feeling she was in for a concerned talking to from the bard. Sure enough, when they set everything down, Sam felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay, Sam?" Riley asked, a very concerned look on her face, "Look, I-I know I wasn't around to help this morning, but I really was scrambling to get-" she began, but Sam shook her head to cut her off.

"I know, I know, I didn't mean it, sorry. I'm just...not in a great place today. Some stuff's going on right now, that's all."

"What sort of stuff? Maybe I can help somehow?" There was an unspoken 'with magic' tagged on the end there, because Riley always wanted to help using magic, but instead of adding that, she asked, "...Did...something happen with your family?"

Sam still hadn't faced Riley, and just sort of slumped where she was, eyes falling closed. It wasn't fair to keep this stuff from Riley, she knew--but that didn't make it any easier to talk about.

"...Yeah. I got into a fight with my mom and dad. They didn't think a career as an adventurer was a 'valuable use of my talents.'" Air quotes around the last bit. Sam didn't have to see Riley's face to know she had already guessed as much, but was still upset at the confirmation. Having already won a foothold with the hand on the shoulder, Riley approached and gave Sam a side-hug, before she very softly spoke.

"Sam, I...I'm so sorry, I didn't know..."

Sam did not return the hug, initially. Just hung there like a sack of rocks. But, finally, she put her hand on Riley's shoulder and put on her best smile.

"I know, Ry. It's okay, promise. I'm just..." she takes a deep breath and rubs her eyes, "...I'm dealing with it and having a hard time right now, that's all, okay?"

Riley smiled, in that way she always did whenever she thought Sam was going to be mad with her, but instead it turned out Sam was just sad and upset. Sam, for her credit, started to lean into her a little.

"Go lay down," Riley finally spoke, and Sam blinked,

"Whuh?"

"Go. Lay. Down. The bed upstairs is all set and ready for you. Just fall into it and sleep. I'll take care of the rest of this stuff, promise."

"You're," she blinked, "You're sure? I-I don't want to do that to you, I know how much of a pain even getting this stuff in the first place must have been-"

"Sam. Please," she cupped Sam's cheek and smiled, "Go sleep. Okay? We'll talk about it in the morning." A not so gentle pat to the cheek, and Sam's face scrunched up.

"Okay, okay," she waved Riley's hand away from her face, "Just--just one thing. Please...don't leave me alone? I..." she slumped a little, "...I don't wanna be alone."

Riley softly smiled, and sighed.

"I wouldn't ever. Promise."

With a slow nod, Sam all but staggered off to bed.

[11919815125]

3/27/24

in regards to the phone call about the future/my ambitions

i think the reason it strikes a nerve when you bring stuff like that up is because like. my entire self-worth is built on choosing to accept my shortcomings rather than fight them or feel shame about them. when you're upset that i "don't care" it's because it was a choice that i had to make in order to cope and survive. when i was 24 years old, i was living with my parents, unemployed for almost a year and a half, no intent to use the degree that i went thousands of dollars into debt for, smoking weed every day, barely even leaving my bedroom, no goals or ambitions. i was a fucking loser. i couldn't look my parents in the eye because i saw disappointment looking back at me. i cut off almost all of my friends because i didn't want them to see me like that. the embarrassment of it all nearly drove me to suicide.

i had to decide that it was okay. that i didn't need to be successful in the ways other people define it, that i didn't need a career, that i didn't need to make my parents proud, that i didn't have to be special, that i didn't need people to like me, that i didn't have to achieve my dreams. i just needed to survive and try my best to be happy; anything beyond that is just a bonus.

it's not that the things you're asking me for are unfair, but they pop that bubble. they knock down the jenga tower i've stacked up so carefully. caring so much about those pressures and goals and ambitions genuinely ruined my life and almost ended it, and now you're asking me to make them a priority again, and suggesting that if i don't it's because i don't care enough about you or that i don't care about myself.

i feel that i am successful!!!!! with my worthless degree and my shitty kitchen job and everything i have going on now!!!!! this is not failure to me! i am so unbelievably proud of myself! i am paying my bills, living independently, working full time, doing my best to maintain the relationships i have, traveling when i can, cooking delicious meals and trying new foods, going out and making memories on the weekends, spending so many of my days with you. that's a life that's worth celebrating and i really hate that you seem to see it as the bare minimum. of course i can do better, i can invest more into the things that matter to me.......i just don't know if those are the things that matter to you.

saying that "a career is not a priority to me" is really the polite way of saying, "i do not want a career, and if i can find a way to keep living my life without having to do that, i absolutely will." you dedicate years of your life building marketable skills, going to school, interning, networking, busting your ass and stressing yourself out to get...what? your life looks exactly the same with a little more cash in the bank and a few more rooms in your apartment. it's so cliche but i really really don't care about the "rat race." i don't feel the impulse to keep up with other people, i don't value most of the things that you gain from playing the game, and i definitely don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks about how i choose to live my life.

i value freedom, autonomy, authenticity, and honesty above anything else. i value working as little as possible while still being comfortable and happy, and maximizing the time that is mine and mine alone. i value the people that love and embrace me and being able to share this life with them. i value experiences over anything material; nice houses and fancy dinners and expensive clothes and flashy gifts mean absolutely nothing to me. i want to go bungee jumping, i want to see the northern lights, i want to visit every country in the world, i want to cover my body in tattoos and sleep under the stars and get married to somebody i love and learn to play guitar and create beautiful things with my bare hands and hope that one day i wake up and see my life as a beautiful thing too.

and you wanna ask me about a fuckin job lol

[nghtmarish]

@serpentblccd / 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 ; 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆.

    𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢  𝐰𝐚𝐬  𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲  𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐬𝐡𝐞  𝐰𝐚𝐬  𝐢𝐧  𝐚  𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞  𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.   to  be  one  of  the  few  people  that  jughead  jones,  their  mighty  and  dangerous  serpent  prince,  trusted  and  could  actually  speak  freely  to  him.   she  didn't  take  that  trust  for  granted  and  never  used  anything  to  her  advantage  because  she  always  wanted  to    𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧   someone  that  jughead  could  turn  to,  no  matter  what  happened.   majority  of  the  time  when  she  spoke  up  about  something  that  was  bothering  her,  it  was  mainly  out  of    𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧   for  her  friend.   but  even  she  knew  that  this  concern  was  likely  to  cause  a  fight  because  who  was  she  to  speak  up  about  someone  that  he  was  interested  in?   except  it  wasn't  like  it  was  some  girl  from  the  southside  that  had  caught  his  attention.   fuck  no.   jughead  jones,  future  serpent  king,  had  to  go  and  fall    𝐢𝐧  𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞   with  a  northsider.   not  just  any  northsider  either,  he  was  falling  for  betty  cooper.

    𝐡𝐞  𝐡𝐚𝐝  𝐭𝐨  𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬  𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝  𝐞𝐧𝐝  𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲.   there  was  no  way  that  the  two  of  them  could  last  long  term,  once  her  parents  found  out  about  who  she  was  spending  her  time  with,  they  would  put  a  stop  to  it  and  he  would  go  back  to  doing  whatever  it  was  he  did  before  whilst  she  would  date  someone  her  parents  deemed  appropriate.   toni  wasn't  about  to  burst  his  bubble,  it  was  clear  to  her  that  her    𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭  𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝   was  happy  for  once  and  her  pointing  this  out  only  came  out  of  concern.   she  would  do  anything  not  to  see  him  hurt,  both  physically  and  emotionally.   there  was  only  likely  to  be    𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧   at  the  end  of  this  relationship,  even  if  he  didn't  want  to  admit  it.   betty  cooper  would  never  fit  in  with  his  world,  just  like  he  would  never  fit  in  with  hers.

    𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞  𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞  𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝐭𝐨  𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐬  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧  𝐢𝐧  𝐚  𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡  𝐚𝐭   𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐬,   knowing  the  public  setting  wouldn't  allow  him  to  make  a  scene  if  he  got  too  upset  with  her,  especially  since  he  could  not  risk  some  northsider  finding  out  about  the  two  of  them.   not  that  the  pair  were  overly  subtle,  how  her  parents  didn't  already  know  was  beyond  toni.   but  she  needed  him  to  know  that  she  was  aware  of  what  was  going  on  and  she  was  concerned  for  him  because  she  did  not  see  this  going  well,  no  matter  how  much  she  wished  it  would.   circling  her  straw  in  her  half  drunk  milkshake,  she  was  absolutely  avoiding  this  conversation  but  knew  there  was  no  other  time  than  the  present,   "   i  know  about  you  and  the  cooper  girl,    "   toni  said  softly,  glancing  around  for  a  brief  moment  before  leaning  forward  on  the  table, elbows  leaning  against  it,   "   what  the  fuck  were  you  thinking?   i  say  this  as  your  friend  who  cares  about  you,  but  you  gotta  know  this  is  going  to  end  badly,    "   subtly  clearly  wasn't  her  strong  suit  either,  she  just  hoped  he  wouldn't  immediately  get  defensive  and  actually  talk  her  through  what  he  was  thinking.   there  was  no  way  betty  was  like  any  of  the  other  girls,  mainly  because  she  kept  coming  back  and  toni  had  seen  enough  to  know  that  jughead  was  in  deep,  whether  he  wanted  to  admit  it  or  not.   toni  shook  her  head  for  a  moment,  glacning  around  them  for  a  moment  before  looking  back  at  him,   "   i  know  you're  happy  right  now  and  it  pains  me  to  say  this,  'cause  i  want  you  to  be  happy.   but  i  can't  help  to  think  that  if  you  two  continue,  it  will  just  end  badly,    "   regardless  of  what  she's  saying,  she  will  do  anything  to  help  him  and  if  this  is  really  what  he  wants,  toni  will  absolutely  help  the  two  of  them  get  to  be  together  however  she  can.