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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

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Jungkook: 8:45 PM 🔞

Tags/Warnings: Adult, smut-heavy, making out, Idol!Jungkook, Fluff, Established Relationship, implied foreigner!Reader, not home AU though, Jungkook struggling hard, misunderstanding, angst with happy end, emotional smut, oral (fem. Receiving), protected sex bc this is me writing this and I teach you kids the true life lessons

Lenght: long.

AU-Masterlist

Languages are marked as English / Korean.

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He still can't believe your first time got interrupted by something as ridiculous as his manager calling him.

It's like a reminder that his career will always somehow wiggle itself between him and whatever happiness he tries to find outside of it- nothing ever truly personal for him, everything always meant to be well thought through so it fits into his public persona.

But he refuses to give you up, even knowing all of that.

Apologizing for it just feels.. odd now, like bringing up something awkward you did ten years ago that everyone forgot about anyway before you decided to rekindle the memory in their heads. But the problem here, right now, with you, is that he knows he should bring it up. Somehow. Because he's struggling hard to keep himself in check, even having had to embarrassingly rub one out in the shower this morning after you'd made yourself tea in his kitchen wearing nothing but a shirt and panties.

It's a problem.

He's hesitating to initiate anything now mainly because what if it happens again? He can't just put his phone on silent and ignore what could potentially always be very important calls from people who only want what's best for him in the long run- real life doesn't work like those movies where the protagonist throws it all away for his girl. He wants to, he truly does- but at the end of the day, he's also scared, because if he falls, he'll potentially take you down with him, and God knows how deep he'll fall with where he stands right now.

A drop from a height this high would shatter you inevitably, and he's sure he'd crack like delicate porcelain just as much by having to watch you suffer the consequences of his actions. You don't deserve that.

"..-ungkookie?" You try again, and he snaps out of his thought, looking at you.

"Hm?" He responds, looking at you next to him.

"I asked if you want me to cook for us tonight. Is that alright?" You wonder, and he nods, eagerly so, because of course he'd love to have you do something so domestic with him. He's always dreamed of being able to experience these things after all, despite his curse of being a public figure who's not supposed to appear unavailable. "Alright-!" You hum. "Gonna have to put pants on now though, gotta go get some groceries.." you whine under your breath as you stretch on the couch naked feet pushing against his thighs and oh, how your back arches-

No, bad brain. Not right now.

"I'll give you my card, hold on." He tries to save himself, getting up to fetch his wallet as you begin to laugh.

"Jungkook baby, I can cover some groceries, don't bother!" You argue softly, getting up as well before walking over to him. "You'll just have to survive some minutes without me, that's all." You tell him, hugging his middle as you put your chin on his chest, looking up at him. "Also, people would think I'm a gold digger for using a black card looking like.. well, me." You joke, as he can't help but reach out to affectionately brush some hair out your face, hands holding your cheeks.

"M'sorry." He mumbles, and you part a bit from him, serious at his tone of voice used.

"Hm? For what?" You wonder, and he sighs. Why did he bring it up now? This is going to be so awkward, he already dreads it. But now that he's put the noose around his neck, he might as well stand on the chair too.

"Yesterday. Or.. day before? Technically it was, wasn't it.." he rants, before sighing. "I hate that we.. had moment, you know, and then.. nothing. Ruined." He complains softly, and you can't help but look at him affectionately. He's such a soft soul sometimes, worries about so much that doesn't even need to be worried about.

"Jungkook, it's fine." You answer.

"Not fine-" he shakes his head. "Not fine, I- ugh, I want you, you know? Want to, but now, it's awkward and I don't know how to initiate it because every time I plan to I keep thinking of that moment he called and-" he groans in frustration, head thrown back before he looks down at you. "I'm sorry." He apologizes yet again, and you laugh.

"I forgot to pack socks for this trip, that's why I'm always barefoot in your apartment here." You say, and he blinks once, twice, before he looks at you, confused but amused the same.

"What?" He questions, tilting his head for a split second and you shrug.

"Now I've made an awkward moment for myself too. We're even." You explain, and he laughs.

"Thats not how that works-" he wants to argue but he inevitably leans down to kiss you- a peck quickly deepened by you, because God knows you want him just as much. But the struggle of initiating isn't solely his alone, because you don't know how to either. All is still new with your relationship, you don't even live together at this point in time, only a week more and you'll be back home trying to figure out how to move most of your stuff to his country so you can be closer. This was all a test, after all- to see if it's worth it. If you'll be okay.

And you know now, you'll be just fine with him at your side.

"Hm I need to get going now though-" you say, trying to escape him now- but he won't let you, hands firm on the small of your back as he keeps you against him, lips chasing yours making you giggle as you lean back as far as you can. "Jungkook!" You laugh, but he just playfully bites at your neck.

"No, I'm hungry." He mumbles against your skin, and you look at him, pushing against his chest.

"Yeah that's why I have to go? Get everything to cook?" You remind him, but he shakes his head, gaze making it clear that he doesn't care for that.

"Not.. that." He tells you. "Hungry for you." He says, raising his brows and you laugh at how ridiculous he's being. How can he be both so cute but also attractive at the same time? It's truly unfair.

"You're so cute." You tease, catching him off guard to escape his grasp and run into the bedroom to get some proper pants at least. But he's faster, palm slapping flat against the wood of his door before the momentum of his move slams it into the wall with a loud noise, making both of you jump for a second before he stalks towards you.

And once the backs of your legs hit the edge of his bed, you know you lost.

It's like his patience had finally snapped, his hands eagerly helping you out of his shirt, happily running his palms over your skin, warm and soft as you move around a bit to get comfortable. He sighs when his phone vibrates somewhere close- probably having fallen out of his pocket on the couch earlier, and you laugh, visibly uncaring of his misery. "Go get it." You tell him when it sounds again, and he groans out loudly as if he's in pain, angrily stomping back into the living room, where you can hear him answer the call with an annoyed tone to his voice. It surprises you when he walks back into the bedroom however, pointing to the shirt you're attempting to put back on, before he motions for you to put it back on the floor where he'd thrown it down earlier.

Just what is he thinking right now?

"Yeah, that's fine." He talks into the phone, his free hand untying the strings of your sweatpants, before he pulls on the hem, tapping your hips as if to silently ask you to lift them so he can get you out of those pants. "Not right now, but tomorrow is fine." He continues to talk to whomever is speaking to him over the phone, while simultaneously running his hand from the side of your knee, up to the hem of your underwear, the last item of clothing covering you at the moment. It's oddly exciting to see him so serious, yet clearly more focused on you than anything else.

You've never felt so adored before.

His fingers slip underneath the side of your panties, teasing you, so close yet way too far from where you'd like his hands to be most right now. And he's clearly aware of it too; if the hooded eyes and the small smirk on his lips was anything to go by. "No, right now.. I'm pretty busy. Sorry." He speaks again into the phone, thumb running over the dip between your inner thigh and your by now more than aching heat. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip for a second, before the whole thing visibly seems to edge him just as much- then tent in his pants evident.

"Alright, yeah, just- text the schedule to me and I'll talk to you tomorrow about it, okay?" He offers into the phone, moving to stand up and search for something in the drawer of his bedside table- colorful foil package pretty obviously hinting at what he means when he's said he's currently busy. "Alright, hmhm, yup- bye." He rushes out, ending the call before he throws his phone somewhere onto the shirt you'd been wearing, his eyes rolling in an annoyed manner before he takes off his own shirt, joining you on the bed.

"Did you really hang up on him like that?" You wonder, giggling when he has to sit back to slip out of his loose grey sweats as well, jumping on one foot for a bit as his other gets stuck in the fabric for a second.

"I'm not sorry." He shakes his head, crawling closer to you on the mattress to get a hold of both sides of your panties. "I've got my hot girlfriend all pretty and ready, no one can ever blame me for being needy." He shrugs, shaking his hair out of his face before he tries to pull your underwear off. "Hey come on now!" He whines almost, a stark contrast to the tattooed, muscled appearance of him currently already flushed and fully erect, straining against the cotton of his own underwear.

"Needy." You tease, and suddenly, as if you'd pushed a button, as he suddenly pulls on the fabric with more determination, successfully getting rid of the item of clothing with a gaze that screams fake innocence. Jungkook isn't new to sex, and neither are you- but it's the first time doing it with each other, which naturally places a bit of pressure onto you.

Or maybe it usually should be like that- because somehow, it all comes naturally.

When his hand finds your heat, you're already melting underneath his gaze, no words spoken as he leans further over you, catching your lips again. Only that this time, he truly seems hungry; no longer offering you fleeting pecks but desperate kisses that try and convey just how much he wants you right now. He knows that he could never truly make it clear to you though- because he himself doesn't even know if that's possible.

He's never wanted anyone so bad.

And while usually not too fond of it, his need to prove himself as the perfect lover- emotionally and physically- makes him detach himself from you for a second, before he adjusts his position, leaning down to have you lay your legs over his shoulders, hands holding your thighs apart as he lays his mouth onto your heat.

It's an entirely new experience for you, and he knows.

But luckily, if your Impatient whining was anything to go by, you're definitely enjoying yourself as he flattens his tongue over your sensitive nerves, eyes focused on you while he has to use a little strength to keep your legs apart, especially when you grow close to your first orgasm. He's eager to see it, moving away to gain a better view before one of his hands finishes the job, gaze on you as you arch your back and come undone from his actions.

And its now that he really can't take it any longer.

"Fuck I need you." He curses under his breath, finally getting rid of the last item of clothing he still had on until now, no need to give his length any form of help to get ready for you. He can't help but groan a little under his breath at how sensitive he feels, rushing the act of wrapping the condom over as to not rile himself up too much.

After all, he wants to be inside you for his own orgasm, no matter what.

"Hm I'll go slow, ok?" He asks, and you nod, hands reaching out for him, making him chuckle. "You're cute." He comments, earning a roll of your eyes in return. He lets it go for now- giving you a pass this time, but only because be truly feels needy now.

He'd love to tease you a little, make you all whiny and desperate for him, but right now, he just wants you as close as he physically can get.

Though in his haste to get onto his own road towards pleasure, he never forgets you- pride swelling as he watches you hold onto him, wanting him just as much as he wants you. He's a little sweaty already, and the sheetsbare tangled badly at this point from all your squirming, arousal already staining some parts of them but right now he really can't bring himself to care.

He uses one of his hands to aid him in finding your entrance, positioning himself to carefully push himself inside, and at this point, he just feels as if he truly became one with you. It's the last key experience in a way he's had to have with you, and now that he's in exactly that moment, things start to feel real.

"I love you." He almost whispers into your neck while he starts to move. "I'm.. so grateful you're here." He tells you, hips moving at a steady pace. "I want you to.. stay forever." He almost asks, in a way, and while you can't give him an answer to that right now, you probably will later.

After you're back with the normal thinking human beings, because right now, with his pace and strength gaining as he chases his high, your head is definitely unable to form thoughts.

In a way, he loves the sight of you like this. It's awfully sinful, a sight only he wants to ever be able to see, no one else.

He can't control his own noises at this point, uncaring of his groans of pleasure as he chases after his peak, noticing you growing antsy as well, visibly eager to cum as well. And he will make sure you'll get your attention as well- he'd never let you down, ever.

And with his hand reaching in between you both to find where he needs to be, you're gone and out; head thrown back into the pillows while he pushes himself in deep, condom filling with his seed while he slows down into almost no movement at all.

Catching his breath, he leans down to you to kiss you once more, ticking of his clock on the bedside table coming back into the background noise, as well as the cars outside from the opened window, and your breathing underneath him. His senses return one by one as he pulls himself out, moving to get rid of the condom and start the shower.

"Come on." He asks, tapping your thigh, but you just whine all grumpy at him. "Noo get up, get up- the bed's all messy and we're too.!" He laughs, all energized from his own afterglow, while you seem to be the exact opposite, having to be physically pulled into a sitting position by your wrists. Jungkook himself can't help but simply laugh, before he takes matters into his own hands, lifting you up over his shoulder-

And of course, landing a loud smack onto your butt for good measure.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader

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ratskinsuit · 2 months

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—𝑀𝑜𝓉𝒽 𝐿𝑒𝒻𝓉 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝐵𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔—

“You are Vox’a personal assistiant, and recently him and Valentino had a rough fight, leaving Vox a wreck”

Tags/Warning: Dark content, Mentally unstable Vox, Unhealthy behaviors, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Mentions of unhealthy/toxic relationships,Mental breakdowns, Self harm mentions, Slight assault, Crying, Unhealthy dependency, Abandonment issues, Violence, Manipulation mentions, no use of Y/N, not x reader but can be portrayed that way, implied Valentino x Vox

A/N: I have never written full angst (nad I’m shit at comforting) so I hope that this is okay, PLEASE READ THE TAGS. And enjoy!

You are Vox’s personal assistiant at Vox Tech. You died around 3 years ago in a fatal head-on collision car crash, your airbags had failed and it resulted in you smashing through your front windshield.

You honestly don’t know how you ended up here in hell, you thought you did pretty well in life. I mean yes you messed up a bit, but so hasent? You never did anything that you considered to be completely sinful, such as murder, rape, ect-

Even with your predicament, you knew you went just going to sit there, so you accepted your situation pretty fast. You found a simple abandoned apartment that you spruced up a bit to make it livable, and made your way by scrapping together whatever cash or opportunities you could find. After while of growing adjusted and learning the ways around hell, you decided to try getting a job. Specifically as a computer tech, as it was your job before you died, so you thought it would be a job you could do well.

And of course, the best place you though of what Vox Tech. Even though you heard of the torment that the overlords, the Vees, would put their workers through, but honestly you didn’t mind, you just needed something to live off of. Even if it was temporary, you were going to make sure not to do anything stupid.

So you applied for a position there and hoping that you got the job. But sadly they said you just weren’t quite fit for the position you were applying for, and you guess that the lady felt bad for you, because before you could leave she let you know that the overlord of the part you were applying for, Vox, was looking for a personal assistiant.

Of course you hesitated at first, but ended up accepting the job anyways, mainly because the perks and the pay were pretty great. However before you answered to accept, the hiring personnel said that the last personal assistiant was no longer working here is because they got in the way of Vox after him and Valentino had a fight. Yet, you chose to ignore that fact, planning on this being a temporary job.

So, you started working for him. At first, he treated you like actual shit. He would order you around like a dog, yelling at you anytime you messed up, and even if you didn’t, he would find a reason. He acted as if you weren’t even a human being. Your suprised he didn’t kill hou.

After a while, you grew used to it, somehow keeping yourself from getting killed by learning the boundaries. Making sure to do what he says and keeping away as much as you can.

However one day, you heard that Valentino and Vox had a particularly bad fight. Still, you had to go to work and serve him, so you had headed to his office. When you got there though, you found him sobbing and curled up on the floor in a ball, trembling.

Of course when he saw you he screamed at you to get out, but even though danger was staring at straight at your face, you were a naturally empathetic person.

So you went over to him and asked him what was wrong, and at first he threatened and yelled and screamed at you. But when he found you weren’t leaving, he just broke down.

You spent the next couple hours listening as he rants attentively, and soothing him. After that you two grew closer, still within a boss and worker status, but closer as friends.

You learned all the ways to help him through his breakdowns and comfort him. He would often confide in you and you would listen, making him feel better.

The fights between him and his boyfriend never stopped but you made it much better. He eventually stopped fighting and just let you hold him.

However recently, they had the worst fight they ever have had before. And it ended with Valentino leaving. At first it seemed like Val throwing his normal fist, but he didn’t show after a week, or another, or another. After 3 weeks he showed up but would completely ignore vox, and this honestly broke him.

From what you could tell he’s been burrowing himself in his work, and has been completely emotionless to cope recently, and taht scared you. Because you know that sometime soon, he would break and it would all come crashing down.

So your currrently one your way to his office with a plate of snacks, icecream, and some tea. You heard from your coworkers he hasent been out of his office all day, so your wondering if he finally cracked.

You reach the end of the hallway, landing you infront of Vox’s door. You hesitate, wondering if it was better to know and say something to alert him of your presence, or to just open the door and then have him realize it’s you right away.

After a moment of pondering, you decide it’s easier to go with the latter. Grasping the handle, you turn it and push the door open, making a whooshing sound.

Once open, you take a step in and open your mouth to speak. But before you could, Vox snaps his head to the door, giving a death glare.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, just coming in wit-“ His anger dies down as he recognizes you, and his tense form relaxes a bit.

“Shit, sorry didn’t uh.. realize it was you.,” He mourners, rubbing the back of his neck out of habit. He glances away, resting his hands back his desk, before looking back at you.

You give him a small smile, and glance around the room, a bit suprised at the state of him and his surroundings. His face looks tired and a bit glitchy, small colorful pixels appearing and disappearing on the edge of his screen. His head has some wires sticking out of tear sun places. Other parts are dented and scraped, from what you assume was him banging his head against the seat and scratching at himself.

His jacket is laying on the floor a couple feet away from where he is seated. His bow tie seated next to the dozens of coffee cups that litter his desk. His clothes are wrinkled and messed up. His shirt halfway done and seemily hastily put on.

There is trash all around his desk, strewn about. His trash can is full, papers filling it to the brim. Random wires are hung all around the room, hanging from the ceiling and the floor, some torn and other fully put together. All around his chair and his desk is glass. Broken pieces everywhere, but Vox doesn’t seem to care, as he’s gone back to looking at his cameras.

The most disturbing part being his monitors. All but three are broken. They seem to have been broken by having things thrown at them. You assume he threw the lights, as there are random stage lights on the floor and on his desk with the broken glass. Well at least you know where the glass came from.

On the remaining cameras are three scenes. Alastor’s radio tower, the entrance to the building, and Valentinos room.

Vox stares at the cameras, unblinking and staring up like it’s hypnotizing him, like he’s unable to look away. Not even seeming to notice, or care about you being there. Just stuck, his eyes glued to the screens in-front of him.

You hesitate, taking a deep breath, and then you slowly walk over to where Vox is at his desk, he doesn’t seem to realize or care that your coming over to him until you reach him, and begin to speak .

“Vox.. is everything okay?..” you ask softly, placing a hand on his shoulder and he flinches, glancing at you.

“Yes of course I’m fucking fine, just peachy terrific even.” He says with a glare. “Why would you think otherwise?” He says turning away from you back to the screen, obviously trying to hide it.

You take a deep breath, “You just seem to be a bit ..strung up right now, is…” You hesitate, not wanting to anger him or get him more stressed then he already is. But you don’t want him to stay in this cycle of depression that he gets into occasionally.

It usually is triggered when him and Val would have fights. The would scream at eachother, saying nasty things and throwing random items at eachother. And would usually only end once one of them left, which was almost always Valentino.

For the first hour after the fight, Vox would seem fine. Just a bit more angry and pissy, getting riled up over teh smallest of things. Whether it be someone messing up on some paperwork or their job, pe an employee simply tripping. But during those periods it’s best for the workers to avoid him. You, however, just stay by his side the entire time, waiting for it to all come crashing down.

After a while he would just fall. Once alone he would just start crying, and crying, and crying. You would hold him and comfort him, as he rocked and sobbed in your arms. He would go through stages of being completely silent and unmoving, not wanting to talk, sitting with a blank look on his face. To crying and screaming, calling Valentino over and over again apologizing. To anger, yelling and shouting at anybody that moves, leaving angry voicemails into Val’s inbox.

Of course, you would stay with him the entire time. He may yell, scream, or even try to hurt or threaten you at times. But you knew he coudlent help it, he was in an unstable mindset. So the entire time you would try to comfort him.

So not wanting to throw him into that phase at the moment, you chose your next words carefully. “How are you dealing with… Valentino leaving..? Is everything okay, anything you need? I can get you, or do to he- you begin, but are cut off by Vox snapping his neck to you.

He just stares at you for a moment, maintaining eye contact. The two of you staring at eachother in silence, neither of you breaking eye contact in this silent staring contest.

Suddenly, he breaks out into laughter. He puts a hand against his face, chest bubbling with loud laughter. And not normal laughter, this was hysterical, full of instability. His eyes wide and blown out.

It echos in the room, bouncing against the walls as his chest heaves, while he continues laughing loudly. You stand there, frozen in shock from his sudden outburst. Your going to be honestly, it kind of freaked you out.

After a couple of minutes, he swipes his fingers under his eyes as to wipe away tears. His manic laughter now slowed down to giggles, as he breathed heavily, a wide grin of his face. “I-of course I’m fine, haha… why wouldn’t I be!? I’m perrrfectly okay, heh heh…” He says, his grin widening as you stand there in-front of him unmoving.

“I’m fineeeee, I don’t know what the FUCK your talking about, I’m okay, why? Do I not seem okay!?” He begins, his tone slowly beginning to become more on edge. “Why!? Do you think one thing is fucking wrong with me..!? Why the hell would you think something is wrong with me.!?” He says, beginning to raise his voice as he pushes his chair away from the cameras and stands up suddenly, palms to the desk.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all, I just mean that … you tend to get a bit…. Upset when you and Val-“ You try to start, but he interrupts you, anger forming on his face.

“IM NOT UPSET. if- if anything, I’m glad that he’s gone, for once I can actually focus on my work without that dick sucking bitch in my face all the time.” he hisses, starting to stalk over to you, a predatory glint in his eyes, full of malice and anger.

You talk a couple steps back as he starts to get closer. “Why are you backing up? What!? Are you fucking scared??!” He growls lowly, and before you can respond, you blink and he’s in front of you, towering over your form, and you gasp in surprise, not expecting that, stumbling back a bit.

“Why are you scared? Haha, I’m not going to hurt you.” He snickers, looking you up and down. “but Maybe. Maybe I will, havent decided yet “He says, clicking his tongue and tilting his head.

“V…vox you don’t seem to be in the right state of mind right now… why don’t we just sit down and-“ before you finish your slammed into the wall, knocking the breath out of you. Once your burry vision clears you see Vox above you, teeth bared, eyes glaring holes into you as he has you pinned to the wall.

“I.am.fine.!” he says, punctuating each word by pulling you to him and pushing you back into the wall with each word hissed out at you with venom. And you try to prevent your head from bashing against the wall.

You look down fro a moment once he stops, and he suddenly grabs your chin with his fingers, claws digging into your cheeks, drawing blood, and he turns your face to look at him. His eyes blazing into yours. “Don’t you dare fucking look away from me, I’m speaking to you, fucking LOOk AT ME..” He yells, blood getting onto his claws from the gash on your cheek, further smearing it.

You stare at him in terror, realizing that Val really fucked him up. He giggles at the fear in your eyes, smirking. “Awe, are you scar-scared? Hm? That’s fucking hilarious hehe…” he giggles maniacally, eyes wises and blown out as he looks at you.

He stroked your cheek with his thumb as he doesn’t break eye contact. “What to do to you… hm..” he looks at you with hysteria Im his eyes, he’s trembling slightly.

“I could, gut you…” He says, scratching your face with his index finger, leaving a bleeding gash on your face and you gasp, earning you a chuckle. “Hang your intestines alllll across the door like a fucking birthday bash.” He says, grin somehow stretching wider.

“No no, that would kill you ro quick, how about a boy of waterboardung before that? Ha?” He snickers, “oh maybe I could choke you? Or or or, you know what would be fun? Shoving firecrackers down your throat and lighting them.” He says, smiling with sadistic glee as you stare in horror.

If course whenever he goes into these stages, he sometimes threatens to hurt you, but never this gruesome, and honestly, your wondering if coming here this early was a good idea.

“Oh so many posibilityyysss,..!” He sings, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you against him, your arms uncomfortably pushed against his chest. And he leans into your neck whispers into your ear.

“Soo many options…” he hums, giggling lowly as he burys his face into the crook of your neck, soft giggling can be heard from him. You stand there as he mutters to himself, keeping you in his embrace as your terrified of why he will do to you.

After a minute his giggling ceases and you can’t her him murmuring anymore but he’s not letting you go.

You hope that maybe he’s calmed down a bit and you can get him to sit down, but before you can open your mouth you begin to hear soft sniffles coming from him.

You feel wetness begin to run down your shoulder, and it becomes apparent that he’s stated crying. You crane your neck to look at his face, seeing his eyes clenched shut as eas fall from his cheeks.

You sigh, knowing you can’t do anything at the moment to get him out of this state without further digging him deeper.

So instead you go for the safer option as your boss sobs into your neck. You rub soothing circles into his back and shush him as he grips onto you tightly as if your going to lean e him. “Hey hey… your okay.. sh… that’s it let it out..” you sooth and he cries harder.

He begins to let his body go limp, the two on your sliding onto the floor. His sitting inbetween your legs, face still burried into the crook of your neck as you embrace him comfortingly.

“wh-at-zz wrong- mi- with me..” he cries, rocking back in forth in your arms and you just let him, trying to support his weight while not getting crushed.

You slowly push his face away from your shoulder, him looking absolutely wrecked. Tears somehow coming through the screen and dripping down his face. A look of desperation on his features as he scans your face. “Shh… nothing is wrong with you, your just overwealmed that’s all..” you say, putting your hand out and he rests his head in it, sniffling.

“…r-e-eally…?” He asks and you nod, patting his back. You hear him let out shakes breaths as he clings to you, head burried in your neck while you comfort him.

“Don’t worry… I’m not going to leave you..” you say, and he seems to relax a bit more at that statement.

After a couple minutes of sitting like that, him resting against you as you soothe him. You notice he has seemed to calm down a bit, no longer trembling and his beating has evened out. But his fans are still going haywire, trying to cool him down. And his body is overheating h excessively.

So you wait a minute and decide you are going to get him some icepacks and a fan to help him cool off.

So you carefully push him off, and he gives you a confused look. His eyes widening in fear as you stand up. And he goes to acramble afte him but you just motion for him to sit back down. “Don’t worry, I’m just going to get you a fan and some ice packs, your overheating and we need to get your temperature down.” You say.

You turn around, starting to head to the door. And you assume that he is okay with it, because your almost at the door and you hadn’t heard any footsteps.

As you go to step out you are suddenly tackled to the ground, knocking the wind out of you. Your flipped over to see Vox straddling you, teeth bared and eyes widened in anger.

“Why the FUCK are you trying to leave me!?”

A/N: Sorry I’ve been dead 🙃 I have no motivation, and I have been very busy recently. I have like 25 requests to do so I will start working on those soon, but try not to be be too expectant. Also this was kind of just something I thought of randomly, this is just Pt. 1 I have plans for what happens after but idk if i should do a pt 2., what do you all think? Also this has so many grammar and spelling misstated because I just wanted to get it out soon, so I will be coming back later to fix them.

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hetalia-club · 6 months

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I'm not normally one to rant or anything but here goes.

I hesitate to tag this. but I feel it needs to be said, in fact I feel it HAS to be said or I think this fandom is just going to be done for within the next 5 or so years. People need to read this and understand what is happening within the fandom and not continue this behavior or turn a blind eye to it.

This fandom has a SERIOUS problem. I don't say that lightly either. I feel like 99% of this fandom are sweet and caring people. but we have that 1%.

This 1% is killing the community in this fandom. How is it okay to message someone, demand they make a statement on THEIR blog and when they say they don't want to talk about it you then tell them you wish they would die a horrible death?

TW for suicide and SA! (you have been warned) Long rant below. (preempted note to let everyone know that I am fine, I am not posting this for people to feel bad for me. I am using my own experiences as examples, but this is not a 'me' issue this is a fandom issue)

Why is that so normalized here? The vague blogging and the call to arms people in this fandom do is actually disgusting. Picking one person and just beating them down until they eventually leave the fandom and at the SAME people will be like. "Why is the Hetalia fandom so small?" Who wants to be in a fandom where making one statement that's not even bad could get you death threats?

I don't think the fandom realizes how hurtful what they say can be. Sure you might not have liked a post someone made because you disagreed. Well then scroll down, hit the block button and carry on with your life. Why do some of you feel it is acceptable behavior to make mass posts calling out someone or going into their inbox to tell them you wish they would kill themselves?

I say I don't like Spamano and people say they want me dead. I say I don't want to talk about IRL politics on my parody Hetalia blog and my life and entire country is threatened.

I say we shouldn't insert our ships into everyone's lives and let people ship what they want and not feel forced to appease you. and you guessed it people wish terrible things onto me and my body.

I feel the only way this behavior will change is if we start calling it out more. I know it will feel repetitive but I think ignoring it is only making it worse at this point.

I know a lot of people would read this and think "If you don't like it then leave the fandom" well YOU'RE the issue. This is not normal behavior. These are not actions of someone who is mentality well. Why should I leave a fandom I've been in for 10 years because some idiot cannot handle that I don't like shipping characters together? How is that impacting their life at all?

a few months ago I made a post and it was highjacked and someone totally just took it over and added their own thing onto it talking about SA. Totally out of left field not related to what I posted at all. I simply messaged them and asked them if they could please remove the comment as I am a survivor of SA and it don't think it was funny or appropriate to add onto my post and they just said. "No I can say anything I want to. I was talking about Hetalia so it's fine." like what do you mean no!? Who responds that way? What a normal considerate person would do is say "I'm sorry of course! I can just go make my own post." but no they just left it there. It's still there, won't say which post or who it was because it doesn't matter anymore.

But this is the kind of behavior I'm talking about. This weird entitlement of everyone being so defensive and angry all the time. Just wanting to pick a fight over nothing. You never know if simply saying something like (Example) "I don't really like Austria" Could land you 100 anons all saying they wanted you to off yourself. It's like a game of Russian roulette. It's a very stressful environment for a big creator to be in. All it really takes is the wrong person to see a post you made and disagreed with and all of a sudden they are making posts about you without mentioning your name but are CLEARLY about you saying "This person hates all Austrians, they are a neo-nazi and we should all block them and send them hate and also let's just reword what they said to make it sound 100x worse because people won't read the original post and they will just believe us." Who would want to be a creator in an environment like that?

would you believe me if I told you I still to this day am getting someone in my inbox calling for my r*pe because of the stupid fucking beauty pageant poll I did? Is that not insanity? Who is that person? Wtf is their life? I personally could not imagine sending hate to anyone for any reason, and if I did it would be off of anon and I would say it with my chest. Because in order for someone to push it that far they would have to saying some absolutely terrible stuff to make me take time from my day and life to give them negative energy.

The fandom is shrinking because of the 1% driving them away. They come after artists who draw a character in a way they don't like. They come after writers for depicting a character in a way they disagree with. They go after shippers for portraying their ship 'wrong'. They will comment on people's fun little head canons and just leave the rudest most unnecessary comments thinks like "He wouldn't do that" like okay?? Thanks for your insert betty sue. And it's always when you were never trying to set someone off is when they lose their minds. They do not understand even if a blog is big and has a lot of followers it is still THAT creators blog. they are a person not an identity who just churns out content for just you and they have to say and do whatever you want.

Another thing the 1% like to do on here is they will wait for you to say something and then they will jump to attack a person who does the thing you said you dislike and they will tell that person "blog name XYZ said you are a horrible person and I agree kill yourself" That one is a near direct quote I got not too long ago. I got several like that and actually had to message said creator and say "Why are you mad at me?" and they were completely confused, had no idea how they decided to attack me because of what they said. When I tell you that the 1% are sitting there frothing at the mouth wanting to send hate and death threats I mean that 100%

It's not JUST me either. All creators in the Hetalia fandom I'm sure could tell you about upsetting hate they received and had no idea what they even did or said wrong. I have spoken to former Hetalia blogs ones who I used to call my pals before I went on my hiatus and came back. They all said they left not because they started hating Hetalia but they left for their mental health because the 1% got too bold and unchecked. This was never an issue before quarantine. I know it brought a lot of new fans and that's great! But I also feel along with bringing in some wonderful people it brought in some really dark minded people as well. Saying "Just disable anons and move on" is also not a solution. these people are still here and if they're not bothering me or you they are tormenting someone else because that's what these people do. That 'someone else' may only need the tiniest nudge at the edge and they may just actually hurt themselves. You don't know people. You don't know what everyone is going through. You don't know what someone's life is like outside of here.

PLEASE Please! stop telling people to kill themselves. Stop telling people to go get R**ed in a gutter. Get some help talk to a therapist, a friend, a trusted teacher, a life coach, your parents, your sibling. anyone! And if you don't have anyone in your life you can talk to you can message me and we can talk about what you're going through. I'm sure any other Hetalian on here would say the same thing. Bloggers are real people.

International suicide hotlines

Website to help you find a therapist in your own country and in your price range

I know I will more than likely get hate for posting this. Which is upsetting to just know is going to happen but someone needs to say this because it's getting kind of out of control these last couple months I feel.

if you read this through reblog it, spread it around let the people who NEED to see it see it.

#hetalia #this needs to be said #if you are offended here just know YOU are the problem #stop sending threats to people #stop attacking creators

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olderthannetfic · 9 months

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Hello, I I hope you're having a good now. I just had a question regarding comments and behaviors on AO3. Warning: Long comment.

-*-

I have been following a specific fic series for a few months now and once in a while I comment on it because I love that author and I want to help them stay motivated to write this research heavy fic until its conclusion as they have a tendency to drop their work when they're nearly finished due to steady streams of negative comments.

For some context, though, the stories they write are always ultra detailed, research intensive and most importantly, contain extremely dark themes (think rape, murders, graphic depiction of wounds, mental and physical torture, trauma layered on trauma, etc.). They also put a lot of effort into creating narratives in which every one of the characters' actions have positive or negative consequences. That is a core part of their storytelling.

The fanfic that they're writing at this moment contains a throughouly described scene of rape between two characters who happen to be middle-eastern. That event (as well as some other just as gruesome events) was tagged from the start's, had multiple warnings, was mentioned on the summary as well as the author's note and still only happened in chapter 19 out of 50. We are at what should be around 52k words in at that point.

So anyways, I leave a comment describing how I appreciate and love all the passion and effort that the author puts in their stories as well as how much I admire their talents to stay true to the characters they've chosen and how believable all their actions are in the fic's settings...

And myself, other commenters, and the author are being called racist by very a very vocal minority of readers(think commenting and responding to 98% of comments that so not voice their opinions)?

Like... what? For what reasons exactly? Apprently, and according to the negative commenter, it is racist and discriminatoring to write/read stories containing these elements with male characters that are of Muslim/Arabian heritage. The commenter then goes on a rant about how pathetic my comment was and how much the author took pride in bashing on Muslim/Arab men into making them rape machines and whatever else they can think about. They completely ignored the warnings they were given, and when they got told again about how many warnings they had, they still went on about how it shouldn't have been written from the start.

So my question is, how do you deal with those types of comments from a reader's perspective? Like... I wanna defend my author because I know that these comments will make them drop the fic like its hot coals... but I'm unsure which direction/s to go with it. I've already reported the more active commenters. Is the next step to keep reporting or to just defend my author in the comments?

Any help or guidance at this point is greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading this entire thing. :'c

I don't think fighting in the comments is usually productive. If the author is the kind of person who finds that entertaining, they'll probably do it themselves.

Ignoring these people like they're delusional idiots making a public faux pas is probably more useful. Just keep on commenting on the author's skill.

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angelmeateater · 4 months

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Right, so I've talked a lot about how one of the main themes of FAITH is destiny, but of course the more obvious theme of the game is faith and John's relationship to God. These two themes aren't independent of eachother, in fact the topic of free will/pre determination and faith are some of the driving forces of the game, hell, the tag line is literally'what I am about to do has not been approved by the Vatican', and I know I keep coming back to this because I just can't get over, JOHN IS NOT A PRIEST. Now, I'm not a Catholic, in fact I am a Quaker, which is going to sort of lead this trail of thought, a big part of Quakerism is your direct relationship with the spirit/God, it's your journey you lead it, there are no leaders, no one can tell you want to believe, as I gather Catholicism is practically the opposite of this (and most other forms of organised Christianity) services are lead by a Priest, you come to a Priest for guidance, the Vatican effectively tells you want to believe and what you have to do. What's this got to do with John? Well, we've already established in my previous rant that John doesn't know what to do with free will, being raised by the Church it only makes sense that he wants to climb the ranks, what else is he going to do with his life? Obviously by the events in the game John's faith is wavering, though I would wager that he never had a very stable relationship with God given how passive of a person he is, if people tell him God is like "this" then he must be. Of course we mustn't ignore that he chose to become an Exorcist, he probably could've just stayed in his Church in lived put the rest of his life giving to the community, but he didn't, this is probably his first real act of free will, and it all goes horribly wrong and on his first mission he literally makes a deal with the devil. Not to mention the fact that the devil appears as exactly how God is thought to look. John's ideas of God. Shattered. He's spent his entire life being told God was "this" and then the second he actually tries to do anything himself, it's directly proven to him that. Yes. God is probably definitely real. No he is nothing like what you've been told. Perhaps this is why John became an Exorcist in the first place. So he could have real proof that God is out there. Which already tells us that his faith is built on sand (ha) because the first idea of being a theist is that you shouldn't need any physical proof. So yeah of course he's loosing his faith even though he's just been given more proof than he could ever want.

Next he looses his priesthood, the Vatican want to cover this up and everyone around him, everyone in every Church thinks he's insane. He's lost everything, that's what he gets for trying to lead his own journey, trying to find God. But John does not stay down, and after a year, he dresses up as a Priest again, he's not one and he certainly won't ever be again, but at least this way he have some marginal amount of spiritual freedom, he was a priest, he guided the people, he read the script and he interpreted it, but now he must leave the script behind because there is a real world put there and it's not as he's been told. On many levels it is hard to tell if John's actions are really his own, and there not really, they're yours, he's literally played by somebody else, John's fate is determined by the actions that you take. But that's where the idea of the different endings come in, free will is certainly possible in his world as there is a time before and after events where you haven't controlled this character and aren't going to. Sure he has no free will because its a video game, he was always going to dress up as a priest again, it doesn't matter to you that he isn't actually a real certified priest anymore, it doesn't matter that he shouldn't even be able to go on this spiritual journey, that this journey is an example of why he was always going to get kicked out of the church, it's the same thing that Father Garcia recognises when he meets John. He may be a passive character, but that isn't his nature, the game is a battle between him letting the events of the story happen to him and choosing what to believe. His faith really is the driving force of the story, of course the mission he was about to go on wasn't approved by the Vatican, HE'S NOT EVEN A PRIEST. His faith and by extension your own cannot be dictated to you by others, it is your journey to go on alone, people can read you all the stories you want but that's not going on a journey. If the only way that you can have faith is by denying the experience of others, then you haven't got any, having faith is not something you do every 10am on Sunday, it is something you live and that is what John comes to realize by the end of the game. Faith is his free will. And that is the theme of FAITH The unholy trinity.

Thank you for reading my religious essay/ramble. (I am aware that the practice of Catholicism is not as cut and dry as that but I am going off simply the ideas for the sake of my point)

#thurscrowday.txt #faith the game #faith game #faith the unholy trinity #father john ward #media analysis #religious analysis #sort of a religious discussion #i don't mean to sound kind of preachy in my views at the end #I'm interpreting the game purely through the lense of my own faith and beliefs

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carlyraejepsans · 1 year

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this is just because i need to rant ab this BUT all those edgy sans aus are so hard for me to get into because they completely misinterpreted sans’ character and motivations. like! this man only fights us when he thinks we’re going to not only destroy the world, but annihilate the entire timeline so that there’s literally nothing left. sans doesn’t fight us because we killed his brother, or all those other monsters in genocide (strictly speaking, you could kill the same amount of monsters in a non-genocide way and NOT fight sans). sans kills us because the literal fate of the world is at stake.

i’m not saying that there’s no world where sans would kill us (ik you just made the post ab that and how it’s his promise to toriel, etc etc), but the problem with so many aus is that sans is portrayed as proactive when he’s really not, unless the world is gonna be destroyed. they often completely warp his character for the sake of angst, and ignoring the fact that there’s SO much to work with for angst that’s rooted in canon, it makes the characters feel unrealistic. i can’t get into a story where i’m constantly being like “no, he wouldn’t do that” or “that’s not something he would say.” (this can be applied to other characters as well, but let’s be honest we know sans is at the helm of most of these popular aus).

when i say i mean no disrespect to these aus and the people who enjoy them, though, i mean it. it’s just not my cup of tea. people enjoy different things and that’s awesome! i’m glad so many people have been so involved in the fandom to make their own worlds and stories- it really has helped keep undertale alive! just bc i can’t personally get into it, doesn’t mean it’s bad or unenjoyable (obviously. they’re popular for a reason).

but idk this is just something that always sticks in my mind when people ask what you don’t like about many aus. and like, you don’t need to respond to this or anything but i just needed to rant lmao

nothing more to say pal. i agree with everything you said. my real issue with stuff in the utmv fandom stuff isn't the characterization. sure it annoys me, but at the end of the day i can't control how people engage with the text. or uuhhh don't. you'll just go nuts

the actual problem here is that... they do it in a way that drowns out the majority of the new canon-adjacent content being shared at the same time by using the same tags and fandom spaces. even when (by many au authors' own admissions) they're stories and characters made specifically in the context of the mv and thus have next to nothing to do with canon save for like, the character design. sometimes. THAT'S the real issue here.

#like do your really need to call your oc sans do you really need to use the main tags do you violently shaking you DO YOU #answered asks #undertale #au tag #biscia hater moment

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astrophileous · 1 year

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Important! Please read!

I'm tagging the people who are on the Love Bugs taglist, so if you don't feel like reading through all of this that's fine!

Tag(s): @camilaheroine @crazyunsexycool @whateverrrrrrrrs @wifeyofeveryone @louderfortheback @marvelousgoldroses

Hello everyone, first of all I wanna start by saying I'm sorry for having seemingly disappeared for the past week. I know that I was supposed to be uploading two new parts of Love Bugs on Monday and Thursday, and I've missed both days so far without so much as an explanation. The truth is, I've been logging in and out for days trying to come up with a justified excuse for this delay, but I decided today that I will just tell you the truth of what's really happening.

I'm not doing very good at the moment.

I know this seems like a pathetic excuse, but it's the truth. As some of you know, I'm a full time college student and I've been slammed with school work for the past week. I'm tired all the time. Whenever I have even a little bit of free time, I use it to sleep. Life is just so hectic for me right now that writing Love Bugs has been kinda put in the back burner.

But that's not all the reason why I've been MIA.

A few days ago, someone left me an anonymous ask telling me that I've done a terrible job on the last few parts of Love Bugs.

Now, at first, I was gonna be the bigger person and ignore them altogether. But apparently that one little comment did more damage than I ever thought it could. For the past week, every time I went to revise my drafts for Love Bugs, all I could think about was how badly I needed them to be done perfectly to make sure no one else was gonna have this same thought about the upcoming parts. I kept thinking that what I wrote was lacking something. That it wasn't good enough to be published yet. And as a drastic measure, I ended up uploading nothing at all.

I know it seems silly to be this badly affected by one rude comment when I've gotten nothing but love from everyone else. But I guess this is your daily reminder that words do hurt, and even if they are written on the internet, it doesn't make them hurt less because behind all of these makeshift profiles and avatars are real people with real feelings and emotions.

Today, I finally braced myself to make this post. I thought it was unfair for all of you to not be offered at least an explanation about what's happening. If you're wondering when I will finally upload the next chapter of Love Bugs, then I'm sorry to tell you that I don't know yet. I have one completed part, but as I've explained above, I just keep going back to revise it again and again because I'm just not satisfied with it.

So, there you go. The reason behind my absence. I want to remind all of you too while we're here to please, please, please be kind to all of the fic writers and/or other content creators in your fandom. We're all doing all of this free of charge. So please, if you don't like something we make, scroll past it. Don't be mean. We don't owe you anything. Don't ruin something that's supposed to be fun just because you don't find it as enjoyable as others might.

This is all I'm gonna say for now. Hopefully, I will have gotten my shit together by the time next upload schedule rolls around so that you guys could have the next part of Love Bugs on Monday.

Thank you for reading all the way through of this long-ass rant. Have a great day xx

#zaranting #love bugs #daily reminder to be kind and show love to your favorite fandom creators because they're the backbone of our society

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starcanwrecked-confessions · 29 days

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Ok, you don't have to post this if you feel like it's too much, but I just needed to get this rant out about Robert Manion (not censoring so people who have it filtered can avoid it).

When I joined the fandom in 2019 ne was basically the fandom's darling, every fifth post in the tag was about him or his characters and it was hard to find a tgwdlm song ranking that didn't have SSN in the top 3. I wasn't a huge fan of him, mostly because I'm ace and didn't find him attractive, but I'm not going to lie and pretend like I always hated him. I thought he seemed like a nice enough guy, as did most other people in the fandom. I didn't have twitter at the time, so I didn't see any of the stuff he did there, but I did hear some of it on here which made me not like him as much, but for the most part I ignored it.

It's his actions around the sexual harassment incident that still makes my blood boil when I think about it. To me his apology post came off less as a sincere apology from someone who recognised how shitty he was and more like he was trying to make himself seem like such a good person for acknowledging that he was wrong. It came at such a shitty time for fans too, since everyone who clicked on his insta stories would have been expecting something about NMT 2 but instead got hit with something so heavy and potentially triggering. It was probably the worst day I've ever had in the fandom, as the fallout was intense and the few days before SK officially addressed the issue were actually stressful.

I know we don't know everything that happened behind the scenes, nor are we entitled to, but it definitely seems like Rob did not take being kicked out of Starkid permanently after NMT2 well. He had a whole year between his post and when he went on Tik Tok live to talk about his side of the story, but chose to do it only during the duration of the Starkid Returns kickstarter, when it became clear he wasn't going to be invited back. I know he made some pretty serious claims against SK, and I wouldn't normally dismiss something like that, but the fact that he also tried to play off his harassment as a joke that others made into a bigger deal than it was makes me so mad. Also, some of the stuff he said, like claiming that Dylan gets too many solos and calling them cringey for being in their 30s and still singing some of their older songs, just came off as pure pettiness and spite, and like he wanted to discourage the few fans he still had from giving to the campaign, especially since he stopped when it ended.

Honestly there isn't really a big point to this, I just felt like I needed to get my frustration off my chest. I was watching tgwdlm with friends yesterday and it was so hard for me to get through SSN remembering all of this. I just hope that he stays gone and doesn't try to pull anymore shit during the next kickstarter. Also, I hope all the fans who were seriously hurt by what happened are doing better now.

~~~

#confession #starkid #robert manion #tw robert manion #robert manion tw

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randaccidents · 2 months

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ANYWAYS after seeing @twig-gy in my head (hello here is your tag :P) it is clearly time for me to rant about my belief system for Heart and Mind's dynamic.

So, anyone considered the framework of Predator/Prey? Specifically, Predator Heart and Prey Mind?

Think about it. Predators are visceral yet instinctive. The need to Hunt is as natural as feeling an emotion. It is something that is needed to survive. Its Impulse, predators dont necessarily have to think about the act of hunting after all. And predators are violent and aggressive, comes with the territory.

Points at Heart. He is Emotion, he is a natural consequence of living that every being will have even without what humans call sentience. He is something that is needed to survive, and he is violent and aggressive. He attacks Mind physically. Also the gun, the symbol of a hunter. (personal interpretation he also literally hunts Mind during the Juno Incident because I am mean like that and Heart deserves some stalking as a treat)

What about Prey? I am literally stealing some stuff off Watership Down osmosis but. Prey has to be Smart and Sneaking and Cunning to escape from a Predator. Even prey animals that are predators of other animals need to be smart enough to recognise when something is too dangerous to fight. They need to know how to escape, where to escape to, how to fight for the smallest window of opportunity to run, to observe and note what is around them. Be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed.

Points at Mind. He is Logic, he is thinking and planning your way through life. He observes and he mentally records things down. He knows how to argue his way in and out of situations to benefit himself. He outmaneuvers Heart and attacks verbally. He transmutes the pain to kinetic energy and keeps going. He keeps them alive.

Predator and Prey, two aspects of the natural world. Without predators, prey animals would overfeed and kill an ecosystem. Without prey, predators would starve and die out.

Heart and Mind. They hate each other. They need each other. There can be no Thought without Emotion, there can be no Emotion without Thought. Feelings still claw at me Logic will rot in me.

(also just. in more canon cccc terms ignoring my interpretation for a second. shouldnt Mind fear Heart pulling out another gun at him? he needs to be observant and fast and cunning or the next gun will be so fast he wont see it coming)

#rand.hc #rand.writ #rambles #cccc #chonnys charming chaos compendium #I have balls I am maintagging my shit #anyways yes rotating predator prey dynamics in my head #this is very incoherent and very much just me wanting the Juno Incident to be about hunting #predator/prey framing beloved #yo twig.gy tagged you out of my head now /lh #Tridential Whole

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beasts-of-jadewood · 9 months

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For my first attempt at making a "tumblr-style" post, I'll be rating Goodbye Volcano High characters on a scale of 1-10 based on how I think my first date with them would go.

This is entirely dependent on what dialogue options the player chooses. Nice, friendly, accomodating Fang would try their best to make the evening as pleasant for the both of us as possible but I'd probably realize that they're either reading a walkthrough of my dialogue checks or just trying way too hard, leading to an overall 7/10 night. Mean, selfish, asshole Fang would talk about K-On for 2 hours and ignore everything I say before watching with a completely emotionless face as I get up amd walk out of their life forever. 2/10.

Trish would probably take me to a bug museum and talk about her favorite bugs and ask me what my favorite bug was, at which point I'd respond with some bullshit answer like "the Worms from Kamen Rider Kabuto" before we would both start explaining our respective niche interests to each other without retaining any of what the other person said until we both forget why we're there and go our separate ways, feeling confused but vaguely satisfied. 5/10.

Reed's idea for a first date is probably inviting me to his D&D party or something, at which point I would start explaining to him that I think D&D's modifier-based dice roll system doesn't accurately represent skillfulness as much as something like Fate's multi-dice system, then launch into a rant about how I think D&D is a fascist colonialist product that promotes violence and has little to no thoughtful mechanics outside of combat. I will either be killed immediately for what I've said and my body eaten given the fact that Reed is a carnivorous dinosaur, or the argument will proceed for the next 6 hours to no real avail until we're both exhausted and I go home, leaving Reed alone to smoke pot and watch Critical Role episodes until he falls asleep. 2/10.

Naser would prepare a full list of horse puns for his first date with me given that I am a unicorn and possibly try to make me fall for updog a few times despite the fact that it's the year of our lord 2023. I would quickly let him know that my ability to make jokes is even shittier than his own by reciting old memes from 2012 that I saved in the back of my brain to impress my boomer parents with. We'd then proceed to both laugh at each other while cringing until our skins are fully inside-out. At the end of the date, Naser would ask me to pull his finger, and I'd be too slow to do so before he accidentally shits himself from the cheap dinosaur-korean barbecue we had for dinner, ending the night with a highly awkward but overall 8/10 experience.

Anyway, that's it for part 1. I have four more characters to go. Please let me know if you want more of this kind of content from me. Thanks.

@wolfnanaki @rustybottlecap I'm tagging you two because you're the only blogs that show up when I search "Goodbye Volcano High" in the blogs tab.

#goodbye volcano high #furry #anthro #dinosaur #indie games #character analysis

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dedtoot · 1 year

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watched the jsrf documentary recently and i am so unbelievably dissapointed

moved my rant from the tags to here. Spitted too much. Not like it matters to anyone except me cuz post is irrelevant now

Ok ik that i should not have expected something actually accurate from this video, considering how the fandom is and considering that from the very start i've seen the red flags so to say

One of these red flags is that jsrf is "literally LITERALLY just tony hawk games but roller skates". The first actually concerning thing i heard from others about it. It's my go-to way to determine that the person I'm listening to probably has no idea what they're talking about or a really missinformed. Never failed me so far

But oh man, even keeping that in mind, i did not expect whatever i got

Not only there were just no actual game analysis, which is wild, since you're like SAYING why this game is worth being played, but everything actually game related is a straight up lie

YEAH WE'RE GETTING TO LYING ABOUT GAME MECHANICS HERE

First, saying that grind combos areva rhythm game element. It could be just some weird wording, but it's just. Not true at all. Also calling this mechanic "silent". Whatever that supposed to mean. Not only it's not silent because Roboy tutorials exist and this mechanic is there, and nowhere us it said to be rhythm based, only timing based. And the tutorials ARE useful, since the controls were really expended here(using pretty much every button on the controller), but also that's not a silent mechanic purely for the fact that the character itself isn't silent during the entire thing.

Second. Saying that all characters got unique stats and that is showing off their personality. And uhh. What does that say about the love shockers and the immortals, with their stats. Or hell, clutch and jazz, who are literally right next to each other in the character select screen. It's dumb what I'm trying to say.

And not to mention the general overhyping of the game, by saying it's so so deep and thought-provoking oohhh(but then also never mention that one of jsr inspirations was movie fight club.why). And then just. Ignore that this is a game with not much dialogue. And then ignore every character aside dj k?????????

Like I'm not asking about talking about every single character, but at least like. Mention the plot relevant one's ??? Just the ones you can't possibly avoid. I know that dj k is the main man here but he alone does not move the story.

This kind of overhyping genuinely ruined my experience. Like i was under the impression that I'm gonna experience something out of this world and fun. But i came out of it disappointed. Mind you, i still have a lot to like about the game, but it's just. Not this. This is literally the the worst thing you can do when recommending the game. You will disappoint people. It's not this big grand thing because it wasn't allowed to become one. It's a sad but inspiring story about how even despite this, game is still liked. You don't need to pretty it up, lay out the truth.

Next thing about the video is that this is not a game documentary, but some random hot takes with some lies and long history lessons.

History lessons were a good part of it, but the fact that they put the us culture stuff before talking about the japanese culture is umm. This is a game made to portray a japanese culture from the time?? Like specifically. It's confirmed. To the point that one dev did not like the inclusion of grind city levels in jsr, because, in his mind, it was watering down its identity. Not to mention that this practice specifically existed just to make overseas audiences more comfortable, which is real fucking problematic if it's about something culture related imo. Anyway, he has a point.

Absolutely not denying the influences from other cultures here, because that's just stupid and wrong, but get a clue jeez.

And related to getting clues. This video used videos of actual protest while dj k's monologue was playing in the background. YOU JUST DON'T DO THIS. It's gross. It's weird to do even IF the game gets that real. And this game sure as hell doesn't.

Also do not understand who was this vid even made for, since fans will get nothing new out of it and newcomers wont understand what's the game is about and will be thrown into a sudden history lesson

So yeah highly don't reccomend watching

(update. i spitted out most of my problems with it and my comment was removed. so much for that free speech topic present and indorsed in the vid. also i made a vid that explains my points better)

#jet set radio #jet set radio future #my stuff #moved my rant from the tags to the post #got too much stuff to say and some unfortunate updates #anyways if i see you praising it then tell it here (in a civil manner) I'm genuinely interested #what exactly good stuff do you see in it

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artemiseamoon · 2 years

Text

Flirting with Danger

Ramon x f reader

Chapter 2: One of Us

Fic info || previous chapter || next

Words: 2,809

⚠️Warnings: show canon warnings, pot smoking, being tempted to behave badly, brief mention of reader smoking bud in the past. If you don’t/never have just ignore that detail. | no minors please! Adult 18+ blog!!

GIF credit to owners (see name tagged) 💕 thank you for sharing your creations with us | if you’d like to have your gif removed pls message me & I’ll remove it

Content disclaimer: You know my usual Narcos disclaimer, this is fic, made up, not an effort to glamorize the horrific acts of real persons. If this bothers you, just don’t read it, it saves us both time and energy. Thanks!

You were prepared for a lot of things, but not this.

Ramon instantly took a liking to you and sitting in VIP soon became a common occurrence, much to the annoyance of the other bottle girls.

You’d be working, going about your shift and vibing with the music, then the moment Ramon strolled in, with his pack behind him, he’d greet you with a huge smile and guide you to the table with a gentle hand on your lower back. It got to the point where you barely worked when Ramon was there. And no one was stupid enough to argue with him about it. Your shift was over when he said it was over.

As your second month at Roxanne draws near, you start to form a friendship with Ramon. You found it surprisingly easy to talk to him, laugh with him - there was something about Ramon that felt so … effortless? So much so you couldn’t help but wonder what if, what if you met under different circumstances? What if there was a world, where a murder-happy Ramon didn’t exist? What could this be if he wasn’t a madman?

As Ramon got comfortable with you, he started flirting more openly in a playful way. Trying to stay smart about this, you knew you couldn't give into your desires and kept your walls up. You stuck to your boundaries so well in fact, that one day when he tried to kiss you, you stepped back and his big brown eyes filled with confusion, followed by a flash of hot anger.

You still remember that moment like it was yesterday. Your heart nearly stopped beating and not in the fun way , in the oh shit I'm going to die way . After the rejection, he angrily cursed and walked away from you. Ramon ignored you the rest of the night, busying himself with his family, his friends, dancing, having girls all over him.

But through all of this, his eyes kept searching for you. And no matter if he was laughing, ranting, or smiling the moment you’d make eye contact his expression would drop, briefly revealing the fact that he was sulking underneath all the performing of not caring and having fun.

You kept busy working that night. It was easier than being scared shitless and sitting awkwardly in their section. It was the tensest you’ve ever been, muscles tight, jaw clenched, at one point you were sure your hands were sweating.

Your thoughts were working overtime and just when you contemplated asking to leave early, Dina found you and escorted you upstairs to the office. As you two head for the stairs, you notice Ramon in VIP, dancing with two girls. One of them was kissing all up on him, and you felt a tiny tinge of something you shouldn’t be feeling at all, jealousy. You follow Dina and push the thought away, he’s not my man. I don’t care. It’s fine.

You shift your mind instead to Dina and ponder why she pulled you away. A new level of anxiety rose quickly with each step and by the time you both entered the office; your heart was pounding in your chest.

Though Ramon was instantly intrigued and smitten, the rest of the family took some more work, especially Benjamin and Enedina. Benjamin finally started warming up a little, in his way, and Dina, well, you weren’t sure. She was stoic and intimidating.

Dina leaned against the desk and lit a cigarette. Leaving you hanging on her silence, with just the music pumping in the background, she takes a drag, crosses her arms, and looks you over.

You don’t know if it was due your anxiety, but one of the many thoughts lingering in your mind makes it to your lips, “I know he’s mad at me, I didn’t mean to upset him, I just -, i don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Dina, you realized, noticed everything. So, you were always extra careful around her. She was like the wise owl of the family despite her young years. After rejecting Ramon, you noticed her in the distance, she saw everything.

Giving nothing away on how she’s feeling or why you’re up here. Dina takes another drag of the cigarette and stands tall. She walks over to the blinds and uses her fingers to make an opening. She watches the dance floor. You stand at her side. “Look, right there.” She points.

You follow her finger and notice Ramon in the crowd.

Enedina continues. “He’ll be fine. You see, even with all those people around him, he’s still looking for you.”

You take a closer look. The long-haired girl is kissing on his neck, two of the Narcos juniors are close and talking to him. But Ramons eyes search the room, scanning everyone's faces. Instead of laughing and smiling his expression, even from this distance, looks more solemn.

You take a deep breath in then out and lower your head.

Dina moves her fingers; the blinds bounce back into place. “He’ll cool off. Go home.” She said, taking another drag.

“What if - will I get in trouble?”

Dina chuckles, “I’ll take care of it. Just go.”

Despite keeping a poker face, you were freaking out. Being on Ramons bad side is the last fucking thing you needed.

Dina walked over to the door. She opens it for you. Maybe this was her way of calming you, before you busted a blood vessel. Maybe you passed the Enedina test?

You thank her and leave the office. You make a b-line for the back rooms, gather your things and leave. You didn’t let yourself look back, but you were sure Ramon watched you leave.

As you stepped outside, your last undercover job replayed in your mind. You’ve been in tough situations before, even on the last job, but this feels like the most dangerous one of all. On top of that, you realized your emotions were now involved and this was definitely something to worry about.

Did you actually have feelings for Ramon?

Were you starting to feel attached to this family?

You found yourself wishing they weren’t so - likeable and charming...and fun. It would make all of this so much easier. At least with your last undercover, they were bad people who also sucked as human beings, it made it easy to do your job and stay detached, but this mission wouldn’t be so seamless.

Returning to your car, you started running a list of all the bad things about Ramon, and the Arellano Felix family. You had to hold on to these, you had to keep them in the front of your mind.

…

After a good night of sleep, you wake and feel hopeful for the days to come. You were good at your job . And this family would be your ultimate test. You could do this. You just have to stay on the right side of the tracks and quell the fires burning inside of you.

As you purge your mental notes and prepare for your next monthly report, the phone rings. It’s almost as if fate heard your thoughts and decided to fuck with you. The moment you hear the voice on the other side of the phone you feel both joy and panic.

“Princesa,” though you can’t see him, you can hear Ramon’s smile on the other side of the phone, “what are you doing today?”

“Nothing much…” you lean against the hallway wall and contemplate finding an excuse to hang up. But you want to talk to him, you like the sound of his voice. “You?”

“Just hanging with my turtle,” he said with a childlike innocence. A completely different tone from last night when you rejected the kiss. “You should meet him!”

You chuckle, “You have a pet turtle?”

“Hell yeah I do, you’d like him - he’d like you.” Ramon replied.

With each word exchanged, the feeling of panic lessened, being replaced by excitement.

“I’d like to meet him.” You say before realizing it.

Ramon perks up on the other end, “Spend the day with me. I’ll pick you up.”

Before you could say no, Ramon hung up.

Then it hits you, how did he get your number? And you couldn’t call him back, you didn’t have his. The feeling of panic starts to rise again. But, much to your embarrassment, you’re actually looking forward to seeing him. You could go somewhere for the day, then he’d show up to an empty apartment (which if he had your number, he surely knew where you lived too), or, you could stay and just see, out of curiosity, how the day goes?

Deciding to test the waters, you pack up your project for the day and hide everything out of sight. You had no plans of inviting him up, but it would still be smart to hide this stuff anyway. After doing that, you take a shower and get ready.

After getting ready, you hang around watching TV mindlessly, your head filled with Ramon. You knew from investigating the family, now seeing it with your own eyes, Ramon is a moody guy. He was like the weather, without notice a storm could roll it, the sun could rise, or the day could be dark and misty. Though he was overall fun loving and youthful, it was still hard to know for sure what you’d get with Ramon. It made the fact that he could kill ruthlessly even scarier.

You make a decision to be adventurous today but stay smart. No kissing Ramon. No matter how much you wanted to. You’d keep it light, like friends and then bring your ass right back home. You’d walk the fine line and try your damn hardest to stay on his good side.

…

When you met Ramon outside, you felt butterflies in your stomach. He looked cute enough to eat in his very expensive, very flashy red car. After greeting you with excitement, he held the passenger side door open for you as you got inside. He even put your seatbelt on for you.

As you settled in, he watched you with a smile. “Anywhere you want to go?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, let’s drive and see where we end up.”

Liking this idea, Ramon grinned. His warm brown eyes leave yours and settle on the road as the car speeds away from your building. You remind yourself of three things.

I have a job to do, stay focused.

Do not kiss Ramon, or let him kiss you

Stay on the right side of the tracks

To your surprise, it ends up being one of the most beautiful days you’ve had in a long time and through it all, Ramon remains chill. You were sure the pot helped, which you very gently turned down. You are an agent, but you have enjoyed your share of bud once in a while, in the past. Was it wrong? Yeah but, no one was really a saint, right? But Ramon didn’t need to know that, and you definitely needed your full alertness around him

The day started with a scenic drive; it was gorgeous. Ramon was a fast driver and you kept hoping to God or whatever was in the sky that you didn’t die or crash. But once he finally switched to cruising mode, you were thanking your stars and enjoyed the ride more.

During this drive, he asked if you were hungry and the two of you stopped to get some food. You ate outside and enjoyed the perfect day. After being on the road for a while, the two of you pass through a small town and see an outside concert in the park. You park the car and enjoy the show for a while before hitting the road again. After this, you pass through a larger city and stop at an art exhibit that caught your eye.

Inside, you can’t stop smiling and laughing as Ramon studies the art. He gets way more into it than you expected, likely due to the pot. Watching him alone made the stop worth it. As the sun starts to set, you stop somewhere for dinner and Ramon insists you get milkshakes as well. During dinner, Ramon picks from your plate and drinks from your straw. He even urged you to toss fries in his mouth so he could catch them.

You haven’t dated in a while, and especially not here in Mexico. But the whole day definitely feels like a date. Though you are enjoying it fully, you keep reminding yourself of the three things.

I have a job to do, stay focused.

Do not kiss Ramon, or let him kiss you

Stay on the right side of the tracks

As the day draws to a close, Ramon doesn’t bring you home. He brings you to his house. Before you can finally realize what's happening, he ushers you inside and gives you a tour. Everyone is there, Benjamin, Enedina, Francis, their freaking mother.

In your mind you kept repeating, oh fuck oh fuck, this is actually happening. Smile. Don’t look freaked. Smile. Be normal. Ramon even introduces you to his turtle.

Though you gently suggest you should go home because it was late, Ramon brushes it off and insists you join him in his game room , “ it would be fun.” You figured as much, but after spending this whole say with him, you realized it’s near impossible to say no to Ramon. He was like an excited little kid dragging you along to see all his favorite things.

As he promised, you did have fun. The room was full of every game you could imagine with a huge TV on the wall. Ramon is competitive, but you are too, it only adds to how much fun the two of you are having.

Before you realize it, the clock says 11pm. You really need to get home. Plus, you need to get your report started. You were already 3 days late. As you think about this, Ramon returns to the room with a big bucket of popcorn, wearing a wide silly grin.

“Ramon, I should go home. I have a long day tomorrow. This was really fun though.” You said.

He flashes those puppy dog eyes at you, “just stay over. We have extra bedrooms,” he drops down on the oversized couch next to you, some popcorn spills out of the bowl. He takes a handful and watches the movie on the screen.

You look down, his thigh is pressing against yours, “-maybe another time. I do need to get home.”

“I’ll drive you back in the morning.” Ramon, eyes still on the screen, hands you the bowl.

Fuck.

You weigh your options and the possible reactions you could rise out of him if you keep insisting. Do you just sleep in one of these rooms for the night, in this ridiculous mansion, or do you continue to push your point? Was it worth it to possibly set him off?

Ramons laugh draws your eyes back to him. You can’t even remember what movie he put on; you were too busy freaking out internally.

“Here, have some,” he notices you don’t eat any popcorn and turns to you. Ramon picks one up and holds it, like he’s going to toss it.

“No, “you smile and shake your head, “I'm fine.”

Ramon grins and tosses it your way anyway. It hits your cheek. Ramons laughs and tosses another, then another until you open your mouth to catch them.

As the movie plays, Ramon eventually ends up laying across your lap. You know you should move him, but you don’t want to. Before you can stop yourself, you reach down and touch his hair. Ramon instantly melts to your touch and hums. When you stop, he turns and looks up at you, “Don’t stop.”

Despite your best efforts, you feel like puddy in his hands. You thread your fingers through his hair, and he grins, returning to his previous position. At some point, Ramon falls asleep in your lap. You watch him sleep for a while and notice the way his arm is securely around your legs. He looks so peaceful like this, so angelic.

The thing that’s having the biggest effect on you is the fact that he didn’t force himself on you. He just enjoyed the day with you and that makes you want to kiss him even more. You never imagined the dangerous moody Ramon could be so - respectful. It fucks with your emotions even more.

You sigh and stare at the end credits on the screen. This feels nice, peaceful. And it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t at all. Sleep soon lulls you, washing over you like a wave.

Tags? Just ask

Current tags: @thesolotomyhan @yourlocalspacewitxch @curaheed @kucchikopi @hastalunes @mysticalfairytales

#Ramon narcos #narcos Mexico #fic: flirting with danger #Ramon x f reader #read warnings #ramon arellano felix #not the real guy

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sharonisthebettercarter · 2 months

Note

Billy and fucklander had opportunities to change and didn't take them. Ryan will have an opportunity to change and will try to change... only for his deadbeat dad and/or billy to take it from him because billy is at a point of no return and deadbeat is a life ruiner. Will any of this excuse some of Ryan's future involvement/behaviors? No... But it makes him more sympathetic than spermdonor and Billy combined.

goddammit anon. you're killin' me here. seen a couple of these answered by other folks in fandom so i'm guessing you have your thoughts written somewhere and then copy/paste them into people's inboxes?

i mean, i get the havin' thoughts lmao (i do~<3!!) but if you have so much to say/rant on and want specific people to respond, why not make your own posts and tag people about it? don't get me wrong, i don't mind answerin' a ramble or two here and there but sometimes it gets a lil excessive. 6 asks in one go is a lot, *especially* when the topics are *stressful* instead of *fun*.

scratch that, getting *ONE* of these asks can be a lot.

*SIX (6)* at one time is too fucking many, i can be overwhelmed too. i'm not just a place for you to dump these and expect a response, i'm a fucking living breathing entity behind this screen (who instead of being friendly, *can* delete and ignore them, need i remind)

do not abuse my kindness or patience, do not mistake either for weakness.

i'ma need a LONG ass break after this. leik. 666 months long cause holy fuck. gotdamn. gimme a breather. also still queuing shit so asking more shit and or bombarding me with asks *isn't* gonna make it come any faster.

it comes when it comes, i put it in the queue and shuffle.

you know the drill, you don't get 6 separate answers, i'm condensing into one and usin' italics and bold for the asks

anywho~ not true.

yes for billy, he is aware of his actions, his plight, and knows better, but he chooses to do worse. (altho i do recognize first hand how difficult addictions are to deal with, and billy is absolutely an addict.)

literally no for homelander. people who are victims of grooming like homie are kept in a state of childlike dependency/belief so that they *can't* leave their abuser, have no choice or 'oPpOrTuNiTy' to leave them, *OR* will only go from one abuser to the next because they've been *conditioned* to expect the abuse.

i feel like you keep saying that but i'ma be point blank this time. it's ableist, victim blaming, and completely undermines the situation homelander went through/is still going through. repeating it won't make it true, it's wrong, always was and will remain wrong. all you're doing is ignoring what his actual situation is and what has actually happened to make yourself feel better about hating him.

and that's not even to say you can't hate him or that his actions should be excused. literally no one is saying that and i don't think i've ever seen anyone actually say that unironically (not saying it can't happen but i'm guessing it's pretty rare to come across (at least outside of the maga chuds) since most people just hate him) but you should at least be fucking honest/aware about his situation/*NOT DISMISSIVE*.

i'm including another post i added resources to that debunk this gross (and very ignorant) claim. please give legitimate psychology the time of day before you go around repeating ableist/victim blaming talking points.

*even billy* to certain degrees, should get his addiction acknowledged, instead of denied or *enabled*, because addiction in *all forms* is a debilitating, life destroying THING that is fucking difficult to fight. it's like it's own form of battle with an abuser, except the only other person is *you*. becca alone should be example enough that empathy and compassion can *help* in ways people downright *refuse* to give the time of day (even if i do lament billy using her like his 'new' addiction... the cunt--)

seriously. i'm not kidding, take the time to educate yourself instead of just being angry (at fiction i might add) all the time. that stress can't be good for you, *anger is proven to make people dumber*, and otherwise the only response you'll get from me is going to be, 'actually you're wrong, here's why--*linked resources*'.

"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results"

you repeat ableism and victim blaming? i'm going to call you out on it (if i don't just delete it, bitch i am TIRED--), you will not get a different response from me, i will always try to correct misinformation or disinformation when i can, however that may come.

*you* have a choice, but you keep *choosing* to ignore the resources i provide because they make you confront your own biases, but i ain't playin' on these subjects.

that is a no go in this court.

ryan will need someone to show him he has a choice and that he is worthy of love no matter where he goes or who he's with. again, this goes back to psychology but ryan is still only a child. his brain is literally not developed enough to make these decisions himself/be immune to influence (which just realistically, absolutely no one is regardless of age)

i feel for ryan, i *worry and hope* for him far more, but the trauma faced here is not a contest. please do not do that, that is super fucked. and even if it were--

homelander. homelander would win and take all the fuckin' prizes, there is literally *no one* in this series that has had shit worse than him (he was literally fucking tortured from the second he was created and then fucking groomed leik wut the fuck--)

honestly, it's kind of a fuckin' miracle he didn't turn out *worse*.

*and even then*, what homelander faced would be neither excuse nor reason to dismiss any of the trauma any of the characters have faced, even and especially as a result of him, and vice versa. sympathy overall is subjective. people generally sympathize most with characters they personally relate to.

i tend to sympathize most with the characters who have been through/currently going through the worst of it. (and obviously all the trauma is valid, but my brain tends to prioritize people in immediate crisis dependent on the crisis, which honestly i do feel we should normalize and apply on a global scale just for humanity's sake but i digress, generally this means it depends on the story and where it is in a given moment. but it doesn't mean my sympathy for the other characters has gone away.)

*you* *sypmathize* most with *ryan*, and i get that. that's valid, but it's also personal and subjective, not objective here. it's also subject to change depending on how ryan turns out i'm guessing...

but you're equating people with their actions when--those are two *separate* things.

UGH okay next ask--

That Billy and starlight getting along scene was rushed, like.....there was no build-up to it nor was is a slow burn. Also, starlight and Billy should've started throwing hands at each other or at least curse each other out. Truce my ass, people who hate each other in real life, do not get along all of a sudden, especially if someone they care about is hospitalized. Also, starlight should've chose violence when she and bitchy butcher met a 2nd time. If I saw the person who needlessly, shot my ass again, I would've started to curse their asses out and have them catch these hands.

... what the fuck, first off.

'getting along' is a stretch to describe what happened and this is kinda fucked anon (i will get to that cause you're making me worry)

things *were* tense when they met again, they were literally hurling insults at each other while hughie had to mediate. butcher literally called her 'chum' for shark infested waters, and starlight called him out on his bullshit bigotry with 'i know a guy just like that, he's got a flag for a cape'. hun, where the hell were you when they *were* literally silently seething and fighting *ON SCREEN*???

what *actually* happened was that they took a moment to *set their differences aside* because someone they *both* loved/cared for was in literal danger of *DYING*.

at that point, it didn't matter how *they* felt. hughie was in *crisis* so *HUGHIE*, NOT THEIR FEELINGS, became *priority*.

*after* the crisis was averted, they had a moment of playful banter about the person they just made sure was *safe* and would *survive*. the tension of the crisis was gone, and they could take a breath. that they happened to be around each other was just a fact of the matter. but *hughie* was still their priority and common ground.

so i guess you could say it's rushed, but the situation was rushed over all (of course it was, time crunch with a fuckin' crisis, hellooooo???) but what the hell were you expecting, for them to fight and argue in the *hospital* and potentially kill hughie with their stress and anger instead of letting him rest easy????????

what happened during those scenes is genuinely, a completely normal and very human reaction for people to have. prioritizing *crisis* over animosity. i.e. being normal ass rational people who don't let their hatred/anger take complete control over them.

annie (very obviously) is *not* one of those people and never has been.

for butcher, it *depends* on how he's feeling i guess, but there's clear implication that he leans on people *like hughie* or becca to *pull him back* from that place. in that moment, his worry for hughie outweighed his hate boner for supes. that happens sometimes.

and i gotta gotta gotta be clean with you on this hun, cause jesus fucking christ was this one loaded.

if you *genuinely* feel that *fighting* and *hatred* with someone you dislike should take *priority* over someone you both *love* fucking *DYING* right next to you?

you *NEED* to seek help, *anger management* (if you have the resources and i hope you do, sincerely)

from a *real* therapist, who can *actually* help you. (NOT ME)

or at least, idk, look up a couple videos maybe??

and listen, i'm not saying this to hurt you.

but i am getting strong STRONG bad *BAD* 'billy butcher'/'homelander' levels of toxic masculinity and irrational aggression from you here (not necessarily towards me i mean, just in general, dial it back, hun)

anger does not make you better, right, or stronger. anger *DOES NOT* solve problems.

*anger* makes you *stupid*, and going with the first knee-jerk angry response that pops into your head is a sign of *weakness*. it is an example of the *lack of impulse control* that many can and often do struggle with (society is fuuuuuuuucked...)

there are *healthy* outlets that can help you let off steam and cope productively, and i guarantee you it will lengthen your life and allow you to live happier the quicker it gets addressed!

shit, you can even try out something as simple as playing harvest moon--any of them! my darling friennnnn~<3 suggested it to me and whoopdi-fuckin'-do, it's actually *HELPING* me~!!

you seem to love to hate butcher and homelander (and i'll be fair, i do too! even if i love them just as much lmao) but i'm starting to get the vibe that it's more so because you see some major parts of *yourself* reflected in them.

it is *okay* to have fight in you. it is *okay* to feel angry. that's *natural*.

it is *not* okay to use that anger as a means to *only* be destructive, whether internally or externally. that is the whole point of what makes butcher and homelander wrong, but you are stuck and determined to commit the same error or see it committed by others, like ryan.

it's okay to have spunk and spirit, be a little assertive, live your life, enjoy yourself.

but giving into your anger at the drop of a hat?

i promise you (from fucking experience) it will only *RUIN* YOU and your life.

at the *very least*, learn to recognize the most obvious factor here.

you are not other people.

other people are not you.

just because *you* would have a certain reaction to something (or believe you would because we never really know until it happens to us), *does not* mean *others* would have the *same* reaction to the same thing.

*OTHER PEOPLE* reserve the right to their own thoughts, feelings, experiences and appropriate *reactions* to whatever the situation may be.

**and regardless of what those may be, they are no less or more valid than you or yours for it**

actually, if i'm being completely real here, choosing *violence* over civility is what *should* be frowned upon. but you are *literally* making a complaint about them choosing to be *civil* instead of violent.

what the fuck.

NEXT--

I think had Becca survived season 2 in it's entirety, Ryan would've grew to be a caring and generous person, but comes from a religious family, which might make him unpleasant at times. It's possible he would be raised with the concept of gender roles (I mean, it's possible that Becca didn't get an abortion is because she's religious, why else would that st. Nick necklace would imply that). Though, I could be reaching because we did see her gouge a nazi's eye out

wut?

WUT???

just... honestly wut?? not leik in a bad way. but WUT???

this one is weird. i do think you're reachin' here because *just* because someone is 'religious', doesn't mean they're anal and obnoxious about it.

case in point, *ANNIE*

she's religious (and still religious tho not as strongly/has obviously struggled but accepted the cross from her mom at the end of s2) but she's not a bible-thumper or puritan, and feels uncomfortable about those sects of religion.

you also seem to underestimate the *severe* penchant for violence many *many* religious people have.

do the crusades not ring a bell to you? the nazis cited religion as their justification for their actions more often than not.

but religion itself or being religious is not an inherently bad thing (i'm critical because of how it's used/what i personally went through because of it), overall, it's just a tool that many normal people just use to have hope or make their lives a little easier stomach.

it give the placebo effect, if you will.

it's in the same boat as money. money itself is called the 'root of all evil', but in reality, it's just a tool that holds no moral weight one way or another. (it's the *people* who are moral/immoral or use it in such ways)

morality itself is subjective depending on the time period and the values that society holds at a given time. humankind is still in the process of trying to reconcile and rationalize a globally acceptable form of morality that prioritizes humanity as a whole rather than one specific group, and it's been... not great? very slow going lmao but i digress.

religious *text* is a bit of a different story, most bibles/written stories are fuuuuuuuuuucked one way or the other. but again, then you're looking at who's a bible-thumper and who isn't.

i will say that if becca had survived, things would def probably be a lot better for ryan. but it would be a different tense situation with either them in hiding/trying to find a new safe place (i like to think they'd leave the country) or with her *in* the safe place raising ryan.

and either *begging* billy to come home (cause she always believes in him :((((((((((((((() from his revenge rampage, or billy being there and raising ryan--while seething because 'homelander'...

this is dark, but i get the feeling it would eventually lead to an altercation, either where billy leaves to go after homelander and the above happens, or billy murders the kid in front of becca/finds a way to sell him back to vought (like becca had said he would and both knew he'd try again) to supplement the bottled in rage that had been slowly chipping away at him...

leik. s3 alone gave a perfect example of a seething billy/what his violence withdrawal does to him. and that was with him *still* getting the little bits sprinkled in here and there so--

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...

Ryan's life has consisted of nothing but hardships. He was isolated and sheltered from the outside world, living in a compound for a good majority of his childhood. He lost his rarely saw her real mother, and Grace served as his primary maternal figure afterwards. Got gaslighted by Billy because billy's connection to underages is too damn weak. Homelander, the only biological parent that he has left, sees him as an extension of himself, and treats Ryan more like a pawn than a son. Shitlander is going excessively control Ryan's life, manipulates, and gaslight him constantly when ryan displeases him. Spermdonor won't even view Ryan as his own person - to him, Ryan is a pawn that's his property to use in any way he wants, so he plays with Ryan's emotions to have the upper hand. Even though Spermdonor will treat him like dirt, Ryan will desperately try to please his deadbeat, and garner any sort of attention from him. If Ryan finally escapes the clutches of spermdonor and Billy to find others who will help him rather than hinder him, he'll be content and genuinely happy. Though, I wouldn't be surprised if his happiness is stripped violently from him when Homelander or billy take that away as punishment for ryan "betrayal". I wouldn't be surprised that down the line, Ryan snaps and becomes a hostile, hateful, bloodthirsty, and vengeful supe at the end of the series because Billy didn't bother to ask Marvin for help in terms of handling children and Homelander is a life ruiner.

some incoherency here, but i mean... that is history repeating itself??

baby, this one coulda been your own post. half time i ain't even really sure what you want me to say with these??? sometimes i feel like you're just throwing shit out to see if you can trigger me?? but that's the general paranoia talkin' (or at least i'd like to think i know myself well enough to say that)

but i gotta be honest, sometimes ya say stupid shit--(which fair enough, we all do at one point or another myself included~), but leik...

i hope this isn't too much to ask but...

maybe *think* before you *act*??

a lot of these read like impulse and like they're not thought out very well, but maybe if you took a moment/step back to make your own post/think about the thoughts you put into them, you could idk, make more sense of them i guess?? better organize it??

what do you mean with the first part??

ryan was in a compound, but he wasn't purely isolated/sheltered or in a lab. yeah, still not great (as no interaction with other children/general city life has given him some anxiety and that much is clear). but that can also happen when kids move from rural areas to cities in general. his real mother (becca) was also his *primary* caretaker, almost *always* with him unless she dropped him off at tutors/had to step away for a moment.

leik what's going on here, are you confusing baby homelander with ryan??? cause the baby they showed us in a lab and the kid getting experimented on was *young homelander*, NOT ryan.

but generally speaking, before homelander showed up, that kid was fuckin' happy, just livin' his life? that's what makes homelander's sudden appearance so fucking traumatic. the kid didn't really want or need saving at the time, but now he legit does.

homelander actually... sees ryan as an obligatory way to gain affection/love. you have to understand, homelander functions almost entirely on the belief that he is unloveable/people will abandon him/call him a monster/hate him/etc.

that's why he defaults on instilling fear to make them 'respect' him or *fear leaving his side* no matter how badly he mistreats them, that's clear enough when his relationship with stormfront starts and he threatens her for lying to him.

homelander has never had real family or love and is very desperate for both. he doesn't have a full understanding of it either. but ryan fits with the 'idea' of both. because blood family is 'supposed' to 'love unconditionally' and ryan is 'blood'.

on the flipside, ryan is very intelligent/quickly learning how to use his powers and what he can/can't get away with--due to who his father is. don't underestimate the kid, because homie is so stunted and ryan is still clearly very *special* to homelander (if for the wrong reasons), i think he can and will use that to his advantage.

ryan already hits all the tickers for *being* what homelander *wants* him to be, mostly by existing.

a boy

has powers

aaaaaaaaaaand that's pretty much the end of homie's list lol. and we can see at the end of s3 that *this* alone is *enough* for homelander to *actually* listen to and be manipulated by his son, not the other way around (ryan gets him to leave rather than killing billy)

you're under the impression that homelander will be a controling parent, and i think in some ways, he *could* be. but most of what we *have* seen is implying something *very* different will happen.

apart from the roof scene, he hasn't really mistreated ryan. he actually did really good with ryan's anxiety/has shown general patience but it's clear he's trying to gain ryan's trust/affection so i guess we could technically interpret this as the love bombing phase?? still, most of what we're shown was him mistreating *becca* or others, but not ryan specifically (he def does set some monumentally shitty examples tho)

either way, homelander *still* wants love and approval, *even* if and *especially* if it comes from *family*/his *son*. he's also a victim of grooming that still hasn't grown from the dependency that made him have on his abusers. believe it or not, that actually leaves him open/vulnerable to *ryan* being the one to control and manipulate him. granted ryan is a child. but 'he knows not what he's done/capable of' and all that jazz.

don't get me wrong, i do picture it's gonna be a fucked dynamic and homie will get 'controlling' to a degree. but don't think the kid is so damn helpless there.

we're more likely to see complete minilander spoiled brat ryan and full blast karen 'my kid can do no wrong/*HE* can do whatever the fuck he wants!' homelander than anything else.

ryan *may* try to desperately please homelander, but homelander *will* try to desperately please ryan. it's likely to create a very toxic and enabling 'we only have each other' dynamic because that is the point both have been driven to.

but again, history repeating itself

anywho~<3

The man who threw a can at Ryan back in season 3, is the same reason why people throw shit like rocks or just plainly spit at offsprings of tyrants.

i think it was a cup/soda?? but that's not really the point.

i'll be blunt here.

**the sins of the father are not the sins of the son**

just because people react like animals and blame innocent kids for what their parents do, doesn't make them right. i'd say it makes them dead wrong and very fucking stupid actually, because the kids *have no choice* of the family/blood they are born into, or even what they're initially taught to believe.

that man was a fucking moron. i won't say he deserved to die for something that didn't actually hurt ryan, they could have pressed charges for assault of a child on him and made a public spectacle of him and ruined his life (*that* would be rightly deserved)

but that was a *WILDLY* stupid thing of him to do, *knowing* homelander's powers, supposedly being a starlight supporter (which means he would believe homelander is evil) and *knowing* that this was his fucking *child*.

only the weak, childish, and stupid take aim at the innocent for the actions of a tyrant.

play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Not only Ryan looks the most like spermdonor and is said spermdonor's son, but a painful reminder of what happened to Becca. Billy is going to despise/resent Ryan more nonetheless. No thanks to Billy's weakass connection to kids either. Besides, Billy already started showing signs of deflection after season 3, episode 3.

billy's been a cunt from before the story began, where have you been lmao?

billy already resents ryan more so for what he is (a supe freak), but i would def say who he's related to probably doesn't help. still, despite it, ryan is also the last remnant of becca that he wants any connection to (since he's absolute dogshit to her other family but still mainly for his promise to her).

the thing is, ryan is still a useful tool/something to hold over homelander's head, and that, albeit fucked up, makes him worth something in billy's fucked up head. if he hadn't made the promise to becca, ryan would probably already be dead.

i do think he will look for excuses to give into his urges/hatred and break his promise to becca (as nearly the whole of s3 was~) if not use ryan as his trojan horse and be the first person infected with that virus and send him back to homelander--

ANYWHO--

next time this ask bug bites you, for the love of satan, take a moment to take a step back and gather your thoughts, and maybe make your own post/rant on your own blog for it instead of sending literal barrages of asks to people (idk if you do this to others or how many/often, but if they don't answer 'em there might be a reason for that.)

or at least compile it neatly enough into *ONE* (SINGULAR) minimally semi-coherent ask.

of course i care about the serious stuff and make psas, i don't even mind answering asks, even the crazy ones~ ;))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

but i do actually wanna have *fun* in fandom (leik C'MON i obsess over shitty men fucking/impregnating billy butcher!!), not be stressed out all the time or stuck on the hard topics trying to explain things to someone i don't even know is actually willing to listen.

leik i literally had to keep randomizing my queue because it was filled with so much negative shit at one point and *i* was overloaded just by looking at it.

i especially don't wanna be dealin' with fuckin' ableism and victim blaming in my ask box. that shit is rank, and i'm tired of it

get smart or just stop, my answers on that shit ain't gonna change.

but you can even post it private if you want. just

LET ME HAVE A FUCKIN' BREATHER--

preferably... 666 months~<3

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autumnalwalker · 4 months

Text

Empty Names - 20 - Changeling Child

Author's Note: In which Ashan helps out a fairy that just realized they aren't human and draws uncomfortable parallels to his own experiences. Also, Lacuna horrifies everyone with mad science. There were a lot of delays with life generally getting in the way of this chapter being written, but I am a little proud of myself for just barely squeezing this in before the year ends, as per the goal I set for myself a month ago (in my home time zone anyhow). That said, I didn't manage to give this chapter my usual once-over full reread before posting, so I won't be too surprised if I edit this post later, if only to add the spoiler commentary to the tags. Hope you enjoy, and Happy New Year, everyone. Minor edits to wording/typos have now been made and additional commentary has been added to the tags. Word Count: 11,337 Content Warnings: Fantasy fight scene violence. Attempted (but failed) mind control. Passing reference of blood and gore without detail. Mild body horror. Deadnaming and misgendering a trans person (not Lacuna for once).

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

It is a strange thing, to suddenly obtain a new material possession when one has previously made a point of keeping as few as possible. Stranger still when that new possession is slightly too big to fit into the folded space within the sleeves of your robe to keep safely on your person at all times. Eris did however include a white carrying case to go along with the matte-black laptop she gifted to Ashan last week, so that is something. It is not quite the same shade of white as his robe, but it is close enough that Ashan appreciates the thought.

For the time being, that laptop has stayed hooked up inside the guestroom within Bridgewood Manor that Ashan has been occupying since that first mission with Road nearly two months ago. At Lacuna’s urging he has tried to incorporate it into his morning and evening routines, if only to check the electronic mail. Thus far that has mostly just consisted of messages from Lacuna containing images with humor he is still grasping, the occasional suggestion from Eris regarding educational resources, and one from Bridgewood congratulating the three of them on connecting to the Manor’s WiFi. That last part had been nearly as esoteric process as Lacuna’s explanation of memes, and that had rapidly devolved into a rambling lecture about long cats, defunct deities, a philosopher called Plato, dual linguistic meanings lost in translation, and the ultimately futile and deceptive nature of the written word.

Whether it had been Lacuna’s intention or not, that extended feline rant led to his spending even more of his downtime on the computer than in the Bridgewood library since then. Not for the memes, but to find out who Plato was. That reference to an (apparently) historic figure as if familiarity were assumed once more drove home the fact that being stolen away before even completing an elementary-level education made him a foreigner in his own homeland. True, Aliana had tutored him on mathematics, logic, literary analysis, and other such skills in addition to magic, but none of the history or philosophy he learned under her guiding hand came from Earth. And why would it have?

But now this strange little bifurcated box offered a way to, if not fully amend, then at least mitigate that ignorance. While Ashan had long been aware of the Internet and its theoretical use as a store of knowledge and a communication medium, between a childhood in a home without a computer and adolescence spent in world without electronics he had never really experienced it until Eris showed up at the Lonely Walk office and handed him a surprise gift. To hear about it is one thing, but to actually scroll through the pages upon pages listing titles for tens of thousands of transcribed books free for access and hyperlinked inter-referencing encyclopedia articles tracing an interwoven tapestry of conceptual linkage from ancient philosophers to arboreal bearcats was another thing entirely. Ashan had known scholars on Orthon who would weep with joy and envy at the mere idea of such a library.

Admittedly, there were some complications with exploring the wider Internet caused by his translation charm not knowing how to handle trying to use a keyboard. Writing words by hand had been bad enough ever since the onset of his condition, causing whatever he wrote to come out as a pidgin of a dozen or so different languages - many of which he had never even personally encountered before - that was effectively gibberish to anyone without translation magic of their own or a very intense interest in linguistics. Trying to force his thoughts through a single achingly unrecognizable symbol at a time to try to form words specifically in a language that had been stolen from him was… distressing. Speech recognition software had proven no better, with the device - as Eris explained it to her - responding to specific physical sound patterns without any true perception happening for his charm to tap into. But he still has the collection of links and bookmarks his friends had sent him, and that is proving to more than suffice. Just those first two resources Eris provided him with were more than could be read in a single human lifetime.

Friends. What a wonderful thing to be able to call someone. How had he never realized what he was missing?

So now, on this particular morning, after his long-standing morning rituals of exercise and meditation (and a breakfast that he is perfectly capable of remembering and not putting off when there are not more pressing matters to attend to), Ashan turns on his laptop and checks his electronic mail. There is one new message, sent from Lacuna at two in the morning.

Its subject line reads “Simulations are done.”

Ashan is not normally one to hurry or rush things. Ashan barely takes the time to skim the full text of the message before closing the laptop and departing from Bridgewood Manor and the surrounding Estate at the quickest possible pace that will not leave him visibly winded. The brief time that it takes to reach the tree bridge that will transport him to its twin tree across the street from the office feels like an age in his excitement, and he tries to remind himself that after this long of a wait a few extra minutes will not make a difference. It is certainly nothing worth breaking decorum over, even with no one else around.

An eager grin the like of which has not graced his face in years creeps in all the same as he steps out of the Bridgewood Estate’s secure transit between the trees and into the early morning sunshine.

He crosses the street and then the sidewalk, and then the outermost of the security wards surrounding the Lonely Walk Outreach Agency. Invisible to the mundane or inattentive eye though they might be, after all the time he has spent adjusting and fine tuning them it is difficult for Ashan not to perceive them as a shifting rainbow lattice-work overlaid in concentric bubbles around the refurbished antique building.

The front door is unlocked, indicating that Lacuna must already be inside, given that Road and Eris were not expecting to be back from the followup to their most recent mission for another day or two. Ashan heads straight downstairs towards Lacuna’s basement lab; the woman is hardly ever anywhere else these days.

And yet, when the door slides open he finds her usual chair unoccupied despite all the computer monitors surrounding it being turned on. Ashan’s first thought is that she has simply stepped out for a moment to feed or relieve herself, but then he notices the figure displayed on the monitors. Eight different cameras at eight different angles and levels of zoom are displaying eight live feeds split across two screens Eight mechanical eyes watch a faceless white mannequin in worn and baggy clothes standing almost perfectly still in the middle of an evenly-lit blank white room. Its chest and shoulders rise and fall to the rhythm of slow and steady breaths despite the lack of mouth or nose. A timestamp on one of the video feeds tells Ashan that the recording has been running for nearly five hours now.

Ashan crosses the lab to the testing chamber door where he finds the clothes Lacuna was wearing yesterday lying crumpled on the floor. Curiosity morphing into concern, he hits the large red button to open the testing chamber doors and steps inside.

The mannequin takes no notice of him.

“Hello,” Ashan softly calls out to the figure.

No response.

“Lacuna, is that you?” Ashan asks, sliding his wand out of his sleeve and into his hand in a practiced gesture.

A shudder runs through the mannequin.

“Lacuna,” Ashan emphasizes the name, “are you alright?” Cautiously easing closer, he realizes that the mannequin is making a fist around something in one of its hands.

The mannequin twitches and jerks, contorting its limbs.

“Lacuna, may I see what that is you are holding?”

The mannequin goes still again before slowly turning its head down to eyelessly look at the hand it has brought up to chest level. Its fingers uncurl to reveal a sphere of interwoven plastic tendrils that rolls off of its hand and shatters when it hits the ground.

In an instant, the mannequin grows three inches, shifts its skin from blank white to a mere sickly pale with the occasional freckle, sprouts hair, and contracts its blank face to reveal the contours of features.

It surprises Ashan just how light Lacuna is when she falls forward into his arms. He is barely even eye level with her shoulder on the rare occasions she stands up straight, but he realizes now just how much she is skin and bones beneath the loose-fitting clothing she always seems to favor.

“Don’t tell Eris,” Lacuna breathes into his ear before passing out.

*******

“I’m sorry,” Lacuna apologizes for the tenth time since waking up. The first three times had come in quick succession upon regaining consciousness a minute or so after fainting. The fourth came when asking for a moment of privacy to change back into her clothes from yesterday, and the fifth when emerging from her lab some minutes later. The sixth was a part of turning down Ashan’s advice to put herself into the autodoc suite. The seventh was instigated by her stumbling on the stairs ascending out of the office’s basement, which in turn led to the eighth when accepting Ashan’s offer to help her up. The ninth took the place of thanks when Ashan unstuck the cap she was struggling with on the bottle of apple juice she retrieved from the refrigerator. What this latest one is for is less immediately apparent.

Now she sits at the other end of the kitchen table from Ashan, staring down at an empty wrapper of plain salted crackers. Stripes of morning light cut between the window blinds and divvy up the space between them.

“For what are you sorry this time?” Ashan prompts.

Lacuna flinches at the question, withdraws momentarily, and hesitantly answers, “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? That must be annoying, sor- Gah! Why do I keep - I mean -” She stumbles over her words a few more times before closing her eyes, holding up one finger, and taking a long drink to drain the rest of her glass. Setting down the glass, she opens her eyes and tries again while drumming her fingers on her arms in a rolling motion.

“I should have gone to bed and gotten a decent night’s sleep after sending you that message. So that I’d be able to help you today. Instead I got over-excited and tried to squeeze in a little bit of time now that the server load was free. For a personal project. Selfish.”

“Apology accepted,” Ashan says, keeping the disappointment out of his voice. He tries to tell himself that just one more day of waiting will not hurt him. And if Lacuna is a reckless enough enchanter to run some manner of botched transmutation ritual on herself, perhaps it would be for the best that he does not let her try to experimentally “help” him. “But why did you not want me to tell Eris? Friends are supposed to aid one another when distressed, are they not?”

“I don’t want her to worry about me. Same for Road,” she mumbles.

“You mean to say that becoming stuck as a faceless imitation of a human being all night is not cause for concern?”

“It’s fine!” Lacuna snaps defensively and then shrinks back from her own raised voice. “It’s fine,” she says more quietly. “I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s a problem I’ve been working for a while now and that’s not even the worst thing that’s happened to me so far. And the enchantment had a safety timer built in, so I would have been fine.” She raises her head, looking through Ashan rather than at him. “Compared to some of the other mishaps, this one actually felt… nice? It was quiet. Like all the thoughts going in my head all the time finally shut up for once and let me just be. Awareness without a sense of self to be aware of and in a room with no external stimulus.” She slaps a hand to her forehead and laughs. “Okay, wow, that does sound bad when I say it aloud, but I promise I’m fine. It was actually about as restful as sleeping, I’m just a bit frazzled right now from the sudden jolt back into things. And probably dehydration. And maybe low blood sugar. But I’m good now. Mostly”

As Ashan opens his mouth to form a reply to that, several other noises interrupt him at once. The sharp ringing of the outer barrier detecting an intruder with violent intent. A shout of fear. A howl of pain.

Before Lacuna can even make a surprised exclamation of her own, Ashan is already out the kitchen, past the repurposed check-in counter, and throwing open the door. The frightened and haggard individual sporting a denim jacket covered in enamel pins on the other side stops dead in their tracks at the motion of a wand coming within an inch of poking their eye out. Looking under and past the unexpected visitor’s placatingly raised arms, Ashan catches a glimpse of a smoking pantherine shape on the sidewalk dissipating in a sparkling green haze. The tree-lined street is left empty except for fallen petals and parked cars. The blue electric hatchback with claw marks on the side parked nearest to the former bed and breakfast had not been there when Ashan arrived barely half an hour ago.

Ashan’s eyes flick back to the individual standing in front of the door, locking gazes.

“What was that?” he asks.

“I was hoping you could tell me. Now please, you gotta let me in. Before it -”

They double over groaning in pain. With effort they crane their neck up to reveal a face flickering between two forms. One of an unremarkably average brown-eyed human with two or three days of unshaven stubble, and the other violet-eyed with smooth, waxy leaf-green skin. Violet eyes or brown, the look of desperate fear and confusion is the same. It strikes Ashan how young they are. No more than late teens.

“Help me,” they gasp.

Ashan guides them to a couch in the nearby living room, locking the door behind them. They recover quickly enough after lying down - Lacuna catches up just in time to see the surprise guest’s face flicker for the last time - but even after their face settles back to human their left arm remains green. They cradle it to their chest, as if it were still in pain. Or as if they were trying to hide it. Shame? Fear? Embarrassment? All of the above, Ashan guesses.

“Name,” Ashan says, instruction more than question. He remains standing, alert for the first sign of treachery from whomever he just invited in or of another attempt at entry from whatever that was outside.

“Tam,” the individual on the couch stammers. “Tam Lin.” Their green left hand clutches tighter at the utterance.

Ashan stares this Tam Lin down. On the one hand, that sort of fear - the bewildered fear of having been abruptly thrust Backstage for the first time - is as difficult to fake as it is recognizable. On the other hand, that which he suspects them to be are known to be excellent actors and none of their kind would so easily give away their Name.

“Tell me Tam Lin,” Ashan asks, “what brings you here today?”

The green hand twitches at the Name’s emphasis, even without any attempt at nominal magic infused into his voice. Yes, definitely one of the fair folk, but why the guileless deception? Why take such risk with a Name freely spoken, as sensitive as their kind are to that?

“The website,” Tam says, “it said you can help with weird stuff like this. You can help me, right?”

“Most likely,” Ashan answers, “but first we need to know more specifically what your problem is.”

“If I may,” Lacuna speaks up from where she has perched on an ottoman at the other end of the couch from Tam. As she slips her phone back into her skirt pocket and intently looks Tam up and down all her earlier disorientation has vanished completely. Ashan knows that eager, almost hungry look. It is a look he has seen on experimentally-minded wizards presented with a unique specimen and alchemists greedily eying rare reagents. And on children seeing their favorite animal in the flesh for the first time.

With only the slightest misgiving, Ashan nods in assent.

Lacuna’s eyes light up and she leans in even closer. “Right. So. Tam. Let me know if I miss the mark anywhere. As a kid you saw all sorts of fairies and similar magic. When you got older you wrote them off as childhood make believe, but ever since you had strange and vivid dreams about them. Maybe you even were one in your dreams. When you hit puberty, those dreams got more frequent. More intense. Easier to remember. Almost a second life whenever you were at your lowest points. Still just dreams at the end of the night though. Nothing you couldn’t put out of mind and focus on the ‘real world.’ And then one day. A recent day. I would guess. One or both of your parents died. Ever since, you’ve started having those dreams every night. And then every time you closed your eyes. And then when you looked in the mirror, wide awake, you looked like you did in your dreams. That’s when something started following you. Not knowing where else to turn, you turned to the Internet, and found us. No one answered your calls or the message you left. That’s my bad. Real sorry about that. So you hopped in the car and drove all night to our address.”

Tam stares at her, eyes wide and jaw agape. “My moms are still alive, but everything else is - how did you know?”

Ashan tilts his head, surprised and curious to know himself.

Lacuna slips back into her usual discomfort, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry. That was weird of me, wasn’t it? Got carried away. Touches on a… special interest of mine. So. Basically. You’re a changeling. A fairy swapped with a human baby to be raised in its place to take its Name.”

“You’re joking,” Tam denies.

“You were quite literally shapeshifting in front of me,” Ashan points out.

“Not intentionally,” Tam says.

“It wouldn’t be,” Lacuna says. “Historically speaking, most children accused of being changelings were just some flavor of neurodivergent. The real ones tend to blend in as normally as the baby they swapped with would have, fooling even themselves. Not that there isn’t overlap between the two from time to time. A Name isn’t just the name it’s tied to, it’s a whole identity, physical and mental. Most changelings have no idea they’re not human until something triggers a change, at which point whatever fae liege made the bargain will come to retrieve them. Or send a servant to do so. Kinder ones will be upfront about it and explain things. Maybe even make an offer to continue living as you are.”

“And crueler ones will send a hunting beast to drag you back kicking and screaming,” Ashan posits.

Tam’s nervous nod is all the confirmation Ashan needs as to what tripped the wards around the office.

“What I’m still hung up on,” Lacuna says, “is what triggered your change. Normally it’s the death of whichever parent made the deal, but…” She trails off as her eyes alight on one of the pins adorning Tam’s denim jacket. A heart of four stripes. Yellow, white, purple, and black. “How long ago did you start calling yourself Tam?” she asks.

“A little over three years ago.” Tam answers. “Just before I turned sixteen. But, come to think of it, the dreams actually stopped for a while when I came out, if that’s what you’re getting at. The therapist my moms had me see told me it was probably just a repression thing that didn’t need an outlet anymore now that I’d accepted myself. I’d just about forgotten about them until this all started out of the blue a couple weeks ago.”

“You said ‘moms,’ plural,” Ashan observes. “What about a father?”

Tam shakes his head. “I asked about it once and they told me they went through a fertility clinic. Anonymous donor. No legal way to know who.”

“Oh, that’s clever,” Lacuna says. “Dirty dealing and a really messed up way to get around the classic ‘firstborn child’ contract, but clever."

“Clever or not,” Ashan says, “I suspect it is beside the point at the moment. The more pertinent question is this: What do you want Tam?”

“What do I want? I want to stop being chased by a giant monster cat! I want to stop randomly turning green! I want my life back!”

“Do you truly want that? Even knowing what you know now? Even with the knowledge that it may not be your life to begin with?”

“Of course it’s my life! So what if I was switched with some other kid at birth? It was me that everything happened to. It’s me that everyone in my life knows. My moms, my friends, my experiences, and my life!”

“And you are not the least bit curious about what else your life could be if you found more answers and embraced what you really are?”

“Oh screw you and your mind games. Do I look like I give a shit about some absentee fairy king dad wants for me? I know who I am and don’t you dare imply that my life hasn’t been real.”

“Good answer,” Ashan says. “Now hang on to that conviction. You shall need it.”

“What for?”

“For when we go tell a fae liege unused to being told ‘no’ that they cannot have what they want.”

*******

“Last check if you want to wait until Road and Eris get back,” Lacuna’s voice says through Ashan’s earpiece as he stands just inside the picket fence marking the border of the office and the unwarded sidewalk.

“Road left me behind for the express purpose of helping any clients that show up needing help while they are away, and that is exactly what I am doing now,” Ashan responds. “We have taken the necessary precautions and I see no reason to doubt my ability to resolve the matter. Or are you saying that you would rather wait?”

“I’m nervous, not gonna lie, but what else is new? You’re the one with the hard job here, so we’ll be fine. Anyway, mirror charm’s still holding strong on this end. Tam still looks like you in here, and you still sound like them. Let’s just hope it fools everyone else as well as it fools me.”

According to Tam, the beast that has been hounding them for weeks now only shows itself when no one else is around, which presented a complication for any plans to assist them. Fortunately Lacuna had been able to dig up a pair of bracelets she had enchanted some time back as part of one of her ever-vague “personal projects.” Allegedly they operated via a modified perception filter to cause observers to perceive one wearer as the other while leaving the wearers’ perception unaltered. That last part had caused Lacuna to deem the bracelets “an experimental failure but exactly what we need now,” while leaving Ashan and Tam to take her word on their efficacy. While even now Ashan can tell that the bracelet is doing something whenever he glances down at his wrist, actively focusing on it is nearly as nauseating and disorienting as that concealment ritual of hers.

The same goes for the little metal rectangle engraved with a not-quite-fractal on either side now hanging from a cord around his neck and tucked beneath his robe. According to Lacuna it is supposed to provide protection from anything trying to get into his mind. It was the one amulet out of the whole clinking mass she had tried to foist upon him that he accepted, and mostly just to placate her, if he is being honest. She had been busy these past weeks with enchanting trinkets from her library of pre-recorded rituals from her old job and if Ashan had hung all that she had offered around his neck the combined static noise of their auras that close to him would have run the risk of making him sick.

Once again, he wonders how she has not accidentally killed herself already. Or at least blown up her lab.

But enough of that. What comes next requires a clear mind free of distracted musings.

A static tingle runs over Ashan as he steps through and beyond the outermost ward and onto the unprotected sidewalk. He continues forward, past the car Tam hastily and crookedly parked on the curb. The claw marks on the vehicle are long and deep, and numerous enough to indicate multiple attempts at retrieval. He comes to a stop with one foot on either side of the painted divider line bisecting the empty street.

“I am ready now,” Ashan says to no one. “Guide me to your master and I shall follow of my own free will.”

A sudden breeze carries the scent of dry leaves and kicks up a swirl of sparkling green dust. The same synesthetic mapping that allows Ashan to “see” the wards around the office shows him a rapidly growing ring within the verdant haze. A low growl rumbles out of the hole within the formless ring and a pantherine shape slinks out from behind the breeze.

The great cat sharing the street with Ashan would be longer than he is tall even without the tail that coils and unfurls as it slowly sweeps back and forth. The beast’s baldness only accentuates its bulging muscles and the isolated shock of dark hair atop its head. The brown eyes that stare up into Ashan’s look just like Tam’s. It snarls, barring too-human teeth for the shape of its head, and then turns away.

Ashan follows the hunting beast across the street to a fairy ring of white mushrooms near the bridge tree that most certainly had not been there when he arrived earlier this morning. It pads around to the far side of the fairy ring, looks back to Ashan, gestures downward with its head, and flexes its claws. Its front paws have thumbs.

The message is clear enough: Step into the ring. Run again and claws will catch.

If the earlier swirl of dust was a tunnel, the fairy ring is a hole beckoning him into its depths. Ashan knows better than to let himself fall in.

He leaps.

He does not look before nor during the leap. Such transitions do not wish to be perceived. It takes longer than it rightly should for his feet to touch the ground. He keeps his eyes closed and tries not to heed his less biological senses lest nausea take him as he falls. Not that “falling” is the correct word for it. That would imply an up or down.

His arrival is signaled not by an impact but by the smell of dry leaves and the tickle of inhaled dust. He pinches his nose to stifle a sneeze and opens his eyes.

The space he finds himself in cannot seem to decide if it wants to be a forest or a castle. He is surrounded by pale-barked twisted trees. He is standing in a solid-walled narrow corridor. Fallen leaves crunch under his feet as he shifts his weight to look around. A neat carpet stretches behind him off into shadows and before him up to an ornate beaded curtain. A cloud-muted sun filters down through a canopy of desiccated foliage. A star-backed moon shines through a high vault of stained glass. Either way, motes of dust catch the weak light, shifting through the slow motion gyre of a breeze too weak for flesh to feel.

“Are you alright? We lost the feed for a minute there.” The static crackle of signal decay does little to conceal the concern in Lacuna’s voice. Is that not the tone she normally reserves for Eris? Are she and Ashan closer than he realized, or does she worry like that with everyone she considers a friend? He has little basis for comparison to correlate sensitivity of concern for safety with emotional investment.

It is a distraction.

He wants to ask her what she sees through the filter of the camera atop his ear. To verify the chimeric nature of his environs that shifts with every turn of his head and blink of his eyes. To tell her that her charm of mental protection does not work to shield his senses.

But he is playing the part of Tam Lin right now and Tam would have no reason to ask such questions of the empty air.

He nods and hopes she takes the cue to be silent when the hunting beast pads past him toward the hanging moss (beaded curtain).

For all that Ashan prides himself on stepping as lightly as any thief or dancer, he cannot help but stir up puffs of dust from the carpet (pulverize dry leaves into blooming clouds) with every step. The hunting beast’s guiding passage leaves no such trace. It is its master’s creature within its master’s demesne. Unlike Ashan, it is not showered with gray powder when passing through the moss (curtain) and into the throne room (parched glade) beyond.

The hunting beast crosses the space and seats itself on its haunches in front of a tangle of roots (a bas relieved throne), from atop which presides the fae liege with whom Ashan has come to bargain. It/He/She/They/Fae wear(s) wears robes of gray that are in the active process of becoming moth-eaten before Ashan’s eyes. Fingers and forehead alike are adorned with bechained jewelry; metals tarnished and patinaed, gemstones dull. Its/His/Her/Their/Faer face is an overlaid multitude that blurs expressions into an indistinct haze of imperfectly aligned features.

Ashan nods his head and sweeps an arm in a gesture of respect. It is not something Tam would do, but while Ashan has not dealt directly with the fair folk before he has been trained well enough to know the danger of losing oneself to a role in a place such as this and a true wizard bows to no higher authority. Fortunately, this lukewarm obeisance does not seem to perturb the figure on the throne.

“The Seventeen-Named Count of Curses and Dust bids you a welcome homecoming and congratulations on joining the ranks of the Named, Carter, my little changeling.”

With that proclamation one of those seventeen unspoken Names is chosen for temporary prominence and a conceptual waveform collapses. Ashan’s surroundings solidify into a single hybrid of a forest woven together into the shape of a castle. Tight-packed trees interlace branches to merge into solid walls. Leaves fallen from the canopy above have been carefully arranged into patterns on the forest floor. The fae liege now sits upon roots that have been expertly coaxed into the shape of a throne and wears only a single grandfatherly face. The hunting beast at the foot of the throne winces.

“You honor me with this audience, great Count,” Ashan says. “Pray tell, what next lies in store for a newly returned changeling?”

“So you do still recall the tongue of your true people in waking as well as dream. That shall save us much time in preparing you for your role as one of my emissaries. Once you have resworn your oaths of fealty to me your training in the ways and arts of my court shall commence. There shall be no time wasted on pointless festivities, for ours is the dominion of the dust to which all things return. To be my emissary is to weave the curses that will hasten that return, especially for those foolish enough to believe they can postpone it indefinitely.”

“Well, there’s your offer,” Lacuna says to Tam on the other end of the comms link. “Magic and probably a bit of world-hopping. Still want out?”

“Hell yeah I want out,” Tam exclaims loudly enough to be picked up by Lacuna’s microphone. “Screw this dust-to-dust reaperman crap.”

Ashan nods in silent acknowledgment of the expected response and addresses the fae lord in front of him. “O great Count, thank you for your answer, but I must now take my leave. To be one of your emissaries is not my place.”

“You misunderstand your position, little changeling,” the Count says, “your role here in my court was ordained long ago. Now Carter, kneel before me and renew your oaths.”

The hunting beast crouches and growls. Ashan stands unbowed and serene.

“I do not answer to you.”

“Such impudence! Have you no gratitude for your liege who saw fit to grant you a Name purchased in fair contract? By that very Name, Carter, I command thee kneel and renew your oaths!”

The Count’s voice echoes through the forest and shakes the dust from the trees. The roots of the throne writhe and the leaves stir from the floor. The hunting beast yowls and Ashan stands unbowed and serene.

“I do not answer to you.”

Another of the Count’s Seventeen Names takes prominence and the parched forest glade closes into a vaulted stone audience chamber. Fallen leaves sew themselves together into a threadbare tapestry of a carpet. Soft wrinkles stretch smooth and tight over a sharp-featured skull. From atop a marble throne embossed with arboreal motifs, the steel-eyed Countess of Curses and Dust glowers down at Ashan.

“You are mine. You. Shall. KNEEL!”

A will that is not his own claws at the edge of Ashan’s consciousness, ancient and vicious. The mental wards he was taught early on and has diligently kept up ever since fray and fracture. The invasive presence reaches in and touches a stray surface thought, withering it down to a vague sense of something forgotten. Perverse delight seeps in from the outside at the prospect of doing the same to every other thought until his very self is reshaped by erosion into an ideal servant.

The amulet beneath Ashan’s robe oscillates between burning and freezing against his skin. The intruder in his mind recoils and retreats. The Countess of Curses and Dust lets out a scream from her throne that sends the feasting moths fluttering away from her regalia.

“I. Do not. Answer. To you.” Ashan gasps. He has denied the fae liege for a third time. By the Law of Threes he should be safe from that avenue of coercion for now.

“What trickery is this?” The Count(ess) asks. Their face and hall flickers between aspects on every third word. “You are not my changeling. What are you? You are full of shards of glass and shattered iron that writhes and drips with rotted ichor. I will have no dealings with mad and broken gods or spawn of the eldritch.”

Suppressing a shudder at the thought of what Lacuna has hung around his neck and wrist, Ashan slips off his bracelet and the glamor disguising him as Tam Lin with it. With an audience gained and the nature of Tam’s would-be master displayed, there is no further need for that ruse.

“I am the student of Aliana Glassgaze, wizard, warder, and master of the Dancing Dream Paints style. I am here as the appointed champion of Tam Lin whom you would call Carter to speak on their behalf. I have judged the treatment you would afford your vassals and would now negotiate their release from your service.”

The room settles back into a hall of stone. “Interloper,” the Countess accuses, “you have no grounds on which to negotiate. Carter was one of mine when still Nameless and accepted the offer to become a changeling with full knowledge of and agreement to the terms that would come after. Whether or not he still remembers that agreement is immaterial.”

“Contracts made before a change in Name are not binding except between the Name’s new and original owners, and you were merely a middleman in that exchange. Elsewise you would not require a renewal of oaths.”

“You argue semantics of the general where it is the spirit of the specific that matters. Changeling contracts are always between intermediaries for neither the unreal Nameless nor the unborn Named are fit to negotiate. This contract was made and fulfilled in accordance with custom. All services to the blood father of the prior Name-holder were rendered as contractually agreed upon and fairy was swapped for child as payment rendered.”

Ashan puts one of the practiced smiles he copied from his mentor; the narrowing of eyes and lopsided upturn of the lips that lets an opponent know they have just walked into a trap. He never was able to muster the emotion she put behind it, but it remained an effective tool of intimidation and unbalancing provocation whether applied hot or cold.

“You would invoke the spirit of tradition, but this contract violated even that. You failed to account for the realities of modern anchor world humans. The exchange of child for changeling as a valid price is predicated on the bond between parent and child, but no such bond existed between the contract holder and child in this case. This so-called blood father was a mere anonymous donor of seed who met neither mother, child, nor changeling. It is doubtful he was ever even aware of the stolen child’s existence and certainly had no part in the bestowing of a Name.”

The audience hall shrinks down claustrophobically close. Peeling wallpaper faded to gray surrounds the empty and dust-covered royal nursery. The petulant Heir of Curses and Dust pouts from atop a pile of broken toys.

“That doesn’t matter,” they insist.

“Does it not? You were tricked into providing your curses to a human for free and in the process inflicted harm upon an uninvolved third party. That Name was not sold but stolen and was given to the changeling on false pretenses.”

“Liar!”

“If you truly thought I was such, you would not be wearing that face.”

The Count of Curses and Dust regains his composure and returns to being an old man on a throne of roots. The moths return to resume their eternal feast on his regalia.

“All of this is beside the point,” the Count says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “By my station, it is well within my rights to compel any courtless fairy whose Name I have command over into my service.”

“Then let us make a bargain,” Ashan suggests. “What is your price for leaving Tam Lin whom you call Carter and their friends and loved ones alone in perpetuity?”

The Count stares into Ashan’s eyes for a long moment and once again the young wizard feels an alien touch brush against the edge of his consciousness. This time the Count’s will does not seek ingress but instead traces the outermost border. An assessment of general shape if not interior contents. Twice Lacuna’s charm grows warm and twice the presence momentarily retreats before returning more cautiously. On the third time the Count breaks the silence.

“You would deny me the return of a changeling whose Name I bargained for, so it is only fair that I receive the means to create another in return.”

“My Name is not for sale.”

“Neither of them? You have two, do you not? One you wear now and one you have all but abandoned since childhood. A childhood name for a new changeling child would be most fitting indeed.”

“My Name is not for sale.”

“Are you sure? I would think I would be doing you a favor to unburden you from it. I can tell that all the recent times you’ve worn it have been marked by loss and longing. Wouldn’t it be better to let that pain go? To allow yourself to be fully the you that you are now?” The Count leans forward with a smile that is kindly at first glance. “Think about those loved ones you wish you could be with but cannot bring yourself to embody that old Name like you would need to. They could have the you that they remember back and the you that you are now could finally move on. You would be doing them a kindness.”

“My Name…” Ashan hesitates. It would be a kindness. As he is now, he cannot possibly hope to return to his parents without causing more pain than healing. But a changeling with his old Name unburdened by everything he has been through? A fae liege of the Count’s power could probably even alter memories and spin a story well enough to avoid a Masquerade breach. Without that wounded Name, perhaps he could even find it within himself to forgive Aliana and they could travel together again the way things were. Maybe he could even talk her into joining with Road and working with his new friends.

Maybe…

*******

“Maybe we’re wrong,” Eris said to Ashan the night after their mission with the vampire crypt beneath a suburban basement. Hot drinks late at night in the office’s kitchen had become something of a post-mission ritual between the two of them. At least when the two of them were both well enough to stand.

“Wrong about what?” Ashan asked.

“About family. Love. Broken bonds. All that stuff.”

“I am not sure I follow. Perhaps having been drained of blood is still affecting your cognition.”

“Eh, I’m mostly fine. What I’m saying is the Masquerade's done a number on both of us. You feel like you can’t go home after running away and my parents straight up disowned me after I came home covered in blood I couldn’t explain one too many times. But maybe we’re wrong about not being able to go back.”

“That is highly doubtful.”

“Doubtful, but not impossible. Look, let’s make a deal. If you ever change your mind and decide to try talking to your family again, I’ll go with you to support you and back up whatever you decide to tell them. Masquerade cover story or the truth, doesn’t matter. Then after, we’ll go see my folks. If it works out, then great, and if not, at least we tried and we’ll still have friends here to come back to. So, what do you say?”

“I say that blood loss and blunt force trauma are impairing your judgment, and even if I were to accept your deal I would not change my mind on this matter. But…”

“Buuuuut…?”

“Maybe I am wrong.”

*******

“My Name is not for sale,” Ashan says for the third time to the Count of Curses and Dust within his wilted forest glade.

“So be it,” the Countess of Curses and Dust proclaims, her voice echoing throughout her gloomy stone audience hall. “In that case, let us balance the deal with a more finite service in exchange for the denial of a servant. A favor of my choosing to be decided upon and called in at a later date, as is the most traditional price of contract between fairy and mortal.”

Ashan imagines the way Aliana would laugh off such an offer but chooses not to mimic it. “Do you think me naïve? Once again you invoke tradition, but this is a tradition that any knowledgeable mortal would know to avoid.”

“Then this negotiation is at an end, for you have nothing else to offer me. If you will not offer me your lesser Name, then you would certainly not part with your far greater one, and if you would refuse a single favor then I cannot hope to extract any other oath of service from you.”

“I have access to the library of the sorceress Bridgewood,” Ashan proposes. Any payment out of the Bridgewood Estate would need to be negotiated with the current Bridgewood of course, but this fae lord does not need to know that.

“So that is why your mind is so hideously warped and sharp to the touch. Speak that name no further in my presence. I have never known a more unclean thing with a refusal to return to dust than that sorceress, save for the attack dog she made her consort. If you claim to be her ally, then we truly have no more to negotiate”

“If you truly put such stock in tradition, then let me make one final offer on behalf of Tam Lin whom you call Carter. Let us both put forth the prices we would otherwise be unwilling to pay as stakes on a wager. My aforementioned request for noninterference against your request for a future favor.”

“The favor, and your childhood Name. As the price of mentioning that hated sorceress in my home. What is to be our game?”

Aliana’s way of doing things it is then. Yet again. Did she too try and fail to avoid this route time and again before giving in and making it her first option at every occasion? Unlikely. She always enjoyed it too much.

“I invoke the rite of trial by combat between appointed champions, to be held on neutral ground.”

*******

Hours later, after extensive negotiations regarding the precise wording of the terms of the duel and subsequent prices the loser must pay, Ashan finds himself standing on one of the few level rooftops in Crossherd’s outskirts. This far out from the pocket dimension’s heart geometry and geography get strange. The buildings here were dreamt up to give the impression of an endlessly expansive city skyline, not for use or habitation, so while they look normal enough from a distance upon closer inspection they quickly become nonsensical. Overlapping windows tilted at odd angles, doors that open up to the outside seven stories in the air, fire escapes that connect to neither windows nor the ground, sometimes even whole buildings intersecting with their interiors leaking into one another and corners erupting from each other’s faces. The interiors are even worse; where they are not completely hollow facades they are unnavigable mazes of doors that open into flat walls, stairs that recursively loop back on themselves, and floors with no route between them.

This particular rooftop however has become something of a fixed point in the city’s inconstant periphery owing to its repeated use giving it a firm place in the collective consciousness in a certain portion of the city’s residents. In other words, while Ashan was handling the contract negotiations, he had to send Lacuna out ahead to make sure that no one else was already using the rooftop to violently settle a dispute away from potential collateral damage today. Or rather, Lacuna sent one of her remote drones which even now hovers on paratech repulsors above the scorched and pitted ring of concrete where the half-formed air conditioning units and ouroboric ductwork has been cleared away to give would be duelists, pit fighters, and blood feuders room to do their work.

Crossherd has ever been a city built on symbolic stereotypes and tropes, and the climactic rooftop showdown is a powerful one.

Ashan’s opponent - the very same hunting beast that had been sent to retrieve Tam Lin for its master - impatiently paces the far side of the rough ring. Someone has clad the nearly hairless felid in ill-fitting pale gray plate armor and strapped a rusty sword that it has no good way to wield to its back. If it were not for the anger burning in its too-human eyes every time it glances his way Ashan might pity the poor creature.

Behind their two designated champions, Tam Lin and the Count of Curses and Dust stand witness. In the Count’s case he is possessing the body of one of the Nameless fairies under his command. Much like the surrounding buildings, the empty-eyed wretch looks normal enough at a glance but the illusion falls breaks apart and tumbles down into the uncanny valley under scrutiny as if someone described what a human looked like to some skilled alien sculptor who had never seen one in person and thus thought the eye whites and teeth should be the same material and was left to guess as to whether clothes were part of the body or not. The fact that Tam has been having trouble maintaining human form every time he looks at their distant cousin whose fate they presumably once shared has not escaped Ashan’s notice.

“This is your last chance to put aside this foolishness,” the Count says through his Nameless vessel. “Call off this farce of a duel Carter and renew your oaths to me. Do it now and I will not hold this tantrum against you, for you are young and confused. You do not realize the value of what you are and what you would be with me.”

The emphasis of the Name elicits a scowl from Tam and a growl from the hunting beast.

“That’s not my name anymore, old man!” Tam shouts back. “So you can shove your offers.”

“Nonsense,” the Count says. “You cannot simply create a new Name for yourself. That is a privilege reserved for mortals, and no matter how much you believe you are one that can never be.”

Ashan tunes out whatever further barbs Tam has to exchange with his erstwhile and would-be master. He slides his wand into his hand and takes a stance, already envisioning the anchor points from which he will draw his conjurations. He focuses on the hunting beast, the way it moves, the range of motion of its joints, the places where the armor hangs loose. Which way will it dart once the duel begins? Can he incapacitate it before it gets the chance to close the distance between them? Should he open by tying it down with point restraints or start with a loose encapsulation and tighten his grip from there?

No, do not overthink it. Remember Aliana’s advice: A duel is a dance and he must adjust his rhythm to that of his partner. He has already avoided the mistake he made with Logos and set the stage in a locale that does not favor his opponent, now all that is left to do is wait for the signal.

Somewhere in Crossherd’s heart, a clocktower bell tolls the changing of the hour.

The hunting beast lurches forward, then to the left, then to the right. It leaps with claws out and fangs bared.

Five fingers on one hand point to five points on the rooftop. The hand makes a fist and five threads tie themselves to four limbs and a neck. A wrist twists and the threads pull tight enough to keep claws from reaching throat. The fist falls and the hunting beast is dragged crashing down to the concrete. A wand draws a circle in the air and a shimmering disk appears. The wand slashes downward and the disk falls onto the hunting beast pressing it further into the rooftop until the conjuration molds to its target’s shape, sealing off any struggle.

The duel is over before it begins.

But then the threads go slack and the disk goes flush with the concrete below.

The hunting beast is gone but for a shimmering emerald haze.

Ashan spins a glass cocoon around himself just in time to block the claws seeking to tear out his spine. The hunting beast disappears once more from behind him and then reappears to his left. Then to his right. From behind again. In front of him where the prior conjurations have since dissipated. Each time it reappears it strikes at Ashan’s conjured barrier, probing for weaknesses and finding none, then disappearing again in a cloud of green.

Ashan holds steady and examines his foe’s movements for a way to counter them. The delay between reappearances rules out true teleportation. No sign of active cloaking magic or illusions, so probably not invisibility. No active magic signatures at all save for a fraction of a second when the green haze appears. A phase shift then, or possibly stepping in and out of its master’s demesne. Either way, he can work with that.

He pushes outward on his translucent cocoon, turning it into a tight bubble just big enough for him to properly move his arms and legs, but too small to fit both him and the hunting beast lest it try to reappear inside the barrier. Bending down, he begins drawing the first of a sequence of glistening symbols on the ground to turn the surrounding area into a planar-locked ward.

“Arise, my servant!” the Count’s name echoes across the rooftop. “Be not a savage beast, but my noble knight! Become my Champion of Curses and Dust!”

Bone cracks, pops, and knits back together. Skin stretches, tears, and heals. The armored hunting beast stands upright on its still-feline hind legs and hisses through its muzzle protruding from beneath its helmet. It reaches a forepaw-now-hand behind its back and unslings the rusty sword.

The Champion of Curses and Dust charges Ashan once more. The wizard speeds up his drawing of the ward and begins the chant for the spell to activate it. The air inside Ashan’s bubble grows cold and frost covers the ground. The sigils flash. The spell completes. No more teleporting to worry about.

When the rusty sword makes contact with the conjured barrier it passes right through, melting a hole that causes the rest of the conjuration to unravel. Ashan barely manages to spring backwards in time to keep from being impaled. Instead the rusty sword cuts through the ward’s central sigils and into the concrete beneath.

Staggered as he is by the dual backlash of two actively maintained spells being violently disrupted, Ashan fails to press the opportunity presented by his opponent’s blade getting lodged in the rooftop. As the Champion of Curses and dust works the sword back and forth the concrete cracks and crumbles with a century of erosion passing in the blink of an eye. When the sword is at last prised free, a hole in the rooftop the size of a grown man’s torso collapses into the room below, exposing rusted pipeworks and corroded wiring.

With the ward destroyed before it even got a chance to do anything the Champion disappears into green haze once more. By reflex, Ashan throws a hand behind himself to conjure a shield in anticipation of the next strike before realizing his mistake. He jumps to the right quickly enough to dodge the worst of the blade’s path when it reappears and once again passes through his barrier as if it were nothing, but the tip of the rusty sword manages to clip the edge of his arm, just above the wrist. The wound itself heals before blood can be spilled but his hand grows old and wrinkled before his eyes and he can feel the same happening to his arm beneath his sleeve. Arthritic pains flare up from his fingers to his elbow as joints seize and grow stiff, forcing a strained gasp from the otherwise young wizard’s lips.

A twist of his heel sends Ashan spiraling into the air to gain distance from his attacker but the corkscrewing conjuration propelling him is cut down, disrupting his trajectory and crashing him into one of the remaining air conditioning units halfway across the rooftop. He rolls to his feet but still finds himself on the back foot with precious little to do but avoid and evade. Bereft of his usual kinetic barriers he resorts to retooling his technique to conjure streams of fire, wind, and lightning, but even those do little to deter an opponent that can effortlessly shift in and out of this plane of existence, and is an inefficient enough power draw that his breath quickly stings his lungs from the cold air.

All in all, it is nearly as bad as trying to fight Eris when she is wearing those dispelling gloves of hers, a sparring setup that Ashan is yet to emerge victorious from in their regular matches between missions.

A memory flickers in the back of Ashan’s mind of waking from unconsciousness when his mentor thought a monster had just killed him. In her cold fury she had filled the cave with conjured wires and floating shards of glass. The monster’s own weight had forced it through the deadly web like so much cheese over a grater. And then his mentor had set the wires and shards in motion and it became more like meat through a grinder. The sight had given the young Ashan nightmares for weeks afterward, but maybe if he could now duplicate the technique at a lesser scale to merely injure…

Ashan begins to envision and draw the net of monomolecular wires and spinning blades around him for his opponent to cut itself on but hesitates just short of funneling in the energy to make them a reality. Unfortunately, a lifetime of being careful to never kill nor maim with power that could easily do both deeply ingrains inhibitions that are not so easily overcome. That hesitation very nearly costs him the use of his other arm. Fortunately, a lifetime of training for blows coming from the periphery of vision ingrains reflexes that are not so easily overcome.

Another burst of flame buys him some breathing room at the cost of a chill seeping into his bones. If only he could buy himself a moment to draw another planar ward. If only that sword could be taken out of the picture. If only the Count of Curses and Dust hadn’t transformed his Champion mid-fight.

If only…

Gods take him for a fool.

“I call foul play and outside interference,” Ashan manages to say between dodging sword strokes. “By the agreed terms of the duel you must either forfeit or allow a counterbalancing interference.”

“Counterbalance accepted,” the Champion of Curse and Dust laughs from the mouths of Nameless servant and hunting beast simultaneously. “Let us see what my wayward changeling can do to earn his freedom.”

Ashan locks eyes with the frightened Tam Lin watching from the sidelines and shakes his head. No need for them to act. They are not Ashan’s only ally present to act as witness and second.

“Lacuna!” Ashan shouts.

“Already on it!” her voice calls back from the hovering drone above.

The projector mounted on the underside of the drone flickers on and shines a ritual circle down onto the rooftop in the center of the designated arena. The shifting glyphs spiral into a nauseating self-recursive mess that makes the incomprehensible guts of the building beneath seem logical by comparison. The drone’s speakers begin screeching an ear-piercing white noise and the accelerated, computer-generated ritual begins.

The second sight of a well-trained wizard and the sensory organs of a beast tailor made to hunt prey across dimensions are sensitive things capable of picking up on the subtle shifts, folds, stains, and cuts in the fabric of reality that make up what is known as “magic”. Whatever Lacuna is doing is anything but subtle. From the sensation of hooks digging into his skin and intestinal lining, Ashan would guess that it is meant to be a combination of planar lock and teleportation anchor kicked up to a degree that would be overkill for anything short of a demigod or one of the eldritch. Or perhaps a fae liege. Even without that, the sudden chaotic mess of metaphysical noise is enough to set him clutching his head and retching out his breakfast. Blurry glimpses through tear-filled eyes suggest that neither Nameless vessel of the Count/Champion of Curses and Dust are faring any better. Tam Lin however seems unaffected and comfortably human once again.

Having experienced a few of Lacuna’s abominable rituals before - although none nearly this horrific - Ashan is the first to recover. A flick of his wand is all that it takes to wrench the rusty sword from his howling opponent’s grip. By the time the Champion of Curses and Dust is back on its feet, Ashan has already conjured chains linked to each plate of its armor. He stabs his wand forward then pulls it back and the chains strip away the armor in a single motion. His opponent attempts to disappear but there is no green haze to vanish into, only the pain in its gut and the noise in its bones as it drops back down to all fours. A simple dome is all it takes to contain it to the point of being unable to fight any further.

Ashan staggers over to his trapped opponent. Doing his best to ignore the wretched droning of Lacuna’s ritual he asks, “Do you yield?”

The hunting beast in the dome whines.

“I said, do you yield?”

The hunting beast looks up at him with human eyes and whimpers. Once again Ashan is struck by the similarity of those eyes to Tam’s when they are in human form.

“My champion yields,” the Count of Curses and Dust says through his Nameless servant on the sidelines. “You have bested us both, now stop that accursed spell. Not even that hated sorceress would resort to a distortion so vile.”

“Lacuna, please stop,” Ashan says.

The noise, audible and metaphysical, cuts out and the projector goes dark. The drone drops down to eye level with a flurry of apologies from its speakers.

“Was it really that bad?” Lacuna’s voice asks. “It took a bit out of me, sure, but I didn’t think it was that far off from standard parameters.”

Ashan merely stares into the drone’s camera at a loss for words.

“I did not know the sorceress had made constructs that could speak and work magic,” says the Count. “Little wonder such a thing is insane. As are any who would trust it. No matter, the duel is done and the contract sealed.” The Count’s vessel turns to face the approaching Tam. “Enjoy your freedom, Carter. Love and lose those mortals you think you can be one of. And when the pain of outliving everyone -”

“For the last time, old man, that’s not my damn name!” Tam shouts. “My name is -”

“I introduce to you, Tam Lin,” Lacuna interrupts while maneuvering the drone between them, “whom my friend and ally Ashan Glassheart has acted as champion for today. Tam and Ashan, for whom this formal introduction serves to prevent the accidental giving away of Names by acknowledgement, you know the rules, don’t blame me, oh goddess that was incredibly rude of me I can’t believe I just said that to a fae lord please forgive me just trying to help just ignore me and forget I exist I’m going now.”

There is an audible pop of static from a microphone being turned off and the drone rises back into the air.

“A thoroughly insane construct,” the Count mutters before turning his attention to the still-recovering hunting beast. “Enough of this. We depart. Now.”

“I’m not done yet!” Tam says. “Yes, that’s my Name. The one I chose for myself. Because ‘Carter’ was never my Name.” They turn to address the hunting beast. It’s yours, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you dare,” the Count threatens.

Tam ignores him and kneels down eye to eye with the fallen beast and touches hand to shoulder.

“I return to you the Name of Carter, which was wrongfully stolen and passed into my care. I return it to you, its rightful owner. I return this Name to to you, Carter, my brother.”

This time the shifting of Carter’s form to a more human one is smoother, not wood being hacked apart and nailed back together but water poured into a new container. When the transformation is done the two fall into a tearful embrace. Hoarse “thank you”s choke out between sobs from a throat that has never been allowed to make its own words but now knows how thanks to the experience of a well-used Name. Carter’s nails and canine teeth are still a little too sharp, his body's muscles still bulge from years of hunting prey, and the vestige of a tail still protrudes from the remaining cloth scraps of underarmor, but otherwise he could very likely pass for being fully human with minimal effort. He and Tam could even pass for twins who just happened to take very different paths in life.

It occurs to Ashan that that is exactly what the two of them are.

“Remember,” the wizard says to the Count, “the terms of the contract include non-interference towards family as well, and non-retaliation towards the winning participant or participants of the duel.”

The Seventeen-Named Count(ess) of Curses and Dust scoffs and its/his/her/their/faer Nameless vessel steps behind the breeze to depart without further comment.

“So, now what?” Tam asks. They and Carter both look towards Ashan expectantly. The fear of the unknown future for a life that has just been turned upside down thrice over is already beginning to creep into their relief at their ordeal being over.

“Now, we return to the Lonely Walk Outreach Agency. We have multiple guest beds there where you may spend the night in safety. When our leader, Road, returns they will be able to help the both of you find a way to return to the life that was stolen from you. Or to help you find a new one Backstage now that you are in the know. Balancing the two is always difficult, but it is also an option.”

The new twins nervously nod in unison.

What would Aliana say here? Better yet, what would Road say?

“Not that either of you need to worry about any of that just yet,” Ashan says with a nearly genuine smile of reassurance. “You have both had a long day and deserve to rest. Tam, you have handled the sudden revelation of the existence of the supernatural as well as anyone ever has. You should be proud. Carter, while I hope you never have to do so again, you fought well today and I am honored to have faced you. May that strength keep you safe in the future. Now then,” Ashan looks around to hide his sudden embarrassment with the act of searching, “let us find a way down from this rooftop.”

“Hey,” Lacuna’s voice says directly into Ashan’s ear through the comm piece he forgot he was still wearing, “you did good too today. The real hero here.”

“Thank you,” Ashan whispers back. He conjures a platform to take him and the new twins down to the ground and suppresses a shiver.

“You’re welcome. And sorry if this is weird to say, but if you ever want to talk about whatever that was with you having two Names, I’m here for you. I don’t think it’s quite the same thing, but I’ve got some experience with that.”

“I will keep that in mind. Thank you, my friend.”

No, it is not the same, not nearly. But a friend’s experiences need not be identical to share a burden. And who knows, Ashan considers while looking at Tam and Carter already smiling with wonder and comparing memories of mothers that only one of them has met in the flesh, perhaps a change in Name and a foot Backstage need not be the end of everything.

Maybe he is wrong.

Today is not the day to find out though.

He has plenty of time.

Maybe one day he will be ready to find out for himself.

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#Eris introduced Ashan to the Internet with Project Gutenberg and Wikipedia.#Lacuna introduced Ashan to the Internet with tumblr memes and the Homestuck “Detective Pony” fanfic's Longcat Rant.#She has the rant memorized because she used to recite it as voice feminization practice.#writing #original fiction #urban fantasy #web novel #WIP #Writeblr #Empty Names #serial fiction #writing practice #writers on tumblr #creative writing #literature #prose #writers #novel #fantasy #fiction #my writing #emptynameswriting #I pulled the names Tam Lin and Carter from the song “Tam Lin” by S.J. Tucker.#The overall chapter concept was born from hearing the first few lines of “Looking Like This” by Lyre Le Temps #and imagining a first-time shapeshifter freaking out from not understanding what's happening and then sort of ignoring the rest of the song #Then I realized that there are some nice parallels between Ashan's backstory and the changeling myth #and there are some connections between change of Name/identity manipulating form and Lacuna's ongoing transmutation experiments.#Once again the SCP Foundation influence is leaking through in my conceptualization of fairies taking Names to replace people.#And then that mixes with the not-subtle-at-all trans themes throughout Empty Names.

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