#this is far from the worst that admin has done but it still gets me how they are sickening on every level. sucking this place dry and

[ultimateumbreon33]

every time i have a favorite professor, they leave the next year… even with tenure…

[byenycfm]

Kang-Dae Jackson || 29 || #901 || Big Matthew || MISSING

Personality:

a dog , a brute , too smart to be so caustic. there’s always a sarcastic bite of a reply on his tongue. there’s always a fight in his bones. he’s calmed down a lot now that he’s an adult , boot camp beat a lot of the need to gnash his teeth at the world out of him. it’s less reflexive , but anyone with a brain can see his always figuratively gnawing at the bit that’s holding his jaws apart , keeping him from clenching so tight he breaks his own teeth to spite his face. when he was younger it was a loud tone colored with curses & bruised knuckles because he preferred to do the talking with his fists. now that he’s older & forced to mature , it’s constant pinched eyebrows & a grating drawl that’s somehow simultaneously uncaring & pissed off. untrusting & suspicious of those around him. he prefers to keep to himself & is a healthy combination of his military training & his base crass disposition. he struggles to make substantial connections because of this inherent distrust , but as far as he’s concerned , it’s what’s kept him alive through his high profile work & now this apocalyptic outbreak. all of that being said , he’s intelligent , he’s realistic , he gets shit done. he can think through a problem or a plan , & he can execute flawlessly because being angry at the world doesn’t make unable to function without exploding - not that he doesn’t like to explode - he just now has an understanding that it shouldn’t be the automatic answer to all of life’s problems. when someone is able to push through the nearly instinctual way he bites & barks , they find a man who is endlessly devoted to them. someone who would bend over backwards & burn down what’s left of the world just because they said they needed the light to see & keep warm. that’s the thing to know about kang - he does it all the way , or he ignores it entirely ; there’s no middle ground & he’s never half-assed a thing in his life. the worst person to have against you , & the best person to have standing next to you. he’s a dog , through & through.

Biography:

growing up in the texas suburbs of carrolton did kang-dae jackson a lot of favors. never had a hand-me-down , got the antique ‘64 mustang shelby on his 16th birthday because he’d kept his grades up. one could look at his track record in school & say that maybe the privilege gave him too many favors - he was held back two grades in elementary school on grounds of not being mature enough to be promoted , he bullied his best friend relentlessly all through middle school. he frustrated the hell out of his mother & school teachers & admins because he was obviously smart , his grades reflected that ; but his delinquent file & in school suspension report folder was nearly as thick as all the tests his mother kept that had that shiny , red ‘A+’ at the top.

he calmed down more when he hit high school. he was already professionally shitty to almost everyone he came into contact with , & puberty actually helped him balance out a little bit in his last years of lower education. instead of outright bullying his best friend ( because he had a giant crush on him ) , he was more protective & an awkward but supportive actual friend to him. instead of punching the people who pissed them off , he decimated them with his words instead , which still landed him in detention , but he was seen as much less of a volatile problem & more of an occasional hazard. not that the private boy’s prep school he went to appreciated his behavior on any level , which is why when the military recruiters came by his senior year , they all but shoved him their way - telling that marine corps salesman ‘have we got the perfect boy for you!’. when kang mocked the surprise on his face at the reserve pitch , the uniformed gentleman knew he’d found a winner. graduation came & went quickly , & kang’s mother was equal parts sad & relieved to help her son pack her bags to be shipped off to san diego for boot camp.

boot camp was the ( literal ) kick to the teeth that kang needed to finally understand that being so automatically abrasive as a response to every piece of stimuli in his life was not the way to go. he learned respect , he learned to wait & watch , he learned that there was merit & power in biting his tongue. some people couldn’t handle the extremes , some people were damaged from the experience , but kang was one of the few that really took to the training that the military had to offer. unaware , he was watched by his superiors from day one. it wasn’t often that someone with his test scores also had his disposition ; they knew if he could shape out & fill out , he would be a force to recon with. & by the time basic training was over & they were ready to pick an MOS. . . they had no idea how correct they were. before he could fill out his paperwork to make his own selection , he was approached by the blacksuits & asked about his family , his connections , any & every thing he’d ever done that might have a paper trail. at first he didn’t understand the run down , but then it became clear that he was being vetted for secruity clearence , they wanted him to go special ops. he was never asked , he was never given another option , & at first it had pissed him off , jaw ticking next to his ear - but he fell into the training so effortlessly , passed every exam without flaws & consistently showed top scores , that he learned to put a little faith in the powers that be. maybe if the right ones were watching , it wasn’t so bad to go with the flow.

from there , everything always happened so quickly. he was dragged from one place to another , more shinies added to his chest , more badges sewn into his uniforms. . . seldom getting the opportunity to go home & see his mom or his friends back home. he quickly became one of the most trusted marines to do high - level security duty , black suits & corded devices in his ears as he transported senators & presidents & foreign liaisons. he got to travel the world & see some cool people & see some cool places , but he became nameless , faceless , forgettable. he enjoyed the work at first , but as the years dragged on , he liked it less & less. he missed his home. he missed his mom , he missed his best friend. but duty was duty & he’d sold away his freedom to the military so he was left with no choice.

until the outbreak. he’d all but been thrown on a private jet back to the states. they knew of the outbreak before the media did , & he was able to cross the border back in without a hitch. they shipped him straight to new york city , there was a team from the cdc that was having an issue controlling the environment enough to do their work , & it was his job to keep the crawlers off them so they could do their potential world - saving work. his anxieties had been with his mom back home , but they’d assured him nothing had reached as far as texas yet. she was aware of the situation because of the news , & he demanded & cussed until he got a phone call to make sure she was safe before he stepped of the plane. thoughts steady on home , on the people from what used to be his life. . . 

just to step off the plane & see a green mop of hair that he used to shove down. those pretty curls that he grew to think were so adorable , above freckles that dusted tan checks , above a mouth that was twisted in concentration as he leaned over a giant portable suit-case computer that was bright & green against his glasses. the object of his life-long obsession , his best friend that he thought after so frequently over the last several years , right before his eyes , being the subject he was supposed to protect. the boy he regretted bullying once he had vision enough to pull his head out of his ass. funny how things worked , huh ?

if things happened quickly before , now they were speeding by kang in a manner he could barely keep up with. training kicked in & he moved automatically , bullet after bullet between the eyes of any crawler he could snipe , charged with protection and saving ammunition & supplies. the team outside of sev himself was small , & a few of them got injured , a few of them kicked it , hell a few of them even ran in a selfish attempt to save their hides. but not sev , never sev. focused on the goal , so focused that when the muttering about ‘not being able to do enough , or see enough from here ’ got louder, kang was hell-bent on doing whatever he could to see his vision through , even if it meant deserting his post. & then like the universe was just as hell-bent on delivering sev to what he needed , their camp was over-run & the team was dispersed , forced to separate. kang kept to the scientists heels , rifle in one hand , field knife in the other until they reached a beacon of light called the wexley.

the occupants readily let them in , seemingly thankful for another capable set of hands. they’d quickly find that kang’s loyalty was already totally tied up & spoken for. . . 

Pre Outbreak Occupation: USMC Special Ops Previous Zombie Experience: very up close & personal as he protected a base camp at the edge of the island before literally fighting his way into the wexler. Martial Status: Single Children:  N/A Residence: Loft #901 Years residing at The Wexley: 0 Connections: 

Seven Du - Ensured that Sev made it safely to the Wexley. Currently rooming with them as they’re unsure they can trust any of the Wexley’s residents.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Among Us idea: Because I'm a little bit obsessed with game mechanics and glitches in fic...how about a round where one of the Hermits gets left behind? The game ends, and everyone but them is transported to the lobby, but they're just left on an empty ship flying eternally to some destination it will never reach... All the tasks are done. There's nothing left to do. So why is the game still keeping them there? And how do they escape? (It could also be two people left, if writing just one alone would be boring. Your choice who!)

SKSKSKSKSK HOW DO YOU DO THIS I’VE BEEN PLANNING OUT AN IDEA IN MY HEAD FOR THE LAST FEW DAYS IN WHICH TWO PLAYERS ACCIDENTALLY GET LEFT BEHIND HOW DO YOU KEEP READING MY MIND (/lh)

also i had a kind of idea to expand the concept a little bit and i hope that’s okay :)

also also i too love the ideas that utilise glitches or kinda ignore game mechanics; they're always so interesting to write! :D

…

Having finished his tasks a long time ago and not being teleported to any meetings lately, Skizz wanders around the whole ship, trying to find a friend. A buddy. Or literally anyone. But the ship seems deserted.

Finally, Skizz wanders into admin and checks the special table.

To his shock, he finds only two yellow faces on the screen: one in admin and one in cafeteria. So he rushes into the cafeteria and literally bumps into someone coming the other way.

“Oh my gosh, FINALLY,” Impulse breathes. “Where IS everyone?”

Skizz glances away, unable to meet his best friend’s gaze. “We have a problem.”

Impulse frowns. “What?” he asks warily.

“Um…” Skizz rubs the back of his neck. “So… it seems we’re the only two people on the ship.”

It takes a moment for Impulse’s brain to process what his friend just said. “...what?”

“I looked around the whole ship and then went to the admin table. There were only two yellow dots: me and you. There’s literally nobody else anywhere on the ship, dude.”

“But… I…” Impulse blinks. “How is that possible? Did the game end and leave us behind, somehow?”

“I feel like that’s the only possible explanation, but at the same time, it makes no sense.”

“Well, if this IS what happened, it’s gotta be a glitch, right?” says Impulse.

Skizz nods. “Gotta be. But now the question is… how do we get outta here?”

Impulse gazes around the room. “The game always automatically puts us back in the lobby when we’re done, so… I don’t think there’s a way of manually doing it.”

Skizz stares back at him with wide eyes. “You mean we’re stuck in THIS particular ship forever?!”

“W-Well, hopefully not FOREVER,” Impulse responds nervously. “I’m sure they’ll have realised we’re missing by now and they’ll be trying to get us back.”

“But what if they can’t?!” Skizz yelps. “We’ll be trapped in this purgatory forever!”

“Not helping, Skizz,” snaps Impulse. “We’ll be totally fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, like I can have ANY faith in your words anymore,” mutters Skizz, turning away.

Impulse glances sharply at him, sensing that his best friend’s words aren’t about Among Us. Not entirely. “What do you mean?”

Skizz just rolls his eyes and walks off.

Impulse watches him go. Looks like Skizz hasn’t been so quick to forgive and forget after all. Now the way Skizz was acting around him earlier makes sense.

After making a quick trip around the ship, Impulse discovers Skizz sitting leaning against the wall in admin, tossing a stack of ID cards at the wall one at a time.

“Still no way off,” Impulse reports. “Looks like we’re stuck here until they rescue us. Flying through space. On a ship heading to nowhere. An endless journey. With nothing except-.”

“Yes, okay, I get it!” Skizz snaps at him.

After a moment, Impulse leans against the admin table. “Skizz, you’ve been acting weird around me all night. I think we need to talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk.”

“C’mon. We’re stuck here on a ship on our own for the foreseeable future. There’s no better time to talk than now.”

“Okay!” snaps Skizz unexpectedly, jumping to his feet. “FINE! You wanna talk?! I don’t care! You did a LOT of talking back there on 3rd Life and not a word of it was true!”

Impulse frowns. “Is that what this is about?”

Skizz’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “WH- WHAT DO YOU MEAN “is that what this is about”?! You say that like I’m mad at you for stealing my sandwich! Impulse, you LIED to me, BETRAYED me, and then watched Grian KILL me! You told me over and over again that you were on my side and you were loyal to us but you planned to betray us from the start! Y-You planned to betray ME. Do you-” He breaks off with a bitter laugh. “You know what, I was gonna say “do you have any idea how much that hurts?” but you DO, don’t you? Because your own ally turned on you. And murdered you. And you know what? YOU DESERVED IT!”

Impulse can only stare at his best friend with an expression of guilt and sadness.

“I wanted you to go far, dude! I wanted you to win at one point!” Skizz’s voice cracks. “I thought you were the best of us but it turns out you were nothing but a dirty liar and a traitor! I thought “oh, his strategy of playing all sides is pretty smart, actually, but he’s gonna have to pick a side at some point” but I didn’t realise that meant pretending to pick a side and then STABBING THEM IN THE BACK! Of all the- the jerky things to do! You pick the worst one! I-I just don’t understand how you could do that to someone you’ve been a brother to for A QUARTER OF A CENTURY! GOD, you SO deserved to die and the biggest regret of my life is that I didn’t get imposter tonight so I could stab you in the FACE!”

Skizz finally stops talking, breathing heavily. He takes in a deep breath, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Wow… I did not expect to yell that much…”

“I…” Impulse searches for something to say. But he can’t find anything. “I don’t…”

“You don’t have to say anything, Impulse.” Skizz gives a weak smile. “I-I think I just needed to… to let my feelings out.”

“You just needed to yell at me, huh? I get that.”

“Haha, yeah. Remember that time I snuck onto Hermitcraft and did a bunch of reckless things and then died, and you didn’t know if I was gonna respawn or not?”

Impulse nods, a small smile appearing on his face. “That’s what I was indirectly referring to. I think my throat hurt from yelling at you for, like, two weeks after that.”

“Are we even now, then?” asks Skizz.

“Well, I mean… Probably not. I still have a lot to make up for.”

Skizz shakes his head. “No, it… it’s okay. We all did things in that place that we’re not proud of.”

“Even the great Skizzleman?” teases Impulse weakly.

“Oh heck yeah. I still have nightmares about how I violently murdered two of my friends and how bloodthirsty I felt for so long. It freaks me out that I got to that point, man. Even in Among Us when I murder people, even you, I never got THAT bad.”

“Yeah, 3rd Life was…” Again, Impulse searches for the right word. “...an experience. In more ways than one.”

“It really was,” Skizz murmurs, letting out a long breath. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have let it affect Among Us so much.”

“No, it’s okay. And we can-.”

Impulse breaks off Skizz suddenly disappears in front of him. Blinking, he just has time to take a step forward before the admin room vanishes and he finds himself back in the lobby.

With eight people staring at him.

“Oh my gosh, finally!” Tango gasps, grabbing both Impulse and Skizz in a hug. “Are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine, dude,” laughs Skizz quietly. “We just yelled at each other a bit, that’s all.”

Impulse chuckles. “Well, it was mostly Skizz doing the yelling.”

“Yeah, true. How did you guys even manage to get us out?”

“The insane genius that is Etho hacked into the code and managed to force the round to end again,” Tango responds. “Somehow. I dunno how. Took us a while to figure out what’d happened, though.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen that glitch before,” Etho chimes in. “There was six left, Grian and Ren double-killed me and Pungence to win, and that should’ve been it. The rest of us respawned in the lobby but we realised you two were missing.”

“Whoa, that’s so weird.” Skizz exchanges a look with Impulse. “Cuz for us, it was like the round just hadn’t ended.”

“Yeah, we’d both done all our tasks and we had no idea anything had happened.”

“What did you guys do?”

Impulse and Skizz shoot each other another look, silently making a mutual decision. “Just talked a bit and tried to look for a way out,” Impulse replies. “That’s all.”

Tango frowns, clearly picking up on the slight tension between them, but he doesn’t mention it. “Okay. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yeah.”

Skizz thinks back to the way he’d exploded at Impulse, and the way Impulse had looked at him with fear in his eyes. All the fury, the despair, the hurt… It had all spilled out at once. Skizz never wants to feel that way again.

“Let’s hope not.”

[shadowfae]

We’re all pretty aware that the tumblr otherkin community is at a huge decline; I was wondering if you have any theories as to why that is?

American Protestantism, the decline of queer oppression in North America and the AIDS crisis, helicopter parenting, web 3.0, morality politics, and  Tumblr’s porn ban; roughly in that order and rolled up into one bombshell that was a few years in the coming but nobody really saw it and understood it until it was far too late.

That was a mouthful and probably only made sense if you follow current cyberpolitical theory. For some of you reading this, as with every other hot take I have this has a chance of being passed around, that alone is enough. But for others who had no idea what I just said and need the ELI5 version, let me explain that. Buckle up, this’ll be a long one, and will go into fandom history a bit as well because it is actually relevant.

As we know, tumblr is a very American-centric platform. Twitter is also this way, but less so, but tumblr has it bad. Now, I’m ‘lucky’ in the fact that I’m Canadian and a twenty minute drive from the American border, so that puts me in the ‘privileged’ majority. (I say privileged because I’m not really sure what else to call it. Most of the information going around about politics either directly affects me or indirectly affects me approximately one or two links of contact away. Someone who’s only influenced by American politics because it makes their sister’s online friends sad is not going to be privileged in that way.)

This means that American politics and their social climate overwhelmingly affects tumblr’s social climate. This also bleeds through into other fandom spaces, on twitter, instagram, and Pixiv to name a few places; but here’s where I spend the majority of my time so here’s what I’ve witnessed.

America’s main religion, as far as I understand (from the raised agnostic and currently neopagan view I have), is some weirdass capitalistic-Protestantism that is so many miles from what the actual Bible says that if I were a betting man and knew more about cults than I did, I’d say it’s some weird fucking cult and never set foot in the country again for any reason that isn’t gaming free shipping through a PO box. If you have no idea what I just said but are at least vaguely familiar with Christianity, this graphic explains it pretty well. So we can see there’s some glaring issues with that ideal.

The decline of queer oppression and the rise of queer rights in North America, which is to tenderly include my own country but we all know when people say ‘in NA’ they mean ‘America, and Canada where it applies because the right-wing Republicans are really good in the propaganda department to convince everyone that Mexico is a drug-lords-and-anarchy wasteland to the point where even I don’t actually know what’s down there other than bad drivers and heat’; means two things. One, it’s a good thing by a long shot and do not mistake this as me thinking queer oppression being lessened is a bad thing. But two, it means that thanks to the AIDS crisis, queer folks lost a lot of first-person sources as history.

The queer elders in NA who survived are typically either a) bitter anarchists who are often POC, probably still dirt poor and do recreational drugs or b) university-tenured TERFs (trans exclusionary radical feminists). Category A are the people who Republicans have deemed worthless in every way, because racism, queerphobia, ableism, and all the other ways to be wrong and different and Evil that they can’t handle, because Jeezus would never want them to actually learn to love someone who wasn’t just like them, and they don’t have the compassion to do better. Category B are the people who want to be different in just a teensie little bit, typically with TERFs they want to be lesbians, but they don’t want to challenge the status quo. They’re fine with the way things work, they just want to be on top oppressing others over ripping the whole damn thing down and building a more forgiving system.

Now, due to all those ‘isms and the cheerfully malicious aid of the Republicans, pun not intended but drives home the cruelty of it all, we also see the rise of helicopter parenting. The invention of the internet did not really help this. Basically what you’ve got is a whole bunch of parents who saw the civil rights movement, just got access to the internet and things going viral, know the world is changing, and like all parents, they’re scared for their children. Now instead of parents knowing one or two people in their classes who just went missing one day and everyone assumed they ran away, they hear about eight homicides in the city of kids going to parks at night and dying. The Satanic Panic was another event around this time that contributed to that, but I’ll let you research that one.

This means that all of these parents, instead of doing what their parents typically did and let their kids wander off for the day so long as they’re back by sundown, they can’t let their children out of their sight. There might be a freak accident where their child is decapitated on the playground swing! Their baby might get murdered by an evil Satanist walking home from school! Their dearest darling might go online and tell their address to someone who’s got a 100% chance of being a pedophile who will show up and kidnap them in the night!

…You get the idea. 

Combine those three things I just established, what we’ve got is a lot of queer kids who have a lot of internalized shame for being different and wrong, because they’re queer, and they can’t find spaces offline to be themselves, because all of the elders who would do that are dead and/or inaccessible and their parents won’t let them go to any clubs that aren’t school-related, which they’ll never find a GSA or queer club because Republicans, ‘isms, propaganda, and the war on Category A queer adults have all done their best to ensure that those spaces don’t exist.

So you have a generation of kids who I am the youngest of. The first generation on the internet. The late Web 1.0 (usenets and Geocities) and early Web 2.0 (livejournal was the big one, ff.net too, also 4chan but fuck those guys) generation. What we were taught was: trust nobody on the internet with your real info no matter how much you like them, this is a wilderness and any crimes that happen won’t be punished or seen so don’t put yourself in a position where you’re going to be the victim of one, and everything you put online is never getting taken down so don’t put anything up that you’re not willing to have on the front page of your local newspaper.

This worked out pretty well, actually! You had kids who knew that if they got in trouble, there was no backup coming to save them. Because the form that backup might take - parents and police - wasn’t going to help. Best case, they’d be banned from their friends and online support groups for being queer. Worst case, they’d be jailed and put in juvie and conversion therapy and turn to drugs and become evil Satanists just like everyone says they secretly are already. So they learned very quickly to take care of themselves. Nobody was going to save them, so they learned to not need saving.

And then, well, Web 2.0 shifted to Web 3.0. Livejournal died because parents - the Warriors for Innocence was the big name - went “gasp how horrible my children are being exposed to the evil pedos and homosexuals they’re going to do drugs and die of AIDS!”. Which is uh. It’s filled with a lot of bigotry, and I’m not excusing them - absolutely I am not - but you can kind of see where they’re coming from, if you tilt your head and squint.

Either way, LJ died, tumblr took its place, Facebook was fast taking off, and the fandom folks who had seen mailing lists go inactive, web admins take their fanfic sites down due to copyright, entire fandoms burnt to the ground in flame wars, said ‘fuck that we’re making our own place’ and that’s how AO3 got made.

That’s important. A lot of folks move to AO3, because well, the rules let them. The rules say ‘you can throw literally anything up here so long as it’s fan content and is not literally illegal, so we don’t get taken down’. It’s a swing for the first generation internet users, those kids who know this place is a wilderness and are carving out our own sanctuary.

But. The children under us. The children for whom AIDS is a nightmarish fairy tale, for whom the ghost stories are conversion therapy, for whom know they can’t really talk to their parents about being queer but can trust they probably won’t get kicked out over it. The children who haven’t spent ten seconds without supervision except online, and their reaction isn’t ‘oh thank god I’m finally free to express myself’ but ‘if I get in trouble, who will protect me?’.

And there’s nobody there. Because we went in knowing there was no backup. And that was fine. But now, the actual adults have figured out that hey uh, maybe we should make cyber laws? Maybe we should make revenge porn and grooming children over the internet crimes? And they grew up with that. They grew up learning that no, even if your parents are suffocating and controlling, they’re always be there for you! Some adult will always be there to protect you!

That isn’t the case. It’s not. But they expect it, because it’s always been done for them. They don’t really want to change the status quo, because that means doing it themselves. They can’t do that, because they don’t know how, they’ve been controlled for every single part of their lives thanks to helicopter parenting and without that control, they don’t know how to keep their lives together, and they demand someone come and control it for them, without restraining them.

Effectively, they want someone to ensure they never face the consequences of their actions. Helicopter parents will rescue you from whatever you did, because you’re their precious baby and it doesn’t matter if you punched a kid, you can do no wrong and the other kid clearly started it.

But being queer is doing wrong. Being queer is something Jeezus doesn’t approve of. So they want to make it something he could approve of! But if it’s too off what they consider to be okay, if it’s too different and weird and wrong and evil, that can’t do, that’s still bad, and they’re precious angels, and children, and minors, why are we the adults not protecting them and letting them see it? Why aren’t we being just like their parents  but queer-friendly, why aren’t we protecting the children?

The adults who taught us were the children of those who died as a result of AIDS. The eldest of my generation knew some of them personally. My therapist’s younger brother died at 20 of AIDS, and she told me what it was like. But they don’t have that. These kids of web 3.0, they don’t have that. What they have is over-controlling parents, and the expectation that someone will always be there to protect them but hopefully in ways that don’t hurt them this time, no real understanding of why Category A queer elders are the way they are, and so much internalized shame that they have to do some pretty fancy logic-leaping to keep them from collapsing entirely.

They can’t turn into Category A queer youngsters, because they don’t know how to unravel the system around them, because they’ve never had to actually make choices in their lives and live with the consequences, because they don’t have the example of how to do it. They can’t unravel their internalized shame because again, that’s hard and they don’t have their parents to take away the consequences and pain. It doesn’t come easy to them, so it may as well not come at all.

But, you ask, if Category A queer elders aren’t around to teach the kids, then how are they learning anything positive at all? Well, Category B, our university-tenured TERFs, who don’t want to change the status quo but want to just be at the top of it instead.

For a lot of kids who don’t know how to make hard choices but want to be queer, this is an extremely attractive option. But when they go online to queer spaces, a lot of them say fuck terfs, we don’t support your hate, and they go ‘yeah okay that makes sense’. They can say fuck terfs without ever actually questioning why terfs are bad. They’re Bad and Evil, just like drug addicts, just like fairytale nazis, just like the evil homophobes.

And we saw them say ‘yeah fuck terfs’ and we were like, ‘aight you got it’ and we never questioned if they actually understood us. They didn’t. They didn’t, and we didn’t do enough to fix it, because not enough of us realized the problem. So terfs got a little sneaky. They hid behind dogwhistles and easy little comments, hiding their rhetoric in queer theory that you’ll absolutely miss if you just memorize it and never actually question it and understand why that point is being made.

This goes back to America sucking, because their school system is far more focused on rote memorization over actual logic and understanding of the text. They’re engaging with queer theory the way they’ve been taught, which is memorize and don’t think, don’t question. Besides, questioning and understanding is hard. Being shown different points of view and asked what they think is not only hard but requires them to go against all of the conditioning that says to just listen and agree and never question it, which goes back to tearing the system and internalized shame down, and we’ve established they can’t do that so naturally they don’t do that.

This begets, then, the rise of exclusionary politics. They’re turning into Category B queer youngsters, because we told them ‘hey that’s a terf talking point what are you doing’ and they never questioned why. They learned you can do all sorts of things, just don’t say X, Y, or Z, because they never thought deeply about it.

The children who have grown on Web 3.0 do not want to do any heavy lifting to make things easier for themselves long-run. They want to do as little as possible and have things get better for them. There isn’t enough of us left in Category A, because Category B terfs are very good at recruiting young folks and Cat. A is overwhelming poor, dead, and easily dismissed in the system as evil and bad, so we can’t exactly convince the young folks to listen. If all of the young kids could agree to tear down the system, a lot more older folks might listen. Change always starts with the young, and there’s a reason for that.

But Republicans have figured out, if you get people fighting, they never put together a force that can actually stop you. TERFs, who want the exact same thing as Republicans but with themselves on top, are doing this to queer youth, and Cat. A elders can’t fight back because there isn’t enough of them and the odds are against them, and the young folk like me who follow their lead.

People can kinda handle gay people. It’s not so far from the acceptable normal that it’s impassable. But you want them to handle kinky people? Gay people of colour? Kinky gay people of colour? Trans people? Those are bridges too far to step across. The original idea was to get the foot in the door with marriage equality and inch our way through with racial equality, sex positivity, dismantling ableism and perisexism (forgive me if that isn’t the word for anti-intersex ‘ism), and see if we can’t patch up the system instead of inciting a civil war over this and have to tear down the system entirely.

Well, we might’ve managed that if not for AIDS being the perfect ‘Jeezus is killing all the evil gay people for being sinners’ propaganda machine. As it stands now, not a chance in hell. So long as Republicans and terfs keep everyone fighting, nobody has the power to dismantle their empire, and they stay in power.

So then, you ask me, “Lu what the fuck does that have to do with the decline of otherkinity on tumblr???” and now that you’ve got all that background knowledge, here is your answer.

Those children who want their experiences curated for them and the evil icky content they don’t like to be gone because it disgusts them and anything that disgusts them is clearly sinful problematic and should be destroyed, are what we call ‘antishippers’, or anti for short.

They like being progressive. Sort of. They learned what Republicans and terfs have honed to a fine talent: keep people fighting, hold them to a bar they have to constantly make or risk being ostracized, and harass the people who don’t play along into getting out of your sight forever. Sound familiar?

They learned of otherkinity, and particularly fictionkind, because web 3.0 means if something goes viral on one site, it doesn’t just go viral on that site, it makes it to worldwide newspapers and twitter and nobody ever, ever fucking forgets it. They realized the following: “Hey wait, if I’m this character for realsies, not only does it help me deal with the internalized shame I’ve done nothing to actually fix because that takes work, I can also tell these people who draw gross content I don’t like they’re hurting me personally, and that actually sounds credible, and I can shame them into stopping”.

If this is your first time here and that sounds sickening, it damn well should, and I am so, so sorry that any of us had to witness this, and I am more sorry I and everyone else who personally witnessed this didn’t realize what was going on and put a stop to it. I answer asks and browse the tags and clear up misinformation and it isn’t just a genuine desire to help. It’s damage control, and my own way of trying to deal with the guilt of not stopping this. I’m well aware I couldn’t have seen it coming, I was a teenager myself still learning and no one person has that much power. I still feel like I should have done more, and I’ll do what I can to fix what’s within my power to fix.

So back to the story. This all culminates around 2016 or so. Trump wins the election, and every queer person ever knows they’re fucked, and the younger generation’s only ever heard horror stories, never seen actual oppression that this could bring. We’re all scared. We all don’t know what to do. Nobody has any answers or any control over the situation.

So they lash out. They attack others for drawing things they don’t like, for challenging them in literally any way, for asking them to reconsider the vile shit they just said, for so much as defending themselves from the harassment they just got. And when challenged, they yell “But I’m a minor! A literal child! How dare you attack me, clearly you get off on this, you evil pedophile!” and they sling around every insult in the book until one sticks. Pedophile is a pretty good one, so is abuser, and sometimes zoophile works out too. Freak is great, everyone gets right pissed off about it.

The fact that Category A queer elders were called pedophiles and freaks is not a fact they know or care about. The fact that they are quickly making every fandom community super toxic is also not a fact they care about. The fact that the ‘kin community has words and terminology and they actually mean shit, and the fact that they’re spreading misinformation faster than we can keep up with, are not facts they care about.

So they come in, take our terms, make it impossible for us to find new folks. They realize our anger is easily a power trip, because we’re already made fun of, so they get off on the little power they can find and make fun of us too, and then when we get rightfully annoyed and pissed off, they can hide behind being minors.

Then tumblr implements their porn ban, because nobody’s stopping them, because it isn’t profitable to have porn on here. Considering most of the otherkin community, and most fandom communities, are full of adults who do occasionally talk about NSFW things, and the fact that they’re just banning everyone who so much as breathes wrong, this begins the start of a mass exodus, scattering already fragile communities to twitter, pillowfort, dreamwidth, and a few other places. Largely, twitter, where you can’t make a post longer than a snappy comeback and where the algorithm is literally designed to piss you off as much as possible.

So community elders have largely left, because they can’t stand the drama and the pain of what’s happened, and that’s if they didn’t get banned for being kinky furries who do talk about how their kintypes merge with their sexuality. Most community members have also left or stopped talking about being ‘kin, because they get associated with antishippers and toxicity and it’s just not worth it. Those of us who are left get drowned out by misinformation and trolls and wishkin and antishippers who appropriate our terminology because it supports them getting a power trip, and whenever we argue, we get called pedophiles and freaks and worse.

And now there isn’t much left. I hope we get to find a better place. Othercon was a good place to talk about it, I did a whole panel (it’s on Youtube!) about what we want to do about it. But I don’t really have any answers. 

But to sum it all up... America’s political climate ultimately culminated in destroying queer spaces, and we survived, and then people who wanted to destroy smaller communities to get on top showed up and we were all but defenseless against something we had never, ever dealt with before on this scale.

One of my twitter mutuals mentioned how kinning and otherkin are now completely separate communities. It’s really the best I can do to keep hoping that continues, until nobody realizes the words are at all connected to each other. It’s the best anyone can hope for, now. I hate it. I hate every part of this. But maybe we can salvage what’s left.

[votederpycausemufins]

as i'm currently obsessed with your shared space au, I was wondering how doc would react to sam's less moral actions? because despite doc's intimidating feeling, he is a hermit and cares greatly about others.

When Doc and Sam first realized the situation they were in, it didn’t go well. Sam immediately thought the worst and panicked. Doc did his best to help the warden, but it still took a while. Sam was convinced that this was because of someone named Dream, or some plot to help the guy. The thing to finally convince the man was when Doc gave his name and it was something Sam recognized.

“Alright, now that you’re finally calm, can you actually answer some things for me?”

Sam looked around. There wasn’t anyone around of course. No one could get in unless he let them, save for maybe Ghostbur, but he wasn’t likely to visit. “I’ve got a few questions of my own.”

“Yeah, I expected that. I probably can’t answer a lot of them though. I’ve got no clue why I’m here or how, and obviously you don’t either since you were freaking out. This also definitely is your world and body because you’ve got all your limbs and this definitely isn’t a place I’ve built, though the redstone looks good.”

“Uh, thanks. This is Pandora’s Vault.”

Doc would have nodded if he could. “Sounds like a name Joe would pick. Based on your panic before, you're keeping someone named Dream here?”

“Yeah. In the highest security cell.”

“Ah, you’ve got more cells here? Good use of space. If you ever want me to, we can look at the redstone and I can see if I can help with any upgrades. Of course, might not be the best idea with him already locked up.”

“I can still get some notes from you. Right now we’ve got a box of obsidian and crying obsidian covered in lava. Netherite blocks make up a gate for visitors as well as the main door. Respawn bed that the prisoner can’t get to that doubles as an emergency escape. We’ve also got an elder guardian for mining fatigue.”

Doc thought it over. It seemed pretty good, but it seemed like there were a few issues. “You said the respawn point is an emergency exit?”

“Yeah. There’s redstone around the bed so as soon as he respawns, he’s away from the bed so it can’t be broken and thrown back in the cell. There’s also some dispensers for potions to be thrown down, so if someone needs an emergency exit, they stand in the drop puddle and they get sent back out of the cell.”

“Alright, so even if he tried using the exit, it would put him back in the cell.” Doc said, mentally rubbing his chin in thought, then noticed Sam was doing the same. “Are you doing that or am I?”

“Uh, I think you.”

“Good to know. Sorry about that. Could be useful later, but I know someone else messing with your limbs is not the most fun.”

“You nearly died to a god, didn’t you? Stole half your body?”

Doc chuckled. “Nah man. Basically we had a bit of a fight of sorts and I won. He got a bit upset and just sort of made my right arm disappear. Not like I hadn’t already made my own prosthetics. And he wasn’t the worst I’ve met.”

“Notch?” Sam asked, and he could feel the way Doc reacted to the name.

“Yeah. Him. Some people wonder if it was all that worshiping that got to his head, but I’m pretty sure he was always like that and just hid it well. I’m guessing that’s part of how you know me.”

Sam nodded. “I may have found out about all that when figuring out how to build this prison.”

“Based on how you’re acting, I can see why. This Dream guy sounds like a mess. And if you’re admin won’t deal with him…”

“That’s the thing.” Sam cut in. “He sort of is the admin. A sort of shit one at that since he can’t get himself out without anything in place to stop his admin powers. He just doesn’t seem to have them or something.”

“Ah. And obviously you can’t kill him since he could just respawn.” Doc said, but then there was an uncomfortable silence. “You have respawn mechanics. You just said you’re using them with this whole setup.”

“It’s a bit different here. It’s some sort of bastardized form of the way respawning works in minigame worlds. We’ve all got three lives theoretically, but when we lose them depends on how they’re lost. And then we don’t get thrown into a spectator like reality. You’re either dead dead, or an actual ghost.”

“Yeah, I can really see why this guy is a problem now. Can kill him because it would destabilize the world then? Or he’s told you it would?”

There was silence for a few moments. Doc could tell there was something else, but he wasn’t pushing. Just when the hybrid thought that there wouldn’t be an answer, Sam spoke again. “We’ve had a few people die so far. There’s one person here named Tommy, and he was really close to someone who died. Dream really fucked with Tommy but the bastard finally got his comeuppance. Tommy nearly took all of his lives, but one thing he can manage to do as admin is revive people who were killed.”

Doc took a moment to process all that. “So, you’re keeping him alive because this guy misses someone who died?”

“Well Tommy was the one to get screwed over by this guy the most. We all let him decide what would happen and he wanted Dream alive.”

“Not sure if that’s crazy or brave.”

“Might be both.” Sam replied. “Might just be the kid has some hope. And you don’t get much of that around here.”

Doc paused. Sam didn’t seem all that old, but he was calling this other person a kid. Sure, sometimes the hermits joked about Mumbo being ‘the kid’ but he was a lot younger than the ones who actually did that. “How old is Tommy?”

“Sixteen.”

If Doc had been in his own body, he knew he would be hissing. “Sam. What’s a minor doing in a world like this?”

“He joined and can’t really get out. It wasn’t this bad when everything started. The respawn hadn’t been messed with back then.”

Doc accepted the answer, but wasn’t happy about it. “So, this kid is letting some horrible guy stay alive because he can maybe revive people?”

“There’s… no maybe about it anymore.”

“Did he revive the guy you wanted?” There wasn’t an answer from Sam. “Have other people died here other than this one guy people want alive?” Sam nodded. “So he revived one of those people?” Hesitantly, Sam shook his head, but then nodded.

“What’s the name of the person he revived?” Doc asked, but Sam wouldn’t answer. “Sam, who did he revive? The only people I know about here are-” Doc paused. Right now, he only knew three people here. Dream obviously couldn’t revive himself. And Doc is pretty sure he would be able to tell if he was in a body that got revived. “Tommy died. Didn’t he?”

“Yeah…” Sam replied, voice barely over a whisper. Doc only heard what the warden had said because they were sharing a body. He could also tell there was more to it. Compared to everything Doc had heard from Sam, or felt from the guy, there had to be something else that made him feel so bad about it.

“You don’t have to answer this, but it looks like Tommy’s death really got to you. You said he’s a minor, so maybe it’s that, but it seems like more. Like you two are close. Maybe related.”

“No. Not related.” Sam replied. “It’s my fault he died. He wanted some closure and it ended with his death. I could have done something, but…”

Doc knew the feeling. He preferred worlds like Hermitcraft because he knew people would respawn. They would come back. “I’m sure there was nothing you could actually do.”

“No. There was. But if I did that, well, Dream wouldn’t be locked up anymore.”

Doc mentally frowned. Something was definitely up now. Dream could only revive people. And obviously he revived Tommy. But what could he have possibly done to prevent the kid’s death that would involve him getting out? Doc tried to think of what it could be, and then it was like he could see what happened. “Dream killed him.”

“What did you just-”

“You could have stopped it and instead the kid got killed. Look, I don’t care if you guys want your admin to revive someone or not. If the one person who wants him alive is going to die unless you do something about this admin, you don’t take the option to let him out. You kill him instead. If this kid really wants Dream alive, he’s some sort of saint.”

“Well-”

“But at this point, I don’t care. This is too far. If we could have killed Notch instead of locking him up, we would have. You need to do the same or this might just happen again.”

“There are procedures-”

“You’re in charge of this goddamn place. You choose the procedures and rules. Just get rid of him.”

“Not unless Tommy wants it.”

“He’s a kid. A kid with a heart of gold, but still a kid. If he gets angry, fine, but you need to get rid of this guy. Especially since he’s an admin. If you lose him, someone’s going to show up to fix whatever the hell he caused and probably revive people anyway.”

“That’s not how this works.”

Doc took control of their one hand and slammed it down on the desk. It was hard enough that there was a crack, both from the desk and from their hand. “You’re going to get more people killed like this! And they might not be revived like Tommy was! Are you really okay with that?!”

Sam didn’t answer. He just took control again to check his hand over. It was going to need some healing. And he’d have to do that himself.

[m-y-fandoms]

Vampire Nagito Komaeda x Ultimate Monster Hunter reader - Part 2 (Supernatural AU)

Part 1 

WARNINGS: Blood Drinking, Vampire Bites

Please excuse any grammar mistakes. I think I got most but I edited this at 5 A.M. ... I will go back over it and scan for errors soon.

- Admin Kokichi

     Hours passed since your unfortunate encounter, and your heart and mind had finally shaken off the creeps. After finishing your little self-guided tour of campus, you headed to the Main Course dorms to find your room. Your luggage was arranged to come later that evening, but you wanted to see the dorms for yourself now with little else to do. 

      Once you shut the door, the warmth of the sunlight gave way to a wave of the best air conditioning money could buy. The place looked very clean and tidy, with nothing out of place save for a few displaced balls and plastic cups atop a pool table and what appeared to be forgotten lecture notes on a shelf above a central fireplace. This must be the common area, a lounge for the most deserving students in the world!

     Behind the fireplace on either side were two sets of pretentious-looking stairs that led up to what you assumed were the actual dorm rooms. You searched your pocket for your student key card. You flipped it around over and over again in your hand, searching.

     “What?” You weren’t going crazy, were you? Neither floor nor room number were indicated on your card. You pulled your phone out, quickly sifting through emails and texts. Nope. Nowhere, at any point, had the housing department told you exactly what room was yours. Way to drop the ball, Kirigiri… you sighed, finding this situation both a bit humorous and exasperating considering the status of the school.

     Well, you were a last minute transfer. There were bound to be slip-ups.

     Sighing, you resigned to sit, relax for a few minutes, then call the housing department, or simply walk over to the main office building if it was still open.

      "Maybe I'll just..." you decided you'd earned the two minute break and walked leisurely over to one of the beige leather seats. Sitting, you set your chin into your hand propped up by your elbow on the arm of the chair, and began to think of how much you missed your tools. School regulations didn’t allow poisons, crossbows, guns and silver bullets inside the dorms... for obvious reasons. Even students of the blade or other offensive disciplines had to keep all sharp and lethal objects in their practice rooms and out of the dorms (not that all of them followed these rules). Students were allowed to customize and adjust their uniforms according to their talent, but you couldn’t even do that, what with all of the tools of your trade being lethal or unexplainable to the ignorant masses.

     It felt weird, not having a wooden stake strapped to your ankle, not having wolfsbane hidden away in a compartment on your belt. You felt out of place, without knives and rune-inlaid whips hidden on your person... uncomfortable. This school really wasn’t for you.

     "Ah, it’s you!" A voice came from behind.

     "Huh?" You gasped, flying up from your seat, thoroughly startled. Your knee banged off of the coffee table in front of it, leaving you feeling like an absolute buffoon. Your hand instantly flew to your leg, and you hissed softly in pain.

     “Whoops! Didn’t mean to startle you, sorry!”

     Your eyes followed the voice all the way up the stairs to its owner. Nagito was scrambling down the stairs toward you apologetically, feeling responsible for your blunder. He reached his hands out as of to offer you his aid, but froze upon seeing you take a step backward. He stopped directly in front of you, clearing his throat before continuing.

     “What are you doing here? You don’t have to start classes yet?” You stared into his eyes, and a tremble ran up your spine. The greenish-grey, glistening spheres appeared icy and far away. “Well?" When you didn't respond, he spoke up again.

     "I uh... um..."

     "You have a way with words, I see, just like when we met earlier today." He teased, laughing warmly. He had one of those genuine smiles, where the eyes exude friendliness just as much as the mouth, and their misty shine entranced you deeply. He laughed again, a bit awkwardly as you merely gawked at him. A light blush formed on his cheeks and he swept some of his cloud-like hair away from his forehead. He held the eye contact, though, searching your mind for something, anything to tell him more about you. You felt a stinging begin, like a migraine forming in the depths of your brain.

      You shook your head roughly, tearing your eyes away from his gaze. How could you have fallen for that one? 

     Vampires could very easily compel the mortal mind, put one in a mind-hazing trance with direct eye contact alone. Being the offspring of one of the best hunters ever born, you were trained to notice when the bloodsuckers made their attempts to ensnare your mind or read it like a book. That headache was your warning sign, the last defense of a disciplined mind, but it shouldn’t have even of gotten that far. 

     You were slipping… why did this vampire feel… different?

     More importantly, you forced your mind to change the subject, how long had he been trancing other students? Was he doing this on purpose? Some vampires simply forgot their own strengths at times. Did Kirigiri know? Is this dangerous creature simply going around unchecked... doing whatever the hell he likes?!

     He coughed, his eyebrows furrowing with a sudden seriousness. He’d been searching your mind, looking around desperately for a clue, a story, a hint, and just as soon as he thought he’d found an interesting page to start reading, the book was snapped close in front of him. He was pushed out in an effort that seemed practiced, skillful. You saw the discontent lining his features, and decided you needed you stop this. You two needed to be on the same page, before he tried anything else on you; something stupid, or more bold. You couldn’t keep up this charade any longer. You had a feeling he was feeling the same way.

     "Stop that.” You spoke sternly, concisely, confidently. He needed to know not to try that shit again, that you would not simply be prey like others, not mentally nor physically. His mouth formed a smirk, one of relief and something like acknowledging the other player in a game.

     “Ahh~ so I see that I was correct after all. Are we done playing pretend now? Awww, I was actually having a lot of fun! It was quite stimulating, actually.” He frowned, pouting like a child called home at dusk after playing outside all day.

     “I’m afraid so. Sorry to disappoint you,” you crossed your arms over your chest defiantly,” and I don’t appreciate my mind being picked and prodded at. That’s extremely disrespectful, you know? That’s none of your business. If you’re doing that to people on the regular around campus, I will inform the headmaster.” You held a finger out, poking his chest firmly and with aplomb, and he only smiled in response, finding this attempt to intimidate him rather adorable. He held in a giggle behind his hand, not wanting to anger you. “Am I amusing to you?” You threw him a cross look, and he held his hands up in surrender.

     “No, of course not! I was just thinking, well... how do you know? About me, I mean?”

     You face went blank. You weren’t expecting this question, though you probably should have been. There was no possible way to answer this honestly. What were you supposed to say? The headmaster forbade you from telling anyone of your true talent. Disregarding that point, what would this vampire do to you once he found out you were one of those sworn to kill his kind? You didn’t have any means of defending yourself at present. You couldn’t outrun him, or fight back with raw strength. He couldn’t do anything right? He wouldn’t… if he were that brash, there’s no way Kirigiri would’ve let him enroll here in the first place. He has to be on excellent behavior to attend Hope’s Peak, right?

     You blinked once, twice. He was waiting for a response, staring patiently. You needed a response, and quickly.

     “W-what are you doing here?” Nice. Perfect.

     “Huh?” His head tilted, taken aback by the curveball you threw his way.

     “W-well you asked what I’m doing here, and you’re right, if I were starting classes today, I would be in one right now. We have the same core classes outside of the individualized training of our talent specialization. I saw the class rosters and schedules! I know you should be in class right now as well!” You were getting louder with every word, feeling very cornered and vulnerable at the moment. If you had just even one weapon on you… just one…

     “Well, uh…” now you had him. You smirked, feeling pretty clever at the moment. “I forgot my books... just my luck haha,” he countered, “So I came back to my room to get them!”

     “Then where are they?” And sure enough, he had nothing on him but the clothes on his back.

     “Hmm… well I came through the second floor entrance,” he gestured over his back “...and I was about to head to my room but I got uhhh… distracted I guess you could say. I really am hopeless.” There was that big, dumb, goofy grin again. Your mind took a second, but then it clicked.

     “...You smelled me…” you spoke slowly, cautiously.

      “Uh… I guess yeah. You could say that. Well that’s exactly what happened, really. I suppose I am glad we ended our little farce! Would’ve been hard to explain that one...” his index finger reached up, scratching at the side of his mouth pensively.

     “You really are a creep!”

     “Yeah, I’m the worst, I know...” Why was he smiling while saying this? “I’m sorry, again. Usually, it’s not like this. Of course I admire our talented peers and am drawn to them as they are pinnacles of hope and the building blocks of the future, but...” he pantomimed through the air grandly, “ I am very conditioned to the human scent. It doesn’t usually alert me nowadays. I dunno… guess the... tantalizing smell of a particularly interesting human was enough to… stir me.” He smirked almost tauntingly. Your eyes widened, but narrowed again immediately. You would not show him weakness. 

     “Stop that.” You scowled.

     “Apologies, (Y/N). Just speaking my mind. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just sort of a disgusting waste of space.” Your scowl melted into a sort of sympathetic frown despite yourself. Did he really mean that? Why would he say that about himself? Vampires were usually more vain on the spectrum of supernatural beings. “I just hold Main Course students in really high esteem, and you’re no exception... actually, far from it. Ever since I met you this morning, you’ve been on my mind more then most mortals… strange...” he seemed lost in his own little world. What? What the hell was going on in his crazy little head? The silence caught his attention, and he seemed to remember you were there as well, looking into your eyes again. He caught himself, making sure to not to make such direct eye contact with you. When he was in these weird moods, he never could quite control his more passive abilities and instincts. “Anyway... yeah, it’s unfortunate that I’m going to be missing part of class now… not that I don’t enjoy the pleasant surprise! I knew there was something special about you right off the bat!" Would he still think that after he knew your true calling? You looked to your right, thankful for the large staircase to escape to. He was giving you unsettling vibes once again. 

     Supernatural beings were known to imprint easily on mortals. Some saw them as beautiful, perplexing, ethereal in their impermanence. Some killed and ate them just because devouring humans, or torturing them until the panicked aura of their tiny, weak souls radiated around the room and feeling that temporary fragility, that adrenaline, was the only way they themselves could feel human. This urge to feel close to humanity was only doubled, dangerously so, in supernaturals who were once human themselves. It was an insatiable need to return to that normalcy, that frailty. 

     Swiftly, you scampered over to the bottom step to put some distance between you and the increasingly imposing immortal before you.

     "Ah, I see. Well, anyway, thanks I suppose. I uh..." you grinned clumsily. “I was just looking for my room, albeit unsuccessfully. You can go ahead and get your books now! I don’t want to hold you up any longer!”

      "I can help! It’s no big deal. The way they get students moved in here can sometimes be confusing. Actually, they put your room number on the student portal, not your card or paperwork, heh! And they don’t even tell you, leave you to find out yourself!” He pulled a large, black rectangle from his pocket, crossing the distance to wave it in front of you like a treat.

     What the...? You patted down your shirt and bottoms alike.

     “Is that my phone? How the hell-?!”

     “Ah, yeah, sorry about that! I swiped it from you when I first came downstairs! I thought it’d help me get to know you better, had you not been willing to divulge the knowledge you have of my kind’s existence.” Once again he was calm, cool and casual whilst in the midst of saying such unusual words. What was this guy’s deal? “Here, you can have it back!”

     “Yeah, I should hope so!” You reached out to snatch your phone from his hand, and it was like time froze.

     The moment your fingertips touched his own in the exchange, your indignant eyes met his, and saw something feral flicker in them. The phone switched hands, and a spark of sorts traveled through your skin and into his. As you pulled back, his hand shot out, taking a tight grip around your wrist.

     Your cheeks warmed up, at once flustered when the atmosphere changed drastically. Your eyes dilated in panic and his lips moved forward, resting upon your hand. He seemed to tense up, a rigidness taking up his entire body. His closed eyes opened wide to match your own and he inhaled deeply of the skin of your knuckles. You pulled away quickly, spooked.

     "S-something wrong? Why are you so weird? I’ve never met any of your kind quite like you." You rubbed your hand curiously.

     “So, you’ve met others?” It was clear he was trying to hold back something deep inside of him that begged to crawl out, his eye twitching slightly.

     “Answer my question.”

     "No, of course not... you just smell... nice, as I said before." He looked away from you, hand extending to guide you upstairs and in the right direction, but your brain was telling you not to go anywhere with him in tow.

     “I- I can find my way myself, but thanks!” You began logging into the Hope’s Peak student portal through your phone’s browser, and quickly looking through your profile to find your room code and number.

     “I insist!” He followed you up the stairs, trailing after your scent like a starved hound. Why couldn't he just get lost? Your thoughts raced anxiously. If you’d had your equipment on you, he would’ve been long dead. He was exhausting, and he didn't feel… safe. “Found it?” he inquired over your shoulder. As you reached the top of the steps, you began to feel your blood boil, but you knew not the true cause of this involuntary reaction.

     Your last little exchange left you feeling foolish and naive. How could you have let a vampire get that close? Why would you let him indulge in the scent of you knowing how easy it was for them to take advantage of humans? You were royally pissed off, and looking for a way to expel that rage, to hurt someone or something the way you were hurting inside.

     “I know you’re a vampire because I kill them. My whole family does. It’s essential to be able to identify one in my line of work. I’d be a pretty shitty hunter if I couldn’t do even that, and you aren’t exactly good at hiding it.” You found your door, swiping your keycard into the extremely sleek, high-tech lock system, and forcing it open a bit too harshly. The frustration you tried to hide in your voice was evident in your actions. Nagito halted, stilled stiff by your suddenly bitter words.

     “Ah,” he cleared his throat, also hiding emotions of his own, “The Ultimate Hunter... it makes sense now.” He recalled seeing your title along with your name on his own school portal. How did he miss that one?

     “Yeah, so maybe you should get lost.” Heartlessly, you began to close the door on him, now fully inside the spacey room that was bare save for a luxurious bed and some basic, modern furniture. “Hn?” A soft gasp left your throat when a polished shoe wedged itself inside the door, stopping you. You looked up, your body filling the crack in the door, and met Nagito’s eyes. There was that far away look again. His eyes were cloudy, tameless, wild.

     “Why must you be so harsh?” His eyes bore into your own now, all inflection and kindness gone from his tone. “I understand you must hate my kind, and now I can appreciate why you reacted so aversely to my voice, my touch, my presence before, but have I done anything to harm you?” You were beginning to get scared now, reaching instinctively for your belt and finding it absent from your pristine uniform.

     “I think you should leave. We obviously aren’t meant to be acquaintances.” You refused to let your voice shake. This might be a turning point, a critical moment. Vampires were never so dangerous as when they knew their prey was afraid.

     “It’s your turn to answer me, now~” Nagito forced himself in the doorway nonchalantly, approaching your slowly retreating form into the middle of your room. You backed away, with him meeting every step.

     “If you must know, you have offended me, yes. Trying to read my mind-”

     “An accident.”

     “Stealing my phone-”

     “A precaution.”

     “Smelling my blood like a pervert, twice!” He smirked.

     “A natural, harmless instinct.” 

     “Even so...” Your eyes were on his own, obviously not focused on his body, and he took this opportunity to reach down, grasping lightly at your hand once again.

     “Even so, what? Those are all petty misunderstandings. Ahhh~” his cold, pointed nose skimmed across the back of your hand once again as he brought it to his face. This time, when you tried to pull away, he held fast, and warning signals flashed in your mind. “Just as I thought! Your scent appeals to me so because you are a shining beacon of hope! I see it now! It’s all coming to me! You protect the world from those of my kind who would seek to destroy it! How wonderful!” His cheek bumped across your knuckles, and you failed once again to pull away.

     “N-Nagito. Stop. This is.... you must consider context. If we weren’t in school right now, if we were just on the street meeting like this-”

     “You wouldn’t do anything~ because I’m allied and protected~” He sung, his eyes twitching again, lids fluttering softly. Your heart dropped into your stomach. He was right. 

     You were trying to resist, but he was making it so damn hard. It shouldn’t be this hard. You found supernatural beings repulsive. Your father did as well. And his father did! They weren’t trustworthy. Their words were always the lies of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. They could charm and glamour weaker mortals with ease and enjoyed it! And you certainly were not a weaker mortal! You found joy in killing them... didn’t you?

     “What you’re doing now is-”

     “It’s strange, hah~ so strange~ I haven’t felt this inspired, this jittery about a mortal in such a long time... haha~ this excitement! I knew it! I knew you were special! You’re the true hope I’ve been looking for! The Ultimate of all Ultimates that will guide our classmates into their roles as the protectors and leaders that will inherit this earth!” He was manic now, inhaling deeply, raggedly onto your skin. One hand crushed your wrist into his own chest, the other held your hand so that it stayed splayed out flat for his access. There was something primal in his eyes. He was quickly becoming unstable. It was a perilous state so common to his kind, but yet it felt still so incredibly unique to Nagito himself, like it was not his immortality but his own character that caused this sudden shift in behavior.

     “Nagito! You sound like a lunatic! Let go, you’re hurting me!” Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. You were strong, usually able to ignore some measure of physical pain, but the way his fingers dug into your wrist coupled with the consternation you felt at the situation set your nerves aflame. Once again you reached instinctively for a weapon or poison you did not have.

     “Am I? I’m sorry. It’s just... I wonder...” You didn’t like where this was going at all. His chest shook with arousal , a bit of drool dripping from the fangs now on display in his mouth, which hung open in his state of reverie. “I wonder what this this hope tastes like... this pure, concentrated source of unbridled hope!” His voice shook, and you pushed at his chest with your free hand. He didn’t budge an inch. It was like he didn’t even notice your actions. “I know I’m unworthy, that a piece of trash like me doesn’t deserve to taste you... but I feel like now that I’m this close, haha~ I can’t stop myself! Truly, truly it’s a grand misfortune that a talentless, meaningless, soulless abomination like myself even dares to take part in such a feast! But...” He lowered his lips to your wrist.

     “Nagito, stop! You can’t do this!” You began to kick and struggle, to scratch and tear at his clothes, to claw at any exposed skin, leaving marks across his cheek and arms. “If you do this, you’ll lose your protection!” His top lip pulled back, something like a snarl emanating from his throat. Clearly that approach wouldn’t work. “You’ll be expelled!” You tried the next deterrent on your mind. Wow, you must’ve been the worst Super High-School Level Monster Hunter in history. Day 1: fooled into a vampire’s clutches. His inhumanely sharp canines grazed the skin of your wrist, feeling your pulse race beneath the surface. He was entranced; there was no stopping this now. A human, without weapons, without enchantments or defenses, without repellants, bombs, herbs, poisons, silver, or means of healing, was no match for a supernatural being. “Please! Please, you- don’t do this!” a last effort. Why did you even try? These savages never sympathized with begging and pleading. They were killers. You were an imbecile to let your guard down around Komaeda for even a second.

     His fangs sunk deeply into your skin, piercing a vein. You yelped out in pain, pulling at his hair and tugging your wrist back, which only nestled his fangs in deeper. You whimpered, little rivulets of your vital fluid running out of his mouth and down to your elbow. He was moaning in delirium, enraptured in the sensation of your blood running down his throat. You wanted to yell, to scream for help, but something inside you was hesitant and holding you back. Something inside you didn’t want anyone to find out about this, to find you two like this.

     “Mmmh~” Nagito’s tongue swirled around the puncture wounds, his lips latched on like a leech. He drank freely, deeply, seemingly careless of how much blood he was taking. It’d been a long time since he’d felt the exhilaration of feeding from true prey. These days they had him on willing donors and blood bags. Nothing compared to the flavor of adrenaline and fear in the bloodstream, no matter how much he hated himself for indulging in it.

     “Naaagi-t-” You stumbled backwards a step, wishing so desperately that you weren’t such an obedient student, that you’d deemed it justified to slip a stake, a knife, anything under your shirt. Your punches, your willful attacks on his abdomen, and the kicks to his knees began to slow down. They were losing the fight behind them, and yet, you would not give up. “St-tt-oo-” He continued to slurp and suck at your wrist, taking no note of the way you slowly were slipping to your knees. 

     The corners of your vision began to cloud and darken. Your head was ringing, much like a time you’d been left concussed after one of your first hunts. This might as well have been one of your first encounters with the supernatural world, with how badly you’d blundered every step.

     Now on your knees, your head hanging limply down into your chest with your arm raised and pulled taut, trailing up to the vampire’s mouth, you felt yourself slipping. Finally, your vision began to fade for the last time, and you fell unconscious. The last thing your mind registered was the sound of Nagito sighing blissfully as he finally detached from your flesh, followed by the sound of frenzied laughter.

[angeli-marco-writes]

Steve Rogers - Promise

A/N - So, this is my first marvel imagine? I haven’t watched all the films yet, I’m halfway through and watching them all in chronological order, but I couldn’t resist because I love Steve Rogers. So much. Once I’ve finished watching, I'll probably realise a shit tonne of mistakes in this, but please don’t judge. Apologies for any typos and incorrect information. GIF credits to owner.

Warnings - angst, smut so 18+ please; fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do it), borderline ‘captain’ kink, 5k.

Summary - you’re an admin worker in stark tower, an average working girl except for one thing, you have a superior memory, one that has aided you many a time. But when you’re leading Cap on a mission and it gets cut off, is it because of your memory, or are you just letting your crush on Steve cloud any reasonable thinking?

YOU LOVE YOUR JOB, there’s no denying it. You’re young, a Brit in America, just working to help with your future, but after how well it’s been going recently? You don’t think you’ll want to leave. 

You’re an admin at Stark Tower. Not that one is really needed with all of Tony’s tech, and the fact that everyone is more than capable of sorting themselves out, it’s just fun to be around. Not only do you complete all the stenography and spreadsheets that don’t necessarily have to do with anyone specific, but you also do many of the more artistic plans and are everyone’s personal therapist. You probably don’t help your own cause - leaving your door propped open with a book to let anyone drift in and out of their own accord at any given time, unless you’re properly working, and then they know to find you in your office. Yes, your very own office.

Recently, with you becoming more and more familiar with the workings of all the residents, growing more knowledgeable of their work lives, picking up the lingo and everyone’s gladness at your perfect, imperturbable memory, you’re slowly being given more tasks. This could be anything from mission reassignment to looking through months old footage, but you’ve been helping out over the system on a couple of missions. You really feel like one of the team even though you know you’re far from it. Sleeping in the tower helps, as well as being welcomed by everyone every meal time that you sit together, especially the way they test your memory trick and always seem completely amazed at how you remember the most obscure details. Anything from the exact positioning of a birth mark on someone that Natasha took down the first week you began working, to the precise measurement of metal that Tony needed to complete a new project, to the freckle on Steve’s bare ass that one time he had to use your shower-

That escalated quickly. 

Currently, you’re in your office, daydreaming and completely wistfully thinking. You have no trouble remembering every conversation you and Steve have ever had, not that many admittedly, but he’s always been so kind to you. He was the first one to truly make you feel part of the team, welcoming you with a hug before holding you at arms length and brushing a crease from the arm of your blouse. You’re not really sure if he’d seen anyone dress that way, since all the girls he was around were always in their kick ass clothes, gym shorts or comfies, so you wandering around day in day out and wearing frilly Victorian-era blouses paired with short, tight pencil skirts and Louboutin stilettos may have been a shock to his system. It wasn’t with any agenda in mind that you did this, merely a mix of modesty and business woman style. Every word Cap has ever said flies through your mind, the impeccable memory of the way his exquisite nylon suit clings to him in all the right places... 

Steve is the only guy you’ve fancied for a while, the only person you’ve ever really gone for emotionally, and all of that is because he’s such a cute human being; so genuine, so upbeat around you, so supportive, and his smile. Goddamn his smile. He’s just too cute for life, which is also why you should really be concentrating, considering you’re supposed to be monitoring his mission. 

“Y/N, are you there? I think somethings happening, someone’s here that we didn’t know about, where do I go?”

His usually soft voice is frantic, and you can tell he’s a little scared, since this was supposed to be a simple solo mission, in and out, but now you’re having to recite an escape route. 

“Turn left at the end of that corridor, half way down there’s a grate on the wall. Pull it off, climb inside.” You tell him as calmly as you can, but even your heart is beating out of your chest, breathing laboured and a slight sweat forming on your forehead. 

“I’m in, sweetheart. What next?” Not the right time for your heart to flutter at his words, especially not the time to imagine the way his raspy morning voice would curl around those very same Few words...

“Follow the route, it’ll bring you out in a downstairs kitchen area that was empty last time I checked, I’ll look again...” you trail off, clicking off the one screen with the dot of his whereabouts to check the surveillance, and he seems to be safe. 

You hear his breathing calm down as he crawls through the ventilation system, but even as you flick through every camera that you’ve been able to access in the building he’s in and the surrounding area, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary apart from a couple of unconscious, probably dead blokes scattered across stone floors.

“I’m in the kitchen, but there’s no doors in here, no way out.” He says. 

Fuck.

Your heart sinks to your feet.

“Yes there is Steve, it’s on the north wall beside a faux, oversized spice rack. It has a silver handle and it’s an oak door, exactly like my bedroom door.”

He pauses, his heart rate thrumming heavily, “sweetheart there’s no door here, there’s no spice rack, just old built in cabinets and flat walls. You must have misremembered.”

“Shut the fuck op Steve, I’m doing what I can,”

Your usual eloquence is out the window along with all of your chill, sounding mildly like a road man as you frantically tap between the screens. He’s right though, his only way out is to climb back in the vent and hope to god, well, or Thor, that no one finds him there, but that may be too late.

“Try the cold tap on the sink, I don’t know exactly what was said but I distinctly remember someone talking about it. Stay calm for me Cap, please.” You want to beg for him to be ok, to come back in one piece, because this isn’t a normal mission, you’re emotionally attached. 

He takes a deep breath and walks over to the tap, but as soon as he touches it, all surveillance is cut off, your computer goes black, and you can’t even hear his breathing anymore. 

“Steve? Cap, come back to me, can you hear me? Steve?” With each call of his name to which he doesn’t respond, you grow more frantic. The lights are still on so you know that it’s not the mains, but you’re not educated with circuits, so you do what you can to reboot your computer, only for it to show up with your bland screen of spreadsheets, sans anything about the mission or Steve.

Your hands start shaking, lip quivering and mind overwhelmed with stress. It’s over, you’ve lost Steve, fucked up the mission, you’ll be out of a job, and the worst part? You broke a promise. 

“Promise you’ll keep me safe out there Y/N?” Steve asked, his cute little smile twinkling in his eyes and making your whole body go giddy.

“I promise, but you have to promise that you’ll come back in one piece.”

“That I can do, for you.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around your body and placing a kiss to your hairline. 

You haven’t been at the compound long enough to know whether this is normal for Steve, or for anyone, or if he’s just a natural flirt. Whatever it is, you feel too guilty to face him again if he even comes back alive. 

Slowly, soft sobs start to escape your lips without you noticing, tears slipping down your cheeks and dampening the neck of your blouse. You can’t help the guilt that overtakes you, the fear that you can’t even reason, and that’s when you hear a soft knock on your door.

“Can I come in?”

It’s Natasha. You nod gently as she takes a seat in the corner of your room, throwing her feet up on your coffee table so nonchalantly that it’s almost not a challenge of authority. 

“What’s up? Didn’t you have to radio for Cap?” Once again you nod, hastily wiping the tears from your face and smoothing your skirt out. “So, why are you crying?”

You like Natasha, of course you do, but you have normal people emotions and a little more conscience, unable to stand the thought of anyone even getting a papercut on your watch. 

“He went off, the computers crashed, and it’s all my fault.” You say, standing up and moving to shut your office door, locking it for safekeeping, because if Bucky finds out then you’re dead. 

Natasha grabs a lollipop from your sweet bowl and sticks it in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she’s flirting. She’s not, that’s just Natasha. “Care to elaborate?”

You take a sharp breath, “someone was there that we didn’t calculate, I had to get him through the ventilation system to an abandoned kitchen that I KNOW had a door, my memory doesn’t glitch, so in the time it took for Steve to get through the vents, someone must’ve closed off the door, but I’m not sure how. Then he just went when he touched the only possible thing that could be an escape route. Fuck, what if he’s dead?”

You feel tears bubbling up in your eyes again, blinking harshly to keep them away. 

“So what if he is? You’re smart, you’re panicking, so you’ve obviously done everything. It sounds harsh but you can’t get too attached. Just listen out and he’ll come back of his own accord, but if he doesn’t then we’ll have to deal with that later.” She says, grasping a hand around your shoulder before  stepping over the threshold to the main compound, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

Maybe she thought tough love would work, but she has a point. You’ve done everything you can, so now it’s just a waiting game.

You keep an ear piece on you but shut your office for the night, heading out to the bar to pour yourself a more than healthy sized glass of wine. You unbutton your shirt a little and slide down the wall to your favourite reading spot, in one far corner, you set up some cushions and bedding. You’re the only one that uses it, but you could swear that you’ve seen Steve eyeing it up before. So you sit, tears streaming down your cheeks and leaving you with mascara-stained tear tracks, the first few buttons of your shirt recklessly undone, and your heels flung elsewhere. You bring the bottle over with your glass, and you pick up a book to keep you distracted. 

You’re not sure how long you sit there, guilt slowly building, occasionally calling Steve’s name to check if he’s come back on the system, but there’s nothing. Nothing until the lift doors open, and out walks a very bloody Cap with his suit half on and a skin tight white t-shirt clinging to his upper body.

The tears don’t stop falling from your eyes, but you close your book anyway. You would stand up, run to hug him, but your legs can’t hold you up, so you stay seated, all your words caught in your throat as Steve edges further across the common area towards you. 

He offers you a shy smile, virtually collapsing into the carpet only metres from you. Slowly his head lifts, hair falling into his eyes, and he holds his arms out. 

“Oh god Steve,” it’s him. Really him. You feared he’d be a hologram or something, your eyes deceiving you from their soreness post crying. But he’s here, you can tell from the overly memorised display of veins in his bicep when he offers you his arm. 

“It’s me,” he nods, edging a little further towards you as you crawl closer and settle into his grip. 

Your tears flow freely, dampening his shirt. Neither of you says a word, he just grips you closer to him, cuddling your legs into his lap to soothe you.

After a while, Steve fidgets, and you find your eyes dry. 

You angle your head upwards, your well kept chignon completely haywire. Steve’s face is covered in bruises and dried blood, but his eyes don’t look at all worried. 

“What happened?” You whisper, words vibrating through his chest. 

“The tap was a trick, or maybe I twisted the wrong one, but all the lights went out and I was shocked, I had to attack a few guys but I made it out, albeit bruised.” He swallows, running a shy finger over the curves of your face. “Were you worried about me?”

You nod, clutching him close. He chuckles and draws circles on your back through your shirt, just his soft touch more comforting than anything else. 

“I’m fine, sweetheart, is my nose broken though?”

You look at his nose, softly smoothing over a hell of a bruise, before placing a gentle kiss to the bridge. 

“No, trust me. In British comps, fights happen daily, and my ex was in with a bad crowd, always in fights. I had to deal with all kinds of injuries, and your nose is not broken. Be grateful because it hurts to sort it out.”

He laughs and brings you in.

“You deserve so much better than someone like that. I was worried about you when I was out there you know...” he says.

A strange conversation transition, but who are you to judge. 

“I was so scared, I thought you’d died,” ah shit, here come the tears again, “Natasha told me to just wait it out like I wasn’t completely emotionally attached to you. Bloody hell, Steve, I’d be responsible if you died.”

He cooes sweet reassurances in your ear, wrapping his arms entirely around your torso while the join between his neck and shoulder becomes your sanctuary.

“I’m emotionally attached to you too if that helps,” he whispers in your ear, so quietly that he hopes you didn’t hear, instantly regretting it. But with the soft kiss you place on the sweet spot just below his ear, he brings up all his courage to angle his head just right, capturing your lips in his in the sweetest of kisses. 

You gasp into the kiss, your reaction giving Steve means to believe you didn’t like it, instantly pulling away and dropping his hands from around your body.

“I-I’m sorry, you’re upset and I took advantage of that, and I haven’t really been with anyone since, well...”

“Shut up and kiss me, Steve.” You command, cutting off his rambling, your hand cupping his cheek. 

His hands slowly make their way around your body, fumbling for the bottom of your blouse and subsequently unable to find where your shirt ends and your skirt starts. You giggle a little into the kiss, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss by delving his tongue into your mouth. You place your hands over his and guide them to your chest. For a second, he seems confused, his lips halting their massaging movements on your own, until he finds the open buttons at the top of your blouse. He pulls his lips away for a moment, breath mingling together in the air. His smells of strawberries, you note. He glances at you for reassurance, something which you eagerly give, so he begins. His hands slowly work their way over your chest, fingers fiddling with your buttons as you wait patiently, completely submissive for Steve to do whatever he wants to you. 

He pushes the material from your shoulders, and you untuck the back of it from your skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor, revealing your bra. Though now you see Steve eyeing it up, you realise it’s not really a bra at all, rather two triangles of flimsy fabric with some bands and strings attached, one of your only bras that doesn’t show through a sheer blouse. The way his eyes are boggling at your tits though, you guess he likes it. 

An unwitting blush creeps up your neck and cheeks, suddenly feeling cold under his scrutiny.

“You can touch them if you want,” you chuckle lightly, fearing that you’ll sound like an inexperienced teenager if you say more. 

Steve blushes as crimson as you, his large hands leaping at the opportunity to feel you. You throw your head back in pleasure as his cold thumb rubs over your nipples, making them hard to the touch, and the rest of his hands get to work massaging and kneading your boobs, pulling down the fabric to softly kiss your bare skin. 

Although he hasn’t done this in a while, well, a lifetime, he still knows how to do it realllly well. 

Your hands fly to his heart, keeping him there, his lips switching between your breasts until you grow a little more needy, grinding down on his bulge. 

“You wanna do this?” He asks, voice a little hoarse but still silky. 

“Yes, Steve. Fuck, just take me.”

“Language,” he chides jokingly, but despite that, he agrees. 

Clearly he doesn’t need to be asked twice, because he has you flipped beneath him with your back on your cushions in your reading corner, his lips attaching your neck. 

You fumble with the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head between kisses and suckles to a sensitive spot on your neck. He’s carved like a Greek god, abs toned to perfection, his tanned skin rippling with any given movement. He feels so soft too, skin tender beneath your fingers, trailing them gently across his back and torso to simply feel him. The contrary of gentle skin and solid muscles is one that makes your mouth water with desire, bringing Cap’s lips back to your own, palms pressed firmly against his back. You go in deep this time, licking his mouth and devouring his taste. To your surprise, he kisses you back with even more fervour, so passionate that you lose track of any thought swirling in your mind. 

“Suit off, now.” You call breathlessly, watching on as Steve clumsily tries to peel off his trousers by using the sleeve of his suit. He’s moving so recklessly that with an abrupt movement he’ll snag the fabric, ripping the suit that makes him look heaven sent. 

“Here,” you giggle, offering a hand out which he gladly takes, letting you shimmy the tough material down his legs, only blocked by his clunky boots which he kicks off at the same time as the suit, haphazardly leaving them wherever they fall in the lounge. “Fuck.” Is all you can choke out. The serum worked on everything. Even with his briefs still on, you can see his cock twitching within its confines.

“You’re wearing too many clothes now,” he faux scolds, leaping atop you again, kissing your collarbone as his hands work their way down your body. 

First he unhooks your bra properly, throwing it off and you both hear it land on the glass coffee table from the way your clasp knocks the glass. Next he moves onto your skirt, unzipping it, your hips raising of their own accord to accommodate his actions, slipping it off alongside your tights, revealing your bare legs to him for the first time. He doesn’t care about any of the natural marks that grace your skin, merely that you’re sitting in just your panties and only for him. 

“God you’re so beautiful,” he says.

He runs his palms over your thighs, just feeling your skin beneath his. His touch is soothing, as is his presence, allowing you to feel open towards him. You tilt your legs a little more open, revealing to him the small wet latch that graces your not-so-sexy work underwear. 

“All for me?” Steve asks, eyes innocent and doe like. 

If he’s really this sweet and naive then you’re gonna fucking ruin him. Sweet Jesus what you wouldn’t do to that man, starting with your incredibly well hidden Captain kink, though it may not be hidden much longer.

He brings a finger up to your core, pushing your panties to the side to run a finger up and down your slit. He audibly moans while collecting your slick from between your folds, fingers rough in contrast to the part of his body that you’re gripping onto, though you’re not sure quite where from your eyes fluttering closed. 

“Ready?”

You nod, bracing yourself as he rips your panties off and pushes one finger inside you. He feels brilliant, his fingers so much longer and better than your own, already bringing you jolts of pleasure from its presence. 

He draws it out before pumping back in again, continuing his movements. Your forehead falls against his bare shoulder, small gasps of pleasure escaping your open mouth.

“More,” you pant, ready to feel more of his intoxicating ministrations. 

He nods obligingly, slowly adding a second finger, continuing his gentle assault on your pussy. God, it’s been so long since you’ve had sex, just his two fingers pumping in and out of you brings you more pleasure than you’d care to admit. 

“S-stop,” 

He looks up at you, immediately withdrawing his fingers, covered in your juices and glistening in the moonlight. You flush far too deeply at such a simple thing. 

“I need to feel you already, please.”

You sensually drag your finger all over his bare chest, hearing his breath hitch in his throat. He nods vigorously, hair falling in his line of vision, but scrambles to be on top of you properly, hands either side of your head on your array of cushions and his legs steady, trapping you completely beneath him. 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna take advantage of you, y/n. You’re so beautiful and perfect and I want your first time with me to be something you’ll remember forever.” He says sweetly, but despite his kind words, you can’t help but chuckle for a solid few seconds before he realises what he’s said. 

“Ok, but are you sure you wanna do it here rather than my room? Yours is out of the option, everyone will assume you’re dead if your book isn’t there anymore...” 

once more you chuckle, as does he, bringing your hand up to cup his jaw. 

“I’m sure, Steve, now get inside me before I change my mind and wake Bucky up,” you quip. 

He knows you’re joking but gets to work anyway, swiftly getting rid of his brokers and ungracefully kicking them off as you watch him. He may be hot but even Loki’s magic may not be able to make him elegant. 

As soon as he’s back in his previous position and you see is dick slapping against his stomach, hard and already a little red, you can’t help but gape. His too-tight boxers didn’t do him justice because now you’re worried he won’t even fit. 

He sees your worried face and panics, “We can go back if you want, we don’t have to do this.”

“I want this Steve, shitting hell-“

“Language,” he chides, interrupting you, allowing you to cock your eyebrows at him, a look to say ‘is this really the time?’

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, just go slow because you’re huge.” You finish, smiling at his dorky smile and flushed cheeks. 

Of all the things he could blush at, he chooses a compliment. Such a dork, you think to yourself, unable to stop the contagious smile creeping onto your face.

“I’ll be careful with you, I promise.”

And that he is. 

“Oh, and call me captain.”

That’s something you knew he’d have a kink for, making you smirk a little too. 

He runs the head of his cock through your folds to father a little lubrication before pushing in, very slightly and very gently. He bends his arms and kisses all over your face with the new leverage, feather light kisses of pure affection before you give him a breathy whisper, resembling of a ‘more’, so he pushes in a bit more again, repeating the process until he’s buried to the hilt inside your aching core, clenching around him without Steve even needing to do anything. 

“Can I start moving?” He asks, awkwardly shifting his weight above you, but you nod vigorously, kissing him urgently as his lips begin to move. 

He starts off slow, gradual thrusts, ensuring that he finds every weak spot inside or you, making your toes curl already and your legs knot around his waist, his tongue still dancing with yours. 

He increases his pace after a while, bucking into you faster, making you moan out his name and clutch onto his wonderfully broad shoulders.

You pull your lips away for a moment, “more Captain,” you ask, nothing more than a breathy sound, but Steve obliges. 

He breaks the kiss as he begins snapping his hips into yours with fervour and purpose. His balls are hitting your bare ass, his cock stuffed inside you and making the most delectable sounds from how wet you are, all for Steve. He looks down, tearing his gaze away from your pretty little face with your die eyes and parted lips, only to watch as he sinks into you again and again, blurring the lines of where he ends and you begin.

“Steve, Captain, please, talk to me,” 

Your words come out as a strangled cry, a beg mixing with his moan at the name, oxygen lessening as your eyes flutter shut, too engrossed in the pleasure to even care that your voice has gone up in pitch while his has gone down. 

“You’re such a tease, walking around in that tight skirt all day, those long legs always crossed. All I want is to pull them apart and go down on you, under your desk, in the kitchen, just anywhere that I can have you for my own.” 

His voice is low, raspy and needy as he trails his tongue along your collarbone filthily, forcing your eyes open with some unearthly force he must possess simply so that he can meet your gaze as he bites your nipples, his cock continually hitting that sweet spot inside you. 

“It’s not just that though,” he continues, resuming his dirty talk between caresses of his lips all over you, “you’re so perfect. So stunning, so intelligent, the reason I wake up every day just for the hope that one of these days I’d be able to kiss you.”

his hips halt just for a moment, long enough to unwrap your legs from his back and throw them over his shoulders, lust filled eyes boring into your own with an uncharacteristically devilish smirk. 

He kisses you again, fleeting but passionate before he nibbles your earlobe and purrs,

“And now I get to have you at my mercy, and believe me, that desk fantasy is gonna come true every day.”

With that sentiment, he starts ploughing into you even more ferociously than before, making you scream his name, a lot of murmured ‘Captain!’s and curses mingling with the cries. 

The new angle hits spots you forgot even existed. Your nails take his back, tugging in and clinging on for mercy, the burn of your legs in such a contorted position only adding to your pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you shout breathlessly, chest heaving, your boobs moving up and down of their own accord and Steve is unable to take his eyes off them.

You feel the coil ready to spring in your stomach, a climax that’s been steadily building since he first kissed you. 

“Tell me what you’re gonna do with me tomorrow, and then you can come.”

His words are something forbidden, coaxing you off the edge, daring you to hit that wave of pleasure. Just the thought of your past daydreams make your walls clench around him. 

“I’ll wake you up by sucking your magnificent cock, then I’ll ride you harder than anyone has ever before, and then I’ll ride your face before we have intermittent sex in my office, at least twice.”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, your imagination running winks with the thought of Steve having you in his lap in your desk chair, pressed up against the glass of your office for everyone to see as he fucks you senseless. You’re insatiable. The thought of his dick twitching in your mouth is too much to handle, especially as he brings his thumb down and presses on your clit, moaning unintelligibly at your apparently sexy words, and you feel it. 

Your orgasm crashes over you so hard that you feel it on your bones, thrashing around beneath Steve, screaming out his name as he dudes your high out only seconds before coming too, his muffled cries of your name drowned out as he bites onto the juncture of your neck, bruising it and rendering you unable to wear anything other than polo necks for a good few days. The pleasure he’s given you is unrivalled, and you can’t waist for more.

His body collapses onto yours inelegantly, wrapping you unto his body warmth in your cosy little corner, both forgetting that you’re completely naked in the common area after having rather loud sex. 

“Was that good?” Steve asks sheepishly, fingers running through your tangled hair.

“Yes, incredible. And for you?”

He thinks for a moment before answering, “exquisite, sweetheart.”

Your heart glows a little at his sleepy voice. You run your thumb over the bump of his nose and the blood residue still on his face, but you think you may like Steve a little roughed up. You stay close to each other, breathing together and sharing kisses in the night time, so absorbed in your own bubble that you don’t hear someone come in.

“The fuck is this, Steve?”

Fuck, Bucky. 

“Couldn’t you have been a little better at aiming your clothes? We’re all glad you’re finally together, but loud and untidy as well as sex in the common area? Come on.”

You can hear the humour in his words, but they do hold some sincerity, making you blush and chuckle. Next thing you know, your bra is being thrown at the pair of you, landing in Steve’s messed up hair.

“Thanks buck...” you say with a meek giggle, kissing Steve and removing your bra from his face.

“Round two? My room?” He suggests, eyebrows wiggling. 

“Promise you’ll let me clean you up first?!” You insist, kissing his shoulder and beaming at him. 

“Promise.”

[alexthemagicaldevil]

Of Medea, Jason, and Other Tragedies

Some of you might remember a post I made a little while ago comparing how Quackity and Technoblade fit into the lore of the DSMP. Here are my thoughts via a 3k words of angst:

Read it on AO3

There was nothing left of L’Manburg.

It was something universally understood and known. Something that was never questioned. Something that everyone just accepted so that they could move on and not think about the nation that had too many traitors, too many broken promises, too many memories. It was something that everyone thought they believed so that they wouldn’t go looking for little pieces left behind, pieces that miraculously survived the desimation.

But Quackity knew the truth. Those little pieces could be found without looking too hard, whether it be in the fractured relationships of the SMP or the physical evidence that managed to not become ash at the bottom of a crater. And Quackity, well, he held both of those pieces in the palms of his hands.

In one hand, he held the souls of those fractured by L’Manburg’s memory. Fundy and his desperate need of a stable family, with a past scarred by a father that went mad and nightmares that haunt his waking actions. Sam and his futile attempts at control, gradually being poisoned as he pushes everyone away and tries to single handedly keep the server’s god locked in his own prison. Purpled and his lack of legacy, even in a place he so heavily influenced and his skills so valued yet so dismissed. Foolish and his beautiful builds and broken heart, running away from his destructive past and wanting peace despite the possibility of godhood sitting at his fingertips.

In the other hand, Quackity held a poster, one of the last remaining remnants of the place he had once fiercely declared home. He has no idea how it survived. Most of the physical pieces of L’Manburg that could be found were sections of buildings just far enough away from the explosions, items in random chests, or whatever was on the citizens at the time. Yet somehow, through all the fire and TNT, this poster had survived.

Technoblade. Wanted dead or alive.

Quackity had found it relatively soon after Doomsday, wandering around the crater where L’Manburg once stood. It was slightly singed on the edges and an entire corner was gone, but there it was, lying on the ground innocently, Technoblade’s mocking eyes staring at him with something like satisfaction.

He should have left the thing there. It would have eventually faded away like the rest of L’Manburg with enough time under the elements. Or maybe he should have burned it and forgot it was there in the first place. Whatever he should have done, picking it up, carefully folding it, and stuffing it into his back pocket was definitely not it. But he did. And it stayed with him for a long time.

At first, it was just there, a burning reminder in his back pocket of all he failed to do and what he promised to accomplish. It was there as he built Las Nevadas from the ground up, barely noticeable besides the constant nagging reminder in the back of his thoughts. It was there when he hired Purpled and Technoblade to take care of the Eggpire that had gone on for far too long, growing heavier and heavier each time the Blood God looked at him. It was there when he found out about Kinoko Kingdom for the first time, how the only three people he thought he could trust, the reasons he built Las Nevadas in the first place, left him behind without a second thought.

(The poster didn’t feel heavy then, but it did feel like it was laughing at him. Low and monotone, coming from deep within his memories.

The poster didn’t feel heavy then, but the two rings threaded through a chain around his neck did. They felt like shackles threatening to weigh him down and drown him.

Quackity removed the rings and hid them in a chest after that. Somehow, though, they still felt suffocating).

The poster was there for everything, tucked away in his back pocket, even when he began recruiting members for Las Nevadas. Through Foolish and Fundy, Purpled and Sam, and even through Slime. It knew everything, Quackity would find himself thinking. Of course, there was no way for a poster to know anything, but it didn’t stop the thought.

It wasn’t until after Wilbur visited him with Tommy after his revival (and so many memories of Pogtopia) that he finally took the poster out of his pocket. He was alone at the time (as he always is these days, it feels like, even surrounded by other beings) and in his unfinished casino. Sam had left nearly an hour ago to continue his duties as the Warden at the prison. The echoes of their conversation reverberated through Quackity’s mind.

Technoblade is going to the prison to see Dream tomorrow, he remembers saying. I trust you know what you have to do.

Of course, Sam had replied, the intense green of his eyes sparking in the dim lighting of the casino. You’ve done your part. Now I’ll do mine.

Quackity stared at the glass of whiskey in his hand. It had always Schlatt’s drink of choice, when he was still breathing. The smell reminded Quackity of the long nights he spent as Vice-President to a man barely sober enough to stand, let alone run a country. How many times had he put the smallest amount of poison in Schlatt’s drink, hoping that this time, it would be enough to end him for good? How many days had he spent hiding bruises and putting on fake smiles, wondering if it was all worth it? How many nightmares had he endured, thinking about everything Schlatt did and made him do?

He drank all the whiskey in one go. It burned his throat and pooled like fire in his stomach.

The glass made a satisfying thud on the counter as Quackity set it down. It was then that he finally reached for the poster in his back pocket, holding it almost gently in his scarred hands. He traced the edge of it with his finger, thinking deeply.

Quackity unfolded the poster, one fold at a time. The folds were deep from the sheer amount of time it’s spent in his pocket. It was honestly a miracle that it was still intact, given the state it was in when Quackity found it and the constant strain it’s been under since.

When Quackity finished unfolding the poster, he placed it against the wall and used his empty whiskey glass to hold it up. It looked just like he remembered, even back when the Butcher Army was first created. Sure it was faded and threatened to fold on itself at any moment, but it was still there. The reward, Technoblade’s face, the L’Manburgian flag.

Quackity stared into Technoblade’s red eyes. It was only a drawing, but whoever had done the picture nailed the resemblance to the Blood God. The scar over his eye and lip itched just looking at it.

“You know Technoblade,” Quackity found himself saying. “Before we met, I always had a healthy respect for you. Who didn’t? Everyone was in awe over the Blood God, the most terrifying fighter of our generation, rumored to never be able to die.” He sighed. “Of course, fighting was never my strong suit. You found that out first hand,” he added with some humor, though it felt flat. “Still, a part of me longed to do what you do. Words can only get you so far, get you so much respect.

“They say you should never meet your heroes. Something in that has to be true, because ever since I’ve known you, my life has been nothing but one bitter failure after another.” The poster didn’t reply, and Quackity understood with some absurdity that he was literally talking to a poster as if it were a real being. Still, he continued on.

“Well, maybe that’s giving you too much credit, but it sure feels like that. It’s just,” he trailed off slightly, moving his hands around, trying to figure out some way to articulate his point. Words were supposed to be his weapons, but here, vulnerable and trying to express something that’s been gnawing at him for so long, they scrambled in his throat. “Somehow you come out of every battle, every conflict without a single mark, yet I’m punished for every decision I’ve made since I came to this Primeforsaken SMP.”

And those words, Quackity realized, are when the floodgate inside his chest burst.

“No matter what you do, who you hurt, who you kill, what everyone wants or tries to accomplish, you have never paid for anything you’ve done to the people of this server. I remember when we took down Schlatt with Pogtopia, how you were so insistent that the government had to be taken down, all the while talking about how it was the people’s choice to live how they wanted to live. Well guess what, shithead? The people, L’Manburg, us, we decided that we wanted a government, one that listened to us and one that we could trust. And what did you do once the people made their choice? What did you do after we had called you our friend and said you didn’t have to live by our ways if you didn’t want to? You called us traitors. Said we used you, when all you ever wanted was an excuse to push your own anarchist bullshit down the throat of any server that would give you the time of day. You’re somehow the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met, even in a world where Dream runs around as the Admin.

“But that’s not even the worst of your sins, isn’t it? I’ve watched you blow up countries with no remorse, execute a child on the whim of a dictator, corrupt and hurt every single person I’ve ever cared about, destroy what I put every ounce of my heart and soul into like it was nothing.”

There were tears aching behind his eyes now. Quackity took a shuddering breath, trying to calm his hurting heart. He thought about Schlatt and his time in Pogtopia, thought about Tubbo and Tommy and Niki and every other L’Manburgian face as they realized the nation they loved was gone at Technoblade and Wilbur’s hands. “And what were your consequences for all of this? What karma did the oh so powerful universe decide you deserved?

“Nothing. Not a single, goddamn thing. For all your violence and bloodshed, you get to live in a nice cottage in the Arctic, filled with friends that celebrate your birthday, and not a single regret.”

Quackity smiled blankly at the poster, raising his hands. By now he was full on pacing in front of it, his shoes making soft noises against the tile. All the while, Technoblade’s red eyes watched his every move.

“But what about me? Prime knows I’m the furthest thing from a saint this server has to offer, but at least I had good intentions. I went against Wilbur during the elections not because I wanted power, but because I saw what he was doing and no one else was going to call him out on his bullshit. I mean, come on! Running a single party election in a so-called democratic nation? Now, that doesn’t mean I didn’t do bad things. I should have left Schlatt the moment I realized just how bad he was. I shouldn’t have waited until after he ruined L’Manburg and executed Tubbo to join Pogtopia. It haunts me every waking moment.” Quackity stopped his pacing for a moment, lost in the memories. Tubbo screaming, the flash and bang of a firework. The explosion of color from the second firework immediately after, because the first one hadn’t been enough. The burning in his chest as he was hit with a firework of his own.

“And then, after you and Wilbur decided to blow it all to kingdom come, I did everything I thought was best for L’Manburg. I helped people. I rebuilt everything you destroyed and made it better. I wanted to hunt you down and make you pay for everything you did.” His scar began to itch again. “But I guess we both know how that turned out.

“And what were my consequences for this? For doing my best, realizing my mistakes, trying to fix them, trying to protect those around me? What karma did the oh so powerful universe decide I deserved?

“Everything. I was punished for everything. Every place I called home, every person I called a friend, every time I fell in love, anything I tried to protect, every time I tried to be happy, I was punished for it. Somehow in this fucked up version of the story, I’m the villain that needs to be punished for their actions, while you’re the blameless hero that gets a happily ever after!”

Quackity was near yelling at this point. It felt good to let out all of his emotions after so long, putting everything into the open even if no one else heard him. He forced himself to calm down slightly, running a hand through his hair.

“Have you ever heard the story of Medea and Jason?” he asked abruptly. The air of the casino seemed to shift uncomfortably with his sudden change of tone, lighter and lower than before. “You probably have, with your obsession with Greek Mythology and shit. You know something interesting about Medea, though? Even though she did horrible, and I mean horrible things, she never lost the favor of the gods. She abandoned her country for some random dude she fell in love with, plotted the murders of her brother and father, as well as murdered a princess with a poison so strong that it killed anyone she touched, and even killed her own children. Yet she doesn’t pay for any of it. Through all of the murder and sorcery, the kept her favor with the gods, and was allowed to have a happy ending. Hell!” Quackity let out a barking laugh. “She doesn’t even die as far as anyone knows! Greek mythology is known for its love of horrible and dramatic deaths, yet of all of the myths she shows up in, never once does it mention her eventually dying, even of old age! Sounds like someone else we know, doesn’t it?”

He paused for a moment, as if expecting a reply. Of course, there was none.

“Now Jason, Jason, on the other hand, we see something interesting. You see, he loses his favor with the gods, specifically his patron Hera, because he was trying to marry another woman even though he was already married to Medea and had two children with her. Can you imagine your patron goddess being the lord of marriage and family, and then you trying to marry another woman? The balls on that man, I’m telling you. The point is, none of his heroic deeds mattered in the end. He lost favor with the gods, lost his wife and children, and ended up dying alone, crushed under the weight of the Argo. The only thing left to immortalize his heroism ended up being the cause of his death.”

Quackity suddenly paused. His words echoed in the casino around him. No longer was he pacing. Instead, he stared long into the distance, as if he could see something through the thick walls. The weight around his neck was nearly unbearable. When he spoke again, it was just above a whisper.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is you are an awful lot like Medea. Doing horrible things left and right with the gods still choosing to favor you, still getting a happy ending despite all the pain and grief you’ve caused. But…” he trailed off, looking back at the poster. It may have been his imagination, but Technoblade’s eyes seemed less mocking, somehow.

“I have hope. Maybe you’re not Medea. Maybe, just maybe, you’re Jason. You’ll do something so terrible that you’ll lose your favor with the gods, lose everything that ever mattered, and you’ll be crushed under the weight of what once proved your worth.” Quackity walked forward, reaching out his hand. His fingertips stopped less than an inch from the surface of the poster, just hovering. Waiting. Contemplating.

“But I can’t wait for that to happen. I can’t wait for the universe to finally decide you’ve lost its favor.”

He dropped his hand. “You once said something, Technoblade. You said: treat others as they have treated you. That was your excuse for everything you’ve done. I tried to enact that saying once before, and I lost a life because of it. This time around…”

Quackity finally snatched the poster from the place on the wall, rattling the glass in the process. He refused to acknowledge that there was the finest tremble in his hands, making the poster shake.

“Well, the universe already made me the villain of this story. Might as well act like one.”

Quackity ripped the poster to shreds, piece by piece, one of the last remaining pieces of L’Manburg destroyed at his hands. Soon it was so shredded that it was unrecognizable, a pile of paper falling softly to his feet. When it was gone, it felt like pressure was relieved from Quackity’s shoulders. For the first time in a long while, he smiled genuinely.

He walked out of the casino, leaving the pile there for another day. He was sure Slime would clean it up without much fuss.

And if the weight around his neck grew to be nearly unbearable-- well, that was no one's knowledge but his own.

[beetleboo]

long post. one i’ve been trying to make for a while now. hell, i wrote this like... third week of may. didn’t post it until now because i didn’t know if I wanted to.

but something i want to lay out, been wanting to lay out for months. dont want to talk to anyone about it, just want to put the info out there for it to be seen.

if you re/blog this i will block you. i may put this on the relevant sideblog at some point.

because 2020 was the worst year on record for me for a number of reasons, and it’s torn me down to the lowest point i’ve been in a long time, and this is just. everything that’s gone down. not a callout post, no one gets named, but these are all the events

partially in relation to my fandom sideblog, because that’s where i had community, and where it’s all just. gone. doesnt exist anymore.

i started up a server, ages ago now. somewhere i curated to be a positive and safe space for things, and for a while, it was that.

around the end of 2019, spilling over to the start of 2020 when it picked up, i found, both on my blog and in discord spaces, in particular the server i ran, that people no longer talked to me. no one would hold a conversation with me past a few basic responses, no one replied to anything i shared, no one engaged when i tried to start discussions. so i pulled back from the main server - S1. thought it was just a lull in activity. stayed that way for weeks, months, and I just muted the server. no one ever cared about anything i had to say. was lucky if anything i posted got even a token emoji react

was in another, smaller server - S2. people i talked to damn near every day, even in voice. played games together - that became... no fun simply because everyone else was so much better/further ahead in the game. i was completely useless, so didn’t server a function in game and never really felt like anyone actively wanted me around, but i still participated in chat.

but again, no one ever responded to anything I posted beyond maybe a token react

couple people discussing something one day. I contributed with Theory A, and quite immediately got that shut down. few minutes later, they rephrased exactly what I said and happily nattered away. so whatever I said wasn’t worth it when it came out of my mouth but if they talked about it, it was all well and valid. so again, between that specific experience and no one interacting with me, nor anything I post. server muted. treatment taught me no one cared about my presence there.

gave admin rights to S1, my server, to someone I trusted. two requests only: dont delete channels and let me know if you want to invite anyone (since I kept it private)

RYE (i’m just assigning random three letter names to people to keep this straight) posted public invites several times. never asked me. one of the two things i asked. brought it up with them that it bothered me, just got vague noncomittal responses. more public invites. eventually, after having the server muted for months, i handed over full control and left. that was almost a full year ago. none of the people have talked to me in that entire year, through discord or here or anything.

except RYE who sent me a message after a couple months like ‘wow i havent heard from you in a while hope you’re doing ok’. i wasn’t. after a bit but still the same day, i said as much. that i wasn’t doing well. they never responded. and i don’t mean like, they didn’t respond that day. i mean i literally never heard from them until months later when they sent me a meme and also didn’t respond to me commenting on that meme.

and this is one side of things. all of the above was the first half of the year. this next bit happened about. march2020? I was in another server - S3. another place that was a good space at the time. was in voice chat with two other people. started talking about one thing. MIN very suddenly said something along the lines of ‘i don’t care about this i’ll come back when you’re done’

this is one of the very few things that can trigger me - i’ve had a lot of people talk down to me if I dare look excited about anything. when they came back, i asked if they could try to just. depart conversations more softly. MIN always said ‘if i do anything hurtful to you just tell me! i dont want to do that kind of thing!’

this was clearly a lie as they exploded on me, telling me they always have to walk on eggshells around me, that I ask so many things from them. before what I asked them that day, I can only recall one other thing i asked (which was not to talk about a person who was abusive towards me, and they were like ‘yea sure np’ about that, over a year prior’)

the whole thing turned into basically me having to shut down the fact that i was hurt by what they did, had to ignore that now and i had to fawn and placate them and the only thing i got out of that was that my feelings were irrelevant, only theirs.

(incidentally, I have had two other people turn on me in similar ways, accusing me of doing shifty/bad/terrible things, and not being willing to tell me what they are when I ask, only saying that ‘i should know what i did’ so that’s also now a Fun New Bit Of Trauma.)

and that entire weeklong event lead me straight to a breakdown. literal genuine breakdown i cannot convey how devastating that entire scenario was without going into far too many details.

so between all of these things happening in less than six months, with three different community spaces folding and collapsing and fading away from me, with many of the friends i thought i had just. moving on to other things and dropping me. people i talked to every day just not bothering with me anymore. they all have gone on to other stuff and no one ever went ‘hey beets wanna see what i’m up to’ or ‘wanna do this thing with me’

a handful of instances of me saying ‘yeah i’m dealing with these fears that have been reinforced lately that people aren’t safe to deal with, even thought part of me knows they’re probably irrational it feels like i have evidence to back it up’ and people immediately take it personally like i’m saying they’re not safe. despite. me outright saying. i know logically it should be irrational. but their reactions just reinforce it so it’s just a loop and tells me, again, never to bring up any of my problems with anyone.

so this all just reinforces that there’s something wrong with me. couple years back i spoke to a friend and how i was frustrated that I seemed to end up in bad spaces and they said ‘well you’re the one thing in common so its probably your fault’ and obviously they’re not my friend anymore but that has affected me so deeply. i can’t do anything without overthinking, whenever anything goes wrong i tear apart everything i’ve done and everything i’ve said or thought and i don’t know why things keep going bad. i try so hard but i’m just. not right.

so it all teaches me that there’s no point in reaching out in trying to talk to people because if i say ‘hey this hurt me’ i get ignored at best or torn down, yelled at, scolded. no point in trying to talk to new people because everyone just walks away at some point. not even a natural drift apart, i can handle that. but just very suddenly, they’re gone, off with better people doing better things.

roundabout, ties back to ‘consumption versus community’ - this is why i’ve been struggling so hard with lack of engagement on my sideblog. lucky to get a dozen notes on anything i make, unless it’s something other people can use (like mods) and even THEN it’s rare to see much activity. and that was FINE because i had people to talk to elsewhere, who would ask questions and we could back and forth and i shared my stuff and they shared those and it didnt matter if my posts only got a dozen notes because i had friends to talk to.

now i get (example) seven notes, six of which are likes and one is a reblog with no commentary. when i have something with a ton of notes, still, minimal commentary, no one talks to me. even on a mod with five hundred notes it just feels like i went ‘hey i made something :)’ and everyone picked it up and walked away with it, no one went ‘hey this is cool i want to talk to the person who made it.’

and it just feels like 95% of the time, i’m just overlooked. 

and it’s worse than it’s ever been in my entire life, and I wonder, what’s the point of any of this anymore.

why bother to make the posts to share when it all just gets passed by. what’s the point in trying to reach out to new people and make friends when i get lashed out at or left behind? the social is gone out of my social media. i had community, and now it’s gone.

so this has all been going on for months and months and months and hey! suffering. and i dont expect it to get any better, don’t expect this post to fix these issues, but i’ve been trying to say something about all of this for fucking months and i think just, laying it all out is all I can do about it. i’m sure i’ve forgotten some things to touch on but as it is, all these events, all of it happening all together. new traumas, old traumas reawoken, reinforced, i’ve been torn to pieces i don’t know how to function, i can’t remember the last time i felt like even half a real person. taught that the safe, positive spaces that meant so much to me don’t actually exist and they’ll all turn on me and be torn away. nowhere is safe anymore, and trying to make it safe is just going to ruin me again.

people aren’t safe, places aren’t safe, been proven to me time and time again so i just. stay away.

no matter how much i try to fight that, it just doesnt work.

anyway tl;dr beets needs therapy probably

[kiefbowl]

Hi, im 23 and my boyfriend is 44. We've been together for just over a year and have been good together, we have open communication and mutual respect. I guess I'm just wondering, in your opinion, because I respect you and value your thought processes, if its still wrong or predatory? I love him very much, he seems to love me too. Am I being naive?

Thank you for the appreciation. I’d like to put a caveat up front that I can’t know what your relationship looks like, and the only one who knows what it’s like and how healthy it is is you. Additionally, a relationship can have healthy qualities and unhealthy qualities, and good people can have a bad relationship. Healthy parts doesn’t mean the whole is good. 

No, I don’t think you’re being naive. I don’t think there’s any value judgement to attach to a 23 year old entering a relationship with a 44 year old. It does make my eyebrows raise. I find it extremely difficult to believe a 44 year old and a 23 year old have a healthy, mutually beneficial relationship. I don’t think it’s impossible for large age gaps to exist in a healthy relationships necessarily, but when it happens with someone in their 20s, that rings alarm bells to me. Your 20s are still formative years, and it can be hard to see that while you’re living them. There’s a lot of growth you’re going to do before you turn 30. Your career probably hasn’t really taken root yet, your earning potential is going to (probably) increase (maybe even very drastically at some point), you probably don’t really own a lot of stuff and the stuff you own is most likely not all that important to you or of good quality, you’re still young enough to be under your parents insurance, your credit is likely not that great (not that it’s bad, but age of credit lines is a big factor in your credit score), among other admin things that might not seem that big of a deal but do help you form an identity. When I was 23, my responsibility as a consumer was nonexistent because I was poor, at points unemployed, at points living at home...it’s only in the past few years I could start challenging myself to live up to my values and a sense of character that’s important to me as a consumer because I can move around the world more freely. It comes with money, but also career position. So that’s one aspect of being 23...

The other aspect of being 23 is you are very, very, very young, and even without a lot of money it can be very fun to be very, very, very young. It can be a lot of fun being older, too. I’m not old, by any means, but from this point in my life looking forward I’m much more excited to get older than I was at 23. At 23 I dreaded it because it felt like I was running out of time to be young. You get older and you learn to accept it and you realize how much in your life can change in a short time and you realize there’s wisdom, position, and status to gain in each decade of your life. Obviously, not every one is fortunate and not everyone is going to have increasing good fortune as they age, but regardless of what you make or do, you learn and grow as you get older, and I think it’s easier to appreciate as your enter your 30s. So don’t worry about getting older, but let me tell you 23 is FUN. 

23 was also the worst year of my life. I couldn’t afford chicken nuggets. But my friends and I were also working a crummy starbucks job that gave me almost no responsibility. I would wake up at 11, smoke weed and eat cereal, watch netflix, walk to work, work 2:30 - 11, then go out to a bar with my friends and eat cheap wings until 2 am, go home and play with my cat and go to bed literally whenever in an apartment with no furniture to take care of. I’d be off on a random weekday and grab another random friend who was off to go on day trip in their shitty car to Milwaukee for the hell of it, or go take a long walk on the beach listening to music all day, or go downtown and go to a museum on a discount day because no one was there, or ride my bike in the summer sun to nowhere in particular in the middle of the day because people were at work, and then come back home and do fuck all. Then I’d do it all again, plus steal croissants from work and drink endless coffee all day. And it didn’t matter, I could wake up the next day energized. Yes, I was stressed out, and I didn’t always appreciate the joy that can be found in that life because of it also sucked ass, but the energy and fortitude you have as a young 20 something is a beautiful thing to live through. I wouldn’t go back to that life now having the space I’ve made myself in the world, but I love thinking back to it and I’m glad it happened. I had to work really really hard to carve my little place in the world (and I’m not done yet!!), but there was a moment right before I hit the pavement to make that happen where my life felt endless, fresh, uninhibited, palpable. 23 has a different freedom than 30 for me. Money allows me to move in the world freely at 30, time allowed me to move in the world freely at 23. At 23, you can do dumb things, party, hang out, be lazy, be reckless, make quick decisions, change your mind...and it’s good, not bad. It’s learning, and it’s fun. It’s celebration, and it gives you hard lessons worth learning.

A relationship is a lot of responsibility, and it can take the place of some of that youthful freedom. That’s not always a bad thing, love can be very fulfilling. When you’re strapped for cash, it can also be financially helpful. Two 20-somethings joining forces can get each other on their feet to be independent at a time it’s a struggle to do it alone. You’re in the same boat, you have the same struggle. But a 44 year old isn’t experiencing life the same way you are. And believe me, 44 year olds know that. A litmus test to to your bf’s intentions might be how he talks about that fact. Does it ever come up? Does he speak about it freely? Does he laud it over you or do you share experiences with each other like companions?

This isn’t the only factor to consider when trying to figure out if your bf is “predatory” in your words. Who your boyfriend may be and his intentions aren’t the only thing to consider when you want to figure out if you should be in a relationship with him. Who YOU are is equally important. I don’t know a 23 year old who wasn’t different the very next year. I don’t know a 24 year old who wasn’t different the very next year. I don’t know a 25 year old who wasn’t different the very next year. Maybe that’s true for every year, but the differences between my life one year to the next between 20 - 26 were striking. I walked out on two jobs when I had nothing in my bank account simply because “fuck this”....this year I was terrified to lose my job because what about my retirement fund. I work for “the man” now when 6 years ago I caused a mass walk out at work. I’m probably not going to have a radically different life next year. That wasn’t true of my early 20s. The switch from “my life is a mess but it can be anything” to “next year I should start a will and keep care of my assets” happens quicker than you think. Is he letting you live that life right now? Is he encouraging it? Believe me, you can be a mess at any age (and it can be a fun mess, too), and you aren’t old at 30 or even 40 or honestly even 50, you’re just not as tided to things in your 20s. Is he clipping your wings to be kept, or is he letting you fly recklessly into the sun just so you can see how far is too far? You just can’t get 23 back. It’s a lot harder to crash and burn and then pop back up without a scratch after your 20s. Does he want to crash and burn with you? Will he even let you without him? Does he know if you go out into the world young and messy you might learn a lesson or two that makes won’t make him appealing to you anymore? Is his love coming from a place where he wants you to thrive by your own mistakes? Is he excited to watch you walk out the door to take on a new day blind but fearless, just so you can come home and tell him the adventure you took and how it changed you? Or does he find that childish, exhausting, unfitting? Does he want to see you grow into “his” adulthood? Does he need you to fit into his established life more than he wants to live and work beside your unestablished life? I couldn’t even date someone younger with your age difference. They would be 8. But would I tell an 8 year old not to learn to ride a bike because I can just give them a ride in my car, or would I tell them it’s worth learning even though I know they’re going to scratch their knees up? If I loved an 8 year old, I know to see them thrive they have to scratch their knees up a little and I can’t get in the way of it, or they might not learn to ride their bike to take long rides in the summer sun. 

[ufuckingpastry]

What Remained in Pandora’s Box

AO3 Link

Disclaimer:  This fic is based on the roleplay characters, not the content creators. None of the views or opinions explored in the fic reflect the content creators.

Chapter 1: Godkiller

Dream spat blood onto the obsidian, his shoulders heaving as he tried to breathe through the pain. Quackity watched him, perched on top of the cauldron. He idly wiped at the edge of the glimmering axe. The scar over his eye stretched grotesquely as he grinned. Dream wanted to rip that grin off his face and wished he had the claws to do so. His nails were dulled and bloody from scrabbling at the obsidian, sometimes to feel something, sometimes to escape the honed edge of Quackity’s blade.

“You know,” Quackity’s came through clear, bouncing against the obsidian and deafening in his ears. He lifted his gaze to glare daggers at him, hoping beyond hope they could slice more scars into his face. “I’m getting tired of this game, Dream. The stakes aren’t high enough anymore. The deals feel lackluster at best. And you.” The man glared, frowned his barely contained rage at him. He huffed out a breath and regained his grinning composure. “You’re better at this game than I expected.”

“I’m not giving you the book, Quackity. None of your deals are worth my time. Come back when you have something that I actually want.” Instead of spitting at him or shouting more curses, Quackity’s gaze flickered to the side and. He considered the floor below him.

“Something you… want?” he asked, careful, soft. Dream braced for whatever torture he held in his hands next. The soft voice always, always meant pain. It always meant the worst of what Quackity had to offer. Whatever he was planning, whatever he would do next, Dream hoped he would survive it (or hoped this time the end would come quick). “I’ve been thinking about that, Dream. What else I can do to you. What next torture Sam would let me bring in.” He laughed, gruesome and grinning. “You’ve nearly exhausted me, Dream! I have plans all over my walls of what I was going to do!” Quackity jumped off the cauldron and stepped forward.

“Every single plan I made for you, we’ve done! Every single thing I wanted to do to you, all but one—which Sam doesn’t have the backbone for. And Sam, poor Sam. Unable to stop another person from dying in this cell. I think he almost regrets it. Regrets letting anyone else get close to you.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned forward, the edge of the axe a gentle threat to Dream’s throat. “I even think he regrets letting me in now. This has been going on for too long, Dream. Something’s gotta give.”

“If you think it’s going to be me, guess again,” Dream snarled.

“I’ll make one more deal with you, Dream. And I know this is something you want. Something you want so desperately.” Dream waited. He waited for what Quackity had in store. He waited to know what deal Quackity was going to offer now. The only thing he wanted, wanted most in the world, was—

“Give me the book and I’ll let you go.”

Dream felt the floor drop out from under him, his breath gone out of him in a gasp. Quackity was no longer grinning. He watched. He waited.

“Sam wouldn’t let you,” Dream said in return.

“Sam? Sam’s losing himself more each passing day. First, he loses Tommy in this cell. Then poor old Ghostbur. And now, he’s losing himself. You should see the way he walks the halls. Did you know he took Ponk’s arm? And I know for a fact he regrets it every single hour. All that regret can’t be good for him. And, you know, I care for the guy. I care about him. I don’t want to see him in pain.”

“And yet you’re fine torturing me every day?”

“Dream, the thing about that is: I don’t care about you. I don’t give a damn if anyone on this server does. I don’t. I don’t give a shit. So, yeah. I’m gonna keep coming in here every single damn day, until you give me what I do care about. I care about the book. And Sam? Don’t worry about him. If it puts his mind at rest, I can convince him to do anything I want.”

Dream eyed Quackity, his chest heaving. His breath felt like knives ripping through his lungs. His hands shook uncontrollable. There was nothing he could do to still them and nothing he could do to stop Quackity from coming back over and over again. Except…

“You promise?” he asked softly, a faint glimmer of hope blooming in his chest. Quackity hummed, waiting for him to continue. “You promise that if I give you the book, you’ll let me out? That Sam will let me out?”

“Yeah. I’m only here for the book, Dream. And if letting you go is what gets me it, then I’ll do what I can.”

“The others won’t like that I’ve been set free.”

“Well,” Quackity said with a shrug of his shoulders. “That sounds like a you problem.” Dream hunched his shoulders. Of course, his promise would only extend to getting him out of the prison. Not anything further. Where could he go, though? He chewed his already raw lips, tonguing the scarred flesh. Maybe Techno would let him stay. He could tease him about being homeless again.

“So?” Quackity asked. “Deal?”

Dream’s gaze flicked up at him, studying his face. If… if he did this, there would be no turning back. There was also the possibility Quackity was tricking him. And if he lost the one thing keeping him alive, the one thing the rest of the server saved him for… for what reason would he have to keep existing? Unless… No, Quackity was smart. He’d see through a fake book. Assuming he had seen the original. He had, didn’t he? Otherwise, why would he know of it? Schlatt must’ve let him take a look at it once. Not enough to remember much, probably. Schlatt wouldn’t have let him study it.

Right?

Was that a risk he was willing to bet his life on?

Dream pressed his lips together, the pain grounding him. Did he even have a choice at this point? He breathed out, the warm air ghosting over his lips. Fine. One last time.

“Deal.”

Quackity’s eyes lit up, surprised, but that was quickly smothered with him leaning forward to grin. “I’m listening, Dream.” Dream held up a hand and closed his eyes, breathing in. He went into his head, deep into his head. It was not an image of him that appeared, not a personification of his thoughts as he searched his memory. No, it was him. In the flesh. Dream reached into his memory and pulled free the book. It looked normal, nothing revealing the secrets hidden within. Just like a normal book, if a bit tattered and worn. Dream reached in again and pulled out an image of the book, made it real with the powers XD lent him all those years ago. Then, he took the knowledge from the revival book and transferred it to the copy. But before the words settled into the pages, he adjusted a few steps. Not enough that it was noticeable, not enough that Quackity could sense something was wrong. Just… enough that any revival wouldn’t work. Not without… well. No one needed to know that part. He pushed the original back into his memory, then used a little more admin power to make the copy real.

Dream breathed out and opened his eyes. The process only lasted the amount of time it took for him to breathe, and then the revival book was in his hands. He lifted his gaze to Quackity, who was staring at him. His mouth parted, his attention focused solely on the book. His hands twitched like he wanted to snatch it out of Dream’s hands, but he held them back. Dream offered him the copy, his face blank as the mask sitting broken on the floor beside him, none of his deception present on his face.

“I’m just,” Quackity started as he snatched the offered book away. “Going to check it’s real, you know? Make sure you aren’t going to trick me.”

“Of course.”

Quackity flipped through the pages, his eyes skimming through the instructions. He snapped the book closed with a relieved sigh.

“So,” Dream said. “As you promised?”

Quackity tucked the book away in his inventory, then turned to Dream. His face was blank, like he was staring at a particularly boring wall, at maybe the slightest imperfection. He stood to his feet, still silent, and tilted his head. Then, faster than Dream’s tired eyes could follow, Quackity swung the axe down. Dream felt the blade slice through his flesh and the sound of the edge hitting and shattering his collarbone echoed against the obsidian walls. The sound echoed in his ears as Dream fell over, his utter surprise permanently slapped on his face.

And the world faded to black.

    “Let’s go!”

   “Where are you?”

   “I’m at….”

   Eyes flickered open. He stared up into the darkness, breathing out slowly. He couldn’t even see the ceiling; it was so far up. The floor was cold under his back. At least, he assumed it was cold. He really couldn’t feel anything, not even the warmth inside his chest. He decided, maybe, it would be best if he got off the floor and sat up. Maybe see where he was?

When he sat up, burning pain flared in the crook of his neck. He gasped and slapped a hand over his wound and—

There was no blood. He could feel the pain, yes, the burning, yes, even the slice in his flesh, but…

There was no blood. He stood up, feeling over himself, when something caught his eye. He held out his arms, gazed at them with a growing frown. He could see the floor beneath him, the bedrock scattered amongst the blackstone. He could see the floor through his arms. That, that wasn’t normal, right? He touched himself, touched his arms, touched the faded color of his sweater. His hands didn’t pass through him. He stomped the ground and, no, he didn’t phase through it. He was solid, just… transparent. Why? How?

And where was he?

He turned, seeing a hallway to his right. Curious, he stepped forward, stepped into it. His footsteps echoed against the blackstone as he made his way to the end. There was a pen, but no animals left in it. There were signs and item frames on the walls, but nothing sat in them to show them off. It was empty, devoid of life and warmth. He didn’t know what any of this was, nor why he was here. He didn’t remember anything from before he woke up here. He didn’t even remember his name, if he had one.

A chirp echoed from behind him. He spun on his heel and froze when he saw the enderman. He dropped his gaze immediately, somehow instinctually knowing not to look them in the eyes. But… something tugged in his memory. He glanced up again, tried to keep his eyes shifted just to the right of the—

The enderman chirped again, tilting its head. It had its eyes covered with a bandage. It also… didn’t look like any enderman he had seen before, not that he remembered seeing many, or any… Its face was split down the middle, black on one side and white on the other. Its hair and hands were split much the same way, and he saw a tail waving behind it, also split in color. He stepped closer to it, carefully and hesitant. Its head moved with his steps, tracking his movements. When he stopped in front of it, he reached up to touch the bandages, needing to stand on his tip toes to even hope to reach. A black hand rested on his wrist, the claws held away. The enderman vwooped, the sound a refusal if he ever heard one.

“Why are you wearing that?” he asked, curiosity winning out over self-preservation. But the enderman only chirped back. He wished he understood what it was saying. He dropped back on his heels, sad that the first thing he found in this place was someone he couldn’t even understand. The enderman touched his hand and then pointed at the portal. He glanced between the portal and the enderman, not understanding.

“Do you want me to go through? Isn’t that dangerous?” He said, gesturing at himself. He had no armor, no weapons, no tools. The enderman gave him a gentle smile and a glimmering netherite axe appeared in its hand. He jumped back immediately, the wound on his shoulder flaring in pain. “Don’t, please! Don’t hurt me!”

The axe vanished and the enderman immediately went to him, softly chirring and offering comforting pats. He calmed slowly, chewing nervously on his lip. It rubbed at his cheek where tears had formed and, for the first time, he noticed the tear burns on the enderman’s own face. It made something in him warm, a sort of kinship with the enderman. He didn’t know why, but when the enderman offered its hand, he took it. They walked through the nether portal together. He couldn’t feel the heat of the nether, but some part of his brain knew it existed and what it used to feel like. The enderman seemed okay with it. Now that they weren’t in the suffocating dark, he noticed the enderman’s outfit was that of a suit. That was strange, that it wore clothes. But endermen weren’t half white and black either. He just accepted that this was his life now, to not understand things even when they didn’t seem right.

The trip was uneventful, except for the ghast who nearly shot him off the single block wide path. The enderman was handy with its axe, though it seemed to try to warn him before pulling it out. He appreciated it, though he wished he could express his gratitude to it. He also… really did not understand how it saw through the blindfold, but he was comforted to know whatever threats came for them, he was protected and watched over. He almost felt his face break into a smile, but that fell when they came to another portal. The path turned to obsidian and he felt fear and anxiety creep into him at the sight of the blocks. The enderman chirred and held out its hand. He dragged his gaze from the path to the hand and took it. He closed his eyes for good measure and the enderman led him through the portal.

Even though he couldn’t feel the change in temperature, the change from the burning nether to the snow-covered land faintly glowing under the moonlight startled him enough that his breath felt like he had. The air burned in his lungs, but the enderman pulled him forward. It did not release his hand, except to defend him against the mobs that spawned in the night. But once they were slain, the enderman’s hand wrapped tight around his again and he was led further on.

Eventually, he saw smoke rising in the distance. Then they crested a hill and he saw a small complex. Two houses, plus another covered building that looked warm and inviting. Plus, at least twenty dogs relaxing in the snow. They lifted their heads at their approach, barking happily at the enderman. It patted some of their heads as they passed through. He wanted to pat them too and he wondered if he could feel their fur, but the enderman led him up the stairs. He startled at the polar bear tied to one of the buildings, but it ignored him for the most part. The enderman lifted its face to the house, vwooped negatively, then led him across the bridge to the other house. It rapped its knuckles on the door and waited. He waited patiently too, curious as to where they were and why. It knocked again, louder this time, and he heard sounds from above as someone groaned and presumably climbed out of bed.

“Techno, I swear to god if that’s you…!” a voice called out and he jumped back from the door. It sounded angry and he didn’t want anyone’s anger directed at him. Especially not after such a nice trip with the nice enderman! Speaking of the enderman, he glanced at it, hoping it would protect him. More sounds came from inside the house and the enderman… froze. Then shook its head.

“What…? Why is this?” it said. He stared openly as its mouth opened and closed. The mismatched hands came up and undid the bandage and he dropped his gaze away from the enderman’s eyes, but not before he caught sight of what those looked like. Red and green… Mismatched like its body. He heard the enderman turn, then yelp in surprise. He lifted his gaze, just to its shoulder so he wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Um,” he started, but the enderman (hybrid???) started speaking to the door.

“Hey, uh, Phil?” it, no probably, he? The enderman called.

“Ranboo? Why are you here, it’s 3am!” The door cracked open, but it seemed to still hide him from Phil’s (???) gaze. Ranboo quickly looked at the door, a worried expression appearing on his face.

“So, uh. We have a little bit of a problem.”

“What kind of problem? Wil, go back to sleep!” Phil shouted back into the house. There were more sounds from within, of another person descending a later. Probably the Wil-person? The door opened further and he got to watch the man who must be Phil look from Ranboo to him, his mouth parting in what he hoped was surprise and not… something worse. “Wha—?”

“Well…” Beside him, Ranboo threw out his arms in his direction and he lifted a hand in a wave. “We’ve got Gream now!”

[charming-mage]

Opposite Day: Contrary Fairy Gives DuPont High Their Worst Nightmare (Part 1)

Hello everyone! Here’s my take on my prompt, Opposite Day (Or DuPont’s Worst Nightmare). Does anyone even remember I said I would take on this prompt? It’s been such a long time. Ha ha ha. If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know.

If anyone takes on this prompt too, the Akuma or any details in this fic doesn’t have to be the same. Go with your vision as you see fit. I don’t mind. 

A student at Dupont is Akumatized into Contrary Fairy. She has the power to turn people into their “Opposite” self by taking a victim’s major personality traits and switches them with an antonym of it.

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Chapter 1: This is just the beginning

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Mrs. Bustier’s class awaits in eager anticipation for the arrival of Marinette Dupain-Cheng. The only people who haven’t arrived yet is Adrien, Marinette, and Lila. Today is Alya’s birthday and her first friend at Dupont is bringing her a special birthday cake. Even though they’ve had some disagreements about Lila, Marinette is still bringing her a gift. It’s a rough patch, but she knows they’ll get past this bump in the road. Alya privately admits to herself that Marinette gets a bit high strung about Adrien sometimes. In the end, Marinette will get along with Lila like she does with Kagami. 

“Where’s Lila? She’s usually here by now. She promised to tell me about her charity work in Nigeria,” said a concerned Mylene. “Did she have an emergency trip again?”

Alya assures Mylene. “Lila is just running late. She promised to be here today.”

Just as she was mentioned, Lila walks with a nervous look on her face. It quickly changes to a happy smile when she spots Ayla. “Happy Birthday Alya!” Lila quickly jumps Ayla and gives her a strong hug.

“Whoa. You’re really energetic today.” Ayla returns the hug.

“I’m so happy to celebrate with my best friend.”

When Alix grumbles out loud about tricky math problems, Lila excuses herself  to go help her.

Ten minutes later, Marinette walks in with the cake along side.....is that Adrien? Alya thinks the blonde boy in ripped black jeans, black jacket, and a devil horns headband. The classes’ sunshine has become the sunset.

“Good morning Marinette.” Marinette, strangely, ignores her.

Nino asks, shocked, “Dude, you’re finally rebelling against your father?”

“The old man can’t tell me what to do. By the time I’m done today, he won’t stand to have any black in his designs. Not even the buttons.”

“Adrien, count me in.”

Nino grabbed Adrien and they seated themselves in the back of the classroom for a private conversation.

Ayla turns her attention to Marinette, who’s been very chilly to her. Very unlike her. Usually they’d say their good mornings and jump right into gossiping. She has a very bad feeling about this. 

Marinette drops the delicious looking cake into the trashcan next to Mrs. Bustier’s Desk. “Oops,” says a unremorseful Marinette.

Gasps echo in the classroom. Rose asks,” M-Marinette....why would you do that?”

What Marinette says next nearly gives her a heart attack.

“You owe me 500 euros. When you sprung on me to babysit your sisters, they broke my new sewing machine. You’re lucky they didn’t destroy anything else or you would be talking to my celebrity clients’ lawyers.”

“I’m so sorry! I’ll pay you back, I swear. I’ll tell my sisters to be more responsible too.” Ayla is shocked Marinette didn’t say anything yesterday when she came to pick up the twins. It’s become a routine for them. If Alya wants to do anything last minute, she’ll drop off the twins with Marinette. Later, the kids will be picked up and the money dropped off. Marinette is owed a favor as well.

Alya has to tell her parents what happened. She doesn’t have enough money to pay Marinette. The money saved from side jobs is not enough to cover it in full. Her and the twins were all going to be in trouble, but it’ll be worth it to make it right for Marinette. No more last minute babysitting either. Heck, on top of the babysitting money, she’ll do more favors for Marinette in exchange for scheduled babysitting if her bestie is up for it in the future. 

“Good. I expect the money in my hands soon.” Marinette takes her usual seat next to Ayla. It’s kinda awkward since Marinette refuses to speak to her.

The birthday celebration mood is gone. The class is filled with quiet whispers as no one dared to raise their voice too loud. Marinette’s look of displeasure when Rose once made the mistake to happily squeal a bit too high pitched scares the rest of the class to behave.

It gets worse once Mrs. Bustier comes to start the class session. The teacher announces her presence with an angry door slam. The rest of the time is stressful as everyone did their best to avoid drawing Mrs. Bustier’s ire. Once class ended, everyone left in a hurry. 

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Alya thought the worst was over. She was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. This is just the beginning. 

The morning classes’ teachers suddenly became strict. Their usual passiveness replaced with a no nonsense attitude. When brave students asked why the sudden strictness, most of the teachers said something along the lines of orders from up top. Rumors circulated there’s going to a school inspection soon.

Strict teachers like Ms. Mendeleiev are their usual selves. The classes where they sit together is painful. Marinette barely talks to her. And when she does, it’s in a passive aggressive manner. 

 Alya is relived when lunch is finally here. She didn’t think she would have made it until lunch without Lila. Her kind friend did her best to cheer her up. Very helpful with group assignments, ran damage control when Alya messed up a few times in a presentation, and gave her useful tips in physics. This kindness must be what others experienced in Lila’s adventures around the world. No wonder her friend has so many famous friends.

Lila was so kind to carry Alya’s lunch to their table. Her girl even paid for her lunch. Her friend insisted it’s the least she could do to repay Ayla for doing the same.

Alya slumps in her seat. Lila is taken by an excited Mylene to her table. “Hey guys, had a rough day too?”

Groans abound at their table.

Nino sighs. “Did you guys hear? There might be an inspection soon and the teachers want everything in order before they get here.”

Alix rolls her eyes. “Yeah, time to cover up the things that’ll make them look bad.”

Kim pouts. “My history teacher told me to quit my dares. I can do them again on Friday.”

“That’s three days from now,” Juleka says slowly.

They chat a bit. Not much excitement besides Mylene getting upset about something and Lila consoling her.

Aurore and Mireille unexpectedly come to their table.  Aurore places a hand on Alya’s shoulder. The weather girl says with concern, “I know you can’t talk about it, but we just wanted to let you know we both support you.”

Alya looks at them confused. “What are you talking about?”

Mireille pipes up. “Your message on the Ladybug.”

Ayla thinks back to her recent posts. Nothing comes to mind that’ll warrant the concern they’re showing. The latest post is just LadyNoir shipping. The post before that talks about the damage her camera received from dropping it. No way the weather girls would approach her over such a trivial matter.

“Oh dear, you don’t know what were talking about?”  Mireille looks concerned. “Alya, you need to check the Ladyblog.”

Ayla quickly digs through her bag. She’s unable to find her phone. “I can’t find my phone.”

Aurore hands over her phone. “Here, I already have it open.”

Alya gets the second heart attack today.

Dear Ladyblog fans,

I’m sad to say due to legal issues I’m taking down the blog soon. Certain posts contained false information. I’ve already deleted the mentioned posts. I didn’t do my due diligance in fact checking. I should’ve provided sources. For that, I’m so sorry.

- Ladyblogger out (for the final time)

Alya mind-numbingly taps the Ladyblog’s home page. It refreshes to a ‘sorry the website you’re looking for is deleted’ page.

Nino peaks over her shoulder. “Oh god, Alya......” Their reactions gets everyone else huddled over the phone. Gasps ring out.

“Guys, I didn’t write that message. Or take down the Ladyblog.” 

Nathaniel asks, “Then who did?”

Doesn’t take Ayla long to figure it out. “Whoever stole my phone did.” Her phone was already logged into the Ladyblog’s admin page. She puts her heartbreak on hold to solve the mystery. “I need to do some investigating.”

“We’ll help you,” says Aurore. Mireille nods with a look of determination.”

“Me too!”

“Don’t worry! We’ll get justice.”

“I’m with you Alya.”

Alya tears up a bit, touched. ��Thanks everyone.”

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

They’ve spent half of lunch interviewing students. They have a lead. One girl in Ayla’s last class before lunch said she saw Marinette borrow the mentioned phone. Although the girl didn’t see if Marinette put it back. After some more asking around, Marinette was last seen in the student council room. 

“-and that concludes our council of evil meeting.”

Marinette’s face forms a grimace when she catches sight of them. “What are you doing here?”

Alya is taken aback. “Girl, I know it was super expensive, but I think you’re taking it too far.”

The student council members snicker.

“Oh my god, are these the gullible morons?” This comment opens the floodgate.

“I’m best friends with the tooth fairy. I can tell you all about on your tabloi-I mean credible blog.”

“I’m secretly Rena Rouge. Want an Autograph?”

“I can hook you up with Stan Lee. Even though he’s dead.”

“I’m the president of the United States. I’m doing this council stuff for fun.”

“I’m Adrien’s secret girlfriend. So secret even he doesn’t know.”

“HEY! I’m just here to ask Marinette something.” Alya looks right at Marinette’s blank face. “You’re the last person seen with my phone. Did you see anyone suspicious near it when you were done with it?”

The student council erupts into laughter. Once Marinette stops laughing she answers, “Oh my, you didn’t figure it out yet? I deleted your blog.”

“W-What?” The revelation startles Alya. The everyday Ladybug never made it to the suspect list. Not even the top ten.

Alya mind is well rested now. The pieces are coming together. This morning’s strangeness, Marinette’s hostility increasing throughout the day, and the teachers sudden 180.

“An Akuma got you. All of you.” The Marinette she knows would never be so cruel.

Marinette raises an eyebrow. “No, I just stopped keeping in what’s bothering me. Besides, I didn’t see an Akuma today.” Various student council members pipe in the same. No one else saw an Akuma.

“So either an Akuma snipped all of you or none of you remember.”

“Look tabloid reporter, I would have noticed if Hawkmoth’s latest fashion disaster was here.” Marinette waves them away. “Shoo pests, unlike some people, we have a lot of work to get done. The school dance won’t magically appear itself.”

“Don’t worry Mari,  I’ll get help. You’ll be back to normal soon.”

“Come on guys, we need to let the teachers know an Akuma is here.” 

“Let’s try Ms. Mendeleiev. She seems her usual strict self.”

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

“Thanks for following my lead everyone. Glad we don’t have to waste time fending them off if they discovered we already knew about the Akuma.”

“No problem President Marinette.”

“That’s Queen Marinette to you peasants.”

“Yes, your most evilness.”

“Aren’t we going to stop them? They know about the Akuma now?”

“There’s a plan in place. It’s been several hours and no one has ‘seen’ an Akuma running around. Why do you think that is?”

“You think of everything Queen Marinette.”

“Of course I do. One of you tell our ally Contrary Fairy the Akuma class knows now. They may be stupid, but they have been competent help to Ladybug before.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Don’t forget to tell her to get Ms. Mendeleiev ASAP. The only competent teacher in this school might believe them.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Let’s have some fun before Ladybug spoils it.”

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

To be continued in Opposite Day: Contrary Fairy Gives DuPont High Their Worst Nightmare (Part 2)

Chapter 2: There’s No Akuma in Dupont

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

Lila will be featured more in part 2.

I sprinkled in some salt tropes. I find it funny they work so well for Chloe 2.0.

@andromeda612 @whatsupwithjinx

[palaugranetes]

🔵BLAUGRANETS🔴

Ronald: I agree with @Iñaki on this.

Carlitos: Shocker!

Pedri: Night night! See you guys soon!

Oscar: ✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻

31 March 2021

JC:Do you guys know how lucky we are being this far from Geri for le Poisson d'Avril???

Carlitos: The what now?

JC: Poisson d'Avril

Carlitos: My French is rusty bro, that means?

Riqui: By Rusty you mean non-existent right?

Carlitos: Tais-toi petit idiot

Riqui: You google translating that does not negate my statement genius.

Carlitos: FOR YOUR INFORMATION PETIT, I did not google it.

Riqui: Sure.. I believe you

Carlitos: I DID NOT.. I asked Nyom

Riqui: 🤦🏼‍♂️🤦🏼‍♂️🤦🏼‍♂️🤦🏼‍♂️🤦🏼‍♂️

JC: Are you two done?

Riqui: Never

Carlitos: Yes, what were you saying Bro?

JC: Poisson d'Avril is April fool

Carlitos: HOW!!??!!

JC: It is

Riqui: Jan don't tire yourself.

JC: Hahahahaha

Carlitos: Doesn't poisson mean fish?

JC: Yes

Carlitos: April Fish?!?!

JC: It's a whole story

Carlitos: Blague d'Avril..

Carlitos: Tromperie d'Avril

Riqui: PROU!!

JC: I'll tell you on PM

Carlitos: Okay

Riqui: You were saying @JC?

JC: Right, we are lucky no?

Carlitos: Life finds a way.. or rather, if he wants to, Gerard Finds a way.

Riqui: Very true

Carlitos: But I feel if he was going to do something he would have done it on Dia dels Innocents.

Riqui: Possible, but one can never be too careful

Carlitos: You are oddly calm..

Carlitos: What are you up to?

Riqui: Nothing. I'm just saying

Carlitos: AhA

Riqui: Juro!

Carlitos: I SAID OKAY

JC: So he can still do damage

Carlitos: 🤷🏻‍♂️🤷🏻‍♂️🤷🏻‍♂️🤷🏻‍♂️🤷🏻‍♂️

Riqui: 🙂

.......

Ansu: OMG!!

Ansu: Guys WHAT IF GERI DECIDES HE WANTED TO PRANK JC AND CURLS ON APRIL FOOL'S!!!

Carlitos: Yes bro, we were literally just talking about that

Ansu: Oh.. where was I?

Riqui: In space clearly.

Riqui: HOW WOULD WE KNOW?!.. YOU WEREN'T HERE

Ansu: Right...

Dembz: Are you okay broski?

Ansu: I think so. I took a nap earlier and I feel like I wiokeoup in aanothred demtoiodn

Dembz: I was with you up until like

Ansu: up until like what?

Dembz: THE WORD LIKE

Ansu: HUH???

Dembz: "Ansu: I think so. I took a nap early and I feel like I wiokeoup in aanothred demtoiodn" WHAT DID YOU MEAN AFTER LIKE?!

Ansu: AFTER LIKE WHAT

Dembz: I give up someone else deal with him

Pedri: You took a nap and what?

Ansu: It feels like I woke up in another demention

Dembz: WELL YOU SURE WROTE LIKE YOU WERE FROM ANOTHER DIMENSION!

Frenkie: Yikes.. that has happened to me before @Ansu I know that feeling.

Pedri: How are you today bud?

Frenkie: I'm alright.

Francisco: Did you get some sleep? A little R&R?

Frenkie: I did

Francisco: 🧐🧐🧐🧐

Frenkie: I did, I promise. I slept 8 hours two days ago and 6 hours last night

Ronald: Why six?

Frenkie: I had to go .. and after that I couldn't sleep anymore. So I studied for a bit.

Ronald: Studied??

Frenkie: Yes Català

Riqui: 🥺🥰🥺🥰🥺🥰

Frenkie: 💜

Riqui: But you are feeling better?

Frenkie: Yes

Pedri: If you say so.

----------

Ansu: It's March 31st right?

Arnau: Yes?

Ansu: Okay

Arnau: Weird

Iñaki: 😂

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

Sergiño: Why does Jordi insist on replying with memes?!

Pedri: 🤷🏻‍♂️🤷🏻‍♂️🤷🏻‍♂️

Riqui: Jordi for you.

Dembz: Just what Grizou needed an enabler

Ilaix: And the Dad jokes are the worst.. idk whether to laugh or cry

Ilaix: @Carlitos where are your dad jokes?

Oscar: Please don't

Ilaix: I wanna hear his dad jokes

Oscar: No you don't

Ilaix: I do

Ansu: No you do not

Carlitos: Imagine if you walked into a bar and there was a long line of people waiting to take a swing at you.

Carlitos: That's the punch line.

Riqui: Look what you did now

Carlitos: Why did the stadium get so hot after the game?

Ilaix: Idk, why?

Carlitos: Because all the fans left.

Ilaix: GOSH

Ansu: Which dimension doesn't have Carles telling jokes in it? I would like to go there.

Carlitos: I don't play football because I enjoy the sport. I'm just doing it for kicks!

Ronald: Shoot me.

Arnau: Okay we get it Carles.. Please stop

Oscar: I BEG YOU PLEASE

Ilaix: I regret asking

Iñaki: 😵😵😵

Carlitos: Five out of four people admit they're bad with fractions!

Riqui: DO NOT GO INTO MATH JOKES

Dembz: This is the bad place

Carlitos: Ilaix asked 😌

Sergiño: Some questions never require answers. THAT WAS ONE OF THEM

Carlitos: Ask and you shall receive.

Ilaix: Thanks I hated them I would like to give them back.

Carlitos: No returns. No refunds.

Ilaix: 😫😫

1 April 2021

Pedri: Guys

.......

Pedri: Nevermind

.......

Riqui: ??

.......

Pedri: I'll tell you ON Pm

Riqui: Okay

.......

JC: 🤨🤨🤨

JC: What was that about?

Iñaki: 🤷🏼‍♂️

Oscar: Who the hell knows

.......

Unknown number joined via invitation link

Frenkie: Hello??

Francisco: Hiya!

........

JC: ????

Pedri: Hi there

Ronald: Who is this now?

Ilaix: 🤷🏿‍♂️

JC: I don't like this! Identify yourself!

JC: WHO ARE YOU??

Dembz: Let them breathe fréro..

JC: BUT WHAT IF IT'S HIM?!

Riqui: Um.. who is here?

JC: YOU TELL US

Riqui: HOW WOULD I KNOW?!

Carlitos: You are the admin idiot!

Riqui: But I never gave the link to anyone other than Leo!

Carlitos: FUDGE

Carlitos: FUCJ*

Carlitos: FUCKING FUCK*****

Pedri: He wouldn't though

Frenkie: Yeah I think so too

JC: YOU SAID LIFE FINDS A WAY!! MAYBE LIFE FOUND A WAY AND HE GOT THE LINK

JC: WE ARE EXPOESD NOW! This is all your fault @Carlitos

Carlitos: ME? RIQUI IS THE ONE WHO GAVE THE LINK AWAY

Riqui: TO LEO!!!

Pedri: Guys.. I'm sure there is an explanation

Sergiño: Agreed

Sergiño: but also.. this is still sus

Unknown number joined via invitation link

Carlitos: WHO IS THIS NOW

Sergiño: Okay.. now you can panic

JC: WE ARE WELL PAST THAT

Frenkie: 🧐

Oscar: Um.. who?

Riqui: Who is this??

Ronald: 2 new people??

Arnau: Who?

Ronald: Idk I just got here

Ansu: Oh dang

JC: I NEED TO KNOW

Riqui: We should stop talking.. maybe they would speak then

Ansu: Okay logical?

----------

Arnau: That clearly worked.

Riqui: 🤷🏼‍♂️🤷🏼‍♂️🤷🏼‍♂️

......

Unknown number: Hello idiots

JC: FUCK FUCK FUCK SHIT IT'S HIM!

Riqui: Calm down

JC: I HAVE BEEN TELLING YOU HE KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME

Ansu: *Runs*

Ansu: I wish I can irl

Pedri: Soon

Ansu: 💜

JC: i cannot..

Unknown number: Hello morons

JC left

Arnau: 😵

Unknown number: Wow that really was easy

Unknown number: Yes it was

Iñaki: So it really is 2 people

Ronald: hm

Oscar: Jordi and Geri?

Unknown number: HAHAHAHAHAHA

Ansu: 😠😠😠

Riqui added JC

Unknown number: 😈😈😈

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

Iñaki: It's 23:00 and no one is talking.

Iñaki: It is both peaceful and unsettling.

Frenkie: Very

Arnau: Thanks??

---------

JC: WHO THE HELL ARE YOU

2 April 2021

Unknown number: Alex😜😜

Unknown number: Konrad 😎😎

Ronald: 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

Unknown number: It was Riqui's idea

JC: 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬

Unknown number: And Pedri and Fran

Ansu: GASPS!!!!!!!

Oscar: IT'S ALWAYS THE QUIET ONES!!!

Arnau: YOU SNEAKY SOBs!!!!!

Francisco: 😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇😇

Frenkie: I'm actually impressed

JC: I hate you three

Pedri: Hahaha it was April fool's!

Iñaki: I knew I smelt something fishy

Dembz: NO FUCKING WAY!!!

Dembz: WOW

Dembz: 😂😂 good one

Riqui: 😉😉😉

Arnau: Who was the mastermind behind this?

Pedri: Fran

Ansu: THIS IS WHY I HAVE TRUST ISSUES!!

Francisco: Hahahahahaha

Unknown number: Okay.. See ya

Ansu: Bye whoever that was

Unknown number left

Unknown number: That was Konrad..

Unknown number: Ciao for now

Riqui: Adeu!

Pedri: ✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻

Unkown number left

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

Riqui:

Riqui: HAHAHA I wonder what that message he sent to Leo was 😂😂😂

Pedri: OMG Hahaha poor Antoine

Francisco: I wonder if we all send Leo a message who he will reply to first.

Ronald: NO

Ronald: NO MORE SENDING LEO MESSAGES OUT OF CONTEXT

Arnau: Fran you've been hanging out with Riqui way too much

Dembz: HAHAHAHAHAHA He does talk a lot! Can you blame him

Dembz: LINK PLEASE

Riqui: I wouldn't but sure

Riqui:

Riqui:

Riqui: HAHAHAHAHA that's because he is always here Clem

Ansu:

Ansu: I remember that hahaha I was very confused at first

Frenkie: That was nothing.. I almost sent something to the main one that was meant for this GC!!!

Ansu: OMG

Frenkie: Yeah, close call hahaha

Oscar: Whenever he is asked if he can be considered *insert particular position*

Frenkie: 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

Dembz: WHAT IS THIS FRENCH IDIOTS ATTACKING OUSMANE VIDOE?!?!?!

Dembz: 😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑

Ansu: Your bestie

Dembz: EX BESTIE. FRIENDSHIP WITH ANTOINE ENDED. Sergiño is now my best friend

Ansu: HURTFUL!!

Dembz: 😂😂

Sergiño: 🤜🏽🤙🏽

Dembz: 👊🏾🤙🏾

Oscar:

Oscar: He really went for you neck huh

Dembz: RIGHT?!

Dembz: He's not lying

Dembz: BUT HE DID NOT NEED TO EXPOSE ME LIKE THAT?!

Ronald: HAHAHAHAHA

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

Carlitos: WAIT A DAMN MINUTE!! ALEX AND KONRAD WERE THE NUMBERS?????!!!!!!

Pedri: Yes 😂😂😂😂😂

Carlitos: MEAN!!!

Francisco: HAHAHA

Carlitos: I hate you guys

Riqui: Love you too rizos

Carlitos: 💙fuck off

[votederpycausemufins]

Chapter three for Surprisingly Familiar. It’s time to get to the real plot of this thing!

@petrichormeraki is the maker of the hermit Tommy au, @helleborusangel likes to read these and give me their rambles which are my beloved, and then check my tumblr for my masterpost of things I’ve made.

“Hey Paul, you’re done talking with X, right?” Bdubs asked as he noticed Paul walking by.

“Uh, yeah. He said he could let a guest in for a little bit because he needs to talk with Phil and Phil’d rather stay here instead of coming to the castle.”

“Yeah yeah, sounds great.” Bdubs sad, waving it off. “Hey, new question. Paul what the heck was that back there?!” He shouted, making a number of hermits look over.

“Hey, calm down, keep things off tap.” Paul tried to calm the hermit down, but it didn’t work that much.

“Oh this is Hermitcraft. We don’t do things on tap. Except Tommy but that’s different. Now, what were you doing back there?” And Bdubs pointed towards the room Paul and Phil had talked in. From the crowd, Jrum felt a little nervous, wondering if it was something he did, but the answer calmed the bot.

“Calm down. It was something Hoodie taught me. I’m sure Zedaph can back me up.”

Behind Bdubs, Zed stopped slurping from a coffee cup that was actually filled with a slushie. “Yeah, don’t worry he’s fine. No necromancy.”

“See? I just wanted a private conversation.” Paul replied, though Bdubs still looked grumpy.

“Alright, don’t make me call in Genny.” And Bdubs signalled that he was watching Paul before walking off. As he left, Scar took his place, seeming pretty confused.

“So, what’s with him?”

Paul sighed. “He’s not a fan of certain types of magic. I did a bit of necromancy for a time and there was someone else in the world who essentially became a dark lord, so Bdubs and some others became witch hunters.”

“Huh, That’s not something I would have guessed.” Scar said. “I mean, I’m a wizard and he’s been fine with me.”

Paul looked a little stunned. “Oh really? Didn’t realize. What style are you? My friend Hoodie is coming in for a quick visit. He’s ars based.”

Scar laughed a little. “Is that so? Haven’t seen many of those. I’ve got a mix. Vex magic and crystalline. Cub’s also a user of vex magic.”

Paul nodded. “That’s nice. How many magic users you got around here?”

The hermit mayor started to count on his fingers. “So there’s me and Cub. Pretty sure Stress has some. Cleo’s definitely got some magic. Grian of course. Uh, not sure if Joe does or not. I think Xisuma’s just-”

“Xel- er, Grian’s got some magic?”

“Yeah. And I guess the kids probably do too. Not sure right now.” Scar said, before looking Paul in the eye. “You're not going to freak out about Grian having magic, right? You’ve already got him upset which gets us upset.”

“Yeah, I know.” Paul sighed. “Just been through a lot. I get overly worried sometimes, and to me, I suddenly hear that ‘kid involved in murders is now causing wars in the world my friends are in.’ So yeah, sort of thought the worst.”

Scar inhaled sharply. “Okay, yeah. I can see what made you freak out. But Grian’s fine. He’s been through a lot and while technically he’s caused chaos, it’s never something we hate and normally we’re all in on it somehow.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, you should hear about the sewer cats.”

“Can’t wait to hear about it. Haven’t seen any letters about it.”

Scar nodded, before being just a little confused. “So, is there a reason you’re always using letters instead of other stuff? I’m sure some of the others could make you something that would work.”

Paul nodded. “I don’t doubt that they could for the most part. I just deal with a lot of factors and have always preferred the tried and true method. I’m all over the place and sometimes I can only really bring along paper.”

“What do you do?” Scar asked, interest piqued.

“Let’s see. Not sure if Phil’s told you, but he used to be king.” Scar nodded. It wasn’t Phil, but Grian had mentioned it. “Well, I’m one as well. Hoodie’s my right hand man and royal mage.”

“Ah, and you said he’s the one visiting?”

“Yeah. So I end up busy there a lot. I also spend a lot of my time visiting my kids so I’m going from world to world. Then, there’s also my wife and she’s in the world we raised the kids in which is essentially my main home.”

“And that’s what?”

“Uh, the same one I found Xe- sorry, Grian in ages ago.” Paul answered. “And I’ve got a job there that doesn’t really work with comms sometimes, but paper is easy enough to have on hand, especially enchanted paper.” And Paul took out a sheet of paper, handing it to Scar.

Scar took the paper and looked it over. As he moved it, he could see how the light caught the slightly physical aspect of the magic, much like how enchantments could be seen. “This looks good. You can hardly see the magic but I can tell it’s there. What all is on here?”

“Mostly stuff to get it to the right recipient and make it illegible if you’re trying to read it and it’s not for you.”

“Ah. That’s a commonly known one for ars mages, right?” Scar asked. “I haven’t heard much about them.”

Paul nodded. “Yeah. That’s due to the mage wars. They happened a number of years back before Hoodie was alive. He’s the main reason things are sort of getting back to normal for those guys.” Paull pulled out an old communicator which looked like it was being held together with duct tape and prayers. “He should be here pretty soon. He said he was only going to get a few books and amulets. And your admin said he would be able to get in.”

Almost as soon as Paul had said something, a message went out that someone new had joined the world. Xisuma sent a message that he would go to help the guest to Aque Town and from there Paul and Scar just waited for the two others to arrive. Xisuma was the first to arrive, gliding down on his elytra. The other person wore a royal purple hooded robe and seemed to arrive with the use of an ender pearl, but Scar didn’t see them use one.

Paul was the first to move, going over to the other person. “Hoodie! You made it!”

With the confirmation that this was the mage coming in, Scar followed along, a bit excited to meet someone new with magic. “Of course Sir. You did ask for my presence.”

Scar watched as Paul put an arm around Hoodie’s shoulder. “You don’t need to be so formal here. In fact, here. This is Scar. He’s the mayor, and based on the kind of place this is, I’d say he’s the local hedgewizard.”

“Ah, I see. It is nice to meet you. My name is Hoodie. I am King Soares’ right hand man and royal mage.”

Scar shook Hoodie’s hand, getting a slight shock. “It’s nice to meet you too. Paul already said I’m Scar. I’m guessing you’re a lightning mage or something?”

Hoodie took his hand back. “Ah, sorry about that. Yes I am. Or at least I specialize in it. Same as my father lest he’s recently changed his affinity.”

“Well I don’t know enough about your kind of magic to know what that really means.”

Paul walked away as the two magic users started to discuss their various forms of magic and wizardry. He needed to find Phil again since the main reason Hoodie was even there was so that Phil could get more of the enchanted paper. Not wanting to drag the mage away, Paul was instead going after his brother since he was the one insisting he wouldn’t take any of it without knowing for sure it was enchanted by Hoodie. After that, Hoodie would help out a bit around the world as repayment for Xisuma letting him on, then the two of them would head back home. At least, that was the plan.

. .

.

Drawing him away from the nest was almost laughably easy. Grian and Mumbo were both asleep and the chicken was theoretically trapped. At least trapped enough it wasn’t going to escape into the room itself. And then it could only see out the window and not into the room which was a big plus. Because of that, it was simple enough to have viridian magic surround the prison and really ensure the chicken wouldn’t be getting out.

“You know.” The person spoke in a whisper, making Grian twitch ever so slightly in his sleep, but not wake up. “You’re really making this far too easy. I thought it would be difficult with those guests of yours here, but it turns out everyone’s distracted by them. And they put you in such a perfect position. Let’s just move you to somewhere a bit more private, hmm?”

Grian of course didn’t wake up, but as the person left, a bit more magic appeared around Grian, and then a few moments later, he woke up with a start. Grian looked around, glad to see there was only Mumbo and a box in the corner. For a moment he was confused about it, but faint clucking from inside helped him figure out what it was. But something still felt off.

Grian went to shake Mumbo awake, but he hesitated a moment before actually waking him up. “Mumbo. Mumbo!” And Mumbo woke up from his name being shouted, looking around to see what was going on. “Mumbo, I think we’ve been up here too long. Something feels wrong.”

Mumbo pulled out his communicator to look at the time. “Oh dear! It does look like we have been here a while. It also looks like someone else has shown up.”

“Really?” Grian asked, pulling his own comm out to look at the message. “There’s no way this person would just happen to show up today of all days for no reason. What if they’re someone else with… I want to check on the kids.”

Mumbo stood up and then helped Grian to his feet. “Don’t worry. I’m sure if anything happened, the other hermits would be taking care of the boys. We can of course check on them, but you don’t want your panic to make them panic.”

Grian nodded and from there the two of them went back down to the ground floor, leaving Kokatori behind. Finding the new person was rather easy as he and Scar were both standing on the street of Aque Town facing each other. Scar was currently donning his wizard robe over his Aque Town outfit. In his hands, he held a number of crystals that Grian thought he was never going to see again.

The other person was wearing a purple robe and held a wand in one hand and a book with a yellow cover in the other. His hood had fallen back slightly, so Grian was able to see as the other person glanced over at him when he got closer. Normally the avian would assume it was just because he was getting close and was noticed, but there was some sort of emotion in the eyes that made Grian worry.

Both of them had their attention pulled away from each other as Scar moved, a yellow glow around him as he moved like he had a speed effect. When he reached the other person, Grian watched as the Scar’s netherite sword struck them, and then a ring of white magic appeared around them, acting as a shield against further attacks.

Realizing at this point that the two were fighting, Grian moved to try and stop them, but then out of nowhere, lightning struck the ground in front of him, making him stop. When Grian looked back up, both mages were looking over to him and then Scar called out. “Hey, don’t worry! We’re just doing some sparring! It was my idea!”

“Are you sure? Who even is this?”

“His name’s Hoodie. Royal mage of Paul it looks like.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Grian asked, concerned.

“Yeah, it just sounds like he was jumping to conclusions when he saw you. I’m sure it’s going to be fine if you talk to him again.”

Grian wasn’t completely convinced, but pretended enough for Scar to look back at Hoodie and then continue their sparring. Slowly, the avian started moving to where everyone else probably was, still in the party building. Mumbo followed him along, but eventually he passed Grian when the builder decided to actually watch the magic battle.

Scar seemed to mainly be using regular combat, but enhanced by his crystals which actually seemed to be doing something. Hoodie, on the other hand, was using his wand and casting a number of spells from his book. At one point, Grian watched the mage fumble a little bit to pull out a book with a green cover before casting a new spell that he hadn’t used yet.

Grian didn’t realize he was just standing there alone, and the magicians weren’t really paying much attention to him, but in the span of a few seconds, that all changed. To anyone watching, it would seem like it happened all at once, but really it was just one thing after the other.

Grian was barely aware of the space around him getting the slightest tint of green to it. As soon as that had happened, Hoodie turned away from Scar and instead faced Grian, pulling out a new red spell book. Scar was the next to react, still under the effects of his yellow crystal. He started to pull out a red crystal, accidentally pulling a pink one out at the same time. He threw them towards Grian just as Hoodie began to cast some magic aimed at Grian, but also in the direction of what would be in the path of the crystals.

Seeing multiple things coming his way, Grian started to panic, wings moving to act as a shield since he currently wasn’t holding one. As they moved, the tips of his wings started to change from red to purple, the shift in color working its way to the base of the wings. He couldn’t react fast enough to block everything, but the magic hit both of the crystals, making them shatter into dust. The pink and red dust didn’t completely stay their original colors, some of them charred by the magic attack that hit them, but each tiny piece seemed to glow with its own energy, and even with the, being broken so small, when the cluster hit Grian, there was enough force to make him crash to the ground.

For everyone not watching at that moment in time, they simply heard a large crack of thunder at the same time there was shattering glass, followed by screaming from Grian. Within a matter of seconds, people were racing out of the nearby building, there to see what had happened.

When people got out onto the street, Scar was yelling at Hoodie. “What was that?! Grian wasn’t involved! I thought I could actually- I can’t see why Bdubs actually trusted- I’m guessing he’s changed a lot since-”

“Please, I was just trying to defend myself. He was about to attack me. Didn’t you see it?”

“He was just watching us!”

“No. Your back was turned so you maybe didn’t see it.”

“I should have used a brown crystal too. What kind of spell was that?!” As they yelled, Xisuma was the first to get over to the pair to try and figure out what was going on, getting an answer from Scar. “That Paul guy’s mage just attacked Grian! If I hadn’t done something, it might have killed him!”

“What?” Paul asked, coming over. “Hoodie what just happened?”

The mage looked over to Paul, ignoring Scar and X. “Sir, the hedgewizard and I were simply having a duel to see each other's magic skills. As we battled, this avian mage came by and tried to stop us once. Of course Scar was able to prevent that the first time, but then the mage tried to cast a spell of attack. I was already using a spell to help my reaction time, as was the wizard here, so I began to cast a counterspell. At first I thought Scar was also about to assist me, but instead he seemed to try and stop my spell, causing our magic to collide. It seems to have still-” Hoodie tried to continue, but Paul held up a hand to stop him.

Paul then tried to speak himself, but then his shoulder was ground and he was whirled around by Phil. “Paul, what the fuck? Did you just have your wizard attack Grian?”

“What? No, of course I wouldn’t! It sounds like Grian was trying to attack Hoodie and he defended himself.”

“Yeah sure. Mate, just tell me the truth.”

“I’m just telling you what Hoodie told me. I know just as much as you do at this point other than what he told me.”

Again, the conversation was cut off by Mumbo speaking up, having joined the group. “Grian’s really hurt. His breathing is off and it looks like his wings were hurt enough for them to shift away. There’s also something else, but I can’t place it. Xisuma, can you look at him?”

Everyone moved out of the way for the admin to head towards Grian, but as soon as he took a step, everyone had their comms buzz with two messages. Xisuma peeked over the crowd to look where Grian had been a minute ago. He wasn’t currently lying there, but neither were any items that signified him having died and respawned. That could have been because he had nothing on him at the point, which was unlikely, but could have been what happened.

That being said, the shocked gasps from people who were looking at their comms didn’t assure Xisuma, so the admin pulled up the chat logs on his helmet. Instead of there being a death message for Grian, there were two messages of people leaving the world.

The_Grifter left the world Xelqua left the world.

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, SAY! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF RYUK.

Admin Jen: Say, I wish there were words to describe my joy over your application. Not only because you’re bringing us my beloved Pale Rider, but because of the beautiful way with which you captured them. There was so much to love about your app, but I have to admit that it was the para sample which stole my heart. Ryuk’s voice, his image of the other Horsemen and the way it bled into his dialogue throughout, the nuance in his perspective and the small tics in his mannerisms. It was all so vivid, so visceral, and so mesmerizing to take in. Although I absolutely cannot deny the impact of all the other sections in the app, which only served to amplify the portrayal and bring it to life in a way that left me so thrilled to leave Ryuk in your hands. I trust you with him completely, and I pray for the New World to bear their arrival. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER.

ALIAS | Say.

AGE | 25.

PERSONAL PRONOUNS | She/Her/Hers.

ACTIVITY LEVEL | Hopefully around 6/10! I check the dash basically every day for replies, but whether I get to them or not is a completely different story 🥴 Also, given that this is a highly literate roleplay, it may take me a tad longer to craft replies and post them, but I’m confident I can meet the 8 post/month minimum that you outline in your guidelines. 

TIMEZONE | EST / UTC-5.

TRIGGERS | REMOVED.

HOW DID YOU FIND THE GROUP? | A mutual of mine reblogged some of the first promo posts onto my dash. From then I’ve been following the group, and I finally got a chance to read through all of the lore / word-building you guys have done and I am super impressed.

CURRENT / PAST RP ACCOUNTS |

IN CHARACTER.

CHARACTER 

Ryuk.

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? 

I will admit that when I was first browsing, I had the worst choice paralysis because all of the biographies were compelling in their own way. The Angels and their pretentious morality, the Demons with their freewheeling madness, the Gifted toeing the line between mortal and divine, desperate to survive in a world with their powers… That being said, I kept on going back to Horsemen because of their remarkable existence across Caelum, Sanctus Terra, and Infernum. Not quite Angels or Demons, and far from mortal, I interpreted them to be the closest beings to God the world has, given that they were torn from the flesh of God Himself. 

This steadfast solidarity between Viktoria, Ryuk, Nerissa, and Dmitri really hit me square in the chest. Four distinctive beasts, hungry for bloodshed, are dropped into a world already ravaged by devastation at the hands of God’s own creations — so they take solace in each other, even broken from their original purpose. And yet, even amongst these four outliers, Ryuk stood out to me even more, because of their innate understanding of the ravaged world before him. While Nerissa raged for their stolen war, while Viktoria mourned their own creation in Purgatory, while Dmitri adjusted their child-like senses to their surroundings so starkly different whence they came, Ryuk intrinsically knew of their role on this plane of existence. 

I recognized the subtle intricacies woven into Ryuk’s biography, and wanted to challenge myself by writing a character whose desires, motives, and perception of the world is markedly unique from how I interpret my world. What sort of purpose could a Horseman have when stripped of their divine right and design? What do the immortals fear when they are bound with eternal life? What could Death himself fear, when they know the unknowable, and have the power to exact their purpose? 

All beings, regardless of their time on earth, fear death in some way. For divine beings, it is the possibility of their destruction through their infinite life, and for mortals, it is the inevitability of it that induces fear. But what about Death himself? Is it possible that they could be terrified of it as well? 

PLOTS.

DISCLAIMER: I illustrated a few points that rely on the development of other characters, most specifically the Horsemen, but it will all obviously rely on me working out the details with other players. 

I. A HUNGER FOR DEATH PROMISES A STARVATION OF LIFE — a division amongst a former whole.

We begin the story with the Horsemen being a single unit, working alongside each other in relative harmony, existing as mercenaries for the highest bidder. In a world teetering on the fragile truce between the Angels, Demons, and Mortals, the Horsemen of the Apocalypse walk alone, united in their understanding that they are unlike anything else walking the holy grounds. Without each other, they have nothing — so they remain close together out of deficit rather than benefit. However, in each of the Horsemen’s biographies, you’ve outlined a faint, yet irrefutable line dividing the four. As it stands, the division relies on recognition; Ryuk has always understood Nerissa and her cause more than he sympathizes with Nerissa or Dmitri. So what if that line became a crack? 

I’ve interpreted the current division to lie within the fundamental conflict of bloodlust vs. power, with Ryuk and Nerissa lying firmly in the former camp, though this would all be hammered out with the appropriate muns. But the interest lies within the Horsemen, and what would happen if their loyalties suffered an upset — who would they pledge their allegiance to? 

II. MONSTERS, WE ARE NOT SO UNALIKE, YOU AND I — an unlikely understanding.

This brings me into the next plot point, which involves Ryuk’s connections to the other factions.

Within my app, I sought to base much of Ryuk on what he is not — and their antithetical existence to Cade is something I played with deeply in this application. As hungry as they are for blood, there is a distinct lack of intention behind their killing, as if they inflict death because they are a Horseman. It is why the division is so crucial for Ryuk to begin to align themselves to a cause. A trap I don’t want to fall into while writing them is not giving them a fear to hold onto. I think the fascinating part about Ryuk is that they were birthed out of God’s terror of His unknown — and that is precisely what they fear the most. They feel safe and powerful when aligned with his fellow Horsemen, but without them, what do they know? 

The details of what would sweeten their attraction to any cause is something I want to keep open, rather than delineate extensively here, but the core of it is the same: to lower them down so that they may see the light in another’s faith. 

III. IN MY END IS MY BEGINNING — a touch of Death. 

And here, we end with a renewal of their perspective. Some sort of mortal injury happens that gives Ryuk a taste of their own medicine, perhaps in saving something they have truly learned to care about, as much as their dark heart will allow. 

Given that they fear losing their power and dominion over mortals, throwing them into a situation where they are possibly injured by one is a surefire way of allowing Ryuk to face what truly lies dormant underneath: what is their purpose? And why are they here and living, despite having their purpose erased so long ago with the death of their Creator? 

Perhaps this will finally give them a hunger for something more than just taking souls and money for it. 

ARE YOU COMFORTABLE WITH KILLING OFF THIS CHARACTER?

As long as it serves a specific purpose for the long-term prospects of the group’s plot, 100% yes.

IN DEPTH.

DRIVING CHARACTER MOTIVATION 

I admit that this is the one of the parts of the application I struggled with, because for all intents and purposes, Death’s purpose has been ripped away from them. They, along with the other three Horsemen, were created for Earth’s apocalypse — but now that they’ve been thrown into the world without it, in some ways they are lost beyond comparison. 

Even so, Ryuk was still built to thirst for mortal blood at their hand, and as of now, that base instinct is what they actively rely on to move through the world. They are desperate and hungry for the souls they’ve been promised by God, and nothing more. 

And yet, I think they are also terrified of what it means to be stripped of their purpose. There’s this tentative resentment they hold for the world that no longer needs the Horsemen to wreak havoc, and yet, a terror that overtakes them when they think of fully relinquishing what they’ve been handed down from God. A fear of incompetence, the unknown, and the uselessness they feel is what drives Ryuk to continue to do what they’ve always known. After all, it’s easier to believe in a belief they’ve held close to their chest for so long. 

CHARACTER TRAITS 

( + ) RESOLUTE | Permanence: it is the one thing Ryuk knows to be true. Mortal blood expires, and nobody knows it better than the harbinger of Death himself. It is what makes them loyal, unwavering in their beliefs in their tar-black soul once he has made up their mind. ( + ) ASTUTE | It is impossible to be foolish when he has the ghosts of the past right at his fingertips; a history, laid before them like an open book. And what are first impressions, when they have the still-lingering souls to guide him along? Not much escapes their eyes or ears, and they use their gift well, for himself first, and for the Horsemen second. ( + ) VIGILANT | All that knowledge, always within reach — it would be a shame if they did not apply it well. Though he can be quick to react, it is rarely out of ineptitude or  undisciplined impulse; it is precisely the wealth of information he gleans that makes them all the more wary to enter into a situation without identifying the risks first. They are adamant on victory, not by anyone else’s terms but their own. ( – ) DUPLICITOUS | He has no qualms about trickery, or resorting to underhanded means to get their way. After all, what is integrity to a being that values Death above everything else? What is honor to a Horsemen without a future, when Death is the period, the endmark to every creature with a beating, bloody heart? ( – ) RUTHLESS | When Ryuk first learns of the word mercy from the spirits’ whispers, they can barely fathom the concept. Sparing another out of the benevolence of one’s heart? It’s practically laughable, given their own penchant for cruelty when faced with their victims. He is ( – ) PASSIONLESS | And one wonders: what could make such a merciless killer unflinching in the face of their purpose? Yes, they relish in every single kill, just as much as his compatriots, but in the end, he does it because it is all he knows. One cannot mistake the devotion they show for passion, the very fire that ignites the circle of life. No, Death will not and cannot be acquainted with life, no matter how many live souls they take for themselves.

PARA SAMPLE

“But concerning that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only.” — Matthew 24:36

From the beginning, at the very break of their conception at the hands of God, Ryuk is told they are the antithesis of emotion. It is an age-old story of the hero, their origin a simple blip in the vaporous, golden-god kingdom from which he is torn, cast into darkness until their path is clear — but Ryuk is not a hero. No, they are told that some day, they shall wreak havoc across the mortal realm that He has forged to collect their birthright of the damned souls roaming the earth. When? It’s insolence, a rare bit tumbling out for his Creator, He who has torn a part to make their whole.

You will know, and it is thunderous, the cadence of his voice, that even Death quivers, when the gates to the mortal realm opens. And then, they are thrown into their realm, devoid of anything but dust and half-formed souls. They know this, because the moment they’d slipped into the aphotic depths of His plan is the exact moment they hear their wails, deafening, ululating, even for their immortal senses. 

And oh, did they wail. Told stories of dominions and dirt, of princes and peasants, a swarm of the dead desperate for the ear of a God — or however close they could get to such a being. Time and time again, Ryuk would swat the cloud away, gaze always focused in the distance, where the dark smoke broke into a line of halcyon shimmer, and they’d ask Him ( pray, a soul whispers ) for their birthright, their infernal kingdom of souls. 

Ages pass. They hear nothing. They see nothing. The gilded line shrinks. But what is time for an immortal? Still, they hunger for the permanence of their existence; here, in this inchoate cavity of God’s creation, they are useless. The void is a steadiness of not quite death, but the absence of life — a temporary, an unhappy medium that they cannot satiate themselves on no matter how hard they strived. When? They think again, but He is long gone, in His heavens with His angels and His mortals He’d bore out of Love. 

In the ages to come, they will begin to understand this. Tales brushed in human concepts, of Love and Fear and Ecstasy and Hope, of those dominions and dirt, the princes and peasants. In the ages to come, they will see that the mortals flourish, souls rising to Heaven and Hell without their touch. They will see the expanse of God’s love for His children, in fractured pieces of the half-gone souls’ shrieks, wondrous at how He could destroy something He’d built from the sands of the lands. They will ask why did the mother forbid her to marry her lover? and the souls will answer, because she loved her daughter, a babe she’d birthed for nothing in return.

“For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places.” — Matthew 24:7

And what they mean to say is — no, they do not understand. How could God, in all his love for his mortal creations, bring their deliverance, Famine and War and Conquest and Death, upon the moral planes? What is their purpose aside to destroy what He has created? To understand the world is to hold it in one’s hands and inflict upon it an inconceivable love, of which they had none in their ichor-stricken heart. 

They resent God for this. They resent their purpose, and yet, they walk the earthly plains alongside their comrades, knowing that even God has succumbed — and so they hold their faith, deal their foreordained havoc in spades.

“For they are demonic spirits, performing signs, who go abroad to the kings of the whole world, to assemble them for battle on the great day of God the Almighty.” — Revelation 16:14

“You must have mistaken me for a being of mercy, of which I am not.” Viktoria’s nostrils flare. Ryuk’s voice is low enough that the others do not catch the impertinent remark, the subtlest of digs on what she prized most. Within visible distance, Dmitri fiddles with a mortal contraption, one of the many gifts from his beautiful admirers, and far off, in the other direction, Nerissa sharpens her blade on a slick slab of quartz, eyeing her two comrades with a watchful eye.

Among them all, fallows, burnt yellow and unseemly, spread out across either side, an end distant and impossible. In this part of land, there is nothing but rainfall and smog, untraversed by even the most seasoned of travelers, which, of course, had made it ideal for the likes of the Horsemen. Nothing but tar black clouds roamed the sky, save for the sliver of white in the horizon, a marker of Caelum to the North. The line glows, and Ryuk is briefly struck by the likeness of their environment to the emptiness from which they came. If they listen diligently enough, the winds almost mimic the agonized shrieks of undamned souls, and it completes the resemblance, far too uncanny for their liking. He shifts on his feet, left and right, and tugs on his ear. A cue, he’d learned, then committed to muscle memory, to ward away the spirits when they were not needed. 

“And as always, you have failed to listen. And they say you can hear the spirits with those ears?”

It is Ryuk, this time, that prickles under the weight of the insult. Viktoria, as always, has fashioned herself as the brains of their expeditions, always pointing out their next destination. He cannot blame her; of the quad, they all know she is the weakest, but her passion for their good fate flares stronger than his own. Viktoria, always the one hungering for something more. A desire for a bite of the heavens whence they came. 

To each their own, they suppose. 

“I have provided all of us with good information, have I not? Saved our good health, if I remember correctly,  more times than I desire to count.” Their sharp glare meets the other’s steel-bit fire, and she huffs. 

“And what are your qualms of this plan? Do you plan to serve this diseased Tridium for our eternity?”

Besides him, the souls begin to howl. Cry out, they will hunt and kill you, they have weaponry, blessed by the something dark and holy, and yet, another faction beckons, they are no match for the Apocalypse, they are not as strong as you believe —

“What is it?”

They snap out of their trance. In the centuries they have known each other, they have all learned each other’s behaviors like their own kin. Like the flicker in Nerissa’s jaw when she lusts for blood, the fondness glimmering in Dmitri’s eye when he spies a mortal he desires. They’ve all seen the half-slack stupor Ryuk undergoes when he channels the voices of the dead, most of all Viktoria, but he brushes her away, throat cleared with a rumble. 

“Nothing. They caution us against it.”

“And?” 

The sinew in their neck tenses. “And there is nothing else. We all know that some mortals are still gifted. They hold the power to our demise as much as we for theirs.” 

Viktoria scoffs. It is clear, in her stance, from her gaze, that she does not believe he is giving her the entire truth. “We will need more than that if we are to carry through with it; perhaps, they can tell us the size of their armory, or perhaps how it could be of use to us...“ Eyes averted, she begins to pace a small distance. They can already see the cogs turn in their brain, assembling their scheme for an upset of power across the lands. 

“And who has agreed to carry through with this design? Dmitri?” 

They look up. Viktoria, who’d been addressed; Dmitri, who’d believed they'd been summoned; Nerissa, who’d smelled the whiff of conflict. The lines, there are always the lines. Viktoria with Dmitri, himself with Nerissa. Left unsaid, but voice did not negate the fact that the line is a truth, hanging amongst them like an errant thread, impossible to sever even with the sharpest of blades. “You don’t believe we can do it?” 

They stare, unflinching against her black gaze, because for all that they lack with their deadened atrophy and rot, they fill themselves with the faith that there will always be more souls to take. They do not prescribe themselves to a greater fate other than the one that has been given to them, from God, their Creator. What use do they have of power, when they had all that they required in the present? 

“If we take this job, do this favor for this mortal, we will secure an ear in the ranks — a cousin of a member of the Round Table, and we can use leverage, to raise our status, to find these heavenly instruments to mine for crystallis —” 

“Of which he has none, Viktoria, in case you have forgotten!” 

From the corner of their eye, they see Dmitri flinch, Nerissa cease her movements to sharpen her blade. They are always like this, vying for a position that neither of them particularly desire, but ages have passed since they’ve come to terms with their uncertain fate. They’d been dropped amongst mortals and divinity alike, across barren lands and built cities, alone in their status as creatures of God, literal in every sense of the word. He had torn them, the four of them, from His own celestial body, had He not? 

They are quiet again. 

Mere mortals would have raged, now Ryuk knows this. It is the security of more that protects (or rather, exposes) the others to wars, seething with blood and blades, to the black certainty of hatred that infected the strength of their ranks, susceptible and raw. Their net, of course, had perished along with the annihilated remains of God’s and Lucifer’s immortal bodies. They had nobody, and would have nobody else, until the end of time. 

Perhaps they all realize this, sheepish expressions flitting across their eyes, the sunken hollows of their cheeks. Jagged as they are in countenance and disposition, Ryuk has realized they have gone too far in their words. His head hangs an inch lower, shoulders hunched in sour defeat. It is all that they need for the mood to lift. Viktoria nods, and they mount their horses, in implicit agreement that they would defer the conversation for another time. 

They scan the fields. It is still sunken, stinking of something burnt yet still living, sodden with the foul scent of mortal dirt. The gales have only reinforced their vigor, screeching through the vast space, washing away their bitter anguish — but the winds are just that, the earlier parallel lost, if only because they had three others by their side. They have survived the fire, and they will survive, untouched, riding their noble steeds into the winds, not separate, but as one.

[sweetest-honeybee]

To Hell and Back

Chapter 24

Summary: Wels discovers that the very ruler of HelsCraft is living in his head and things take a turn for the worst.

Characters: Wels, The Lord of Darkness, Doc (impulse, tango, beef, xisuma mentions)

TW: Uhh screaming-ish and brief one sentence mention of broken bones

———————

When Wels woke up, he had control over his body, thankfully. There was a lot of light in the room, however, and it made his head hurt. That, or maybe he ended up hitting his head at some point or got whacked in some way by one of the other Hermits. For good reason, he knew. He wasn’t happy either. In fact, he felt awful for hurting Beef and Tango and probably doing something to Xisuma that made the admin so angrily cautious around him.

He lifted his head slowly and looked around, observing his surroundings. Well, if he was gonna be somewhere random after passing out, he might as well see where he was before the evil voice took him over again. Firstly, he was in an iron chair welded to the floor. Wels was honestly, and weirdly, impressed by that much needed support. Whatever the evil voice was doing while he blacked out, it was strong.

Awe, why let me take the credit, Wels? You did those things, no?

The knight grimaced. Great. He was going to be in here, tied up, with the voice wracking at his head again.

“You’re not me,” he spat. “I don’t try to kill my friends.”

Well now that doesn’t make sense. Were you not the one who bashed your friend’s skull into that door?

“That wasn’t me,” Wels replied coldly. That was until he realized he wasn’t talking to anyone, really. He was merely replying to his own thoughts which just so happened to sound like someone speaking right into his ear. He huffed.

This will be a long day, night, whatever time it was. To distract himself, he looked around the room again. It was small, maybe only 6 or 7 blocks wide, quite tall, and made of obsidian. The block directly under his chair however, was iron. Other than that, not much else than a single iron wall in front of him which he assumed was a piston door. The roof above him were just several blocks of sea lanterns which were harsh on his eyes. He sighed, ducking his head. I’m going to go insane in here if they don’t figure out something soon, I can feel it. He meant no offense to them in his mind, but it certainly wasn’t the best circumstances and it was an accident waiting to happen. He lifted his head again, hoping something new magically appeared or something. The knight already felt uneasy at the thought of being in here alone for such a long time.

Guess that makes more time for us to chat, hm?

“No, it’s not.”

Why’s that?

“Don’t you have better things to do.”

Now, now, Wels, you’re the one chained to a chair.

Wels rolled his eyes. “Because you- whatever you are anyways, keep possessing me. Why me? What did I do to you?”

You’ll find out soon enough. Until then, you’ll be my perfect little soldier.

“No, I won’t.”

Yes, you will succumb to my darkness, little knight.

“Argh! Just shut up! I’m not listening.” He decided now that he wasn’t going to sit and listen to this for hours. Then, he perked up. He could probably block out the thoughts if he spoke loud enough. Or if he sang loud enough. So he did, starting just louder than his thoughts, mostly as a small distraction.

“There once was a ship that put to sea, the name of the ship was the Billy of Tea, the winds blew up, the bow dipped down, o blow my bully boys blow~”

You won’t quiet me that easily. I’m your thoughts, Wels. The very anger and hatred for those pathetic Hermits inside of you.

Wels continued his shanty, just a reply ignoring the voice. “Soon may the Wellerman come, to bring us sugar and tea and rum. One day, when the tonguin’ is done, we'll take our leave and go~!”

Don’t test me, boy. I’ll have you wrapped around my finger.

Wels sang louder, this time focusing as much on the lyrics as he could. “She had not been two weeks from shore, when down on her a right whale bore. The captain called all hands and swore he’d take that whale in tow~!”

But the voice only continued. And so did he, almost practically screaming the lyrics.

“SOON MAY THE WELLERMAN COME, TO BRING US SUGAR AND TEA AND RUM. ONE DAY WHEN THE TONGUIN’ IS DONE, WE’LL TAKE OUR LEAVE AND GO~!”

The knight was startled when the piston door opened. Eyes shooting to the source of the sound.

“Jeez, you’re loud, but nice song though.” The person in question was Doc which Wels gave a breath of relief towards. Though, the creeper looked tired, and if Wels would bet his diamonds on it, he’d guess that Doc was pretty irritable given his annoyed expression to the song anyways. “Why on earth were you singing that loud?”

“There’s an evil voice in my head,” the knight replied bluntly. “I’m trying to get it to shut up.”

Doc hummed, moving to crouch in front of Wels, taking the other’s chin in his robotic hand while the other had a small handheld flashlight. Briefly, he shined the light into his eye which certainly wasn’t comfortable but Doc seemed satisfied with the results. He gingerly took Wels’s hands, examining them. He tapped a finger on Wels’s chin. “Open up.” The knight followed his request and after a second, Doc let him close his mouth. When he stood, the creeper pulled out a clipboard from his inventory.

“How long will I be in here?” Wels decided to ask, hoping his creeper friend was up for some small talk.

“As long as it takes for you to not have to scream sea shanties at four in the morning,” Doc replied without hardly sparing a glance at him. Ah, no wonder he looked so tired and annoyed. He must’ve been woken up when Wels was singing, probably examining him to see if something was out of the ordinary. Well, not unless he was already up.

“Is Beef okay?”

The other nodded. “Yeah, he’s got one hell of a concussion though. Woke up after about fifteen-twenty minutes or so.”

Wels fell silent. At least Beef was fairly okay. Probably very nauseous and has one of the worst possible headaches he’s ever had in his life thanks to Wels, but to some extent, the knight knew that he wouldn’t hold a grudge. A little uncomfortable around him afterwards, but not a grudge. He wasn’t that kind of guy.

Doc doesn’t even care that he’s keeping you trapped here, Wels.

He’s not trapping me, he thought. He’s just protecting his friends.

Protecting them from who, Wels?

The knight must’ve made some kind of noise in reply to the thought. Doc eyed him carefully. “What’s it saying?” the creeper asked. Wels just shook his head.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “At least not anything like earlier.”

“I gotta write down everything. What’s it saying.” He eyed the knight pointedly.

“It’s saying that it’s me, apparently. That you don’t care that you’re trapping me in here. That you’re protecting them from me because I’m a threat to all of you and should just succumb to darkness or whatever.” Wels answered his question almost too casually than he intended but if this was how it was gonna be, he might as well make sure they know everything to ensure the best results.

Doc wrote down everything with another hum, not a very happy hum, it sounded gruff, more like a grunt. The creeper probably wasn’t any happier with that information than Wels was. He stuck the pen to the top of the clipboard. “Well, you are trapped for sure, can’t say much more about that. And you’re a threat, too. I can’t sugarcoat it.” He gave Wels a pat on the shoulder. “But you’re still Welsknight, one of the most strong willed people I’ve ever met. If anyone can beat the very demon inside of them, it’s you.”

Slightly, the corner of Wels’s mouth twitched upwards. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Good, good. Impulse is on the next shift. If anything happens, call out his name.”

With that, Doc left, the piston door shutting behind him with a loud bang. Wels already missed being able to get up and move around the moment it shut. Technically, in this room, he was safe to do so but it probably came down to what would happen when the piston door opened that made them chain him to the chair. They didn’t even use ropes, he really noticed. He shuffled his wrists and ankles, the metal grinding against the chair. Really, he could sit and admire their handiwork for hours as a distraction but that would only go so far. He huffed. Yeah, he was gonna go insane.

Just gives me room to take over more often.

“And what’re you gonna do when that happens? Cut off my hands and feet?” Wels absentmindedly replied. Might as well give the voice a sassy chat while he had the time. “I can’t punch through obsidian or iron.”

Who said I felt the pain of your fingers breaking?

Wels gulped. Yeah, the voice could just let go of him at any moment while he was lashing out and he’d feel all of the side effects of what he did while he wasn’t in control. He winced when his side stung at the memory of being shot in the cage.

Tango was the one who shot you, you know. Xisuma was the one who punched you. Beef was going to try to strangle you while you were vulnerable. Doc would’ve gladly stabbed you right there and then.

To a couple of those, Wels actually understood. If he were them, he’d attack himself too. Though, he hardly believed that Beef was going to harm him during that moment earlier and Wels gladly emphasized his doubts with a scoff.

“Do you like….have a name or something? Something we can call you that isn’t ‘The Evil Voice’”? He asked instead.

Fine then, you may call me The Lord of Darkness. And you, my dear knight, are my vessel. Though, I can’t say you’ll be the only one.

Wels stuttered. “You- you’re- wait that thing from HelsCraft?!”

You could say that. I influence your world, but soon enough, with your help, you’ll lose everything.

“No, no, no, no, no-“ He shook his head, yelling for his friend, needing them to know what was happening. “Im- IMPULSE. IMPULSE PLEASE COME IN HERE.”

The Lord of Darkness laughed grimly in his head. The edges of his vision was becoming darker, reminding the knight uncomfortably that The Lord of Darkness could simply use him whenever he liked. And now, if it succeeded in getting Wels out of here, The Lord would make him hurt even more of his friends without him knowing and that’s the last thing they all needed right now. Not to mention how The Lord said he wasn’t the only one.

That in itself only made him panic further.

Goodnight, Wels. Let’s see how poor little Impulse holds up.

“No! IMPULSE PLEASE!” He pulled against his chains.

But the tugging stopped when darkness overcame him and with the sound of the piston doors, a scream rang out in the room.