#the human urge to yearn for the existance of dragons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zephyr-paladyn · 3 years

Text

masculaxi character analysis/appreciation

it's been over a year since gala masculaxi's release and i'm still not over it

(heavy dragalia lost spoilers ahead)

(gala mascula does not exist btw) i just love how mascula and laxi are designed as two parts of a whole, basically one half of the same ideal/same person. you can't have one without the other. if you heavily favor one over the other i dont trust you... only half joking. when laxi went berserk and mascula had to save her by giving her his heart in their debut ch11, that was just... such a moment... it shows them at their most "separate" (laxi in berserk/annihilation mode, and mascula stopping at nothing to disengage combat.) which sets us up for their development as two hearts in one body. in masculaxi (flame blade)'s story, they're still at odds but they begin to learn to cooperate in the same body, and this is the beginning of their "convergence." in ch14 of the main story is when we see the beginnings of eden mode. when all the androids sacrifice themselves for euden and co to advance, mascula realizes it his empathetic heart that influenced them and led them to their painful deaths. he then shuts down his ego circuit out of guilt. when the team is in a tight spot, and only masculaxi can save the day (since their body is unaffected due to the miasma only affecting organic lifeforms,) laxi goes into their heart to search for mascula and plead him to help her. all this time, laxi had envied mascula's heart for being "more human," but realized that maestro had written the fear of death in all of the android's hearts, and as such, laxi understood the weight of their yearning for peace, with the act of their self-sacrifice for euden. (later we do learn with gala masculaxi that mascula had been influencing laxi more. here we see laxi's influence on mascula to urge him to fight.) laxi gets mascula out of the gay baby jail zone, releases her limiters, and activates annihilation mode hastily. mascula then guides her attacks to the correct targets, which is the first instance we see of mascula engaging in any sort of fighting. in this state of laxi's annihilation mode combined with mascula's guided assault, a new mode beyond annihilation mode becomes available to them: eden mode, when their hearts become one. this mode concentrates all the mana around them inside their body's mana kiln, and gives them even more power. mascula still dislikes fighting and does not want to do it as much, but has a newfound conviction and will not run away when he is needed. an interesting line here is mascula saying this: ▷It's as if he knew our hearts would one day become one. But how...?◁ indicating that from the start, they were truly two halves of a whole ideal. shortly after the release of ch14, we get the release of the flame dagger gala masculaxi unit, which contains eden mode in their gameplay, and expands upon the "two hearts acting as one" deal they have going on. laxi, mascula, and luca head to the ruins of maestro's lab in order to gain more clues on how eden mode works. laxi equips a new armament meant to accommodate eden mode (and demands praise of how good she looks, lol. also laxi is much more snarky in this story which is a treat. she's so funny. but also this shows mascula's emotional influence on her!!!!!) laxi learns of how eden mode works, and essentially it's a release of all limiters and rerouting all circuits to their internal mana kiln, but elimination protocol is activated automatically as well which does not make any distinction between friend and foe. it enhances laxi's combat ability, but mascula has to take care of elimination protocol since he has access and control of it. hence, in eden mode, laxi goes all out in attacking, while mascula controls the body's movements and targets. however this is only possible if their hearts act as one. the two are attacked by dyrenell forces and activate eden mode against them, but mascula temporarily loses the will to fight in the middle of the battle, destabilizing and deactivating eden mode. luca is captured and a villager shields them from an oncoming attack, believing in mascula's peaceful ideals. laxi engages tactical retreat and they escape. they engage in a plan to save luca but are attacked by imperials again. they try to go into eden mode but mascula once again disengages eden mode. mascula tells laxi of his regrets and frustrations that he keeps holding her back, but laxi tells him that she found herself synchronizing with him. with the villager (that mascula had saved before and in turn protected masculaxi earlier,) laxi found the value in mercy for enemies. by having laxi bend towards mascula's will, they're able to take on the imperials who chased after them with a truly synchronized eden mode. ▷Laxi, give me the strength to fight!◁ Granted. Now give me the kindness required to temper my actions. ▷Heh. Take all you need!◁ their system strain falls, and they're able to defeat the imperials. laxi, mascula, luca, and euden talk together after all is done. laxi takes interest in a cat, while mascula teaches her how to interact with it. Euden: Laxi and Mascula say the maestro who made them was a peace-loving man, but... Luca: No, I getcha. Why would some peacenik give something THIS much power? ch14 and their gala story really shows how the two embodied different sides of the same ideal -- "fighting for peace," and how they begin to converge upon that ideal. initially laxi only focused on "fighting" and mascula only focused on "peace," but A compassionate heart. ▷The courage to fight.◁ -Eden Mode, activate!- their character development after this is a bit wonky at times because it sets up for gala mascula who is really poorly written and doesn't necessarily align with the ideals established within ch14 and gala masculaxi, or even the development directly before it either. with ageless artifice and ch18 (when the team first enters the faerie kingdom and gets lost,) we get teasers of mascula with his own body. in ageless artifice, eirene steals mascula's body and intends to use it against masculaxi, but mascula takes control of his body and proclaims that his body isn't necessarily him, but what IS him is his resolve to fight for peace alongside his friends. (stays in line with gala masculaxi, right?) in ch18 we also see mascula having a "nightmare/illusion" in which he gains his body back but at the cost of laxi going berserk once more, showing that they truly cannot function at their "fullest ideal" without each other in the same body. laxi asks mascula if he wants his own body back, and mascula says he sometimes misses it but overall he wants to continue fighting with her the way they are. this is echoed in ch19, take this exchange for example: Mascula, I know you were thinking of your own body while lost in the mountain's illusions. You gave up your body to save me, and I owe you an apology for that. ▷Don't apologize—I wanted to do it. Plus, being with you makes me happy.◁ I want to see a peaceful world just as we are in this body now—together. ▷I feel the exact same way.◁ ▷No more hesitation. You and I are going to fight with Maestro as a team.◁ And together... ▷...we will bring peace.◁ reaffirming their ideals together and keeping in line with their development, right? mascula doesn't WANT his own body back. he wants to keep fighting with laxi, that's THE WHOLE POINT OF THEIR CHARACTERS. which does not make sense when we get the remote control BS IN THE SAME CHAPTER??? (teased from the ending of ageless artifice with chelle) and mascula has his own body again as a remote control system. now the portrayal in the main story wasn't AS bad but... the real problem comes to gala mascula as an adventurer with his stories and voice lines. this "mascula" proclaims of how much he loves/misses his body and how he "doesn't need laxi dragging him around anymore." like sure he sometimes feels being in laxi's body with her is bothersome but overall, at his heart, he wouldn't really say something like that??? mascula your voice lines are so contradictory to what just happened in the main story and what you said in ageless artifice what happened!!!!!!! his adventurer story lacks the cooperative laxi-mascula dynamic we knew and loved, and instead pushes mascula front and center to try to push him to do things himself. we didn't really need mascula getting his own body back anyways, but you COULD'VE AT LEAST written it so that they have more emphasis on cooperation with each other?? god im sorry i just. AUGH he's so OBVIOUSLY hastily pushed into their development arc and he loses his characterization. it's obvious gala mascula wasn't intended to be a thing in the initial plan for masculaxi... i am not forgiving every single one of you who sent in feedback for playable mascula. once again only half joking... maybe only a quarter joking. 1/8ths joking. radioactive decay graph joking. (also just a tiny nitpick: you can apparently run gala mascula and laxi/gala laxi on the same team. lore compliancy who? eden mode can't be activated while the remote control unit is active. but whatever) though another interesting plot point is brought up in his story though? maestro's origins, the writing of "seek peace" on mascula and laxi's bodies being in a language that only the sky city ark people would know.. with such an elaborate plan for such a complex android duo, and everything else mysterious about this man, just who is he? his master plan of masculaxi was really amazing to see come to fruition... maestro fought on the side of dyrenell, against dragons -- against elysium you could say. although ex machina seeks the destruction of terrestrial life because they "allied with the dragons" (a misconception,) on the contrary maybe maestro aimed to create an ultimate weapon for terrestrials to defend themselves against the dragons. however this weapon had to also understand the value of what it was fighting for -- learning for itself how to go about "fighting for peace." thus, the creation of the twins mascula and laxi; two halves of a whole. by having a compassionate and adaptable heart, they can change with the times, understand the people around them, and decide on their own what the best course of action is in various situations. i love love LOVE masculaxi and how they're written!! (for the most part.) two of my faves in the game and i love them and their characterization so much, i just wish more people could see the intricacies of their relationship and how they're literally like. 1/2 of the same thing. it's such a beautifully written dynamic and development, and i want others to appreciate it too.

a little bonus, in this character art, you can see the "star tetrahedron" shapes. in sacred geometry symbolism, the "star tetrahedron" is the sixth shape enclosed within "metatron's cube." these shapes, and this cube, are said to maintain the balance of the world itself and its flows/processes. as for the "star tetrahedron" itself, it represents duality: physical body and spiritual self; male and female; and heaven and earth. this ties into mascula and laxi's characters: mascula controlling the "mind" in eden mode while laxi focuses on the attacking "body;" and mascula and laxi being of different genders. as for "heaven" and "earth," this could represent maestro coming from the sky city ark, and masculaxi being technology intended to aid humans. alternatively for "heaven" and "earth," the fact that the star tetrahedron is enclosed within "metatron's cube" may be a pointer to metatron in-universe. the archangels all have white hair, a trait shared by masculaxi. additionally, sandalphon is somewhat mechanical/technological herself. masculaxi being man-made (of the earth,) versus their potential connection to the angels (of the heavens.)

#dragalia lost #mascula #laxi #masculaxi #spoilers #analysis #theory

8 notes · View notes

sketchy-saram · 3 years

Photo

Hey everyone! I realize Pride Month just ended, but I wanted to talk about Asexuality for a minute, so I hope you'll indulge me since I have no idea what day it is normally and missed the obvious chance xD

So my discovery that I was Ace happened when I was in Korea circa 2016, although I'd heard of it a few years before, from the Girls with Slingshots web comic! Both of these things occurred long after I was already an adult, however, and its existence is something I sorely wish I'd known about as a teenager. Hence, I'd really like to spread information about Asexuality to those who might not know anything, so you can be more comfortable with the idea, more informed, and perhaps pass that information to others around you who might be confused and questioning themselves! Pass it on, save a life! (Or at least a LOT of heartache and confusion!) If you already know stuff, great! You’re awesome! <3

So what IS Asexuality? Is it like, budding? Haha, funny joke. (Not really.) Asexuality is simply the lack of sexual attraction to anyone. It is an umbrella term for a lot of different classifications of Aces, but that's the basics. Allosexuals would be what is considered 'normal'--people who do experience sexual attraction. And yes, this is completely different from ROMANTIC attraction! But we'll get to that a bit later!

Why are Asexuals considered part of the LGBTQIA+ rainbow? Well, it's right there in the letters! The A never stood for ally--it always meant Asexual. We've been there since the very beginning! The Queer community envelopes all people whose gender and sexual identities fall outside the norm--so when our society, and humanity as a whole, so idealizes sex and sexual relations, I think not feeling those urges more than qualifies us! And if that weren't enough, Asexuals experience plenty of stigma and harassment--even gatekeeping from within the community, which is extremely unfortunate. In fact, in online social spaces, ESPECIALLY tumblr, Asexuality went through a major witchhunt about 5 years ago, where the waves of anti-Ace rhetoric were so bad that they basically eradicated the community and forced aces back into the closet. Things are better now, but the ramifications are still sorely felt. Aces also have a much higher chance of unstable relationships, as sex and the desire to have sex plays such a large role in romantic relationships. If you are allosexual, imagine being in a relationship where your partner never wants to have sex, and trying to understand that that doesn't reflect at all on you or how much they love you. It's hard, right? I'm not saying that Ace/Allo relationships can't happen, but it takes a LOT of work and communication!! (Uhm, and also plenty of allo people just have a low libido, so please remember not to be forcing your partners into unwanted sexual activities!!)

So let's talk more about the specific wording. 'Sexual attraction'. Simply put, that is the feeling when you look at someone, and you KNOW that you want to have sexual relations with them. Your body has reactions that might let you know this, like an erection, and you could imagine yourself doing those things. Aces aren't like that! We don't have those urges. I could go the rest of my life happily not having sex--and I've never looked at someone and wanted to do that. Now, like I said, there are quite a few umbrella versions, but that is the general description. Important things to note however: Asexual people CAN CHOOSE to have sex! If you're an Allo who has ever done it with someone you weren't exactly turned on by, then you can understand what I'm talking about. Some Aces can even ENJOY the act of sex! The two aren't necessarily related--remember, we're just talking about lacking the basic spark of sexual attraction. On the flip side, some Aces are so sex repulsed that the very idea makes them sick. If you know an Ace person, you should ask their opinion on sex before you talk about it with them--it might make them EXTREMELY uncomfortable! On that note, plenty of Asexual people are in the kink community, and enjoy BDSM. How can that be, you might ask? Well, for one, read above again about Aces and Sexual relations. But also, if you aren't in those communities, you may not realize just how much power plays into that. Some people enjoy the power play more than the sex!! So if your knee-jerk reaction to finding out someone is Ace and has sex is to think they are 'faking it', please...don't. You can't know what a person's internal workings are like.

So, why would an Asexual person want a relationship? How would that even work, anyway? Isn't it just like being friends? Well I'm glad you asked! Remember earlier when I said that Asexuality is only about the lack of SEXUAL attraction? ROMANTIC attraction has its own categories! Aromantics are people who aren't ROMANTICALLY attracted to other people. I won't get into that here, but suffice it to say that Aces can be as romantic and loving as anyone else, and many want a happy relationship! As for being like friends--imagine your partner or spouse. If you suddenly couldn't have sex with them, would it feel like the two of you were 'just friends'? No, of course not! Romantic attachment forms bonds that are completely different from platonic friendship. Lack of sex isn't the only thing that keeps your friendships from being 'romantic relationships', and if it is, you, uh...might want to reevaluate some things!!

A few other common items I want to mention before I bring this quick Ace 101 course to a close: Is being Ace just like being celibate? Not at all! Choosing to remain celibate is just that--a CHOICE. Someone who is celibate still has all their natural sexual attraction, they are just choosing not to act on those feelings for whatever reason. Aces don't have those urges, or that natural sexual attraction!

Can you become Asexual through trauma or other reasons? The long and the short answer is: Yes. One of the great things about the LGBTQIA+ community is that you should be free to come and go as you discover more about your own truth. That is also why gatekeeping is so dangerous--you shouldn't have to 'register' as Gay or Ace or Trans, or present as those things in a way that suits other people. If you, in your heart, find that one of these labels suits you, then that is what you are for now! Gender and sexuality are a journey most people aren't encouraged to discover until they're older. If you realize you are Ace at 70, you are just as valid as someone who found out earlier, or someone who underwent severe trauma and now no longer feels sexual attraction. If YOU are comfortable with where you're at, that's the only thing that matters! But if it is something that causes you distress, then please look into it. Sometimes lack of sexual attraction IS caused by physical or psychological factors that can be reversed. (Although again, more often than not it simply causes lack of libido, not necessarily lack of attraction.)

Last but not least...what's the thing with the cake? Haha! Good question! When Aces were beginning to find one another and set up their own communities, several inside jokes began to emerge. Imagery of ace playing cards, dragons, 'space ace', and of course cake, sprang up as quirky ways to reference that. The idea being that you would rather have cake than sex!!

I really hope I didn't miss anything obvious, but I'm just writing this on the fly because realizing my Asexuality was such a huge stepping-stone on my path to being more comfortable with myself, and understanding myself as a whole. I spent my teenage years terrified of and yearning for a relationship--the reason being, of course, that in my mind, dating and sex went hand in hand, and I wanted the one but was terrified of the other. So many people take sexual attraction for granted, without realizing how alienating that can be for people who DON'T feel that attraction. It's pervasive!! It's everywhere! And then to be treated as though that expectation isn't as all-encompassing as it is, or that it actually doesn't exist at all, is cultural gaslighting.

Anyway! I hope everyone had a wonderful pride month. <3 Hope to see you for the next one! Have an awesome July as well, what the heck! And if you have any questions about Asexuality, my messages are always open. I aim to inform. (And feel free to share this if you want!! Knowledge is power, but making things that seem awkward to talk about less taboo is ALSO power!)

#Pride month #Asexual pride #Asexuality #Ace #Forgive me if any of the details here are inaccurate or exaggerated #I'm not a doctor or a Queer Historian #just an Ace person trying to make asexuality more well known #this is obviously more for allos/cis/het people than people in the queer community #if you have anything to add feel free to stick it in the comments #but please be kind!#<3 #long post #text post #sketchy talks

8 notes · View notes

teamhook · 4 years

Text

CSSNS20 :|: The Wolf and The Savior

Hello, everyone! Well, I want to apologize for not posting on time. I was diagnosed with Pneumonia and Covid19 so I had to take my time to get better. I was on lock down for six weeks. I’m truly sorry I missed my deadline but here I am now. Thank you for your patience.

I want to thank the Mods @cssns , my lovely Artist @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 , my Beta @ultraluckycatnd

~I truly love the fandom...

AO3

FFN

Summary: Loosely inspired by an episode of Lost Girl...

When danger looms over Emma Swan, Killian Jones offers to give up a major part of himself in exchange for her safety, but the Norn has different ideas for their deal and he may have to relinquish more than he’d planned. What is the Norn scheming, and what consequences will Killian face for the decisions he makes?

The Wolf and the Savior

Once upon a time, the realms lived in harmony. The peace came to an abrupt end once the Darkness found a vessel. That Darkness spread corrupting Fae and humans alike like a plague. Some ran to different realms, but in the end, there was no place to hide. The Darkness consumed them all, and only one realm remained. In order to control the shared evil foe, they became the Light and the Dark to keep a balance. Every Fae had to choose a faction. Families were torn apart by the choice. Each region had an assigned ruler. Peace was never meant to last. Multiple Kingdoms fell as the Darkness sparked a long war that led to many deaths on all sides.

Unbeknownst to the Jones brothers, their King was a selfish coward with an unquenchable thirst for power.

Killian Jones, alongside his older brother Liam, served the corrupt King Robert Fitzroy who was a recent widower. His wife had fallen ill during her pregnancy, and both she and the child died during childbirth. The King had been looking for a new Queen but none had captured his interest until he met Captain Liam Jones's vibrant wife, Belle.

The Jones brothers were sent on a mission to obtain a weapon that would help them win the war that was currently waging. The King took that time to endear himself to the lovely woman. He was smitten quickly by how well-read she was, and she surprised him by also turning out to be an amazing strategist.

The mission failed and turned out to be a death sentence for the elder Jones. They had been ambushed and Liam had suffered a deadly wound made by silver nitrate as it spread throughout his body. In an attempt to save his brother’s life, Killian Jones went to go see the Norn.

The Norn’s deal was simple. She wanted what Killian held dearest: his wolf. The ability to transform into a wolf was the best part of himself. To be able to run wild was an exceptional experience. The choice was simple. Killian’s wolf in exchange for his brother’s life. Killian was unable to go through with it. His wolf was a vital part of his identity. Without his wolf, who was he?

Unfortunately, Liam wasn’t lucky and died. Not long after his death, the King’s betrayal was revealed. Without a second thought, Killian Jones turned against the crown. He would no longer serve a wicked King. His beloved brother was gone, and with him, the yearning for being a man of honor died too. For centuries he lived a life full of debauchery and revenge against the King and his new bride. His guilt over the selfishness of keeping his wolf haunted him long after he had avenged his brother. With the King dead, his new Queen had taken the throne. She was a righteous ruler and had tried to reach out to Killian to explain that she had only agreed to marry the King in exchange for his and Liam’s safety, not knowing it was a trick.

After a long time after the Great War had passed, there was a truce between the Fae and the humans. They worked together to stop their common enemy, the Dark. They had to ensure the scale was never tipped in the Dark’s favor because allowing it to consume too much could lead to another war.

After decades of tranquility, an evil witch wanted the crown.

On an evening he was brooding over a bottle of rum, he was approached by a man hidden by his cloak. “Killian Jones?”

“Aye, what of it?”

“I have a proposition for you,” the man answered with a smile.

The newly crowned Fae Queen had married a lowly human and soon they were to become parents. Sadly the very existence of the witch threatened the safety of the unborn Princess. It was decided that she would be hidden with the humans. A trusted friend would take her upon birth to keep her safe since it was foretold she would be the Savior of the Light and the end of the Darkness. On the day of the birth of the beloved princess, the witch cast a spell to stop time and take their memories, then she would have all the power. In order to save their newborn daughter, who was prophesied to save them all, they sent her through a magical portal to safety.

Emma Swan grew up loved and adored by her adoptive mother Sarah. The years passed by and the woman became afraid of losing her daughter; Sarah refused to tell Emma the truth of her parentage. She was supposed to prepare her for the future but instead decided to keep Emma as her daughter.

Young Emma sensed that Sarah was keeping her in the dark for a selfish reason, and in her frustrated state, she took off on her own. If Emma were being honest with herself, she had always felt like something was missing. She wasn’t running away, she was running towards something.

At barely seventeen years, she found herself out on the streets. She gained employment in a small dive diner. The glimmering green-eyed golden-haired beauty captivated everyone she met.

She was befriended by a man about five years her senior. In a moment of vulnerability, Emma allowed herself to be comforted by the man. She felt so alone. He decided that friendship was not all that he wanted from her and attempted to take by force what was not offered freely.

Although she was afraid, Emma was not willing to be taken advantage of without a fight. In an effort to survive as the man groped and touched her as if she was his to do with whatever he wanted, she felt a surge of power as a white light submerged the room and the man collapsed to the floor.

Emma Swan ran once again afraid~~ she was a runaway ~ lost girl ~ waitress ~ a murderer.

Days before her twenty-eighth birthday, Emma Swan stumbled on to a small unheard of town. Storybrooke, Maine. She never heard of it but somehow she felt a pull to it.

All her life she had run in search of something that was missing; she didn't know that the truth was that she was seeking for her family. Their motto being, I will always find you.

She meets and bonds with the town school teacher and the town’s dog catcher from the local animal shelter. The brave Deputy becomes a fast friend as well. The Sheriff is a stickler for the rules and that was more difficult to break through.

It doesn’t take long for the curse to be broken. Emma Swan falls in love with Deputy Jones. A true love’s kiss reveals the truth. Soon, other enemies make their way to the town.

The teacher, Mary Margaret, is her mother, and the animal control officer is her father, David Nolan.

The dashing Deputy is Killian Jones, ex-Navy Captain, and former scoundrel, and he is the man her heart chose.

As a family, they had quickly overcome so much to be together, and now the final battle was fast approaching.

The problem was the Savior was still weak from the previous battle.

They had survived a curse cast by an Evil Queen, a vengeful Dragon, a crazed former ally, and time travel.

Emma had found her family after being a lost girl. She had found true love too in an unlikely place, a redeemed villain. Some days it was surreal she was the daughter of a Queen. No, the Rioga. There were no more monarchs.

As a last resort to save the woman he loves, Killian goes to the Norn for help. He offers a deal, his wolf in exchange for her to transfer his strength to Emma, but instead, she takes his love passion - the love for his mate - as payment.

At the last battle, Emma feels a sudden rush of power that has her overwhelming her foe, the Black Fairy.

The Fairy shrieks as the light magic consumes her and she is absorbed by it.

After the dust settles, Emma is embraced by her parents and she looks around trying to find her anchor, her love, but he was nowhere in sight. Where was he?

Killian leaves the Norn, shifts into a wolf, and runs. His animal takes over as he whimpers for the loss of his love passion. His black fur coat shined as he galloped across the forest. His blue eyes were a dark storm. He found a spot overlooking the ocean and howled. Right now, Killian didn’t know what could have been worse, losing his wolf or the love for his mate. How could he ever face her?

The Norn laughed as she put away the vial that held Killian’s love passion. She found the wolf fascinating, and he was beautiful. Part of her wished it was hers. His love. Technically it was hers now. She smiled wickedly.

Killian decides to visit an old friend. He needs to make sense of his life.

He knows he is being a coward, but how is he going to face Emma? Look into her eyes knowing that his heart won’t speed up at her touch. That he will feel nothing. If he is lucky, he will still hold a fondness for her, but nothing romantic. No spark.

Killian called Graham to let him know he was taking some time off. In reality, he hopes he can figure something out before coming face to face with Emma.

Graham agrees hesitantly after urging him to talk to Emma but he cannot deny him; he has all the time accrued.

Emma has been looking for Killian, calling him non stop. Voicemail has become her new enemy. She knows it’s because of him she is still alive, the surge of strength that went through her when she defeated the fairy was proof of that.

She freezes as she is going through his room looking for clues. He had told her about a Fae he had visited years ago in hopes to save his brother. Maybe he went back but this time it was to save her.

Emma runs out of his place and goes to ask her parents if they know of this Fae.

Once Emma reaches her parents’ home, she bursts in. “Mom, Dad!!” she yells for them.

“Emma, what’s going on?” Her father reaches her first.

“I think Killian went to go see that Fae, the one that does deals? I think he traded his wolf for me. To save me.”

“Wait, Emma calm down.”

She was walking back and forth. “Dad, I can’t find him anywhere and during my fight with the fairy I felt a rush of strength and I was able to beat her. Dad, it was something I hadn’t felt before. It was raw and powerful.”

Her father tilts his head and smiles, “He does adore you. I’m afraid your mother might know. I don’t know all the kinds of Fae that exist. Let me go get her. Just stay here, and sweetie, please calm down.”

Emma continues pacing the room.

Her father comes back with her mother in tow. “Emma, sweetie, your dad says you can’t find Killian? I didn’t know he was missing.”

“Mom, it’s a feeling I have. I think he is in trouble. I haven’t seen him since before the battle with the Black Fairy. He was supposed to meet me there but never showed. I was telling Dad that during my final battle with her, I felt a surge of energy and it felt like him. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Your father mentioned you had questions about a Fae that grants deals...”

Emma sits down and her foot keeps tapping the floor rhythmically. Her parents follow suit and sit across from her. “Killian told me once that he could have saved his brother but that he was a coward. He couldn’t go through with it.” Emma sighs, “He felt guilty for so long, and that was the reason he went after the King.”

“And you think he did this for you?” her mother asks.

Emma sniffles, “I was afraid I wasn’t going to make it, for a moment. I thought the Black Fairy was going to win, but then I felt his presence. I felt his love and strength around me, and then I was able to destroy her.”

“Okay, I know there’s a Fae called Norn. She trades for favors. Emma, if Killian went to her, I don’t know what to say. She tricks and takes what’s dearest to you. Sometimes the price outweighs the benefit.”

“Where can I find this Norn?” Emma stood up, determined.

“Emma, she’s not someone you can deal with. She is a dark Fae.”

“How could Killian go to her then?”

“The rules are simple, dark Fae deal with each other only in the case a light Fae wants to talk to or has a problem with a dark Fae. There’s a protocol that needs to be followed. Killian is a deputy, he deals with both dark and light Fae to do his job.”

“Mom, why can’t I? I’m the stupid Savior. I don’t understand.”

“Emma, we need balance. If the balance is lost, we end up fighting battles with Black Fairies because of that imbalance.”

Emma yells, “Then what’s the point of being the Savior if I can’t help the man I love?” Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

Her father is the one that tries to soothe her, “Emma, Killian is a survivor and he will be fine. He might need time alone. Just wait until you hear from him. He wouldn’t want you to react before you know what exactly you’re up against.”

What her parents had failed to tell her was that since she was half-human, the Norn wouldn’t see her.

Emma leaves her parents’ home in a huff and decides on a new tactic. Ruby is a wolf too, so she is going to have her confirm Killian’s presence at the Norn’s.

With a smile on her face, Emma enters Granny’s Diner. Ruby smiles back at her, but the closer Emma gets to her, the more Ruby's smile shrinks.

“Hey, Ems. The usual?” Ruby busies herself getting a cup ready.

“Rubes, I need a favor and you cannot tell anyone.”

Ruby sighs, “I don’t know how to feel about this. What favor?”

“I need you to take me to the Norn.”

“Emma, the Norn is not someone you can just see.”

“Why not?” Emma rolls her eyes.

“Look, she is one of the oldest Faes and she is not a fan of humans. Not only that but she's a dark Fae. Whatever the issue is, she is not the answer.”

“I think Killian went to see her. I haven’t seen him since the battle with the Black Fairy. Ruby, his phone is off. Killian told me that, a long time ago, he went to make a deal with her. He was going to give his wolf to her in exchange for Liam’s life. At the last minute he changed his mind and Liam died. Killian has hated himself for that decision.”

“Emma, trading your wolf is not something one can do lightly. Our wolf is part of us. Imagine if someone took your hand.” Ruby made a pained face. “If he did that, he will never be the same. Emma, he will not be able to run free. His wolf will be gone. He is going to need time,” Ruby whispered.

Emma’s eyes water, “Is he going to hate me?”

“Killian could never hate you. He loves you. You two share True Love.”

“I just know something is wrong,” Emma said as she stared her friend down.

“Okay, I’ll take you, but you’re going to have to let me take the lead,” Ruby hissed.

“Fine. I’ll be on my best behavior. When can we do this?”

“She lives in the woods, just passing the toll bridge. We can go early tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Ruby, can’t we go today? Killian has been missing for almost a week.”

“Fine, but if anyone asks, we are just going to have some drinks. We are lucky Granny is out with Marco ’cause if she heard any of this conversation she would have my hide.” Ruby shutters.

“Drinks to take my mind off my missing boyfriend.”

“I’ll meet you at your place right after my shift ends.” Ruby nods at her friend.

Emma and Ruby arrive at the toll bridge. “We need to walk the rest of the way,” Ruby says.

Emma simply nods.

“Ems, the Norn likes to trick, and she loves deals. Just let me talk.”

“Okay. Ruby—” Emma hesitates.

“What is it?”

“You're a wolf, right?”

“Yes…” Ruby rolls her eyes.

“Uhm, do you know Killian’s scent?”

Ruby stops and turns to her friend. “I’m familiar but not in the same way you are familiar with it.” Ruby waggles her eyebrows.

“I mean, you say the Norn likes to trick. Could you tell if Killian was there? I mean could you smell if he was there?” Emma takes a baggie from her back pocket.

Ruby thinks about it, “Yeah, I should be able to. His scent might be a little faded, but I should be able to make it out.”

Emma smiles, “So you won’t need this?” She pulls out a black scarf from the baggie.

Ruby grabs the scarf and smells it. Her eyes turn to her friend. “I know you are worried about him, but Killian is a survivor. He knows what he is doing. I can’t say I agree with his decision, but I understand why he would sacrifice half of his being for you. Emma, that man adores you and if something happened to you, it would destroy him.”

The trek is faster than they thought it would be.

They reach a big tree trunk. Emma looks around and turns to Ruby, “I thought you said you knew where she lived!”

Ruby shushes her and knocks on the tree trunk. The trunk transforms into a door and creaks open.

They enter hesitantly.

An older woman appears out of thin air. Emma curses, I should be used to this by now.

The woman glares at her, “Human, how dare you enter the Norn’s home?”

Ruby clears her throat. “She’s here with me.”

The Norn’s attention turns to Ruby and studies her. “Anita’s daughter, granddaughter of Granny Lucas. One dark, one light. What sacrifice do you have for me?”

Ruby’s eyes turn golden at the mention of her mother.

Emma speaks, “She only has some questions for you.”

The Norn hisses at her.

Emma stands her ground. “Look, lady, we only have a few questions for you.”

“I don’t answer questions to humans, but I’m willing to excuse your behavior in exchange for a single hair.” She was human but there was strong magic around her too and yes, a hint of familiar energy.

“You can have a single hair if you answer my friend’s questions.” Emma ignored Ruby’s growl.

“I sense these questions aren’t hers to ask, you are the one who needs them answered. One question.” The Norn held out her hand.

Emma plucked a hair out and handed it to her.

The Norn examined the hair and put it in a small vial, “I’m waiting.”

Ruby is looking around trying to catch a scent but there’s nothing

Emma looks at Ruby for confirmation. The other shakes her head. “I want to know if—” she sighs as her eyes drift back to Ruby.

The Norn snarls, “Sorry, no cheating, you and your pretty friend forfeit the deal.”

Ruby and Emma are thrown out. They land on their asses.

“Shit,” Emma mutters.

Ruby groans, “Ow, that bitch just reeks darkness but no Jones scent. I’m sorry, Ems.”

“Could she mask the scent somehow?”

“I suppose if she wanted to keep her clientele secret.”

“I know he was here,” Emma states. “When you love someone you just know.”

“So what now?” Ruby asks.

“Now I track myself a wolf,” Emma says.

~~~

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @kymbersmith-90 @artistic-writer @laschatzi @lassluna

#cssns20 #Captain Swan #cs ff #teamhook

29 notes · View notes

dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

Text

Chisei Gen, the Devil Emperor

Ruri Kazama hit the wall of the well, but, as hard as he hit, he still didn’t die. He reached out and pulled the two Devil killing knives that had gone through his chest, feeling a subconscious urge to walk towards the burning wreckage. He didn’t know if he wanted to confirm his brother’s death or, if he wanted to say a few more words to him before he died. But now, what more can they say? He stopped at a distance and stared at the fire, seeming to have lost his memory again.

His attachment to and resentment towards his elder brother was hidden in his heart, but the boy who was attached to his elder brother had been overshadowed by Osho, so that when he was supposed to be sad, he couldn’t feel anything but emptiness.

“So sad this doomsday... the family that has stretched for thousands of years, the guardians of Japan has just ended its final mission.” Standing next to the burning wreck, Osho lamented in a poetic voice, “ From now on, there is no such thing as an Emperor Hybrid.”

“But that’s okay,” He smiled faintly again, “It was out of dated from the beginning.”

Ruri Kazama ignored his hypocritical manner, and silently lowered his head to dig at his bloody chest with his hands, like a puppet inquiring about his non-existent heart.

Osho squeezed the suitcase in his hands and the quartz capture capsule went into the box. He had already gotten what he had dreamed of all his life. It was time to leave the well.

At this moment, a huge heartbeat came from behind him, like a death knell that suddenly rang, like something returning from hell! White scaled hands pierced the metal skin of the helicopter wreckage and crystal clear claws grasped the head of the king!

The fire in the cabin sucked in and became increasingly fierce. It was as though something huge were breathing inside the cabin. Every time it breathed, it sucked a massive amount of air inside. When it exhaled, the light of the fire gushed from every gap in the cabin.

Overwhelmed with terror, the suitcase fell from Osho’s hand. Not only was the pressure from he sharp claws getting unbearable, but the sound of the breathing in the cabin also weighed on his heart. But he couldn’t struggle, even with his immortal body. He couldn’t so much as struggle against this pale claw! He could only use his eyes to signal Ruri Kazama for help.

Now, only the long knife in Ruri Kazama’s hand could cut off this steel-like claw. But Ruri Kazama did not move, instead, his dim eyes lit up again. He watched with interest as the sharp claw slowly tightened, as Osho’s mask collapsed, as blood dripped from the cracks.

The wreckage shattered, torn apart by the hands that owned those claws. Several people approaching the wreckage were immediately killed by flying burning debris.

A dazzling white shadow came out of the flames. He can no longer be called a human. He is such a beautiful and hideous creature. The knotted muscles and stark tendons declare how powerful this incredible body is. And the transparent scales on the surface of his skin showed a moving golden red in the firelight, like a golden red brocade. The skin on his back cracked open to allow slender wing bones to emerge and stretch out for the first time. The bloody wounds left behind healed at a speed visible to the naked eye, stitching together bulging back muscles.

His face was now covered in a bony exoskeleton and could no longer laugh or cry. The newborn Chisei breathed up into the sky, the roar of the wind in his throat.

He is something between an angel and a devil, an error that shouldn’t be in this world.

“Dragon blood! You... did you use dragon blood?!” Osho exclaimed

“Yes, as an ‘Emperor’, I couldn’t kill you, but as a ‘Devil’, I can surpass even the limits of Emperor.” Chisei Gen said softly, “I have been a Devil-slayer my whole life, but I didn’t understand until now, why those Devils yearned for power.”

He looked up at the dark night sky, the rain pattering on that hard face: “When you are in the endless darkness, how can you not fly, like moths, into the fire?”

With a violent force behind his hands, his claws penetrated into Osho’s skull. It broke, popping open like a water pipe. He threw Osho’s corpse on the ground and lowered his golden eyes like an emperor to observe, until he he saw the light leave the man’s gaze and the corpse didn’t move again.

Osho died like this. This evil spirit that survived Black Swan Harbor, who had mastered everything from start to finish, was once suspected to be the strongest hybrid in the world, couldn’t even make a counterattack before he died. He was completely surpassed by the Dragonborn Chisei Gen. When the Emperor turns Devil, the Devils can only cry!

“Your master is dead. Don’t you care?” Chisei Gen stared at Ruri Kazama.

“Isn’t it good to die? In my opinion, he should have died.” Ruri Kazama showed a weird smile, “now, finally, no one is arguing any more. Only the two of us are left. At the end of this story, there should only be the two of us, right?”

“Right. I’m here to see you.”

“But look at the way you look now. What is the difference between me and you? You wanted to kill me back then because I was a Devil. Now you have become one. Is this the gift that Masamune Tachibana left for me?”

“Yes. Maybe it’s the best gift I have ever received in my life.”

When Chisei Gen had arrived at the shrine, the chief priest had handed the golden-lacquered wooden box to him. He said that Chisei Gen had given already been given the key. It was hidden in the handle of Tachibana Masamune’s weapon, the blade of Wisdom. No wonder he heard something clinking in there when he drew it.

Before going to see Erii, in the quiet back room, he opened the wooden box alone. Inside was a quartz glass tube cooled and preserved by liquid nitrogen. In the tube was a blackened reddish liquid in a semi-solid state. Masamune Tachibana left no letter or explanation, but Chisei Gen already understood what was hidden in the box.

Many years ago, when Masamune Tachibana was Bondarev, he collected precious fetal blood from the bilge of the Lenin. Compared to Osho’s evolution serum, this was the strongest medicine.

But after drinking this powerful liquid, he can no longer look back. His blood line is already at the 50% limit. If he evolves one step forward, he would lose control and become a Devil.

Chisei Gen turned off the cooling system and waited quietly for this tube of blood to regain its vitality. During those few minutes, he thought of Akira Sakurai and the devils he’d killed. It was such an irony. The strongest Devil-killer and the strongest Devil would be the same person in the end.

He also remembered Akira Sakurai’s dying words. “If the light of your Amaterasu can’t illuminate my night, then I will be transformed into a Devil, so I can reach the Underworld and cut off the fate of the Devils!”

Chisei had poured the dragon blood into a bottle of strong wine and drank it all in one go.

---- Dragon Raja 3 - Black Moon Tide (Part 3), Chapter 19 The Sword of Damocles, by Jiang Nan

Art by Joenbrown

#Dragon Raja #Chisei Gen #Ruri Kazama

15 notes · View notes

goldenornstein · 5 years

Text

Berserk // Apostle AU.

Old tales speak of a great city; an ancient kingdom of dragon hunters that succumbed to some sort of demonic influence and thus was forever doomed. From afar, one can still see what little is left of its buildings, a few ruined vestiges amid an overgrown forest of unnaturally tall trees.

Seldom anyone ventures into that forest. Those lands remain accursed --- it is known.

Animals seem bigger, stronger and more aggressive, rabid even, as one advances farther into the area. Vegetation grows lush and magnificent, but dripping with poison. The air is heavy with the scent of countless flowers, blooming everywhere, all year long. Their perfume is alluring, hypnotic, intoxicating.... deadly.

The forest is often described as a twisted paradise. A place of impossible beauty, where most horrifying things roam; half-beast, half-man, brutal and mindless. Those monsters show a ravenous urge to devour anyone who enters the forest, yet will never step outside, as though they were bound to it.

Regardless of the danger, many attempt to brave this earthly hell. They’re often seduced by the legend of a lake, which supposedly exists deep into the woods.

The lake should be easily recognised by being pristine, a crystalline mirror tainted by no horrors or evil. Whoever reaches it has a chance to meet them. Some say the entity guarding the lake is a Knight, tall and proud, wearing a golden armour that covers his face and entire body. Others claim either a handsome man, a beautiful lady, or a being who is both and none, at the same time, will emerge from the waters to greet the brave adventures. All stories converge in one point; they will grant safe passage out of the forest --- and one precious wish.

Yet the elder and wiser always advice against accepting such a tempting offer, for that gift comes with a price so high, so dreadful, it will destroy one’s heart and soul.

(Ornstein always longed for a garden, vast and beautiful, where be could find solace. Then, he yearned for a prison, a purgatory of endless agony for those who had wronged him. Now he possesses both.)

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

His background story is very similar to Dark Souls: a knight hailing from an ancient kingdom of dragon hunters.

The Crown Prince of this kingdom plucked a destitute yet talented boy off the streets, and mentored him. The boy, Ornstein, would later become his First Knight.

But the story changes after the Prince turns into a traitor and then leaves on his own…

The King soon decided all followers of his disgraced son were to be executed — including his First Knight.

Years earlier, Ornstein had found a Behelit stuck in the eye of the first dragon he ever slayed. The Knight kept the odd egg as a sort of memento, unaware of its true nature.

The night before his execution, he was put in the dungeons along with the rest of the Prince’s knights. They would meet their end the next morning, thus setting an example for anyone who dared entertaining treasonous thoughts.

It was a horrible wait, spent in overwhelming anguish.

Ornstein faced his miserable fate without grace or resignation, utterly dismayed to the point of tears.

He loathed the King’s easy resolution to use them in such a cruel manner. He could not stand how some of the knights still professed loyalty towards the Prince, accepting death in the name of a wretched traitor. He was heartbroken. He was livid. He didn’t deserve this. HE REFUSED TO DIE.

The lives of those knights served as an impious sacrifice; his own siblings in arms.

Ornstein lived, indeed, and turned into a demonic monster. An Apostle.

Oh, but it wasn’t enough. He’d later make sure the kingdom fell into ruin, slowly corrupting and murdering its inhabitants until those lands were deemed accursed.

As an Apostle, he retains his battle prowess and proficiency with several weapons, particularly the spear, enhanced by the inhuman strength and endurance of his new form of existence.

His humanoid form appears to be a predominantly masculine individual of unsettling beauty. No one would ever mistake him for a regular human, though. He stands 9 ft tall, showing some feline characteristics like slit pupils, sharp retractile nails and fangs.

In stark contrast, his demon form resembles a most revolting hybrid between man and lion. Its skin is thorn apart, raw flesh showing through fragments of golden metal, sparsely embedded all over a deformed body. The leonine abomination possesses a crimson mane and four burning-bright eyes, refulgent as lightning.

He’s sadistic, enjoying the bloody thrill of combat.

He’s also rather fond of playing dreadful games with humans. Misguiding people, often by offering to grant some much coveted wish, then watching them succumb to their own horrified regret.

Demons are not safe from him, though. He’s a notorious kinslayer, who doesn’t tolerate any domination attempts from other Apostles.

Still, Ornstein is capable of neutral and even tender emotions. Sympathy, certain degree of loyalty, mundane amusement, etc. Love even — a twisted and inhuman version of it.

All in all, the Apostle can be fairly reasonable and approachable. However, he seldom does anything with a benign intention.

#do dragons exist in berserk?#:|#new verse info #how do i name this half-assed thing tho? hmm #horror cw #i guess #v: apostle

6 notes · View notes

eqcentriceqclectic-blog · 5 years

Text

Inherited Demons

2019/12/07 – Nothing Right

Nothing I do is ever right. In His eyes, I will always be a feral horse that needs to be put to the whip. If I don’t and I get free, he hopes that my freedom in the wild will end in cold realisation in my last moments as I am beset by wolves. Even, if objectively right, it is as if an offense on his very existence—as if he were a god or a ghost and disbelief in him would condemn him to abyssal oblivion. And so, being right or doing well is actively discouraged—either through deafening and oppressive silence, or through roaring rage and insufferable indignation. He may be seen as quiet, but that is not to be taken as docility or humility—no; it is a sinister and seething silence. Normally, improvement is supposed to be seen as positive.

I cannot count the number of times I’ve either wanted to run away from home or outright kill myself. It desperate times, they’ve been my mantra or my prayers to soothe my wretched soul. What stopped me from running away? Fear of failure. Fear of strangers. Fear of retribution. An incompetency instilled in me long ago. One I replicated and instilled in a brother placed into my charge, even as a shell of a person—shattered shards looking for a reflection. It wasn’t until that reflection attempted to kill himself that I realised what my shoddily-assembled puzzle-of-a-person had done. I had become that which I had despised all my life--that dictatorial and patriarchal demon for which is suffered beneath had impregnated in me a piece of its insidious soul. It had gripped me in its agonising grasp, and regurgitated the darkness imparted to it, into my screaming-tear-streaked face. And thus, the cycle would continue like a horror-franchise that just won’t die. That was the day I realised—despite my love for the pure curiosity and optimism of children and the undeniable yearning to cradle and raise small-beings of my ghostly-ovaries—that I could not perpetuate this curse. To adopt a family-less entity into this story would be tantamount to sacrificing them to the demon that inhabits our family-line with my own bloodied hands.

I remember when I was bird-sitting Rita (a cousin’s feather-child) and He attempted to interact with it while wildly inebriated—like he enjoys doing—and held out his hand. Rita, as finicky conures tend to be, bit him HARD as she did not know him and did not like him. I feared for that bird’s life as I recognised the drunken rage that overtaken his alcohol-laden-bubbly-demeanor, as he shouted some profanity at the bird. I called out, to let him know I was present, and explained to him why she bit him before telling him to leave her alone.A similar incident happened years ago when I had my bird, Vira. She was a feisty bird and I loved her bravery and assertiveness but the curse infused in me by Him did not make distinctions between humans, non-human animals, plants, or inanimate objects. She and my brother have both bore witness to the same rage and self-perceived-indignity-fuelled-wrath I bore witness to growing up. I loved her dearly, but could not reconcile my own behaviour—I could not split this demonic presence within myself with the love I had for all living things as they both were a part of who I was and it was maddening. But as with all things deeply-unsettling, we seek to take flight from it—as is natural—to get as far as we can from it and forget about it so we can go about our days. To face it, would be to face the demon—itself, a part of you—and to face your own guilt and culpability in its sins, for without you, it would not be able to do its work as a formless, parasitic, lifeless virus. To face your own guilt and responsibility in hurting others is a terrifying thing; it chills you to your core and tears it to shreds because you want to believe you are a good person who does good things, and when you are not the hero of your own story, then you can never be a hero in any story—if you are the villain in your own story, then you will be the villain in all stories.

Looking myself in my own shattered mirror, I could finally see the demon bleeding forth from behind my ill-assembled portrait… I could only play at perfection for so long before all the mismatched pieces fell apart and revealed the vast darkness that mocked me beneath. Like a self-indulgent actor without a true mirror to look into, I enchanted myself with delusions that I was not He and that I was above that which lurked at the bottom of every bottle. And all the while, I was a cheap imitation of him—like a copy-cat-killer imprinting on a serial-killer worshipped by the media. I didn’t need alcohol to justify my crimes, for I had a divine mandate bestowed upon me by my ancestors, which was bestowed upon them by successive emperors, and god-kings before them, and thus the gods themselves. Chinese patriarchy is as insidious a poison as it is insipid as it permeates into every aspect of life in the family. It may not have been such a poison, but it certainly is now. As they say, “Power, absolute, corrupts—absolutely.”

In Chinese culture, there is a powerful emphasis put upon passing on the family name—so much so that female-infanticide was a widespread practice in China. My grandmother used the phrase ‘tuang-tong jeng’ frequently when urging her living descendants to procreate and pray for sons. Also present in Chinese culture is the misguided belief that because all elders are to be afforded respect, it automatically blesses them with the power to always be right—no matter the circumstances. It can be seen in dazzling display with successive Chinese-emperors slaughtering countless people over the millennia, simply for disagreeing or embarrassing the father-of-the-nation with reality and truth. Is it not why the satirical fable of the Emperor and his “new clothes” exists? An emperor that is willfully-blind is one that is indulgent and willfully-negligent—and those that could not see beyond their own gilded mirrors, often led to the starvation of the masses they were given dominion over, and ultimately, their dynasty’s demise. Once they lost their divine mandate, another emperor would rise and a spoiled descendant of his would lead it to ruin, in cycles unending.

After help assembling my mirror to match those that see me for who I am, only now am I able to see the apparition hiding behind it. As puppet-master and puppet entwined as one, it is my responsibility to sever those strings that snake around my offending limbs. It is my responsibility to cast off the shadows that shroud me, as it has become me. It has infused into my essence and become its own—my own—demon, separate from His, but no less His satanic-spawn. Only after acknowledging its existence, screaming its name, can I even begin to excise it like the viral cancer it is. The process is never-ending, for if you ever believe you have destroyed it, your complacency will allow it respite to recover and thus spite your own efforts to defeat it in the first place. We must always strive to be better, despite our accomplishments and desires to revel and relish our achievements—for idle hands do the devil’s work. Resting on our laurels is like laying and brooding upon our nest-eggs atop a poisoned heath—our savings and our accolades will rot along with us. We’ll only fester along our heaped up hoard, as a magnificent dragon does upon all its glittering greed. If I’ve gleaned anything over the past two or so years, it’s that our own pride and arrogance will always be our downfall. It understand that it was my own hubris in believing I was less of a terrible person than he was, only to find myself, one day, staring back at Him in the mirror. I saw me, regurgitating exactly what putrid horrors was spat into my own face, at someone else—someone I was told was below me—simply because they were younger or less of a person than I was. And that is how He still sees me: lowly, basal, lost, stupid, barbaric, “sub-human”—and worst of all—a child. And one that is unbridled, feral, and wild—but worst of all, “uncontrollable”. And, also, wholly unimpressed with the infallibility of the patriarchal parental dictatorship to which begs rebellion and resistance.

I will no longer scrape my head at His feet simply because he decided he would do the “holy” duty of acceding to his mother’s wishes of him to marry a woman he didn’t know, and would never love, and bear for him a son he could present to his parents—just because he is my father and my elder. He is as flawed as we all are and I will not grovel at His feet simply because he thinks he is my superior simply because he is my father and my elder. Respect is earned—not demanded—and throughout the years, my respect for him corroded away until there was no flesh left to burn off. Similarly, I have but few happy memories of Him, as the visceral emotional abuse and on-going threats of physical abuse incinerated the vast majority of them as Vesuvius did the people of Pompeii, or the atomic bomb did to the people of Nagasaki. Neither annihilating disaster completely removed the people from existence, as there remained ashy shells or radioactive shadows in their wakes—such are my happy-memories left, as obtuse imprints in the eroding beach-sands: as vague stories of ‘Snow Black and the Seven Dwarves’, as ephemeral visions of rehabilitating young birds blown to the ground by torrential storms, and as echoes of lessons on why not to step on ants. Stronger and clearer are the memories of being slapped for protesting against a particular untested brand of pizza or being chased with a large wooden stick purchased from Home Depot for refusing a hair-cut from Him. Another, particularly, peculiar poison of His was his inherited creed of beating his own child if that child was bullied to tears (or into action)—a shadow he internalised from his own father when being bullied by neighbourhood Vietnamese kids for being Chinese, back in Vietnam.

Growing up as a child in a house-of-cards propped up by two maternal hopes for their fifth-born children was a bittersweet hell, as many are—sweet enough for hope to grow but not enough to survive under the withering harsh bitterness. Perhaps it’s more of a purgatory: not horrible enough to cause one to kill oneself, but just enough to wish so. Those two grandmothers were my oases of love and care in an arid dusty desert of moonless, endless, nights. They were my guiding stars, above all the rabid fighting and gnashing teeth of childish gore-cloaked-hyaenas that called themselves my parents. My grandmothers were the life-sustaining waters, and my parents were the malarial insects that abated my existence. When my brother attempted to kill himself, I came to find out—of course, through another one of their petty and accusative arguments—that neither of them ever dreamed of having children and raising them. Why? Because they were still children, themselves—they were mostly raised by their elder siblings as their immigrant parents worked to carve a life in an increasingly hostile environment. That environment they grew up in abruptly changed as conditions in Vietnam deteriorated and they it was decided that they all needed to flee through hell and high-water (and marauding pirates). The Peter-Pan-like situation became even more so during His teen and young-adult years; formed here, in Canada, under his elder brother and without parents or grandparents to guide these “Lost Boys” fell into a world of alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, and guns that their new peers immersed them in. His elder brother went from a sixteen-year old running a small textiles business that employed workers in Vietnam to an alcoholic who would gamble his way into a depression in Canada. He would go from an inquisitive child making toys out of trash and sticks and swimming in monsoon-flooded roads to a teen drinking himself into a stupor and smoking until his adult teeth would become grey and lined with tar. Children raising children does not yield the positive results, and least of all depressed children raising children—this is true of my parents, and of myself. I had no business being in-charge of my baby brother—absolutely zero—especially with the foul fecal froth spilling from their mouths, to mine, as it then spilled down to my younger brother as I abused him emotionally, verbally and physically as my parents did to me. As explained in the paragraphs above, it did not occur to me until later what I was doing was wrong—it was just what I’ve known and what I felt.

I started to notice how my cousins, aunts, and uncles would look at me as I terrorised my brother over his mistakes—or my perception of his mistakes and improprieties. My logical reasoning at the time was that, “I’m not allowed to do that; why is he?” They always looked startled—or, “unsettled,” maybe is a better word—at my outbursts and threats. I remember once, in a restaurant—where I sat next to him while we were seated amongst our cousins and the adults were sat across from us—where he refused to eat a certain food and I became unreasonably enraged at him and I threatened to cut the head off of the stuffed toy (acquired from Midway arcade in Niagara Falls) if he did not eat it. I had stunned everyone and their hearts broke for my brother, just a young child being terrorised by a teen sibling. Breaking this cycle of abuse was tough—especially while still being abused, yourself. After, breaking free from physical (less so, emotional and verbal) abuse, all the injustice and indignity and rage continued spilling on to the easiest and most vulnerable target, who—under patriarchal rules—would lack arbitrary familial immunity from my wrath and cruelty. Where I could verbally, emotionally, and physically abuse him for whatever I wished, I could only cry, whimper, cower, and hide. However, I did exact vengeance upon them by hiding or damaging the belongings of my parents in protest of their mistreatment of me. There was one instance when I was about six or seven and I fled out of the back of the house after having been shouted out of the tear-stained washroom I had locked myself into on the top floor of the house. On my way passed the car, after deciding that I would run away from home, my eyes burned with salted indignation and so I picked up a stone from the gravel bed and scraped profanities onto the car’s paint and transferred my raw emotions into words. I dropped the stone and continued past the garage and through the laneway until I reached the side-walk, still crying. I stood there, thinking, and came to a realisation that I could not go any further—for if I did, I would be kidnapped and killed by a stranger. So, I walked down to the corner and right back to the front of the house and down the alleyway back to the backyard and back into the house where my parents were still searching—His wooden stick still in-hand—without a clue that I had tried to run away (or that I had keyed words of profanity on to the car with a pebble).

In 2017, when Grandma first became weak after years of mismanaging her own hypertension-medication, I became involved in her healthcare in the balmy month of July. Before then, I didn’t even know she had hypertension and thought she took medication just because it was something a person did when they got as old as she did. After accompanying grandma and Him to both the hospital and her nephrologist, I began researching Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD). I learned about how the kidney can be damaged by high blood-pressure and looked into the medication she was taking, going so far as to see which medications could be contra-indicated. I advised Him that grandma’s medication (since she became inconsolable and beyond fearful for her life and no longer was able to manage them herself and became paranoid that we (including the doctors) were trying to poison her and began refusing to take them for a while) should be split into two as then the hypertensive-medications were be better able to manage her blood-pressure through the day instead of causing a sharp drop for the day while allowing it to rise again in the evening--one of her medications for hypertension-management was even specifically designed to be taken at night which is when blood-pressure is supposed to naturally drop. He likes to take credit for this. He also likes to take credit for what he didn’t even believe for a long time—her weakness that started in the first place. When her health was declining in April of 2017, after her nephrologist cut her off from the round of erythropoietin he had initially put her on in the winter prior, He did not believe that it was her health, but her age. I would become increasingly frantic in asserting that this was the reason as the months dragged on and by July, she could barely get out of bed because of how anemic she was. I, unlike He, had done research into what “erythropoietin” was and why she needed to take those shots. I was upset at her nephrologist for cutting her off from those shots because he thought her red-blood-cell count was too high (after a blood-test in March/April) and he’d see her back in three months (this was the cadence of her visits to him: every three months, so approximately four times a year). Again, by July, she was so weak that He took her to the hospital twice in the latter half of that month and once in August where I accompanied them after ending my seasonal job a few days prior. I urged him again that it was the lack of erythropoietin shots and resulting anemia that made her so weak—but he again asserted that it was because she was old. Thankfully, the nephrologist prescribed another round of erythropoietin shots (one shot, every other week, for three months—so six syringes in total). However, the ordeal and fear of death had warped her mind—the nurse at the nephrologist’s office told us that because her GFR was so low, she would likely need dialysis but that dialysis for people aged eighty and up were too at risk of developing a central-line infection—and surgery for a kidney transplant would provide an ever higher risk of mortality. She also told us that she most likely only had two-years left to live—guess what? It’s been over two-years now. I guess it’s the same for when Push got the morbid news that she only had three months left to live and lived another three years. Anyway, I digress. After horrifying and terribly painful months of trying to sleep with an insomniac grandmother in the next room having an end-life crisis, chanting all through the night of her tragic ending, and trying to manage her anxiety, panic, and paranoia in the day-time after both He and mom went to work, and brother went to school, she snapped and her dementia advanced by leagues. In the years prior, I started to notice she became much less brave and much more reserved and careful—in addition to misplacing her watch and other things that told a story of short-term memory loss. She became a lot less aware of her surroundings where, before—as a mischievous little child—I would stand behind the wall at the base of the stairs and try to surprise her but just get a sweet old smirk and an adorable elderly quip as she walked by her silly grandson. However, ever since reaching ninety, just walking to her room and asking what she was watching would startle her half to death (and our floors are obscenely creaky)—she became a lot less aware of her surroundings and where things (or people were). Around this time, she also started to hear ringing in her ears when there was only dead-silence. After she became increasingly unhinged and violent, there became a need to hospitalise her—not for her weakness or anemia, this time, but for her aggression. She probably had not slept for over a month, by this point, and this was most likely the source of said aggression, paranoia, and anxiety. On the car ride there, she was openly hostile to Him while he was driving and my attempts to stop her so as to avoid having a car-accident turned her aggression towards me. When finally passing triage and reaching the waiting area of the emergency department, Grandma continued her violence, painfully hitting Him and I with her gold-and-jade-laden rings. When a room finally opened up, she refused to go and wanted to go back home (even after days and days and days of wanting to be taken to the hospital) and when we tried to gently push her towards the room, she suddenly turned around, and as it with the power of all the elephant matriarchs of the world pushed me and Him out of the room and began assaulting us before the nurses quickly called for orderlies and security to bring her down and tie her arms and legs to the hospital-bed in the room. Because of what had just transpired, she was upgraded to the sub-accute emergency section with a room closer (and facing) the nurses-station. She was sedated with haloperidol through injection because she refused to take an oral dose but during the process Him, I, a nurse, and two security guards needed to hold her down and she still was almost able to bite the nurse (and myself). After that, we were put into contact with the Local Health Integration Network (LHIN) to discuss placing her in an assisted-living facility and both 4th Uncle and He were seriously considering it and passed on the responsibility of coordinating with LHIN to me due to my higher education and superior command of English. They also put in a referral for us to the hospital’s geriatrics department and scheduled us to see a Dr. Cheng at a later date after the attending physician provided a temporary round of anxiolytics (lorazepam). When taking the lorazepam, she was much more docile and also able to sleep and it felt like we got her back from the throes of insanity—that is, until we had to take increasing doses and it became unfeasible to continue. Her violent tirades returned, along with her insomnia and we went to see the geriatrician. He proved to be—not just incompetent, but—wildly careless and inadequate; his bed-side manner was shockingly crass and crude. He never really listened when we came in for the appointment and seemed in a hurry to get us out the door with a new round of pills for her to take: haloperidol, sertraline—you name it, she probably was prescribed it. Some of them were worse than others, like haloperidol which left her a stumbling and drooling mess—taken long enough, left her bid-ridden and Him changing diapers and bed-sheets. Eventually, I decided it was time to stop seeing the geriatrician as I was also so upset with his flippant demeanor when at appointments in his office. He took a little while to convince, as He was afraid of Grandma reverting back to her violent and difficult self even though I was the one home alone with her while everyone else was gone for a majority of the day at work or school. As that was the case, the representatives from LHIN mostly dealt with me when they came by the house whether it was the social-worker on the case or the professionals she would send to the house. The most helpful professional was an occupational therapist who educated me upon dementia and Alzheimer’s as well as providing emotional support and advice on the situation with the geriatrician and his exceedingly terrible medications. Before this, in my ignorance, I was yelling and screaming at Grandma, confused as to how she could go from a completely normal and loving grandmother who I would give up the my own mother for to someone I was afraid of being around. After the occupational therapist left, my relationship with Grandma started slowly shifting back to one of positive interactions and normalcy. He, however, refused to read the educational materials the occupational therapist left to enlighten us on Grandma’s dementia because he refused to believe she had dementia because of how quick and abrupt the change was. He wanted to believe that she was doing this on purpose and after retiring before the Christmas of 2017, would often get into drunken tirades and yell so loud you could hear him throughout the house and even in the backyard. This continued afterwards, as well, and followed the cycles of her decline into bed-riddance (either from the anti-psychotics prescribed by the incompetent geriatrician, or the lack in erythropoietin) and ascent back into insanity and unnatural strength. In another descent in early 2018, after her nephrologist AGAIN decided that her RBC-level was too high and cut her off from erythropoietin for another three months, I again became insistent that He call the nephrologist to prescribe another round of shots. He was stubborn, as always is the case, and believed that her being bed-ridden and defecating in a diaper meant that it was her time—as if you were just born with a pre-determined age at which someone would die at. I was enraged so I took matters into my own hands after getting home from work one day in May and called the nephrologists’ office and angrily berated the secretary, to which she told me that all we had to do was call in after running out and they would send the prescription and shots to the pharmacist and we could pick them up. I sat there after the call, part-relieved that it meant Grandma wouldn’t have to go through another round of panic and part-annoyed that He did not want to do it because of laziness and self-importance (the belief that He is smarter than I, even without doing any research or having any prior knowledge about anything, even though He was always the one who took her to the nephrologist’s and family physician’s appointments). He does the same with plants and ended up condemning our eight-year-old starfruit plant to die in the cold, despite my protest. He always thinks he’s the smartest person, regardless of what experience/knowledge he has or doesn’t have in a particular subject—and I’ve inherited a similar manner of speaking-as-a-matter-of-fact-ly, as if I was 100% sure about what I was saying (which often gets me into trouble).

Depression In every waking day, the demon lurks within your shadow—always just out of the corner of your eye. As that sun sets and the lights go out, that shadow becomes an all-consuming spectre that fills the room as much as it does your mind—it eats that light your try to light inside, unhinging its jaws and swallowing the sun whole like a constrictor after it had crushed all the air from your lungs. A breath-taking darkness sends your heart into a frantic panic, straining and screaming and searching for every last bubble of air in the blood starting to leak from your eyes. Crimson tears streak down, acrid and burning, like streams of fiery lava making their way to the salty sorrowful depths of the oceans. Your head is feverishly throbbing with starvation, suffocating and drowning in itself as it melts from the draconic hell-fires lit under you by the shadowy-figure. You are more palatable to it when scared out of your mind and injuriously maimed by your own hand, so it eats at you night by night, piece-by-piece—it could be days, months, years, or even decades—but it is patient and diabolical. You are to it, like finely aged-wines or cheeses are to a wealthy connoisseur with too much money to know what to do with.

An Unwelcome Stranger Is His child, in his home, being a burden upon him. It doesn’t matter if this person does anything good, because—ultimately—this person is a stranger. A worthless stranger borne of his flesh and blood, that only continues to feast like a fat leech, engorging itself on His blood.

1 note · View note

sasorikigai · 5 years

Note

For Sub-Zero: 11, 25, 52, 53, 62, 93

100 Random Character Development Questions || @ustrinamor || accepting

011. How would your character court the person of their dreams?

He’s serious in nature all the time and as he had admitted he has had no time to socialize, that has been the unending truth. He doesn’t even try and it’s just something that comes naturally to him. It’s also his default face, all deadpan and stoic. He’s no different when you’re intimate; albeit he would show the reverence and desire, breaking the battlefield of his heart that goes against his being.

025. What do they consider beautiful in others personality-wise?

For so long, he had to hold himself to a high standard, not in a vain way, but he has to set an example for the rest of the Lin Kuei and that takes a lot of persistence and dedication on his part. He cannot be seen as being ‘too soft’ type of thing. But when he gets more personal and intimate with someone, Kuai Liang yearns to end this unending internal conflict of being too unbreakable and unmalleable with his personality. While he’s very disciplined, he wants to ‘let go’ of some of this urges he’d been held to for so long.

052. What is your character’s worst flaw?

Him holding himself accountable for failing both Bi-Han and Frost. There was absolutely nothing he could’ve done and humanity in its intrinsic nature births opposing philosophies, various degrees of ambition that’s misdirected, malevolent, greedy, and utterly abominable. And through his ruminations, Kuai often let them unfurl and whirl through his conscious at a feverish, pained pace. His highly disciplined nature and unbreakable stoicism derives from his stubbornness, in order to minimize the errors and disregard all the needless, vain thoughts from consuming and taking over one’s persona.

053. What is your character’s greatest strength?

His good heart(™), despite all of his shortcomings. Knowing he could never be a perfect Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, but still overcoming a feeling of despair and depression, which often makes him consume everything with despair and depression. And knowing how he could escalate that despair and pain (in essence, to have the world suffer as he suffers) as he concentrates on finding the sections of his life which hurt and making those things which lack joy and contentment to transform into something that fuels his own philosophy.

062. What sort of legacy does your character wish to leave behind?

He wants to be remembered as the most greatest Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei to the date. For so long, Kuai Liang had been shadowed by Bi-Han’s existence, even after his soul had been consumed in the Netherrealm and him turned into Shinnok’s wraith, the embodiment of pure evil. And he also had the most distinguished pupil turn his back and so many of his comrades, his fellow assassins turned into Cybernetics. He wants nothing more of the clan to be purified of machinations and looming threats of evil, as every individual prospers, no matter how skilled and formidable they are. He wants to be remembered as a benevolent, humble, yet prideful Lin Kuei who dedicated his whole life to protect Earthrealm.

093. What is your character’s goal in life?

The sustenance of the Lin Kuei, the prospering of the Ice Dragons as their numbers increase rapidly, along with the thriving community within the Lin Kuei that doesn’t have to do with training assassins to be hand-picked by him as the most elite. Personally, to find an equal who shares the outlook of life, shares the same view to suffocate the evil in the world and maintaining peace between all the clans and factions across many realms.

#(answered)#✗ behavior exhibition (answered asks)#✗ obsessive cathartic (headcanon)#✗ bone-deep chill of despair (sub-zero)#ustrinamor

1 note · View note

caspersgraveyard · 3 years

Text

the masculine urge

the feminine urge

the human urge to yearn for the existence of dragons

#dragons #dragon aesthetic #aesthetic #dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #light academia #light academia aesthetic #academia aesthetic #chaotic academia #chaotic aesthetic #romantic academia #romantic academia aesthetic #cottagecore #books and libraries #light aesthetic #grunge #yearning #how to train your dragon #httyd

81K notes · View notes

lukewarmpotato · 7 years

Text

Predator and Prey

So I actually wrote this one a little while ago, but I’m rather happy with it and it’s a little bit personal (don’t ask). This is my first time sharing any of my writing since my old deviantART days (yikes) so please be nice. Feedback would be greatly appreciated!!

Predator and Prey by Alexandra

---

Weekends. The bane of her existence. She lay back on her bed with a resigned sigh. Just two more days. The sunlight crawled along her bed sheets as time drifted by. She watched her fan turn slowly, each turn of a blade pushing time along its wandering path. She reveled in the soft breeze it produced. Its touch was like a soft feather; each lingering caress sending a shiver up her spine. It seemed that this would be the closest thing to human contact she would receive until Monday. Still, that was the price to pay. It was her fault anyway. Time continued to pass, torturously slow, until the sun had disappeared behind the evening clouds. The last of the sun's rays faded from her sheets and she held her breath... waiting. As if alerted by an unknown signal, the noise began. The faint echoes of a fist striking flesh and a woman's screams drifted to her ears. It had begun. Every evening, without fail, her father would lash out at her mother, striking her soft flesh and rejoicing in her yells of pain. Every evening, without fail, her mother would beg and plead until her hoarse voice trailed off into wordless sobs. Every evening, without fail, her father would laugh. And sometimes, he would move upstairs... preying upon his daughter, listening to her frightened whimpers. She rolled over, clutching her sheets tightly. Terror shuddered through her body. She suppressed the tears though. She must be strong for her mother. Her mother did this for her. She squeezed her eyes shut, searching for an escape. Would she escape tonight? Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes as her mother screamed louder than before. No! She mustn't cry. He would enjoy that. She cast her mind around, ever searching for escape. A choked sob escaped her lips as her mother abruptly fell silent. Her eyes flew open, and she held her breath, listening. A small sigh of relief, and her breathing returned to normal. It seemed that she has escaped, for now. She scanned her small, messy room, her mind vague and dizzy. Her eyes alighted upon a small book that her mother had given her. It lay dog eared and torn on the ground, and she could only just make out the title: "A Guide to the Great Dragons." She remembered when she had pored endlessly over that book, losing herself in fantasies of the land of dragons. It was a happier time that seemed so long ago. Yet... she remembered the joy she had received from her fantasies. Wearily, she let her mind succumb to the flood of memories that invaded her mind... Her eyes clicked open. Ah yes, she had been here before. Sweeping plains of grass formed the vast lands that were her kingdom. Herd of deer grazed lazily below her, blissfully unaware that their death was perched upon a rock high above them. She flared her nostrils, testing the air. The metallic tang of blood permeated the air, the only remainders of her last kill. She ran her barbed tongue across her sharp fangs, dislodging bits of fur and bone that were wedged there. It had been a satisfying meal, yet like all dragons, she yearned for more. Straightening, she arched her long neck, grinning inwardly at the shudders of raw power that danced through her muscles. A dull fire smouldered in her belly, a fire that ached to be released. "Not yet," she told herself, "wait until the time is right." It would be soon. She was now fully upright, and her wings quivered with anticipation. She peered down at her subjects with disdain. Which one would be next? Almost immediately, she saw an old buck limping towards a small patch of shade. She grinned, her upper lip bared, and the fire in her belly turned into an almost unbearable roar. Her talons massaged the rocks into rubble as she fidgeted with expectation. The urge to release the fire peaked, and her tail twitched. She was ready. Her muscles bunched as she crouched, preparing to spring. Her eyes never left the old buck as he settled into the long grass in the shade. With a great whoosh, her wings rose into the air and crashed back down, the thin membrane straining to lift her heavy bulk. With a catlike leap, she dived off the rocky peak, plummeting downwards until her wings found purchase in a speedy updraft. Her spirits soared as the wind rushed beneath her wings. This was what being a dragon was all about: the flight. She lost herself in the moment; the simple pleasure of rising above the world overwhelmed her and she roared with joy, forgetting that there was potential prey grazing below her. The deer, alerted to her presence, scattered in all directions. She cursed inwardly and dived towards the old buck, who was limping hurriedly away from the shadow of her wings. She noted the old buck's straight back and calm demeanour in the face of death, and vowed to give him a quick and honourable death. Emptying her lungs, she tucked in her wings and straightened her neck, using only her tail to direct her dive. She sped through the air like a deadly arrow, readying her sharp talons for the imminent impact. The old buck slowed, sensing his dash for freedom was in vain. The next few moments throbbed slowly, like the pulsing of blood behind a fresh bruise. The old buck turned and faced his death, his defiant eye meeting hers. She stared back, struck by his bravery, and felt a moment's hesitation. But, such were the ways of the world: she was predator and he was prey. It was time. With a great gasp, she filled her lungs and opened her wings. Like an eagle swooping down on a rabbit, she brought her legs forward, her forelimbs tensed and her talons gleaming. At great speed, she struck the old buck, grasping him around his chest and back legs. Muscles teared and blood flowed; she roared loudly, echoing the old buck's agony. With a great heave, her wings bore her and her prize back into the air and towards her perch. She felt the old buck's life ebbing away, and was glad his body had shut down quickly so he would feel little pain. "Farewell, friend," she thought, and let forth a great jet of flame, proclaiming her victory and providing a testament to the old buck's bravery. As she rose through the air, she grinned a toothy grin. She would eat well tonight. Such was the way of the world. The girl opened her eyes, awakened from her fantasy. She stretched her arms, memories of the dragon's wings still lingering. A joyous smile stretched across her face, and despite the circumstances, she could not help but feel happy. Footsteps sounded on the staircase and she started, her eyes flicking to her closed door. Her fists tightened fearfully, and she waited. The footsteps drew closer, and suddenly the door crashed open. Her father towered in the doorway, his knuckles bleeding and rage in his eyes. He faltered slightly at his daughter's fading smile, which was slowly being replaced by a defiant stare. She would be like the old buck: brave and defiant before the face of her predator. Black anger flashed across her father's face at her defiance, and with two long strides he crossed her bedroom and stood over her, his shadow blocking the faint moon's rays. "Pathetic child," he spat, and raised his bloody fists. She said nothing as his fist filled her vision. She made no effort to defend herself against the oncoming onslaught. She would be like the old buck. With a thud and a yell, her father's fist hit the side of her head. Then there was nothing. Such was the way of the world.

#how the hell do I tag this #writing #short story #fantasy #dragons #because everyone loves dragons #tw: abuse #there's even a fluffy deer that totally doesn't get eaten #escapism #amateur writing

1 note · View note