#;; verse: last rites

[symphoniecalando]

It seems very strange to me,

to be spoken of in passing and yet

be alive and present still.

Not alive, per se, but living

(facsimile as it may be)

upon the ground that spake

and the words not said

of your untimely demise.

[oceanxveiined]

Honestly, even when I add a new verse for the oc(s) and work them into a still-expanding canon, I like to think their presence in the area/time of the narrative is best justified as essentially them running a B-plot in a sitcom to the main quests/protagonists' journeys. Or like. Half the shit Team Rocket gets up to in the movies-

[chaos--mode]

@mistakenmessiah embraced the chaos : we don't have time to get arrested.

the laugh that ren lets out is anything but humourous. her whole body feels tense, and she's pretty sure if she holds her mageknife any tighter she is going to snap the damned grip clean off.

❝ you definitely don't have to tell me twice, ❞ she huffs over her shoulder as she ducks into a side alley, hoping that alanis is close enough behind her that they both disappear from sight in time. maker, if they get arrested here, in Tevinter —

NO. she cuts the thought off before it can go anywhere. because it doesn't matter, because they're not going to get arrested. alanis is right that they don't have time for it, just in general. but if ren gets arrested here? there's an echo of ever-lingering sensations along her spine chased by a shiver that sets her nerves on fire. she does not want to dwell on it.

sod it all, she knew she shouldn't have stopped to check the body. what did she think was going to happen? she'd find some clue, some fully legible note with all the details they needed to finish this? maker, next time she's leaving the detective work to neve.

she glances back after a few steps, once she's stepped into the shadows, just to make sure alanis is still behind her. she'd feel awful if she got him arrested just because she wanted to try and play investigator. then lucanis would probably have to break him out, or neve would need to pull some strings or something, and they definitely didn't have time for that either.

she hisses back at him through clenched teeth, annoyance seeping into her tone as she does ( though it's aimed at herself ) ; ❝ come on, come on, let's go. maybe we can loop back around and lose them. ❞

DRAGON AGE: THE VEILGUARD PROMPTS PT 1. ( currently accepting! )

[prophetum]

tag dump.

[grimmweepers]

𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄: OCT 17TH

— ♤ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: zhongli x fem!reader | 𝐜𝐰: established relationship but reader finds out his true identity! morax!form, draconic!form mention, human!reader, sex with a god, hair pulling, creampie, nipple play, rough sex, reader wears a nightgown, he calls you 'small in his hands', reader is implied to serve rex lapis, maybe ooc, 2.8k wc 18+ only, MDNI.

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This was completely different from the first time you shared beds with him.

Back then, Zhongli had been soft and gentle, undressing you with such tender care until nothing remained but bare skin and bones. You remembered his warm amber eyes, his featherlight touches, and how he gave so much of himself to you that it left you dizzy and breathless. 

But this was something else entirely. 

It wasn’t that long ago when, to you, he was just a consultant at the Funeral Parlour—a Liyue nobleman who was well-versed in Teyvat’s history. He had been courting you since the last Lantern Rite (perhaps longer if you had paid attention) and you were more than content with the consultant, admiring him just as he was.

Then, after retiring his gnosis—and you still struggled to fully grasp what that meant—he finally confessed.

Overnight, he went from a funeral consultant to Rex Lapis and no matter how many times he explained that he was technically no longer an Archon, it didn’t change the fact that he was still an immortal who had witnessed Liyue from infancy.

And you slept with him!

The memory sent a shiver down your spine, though you couldn’t deny the thrill of realising how the Lord of Rock had practically begged for you to get on top that night. That same feeling returned now as you prepared to sleep with him again. 

You basically asked for it, though. 

When he revealed his identity to you, you had some questions. The first was if he had a real form, to which he replied: I have many.

Then the second question—or rather, request—was to see one of these forms. He was happy to oblige, but you hadn’t expected him to be so… forward.

I’m not being forward, he defended himself, My skin is part of my form. It just so happens that I have to adjust my attire for you to see it properly. 

But he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Zhongli—” His name now felt strange on your lips as you stared, spellbound by his new appearance. You were so captivated that anything could have rolled off your tongue and you wouldn’t have noticed… or cared.

He truly embodied every depiction of Rex Lapis you’ve ever seen.

“Is something the matter?” He asked as if his arms weren’t adorned in glowing geo patterns, as if his physique wasn’t carefully carved by millennia as a leader. He stood over you while you sat on the edge of your bed and you gulped at the vitality in his features. 

He looked larger—more youthful, even.

“What do I—” You hesitated, wondering if your question was foolish. “What do I call you?” 

He cupped your jaw the way he always did, though now with bare hands darkened by power that you could barely comprehend. “You can choose whichever name you like,” he replied. “It doesn’t change who I am to you.” 

Your mouth went dry. It was frightening how much more irresistible he seemed like this.

“Morax,” you whispered, mostly to yourself.

His brows lifted slightly, but he stayed silent.

“Morax,” you repeated, louder this time. You knew calling him ‘Rex Lapis’ would have been more respectful, more appropriate, but after seeing him in this divine form, with barely a towel wrapped around his waist, you knew that respect had already been thrown out the window. You would ask to be forgiven but what difference would it make if the god you pleaded to stood right before you in compromised garment?

“Interesting choice,” he chuckled as he pressed his thumb to your lips, “Now, lie still and let me enjoy what belongs to me.”

Those words sank in like branding on your skin—what belongs to me.

He was slow with you at first, hovering over you as you lay back. The silk of your nightgown clung to every curve of your body which left little to the imagination and Zhongli was so engrossed with his view, that the lust in his eyes made something inside you stir. You had to look away, your arms instinctively moving to shield your flushed expression.

After all, it wasn’t every day that you found yourself at the mercy of a man so many prayed to.

Gently, he pulled your arm away, “Why do you turn from me, my love?” He tilted his head, studying you like prey, but the tenderness in his voice reminded you that the ghost of your sweet Zhongli was still there, lingering beneath this form. 

“Are you regretting your curiosity?”

“I guess… seeing you this way makes me a little… shy,” you said, though you didn’t believe your own answer.

Before you could say more, his mouth was on yours, fierce and reassuring. It took the air right out of your lungs. You barely had time to recover before he started trailing softer kisses along your jaw, then down your neck, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. 

“Shy?” he repeated against your skin, “After all we’ve done, you’re still shy?” He slid his hand up your sides, tangling his fingers between the fine silk. “You may be skilled at keeping secrets but not from me. Tell me the truth, my sweet.” 

You opened your mouth to respond but you couldn’t stop your back from arching at his touch, which was very much an invitation for him to tear off the delicate fabric from your body. When he did, it left your chest exposed to his hungry gaze, earning him a small gasp and a deep ache pooling between your legs. 

“You’re so small in my hands,” he mused, fingers tightening around your throat for a brief moment. "And yet… you offer yourself so willingly."

You had offered yourself to a god.

You had offered yourself to a god.

“Do you understand what you’re doing?”

A shudder tore through you as he took both breasts into his hands and sunk his teeth between them, leaving you little marks made from canines you had never seen before. When you suddenly felt his hard bulge pressing against your core, you realised the towel around his waist had already been discarded. How could you even respond to him?

“This excites you, doesn’t it?” He murmured into the crook of your neck, grinding against you. He didn’t give you a chance to speak when he pried your legs open with one knee. “Have I ever told you how intoxicating you smell when you’re like this?” 

Harder than before, he bit into your neck and you found your fingers tugging on his hair.

“You can… smell me—?”

“I can sense you,” he corrected, “And I know exactly what you want from me." You could certainly tell he was pleased with himself yet instead of pushing you away, it only drew you in further.

With a single motion, you hooked your finger around the pin holding his ponytail in place, and pulled—freeing his hair so it cascaded down over his toned muscles.

He looked perfect. Divine. It was your way of confirming what he already knew—that you wanted this, wanted him.

Zhongli’s eyes glowed in the dim light and there was no mistaking the godly aura of Morax residing in him. The air seemed heavier under the weight of his presence. You were suffocating.

A deep growl elicited from his chest as he pushed the tip of his cock against your underwear, teasing your entrance. You whimpered at the way he bullied you, desperately pulling him in for another feverish kiss to satisfy at least one need.

This one was hungrier, messier. His groan vibrated through your mouth as his carbon-black hand slid back to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp for air. 

Each twist and flick of his tongue felt like a silent demand: Give in. Yield.

In this state, a picture cleared. Zhongli's hands were everywhere—tangled in your hair, between the valley of your breasts, dipping into the areas you ached the most. This side of him was primal, gluttonous, and possessive. Every touch felt forbidden—blasphemous, even. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say you weren’t enjoying every sinful second of it.

Finally, Zhongli parted from the kiss, his breath heavy as his eyes stayed locked with yours. For once, he allowed himself to make you completely at his will. 

The head of his cock pressed harder against your entrance, the flimsy barrier of your silk underwear doing little to dull the intensity of his lust. He was desperate to feel the warmth inside you. You were already soaked, and he knew it—he could feel it, smell it, and it drove him wild.

“My dear,” he said, sound impatient now, “you know I admire you, right?”

“I do,” you replied too quickly.

“Good. Because I don’t want you to be mistaken.”

“What do you mea—”

Before you could finish, he pulled your underwear to the side and let his cock glide against your folds. Your hips moved with him, coating his shaft with your wetness, and that was enough for him to forget about taking it slow. Groaning, he shoved his blunt tip inside you and it left your thighs trembling. Your body felt like it was on fire, jerking back as his length stretched you out, your fingers gripping the sheets tightly, “Oh my—” you gasped.

Had it been that long since you last did this, or was this form accompanied by godly… benefits?

With his head thrown back in sheer pleasure, he let out a throaty grunt, almost salivating at the way your walls pulsed around him—like your body had been made just for him. Somehow, sex felt even better in this form and it had him feral enough to hold the sides of your hips, fingers digging into your flesh to anchor himself between your legs. “That’s it,” he growled, “Take every inch.” 

He started thrusting—hard—the sound of skin meeting skin echoed off the walls. Your breasts bounced in rhythm, and he was so entranced by the sight he could cum on the spot. Every second, he was ripping moan after moan out of you as he fucked you into the mattress. 

“Morax,” you called out, your voice shaking while he pumped in and out of you relentlessly, “So… good. I want more…” You ran your hands across his chest, feeling the quickening of his breath. His face shifted into a predatory look and you realised that he was losing himself as much as you.

“Then come here,” he groaned through gritted teeth, spoken exactly like someone who had never been defiled.

He didn’t wait for you to respond. Instead, he flipped you to your stomach, left your ass in the air and your legs hanging off the bed—your toes barely even touching the floor.

You braced yourself for his unyielding pace, but he surprised you with a tender kiss on your shoulder, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

The unexpected affection made your heart swell so you wiggled against his crotch, inviting him for more. He chuckled, almost pityingly, knowing full well what he was about to do next.

You couldn’t even catch your breath before he pushed back inside you, hissing as he indulged in your warmth. You swore you were well-behaved but somehow this felt like a punishment. He, who was so deceptively gentle a moment ago, found your hair and tugged it into his fist, drawing a sharp yelp from your lips.

Once he started moving at the same unforgivable pace, each thrust forced his name out of your mouth. “M-Morax— Mor–ax,” you were barely coherent and it riled him up the more you said it. It surely wasn’t the first time hearing someone call him that but in this context, he wasn’t going to make it his last—especially if it was you.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled, his voice resonant, like the rumbling of the earth itself. 

“Y-Yes…”

Although, you weren’t sure what you expected when you asked to see his form but you knew what you were receiving now was the primal strength of something foreign to you.

His heavy cock stretched you so deliciously, filling you so completely that every nerve in your body screamed with pleasure. You clawed at the sheets as you creamed rings around his base and the wooden bedframe groaned with each erratic thrust.

His movements were undeniably getting sloppier and his breaths came in short, guttural huffs. “Feel- how- deep I am inside- you?” he rasped, punctuating each word with a sharp snap of his hips. “You’re taking it so well.” You couldn’t see it but you heard a grin dancing behind his voice as he pushed deeper.

Your feet were lifting off the ground with each thrust, leaving your ass stinging from the relentless pounding. When you felt his free hand snake around to cup your breast, fingers squeezing your sensitive nipple, you practically melted. “Thank you… Ple—,” you whined, the only words you could really manage.

But that was enough for him.

Zhongli’s grip on your hair tightened as he pulled, forcing your head back while his other hand dug into the soft flesh of your breast. The pain mixed with pleasure sent your vision into a blur of white. It shouldn’t feel this good but you could feel your orgasm coming despite being nothing but a ragdoll in his powerful hands. 

His body trembled as he chased his release, each thrust growing more urgent as he drove into your G-spot. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure through your body until finally, your climax hit like a tidal wave. Letting go of your hair, you collapsed against the mattress. It was too much so it left you biting into the sheets, a cry ripping from your throat as your pussy clenched around him, milking his cock with each spasm. “I-I’m—ahhh—cumming!”

“Just like that,” he groaned while your body tightened, savouring the way your body responded to every thrust. He was unable to think about anything else aside from the feeling of your muscle clenching and pulsating, “So tight—keep going. You’re perfect like this.”

With one final snap of his hips, you felt him pulse between your walls, his balls tightening as he emptied deep inside you. Thick ropes of hot milky cum filled you, his cock twitching as he buried himself to the hilt. Your name rolled off his lips in a low, drawn-out grunt that was raw and animalistic, a sound that made you delirious enough to go another round just to hear it again. 

Even after he finished, he stayed pressed against you, fucking his cum back into you with lazy, satisfied strokes, filling you over and over until there was nothing left to give. 

“I’m… full,” you whispered shakily, still feeling every inch of him inside you.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Yes and no. If getting tossed around meant you were fine, then sure.

"I'm okay," you breathed.

"Good girl."

When he finally pulled out, you went completely limp, rolling onto your back while a thin layer of sweat left your skin glowing.

You could feel Zhongli doing the same, his body mirroring yours as you both lay there, chests heaving, struggling to catch your breaths. After a moment, you turned to face him, both of you blinking at each other under the light.

“This… wasn’t what I meant when I said show me one of your forms,” you managed to say. 

“Are you complaining?” 

You let out a soft sigh as you stared up at the ceiling. Even after all this, he hadn’t lost his sarcastic sense of humor. “No,” you admitted, feeling warmth creep into your cheeks. “It’s just that… well, I think I might’ve enjoyed you—the real you—a little more than I expected. A little more than what’s appropriate, perhaps.”

You couldn’t help but dance around the memory of all the offerings you’d given Rex Lapis throughout your life. Was this his gift in return?

“Oh? Pray tell, what is it that you enjoyed so much?”

You hesitated but the way he looked at you made it impossible not to answer. 

 “I liked… the way you moved…" you felt slightly embarrassed to continue but he nodded for you to go on, "You were rougher on me, but it made me want more…”

While you spoke, you noticed subtle changes in him. His pupils began narrowing into thin slits, and his golden irises seemed to glow with an ethereal light. The sharpness of his fangs became more pronounced, peeking between his lips. His fingers, which had been tracing circles on your arm, now felt a little sharper, almost claw-like.

“And… your strength,” you gulped as you watched his transformation. “It was… overwhelming. I couldn’t resist it but I didn't want to. I felt safe.”

A low, rumbling growl emanated from his chest, his hand sliding possessively to your waist. It made your stomach flip.

“If that’s the case,” his voice was deeper now, almost a purr as his newly revealed tail coiled around your thigh. He leaned closer, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. 

“Why are you trembling?”

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

dividers: @/astrumaur

[lunaetis]

▸▸ [ @mercyburned || kaeya & dehya || dehya starter call ]

─「ديهيا」─  there was something calming about being in his presence, something that was almost innate in the FLAME-MANE's core that his touch brought a sense of serenity. that was why she didn't realize she had his palm pressed to one side of her cheek, and her eyes closed to absorb the warmth that came from the touch itself. it was silent, wordless, yet not dimming in that INTIMACY before she realized she had almost dozed off from the touch alone.

                " ah, i'm sorry — " realizing she still had his hand in hers, the flame lioness slowly released it from her grasp, letting out an almost bashful chuckle from the back of her throat. " your touch calms me down. " she admitted, having no reason to keep that truth from him. after all, he was the one who SAVED her, so it was that sense of belonging she couldn't help feeling around him.

[luveline]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

[aethon-recs]

This Week in Tomarrymort (7 – 15 August 2024)

Testing out a new format for recs! Trying this out as I don’t always have time to put together detailed themed rec lists, and there’s always SO MUCH good fic getting published every day on AO3. So these are all either ongoing Tomarrymort fics that I’m subscribed to or new one shots that I found while browsing that were updated in the last week. 

My goal is to compile these lists on Fridays, so that everyone has lots of juicy fic to read going into the weekend 🤍 I find myself missing updates all the time, so I hope this will be a helpful compilation of updates of must-read ongoing fic that you may have missed! Happy reading. 

Also, I didn't even realize so much Tomarrymort fic gets updated every week until I sat down and started doing this. Like, this is why I don't have a life, because I spend all my time reading AO3 (and I'm sure many of you feel the same way 😅) The incredible range of talent and insane output in this ship is absolutely awe-inspiring and breathtaking.

*

Tomarrymort One Shots and Completed Fics

One Shot | Heartbeats by @cyandenial

One Shot | yours forever, harry by i_am_a_tree

One Shot | Quid Pro Quo by anonymous

One Shot | Expelliarmus Red by @poljupci

One Shot | Black Fire by sparrowshellcat

One Shot | Let's never wake up (Stay With Me) by @blackseatwenty

One Shot | And all the devils are here by @i-dream-of-libraries

Chapter 9 (complete) of Fourth: The Ritual's Consequence by @ramabear

Chapter 2 (complete) of Tom Riddle's DIY Disaster by @sri-verse

Chapter 9 (complete) of Still Into You by @moontearpensfic

*

Tomarrymort Ongoing Fics

Chapter 7 and 8 of Sits the wind in that quarter by @mosiva

Chapter 5 of Ills of Murder by @shadow-of-the-eclipse

Chapter 23 of would that i'd loved (long ago) by @sprst1tion

Chapter 21 of Paved With the Best Intentions by @perhaps-sunlight

Chapter 17 of A Simple Request by @shyinsunlight

Chapter 2 of Cane Sugar by @blogalinda @cindle-writes @reggieblk @telectronique

Chapter 9 of Catching up by lemonchase

Chapter 9 of Shattered by Flipdarkchill

Chapters 1 and 2 of Saint Harry by @alenablack @chaos-bear

Chapter 3 of Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic 

Chapter 9 of a touch of fate by @virgil-anon 

Chapter 1 of Atonement [Tomarry Edition] by @just-a-whorecrux

Chapter 3 of the scar remains by @noctelier

Chapters 5 and 6 of we made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands by @boyneptunee

Chapter 14 of When time and reasons fail by citrumade

Chapter 7 of Every Trick in the Book by tomrddle

Chapter 17 of Occultation by TimaeusKosmou

Chapter 2 of the vault by @milkandmoon-ao3

Chapter 16 of Pledged by @moontearpensfic 

Chapter 7 of A Snake in the Grass by @teaandsweaters9

Chapter 11 of Outrunning the Villain in You by @zenyteehee

Chapter 3 of Moon Rite by @isalisewrites

Chapter 2 of These Fragments We've Shored by @rowena-rain

Chapter 110 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis

Chapter 36 of Revolution of Configured Stars by @tollingreminiscentbells

Chapter 28 of Part One - The Solitude of Suffering by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapters 11 and 12 of Learning to love by @l-archiduchesse

Chapter 9 of sandpaper kisses, paper cut bliss by @xodahafez

Chapter 5 of Do It Over by @thefangirlibrarian

Chapter 1 of Dark Water by Dariahn

Chapter 17 of What In Me Is Dark, Illumine by @telelli-writes

*

[batslime]

Re-examining Hunter’s Moon after Rite Here Rite Now

For quite some time now Terzo’s resurrection and people’s excessive speculation and desperation for it has been a meme. When Hunter’s Moon came out, many interpreted it as being from Papa Emeritus III’s perspective- his warning to Sister Imperator that he would be back, and likely for revenge.

Rite Here Rite Now may have lent this some credence. Or you can consider this a jumble of more desperate speculative nonsense. This is all just for fun.

WARNING for heavy Rite Here Rite Now spoilers‼️

First things first: the major events of Rite Here Rite Now.

Copia, now Brother Imperator, is alive and now the head of the ministry. Sister Imperator has died. Copia has a twin, who may or may not be the “new guy” we see the mitre-wearing silhouette of in the very last shot of the film, cut off just before making his entrance.

Secondly, to get it out of the way- this may NOT be Terzo. This could very well be a whole new character! But here is my observation looking at all this in conjunction with Hunter’s Moon and other recent Ghost tidbits.

First, Hunter’s Moon. People have talked since it first came out about it possibly being from Terzo’s perspective and as a threat that he’s coming back for revenge. But now some of the lyrics resonate a little heavier with the lore.

Specifically the line “to where we’d hide as children” REALLY grabs my attention now. My mind goes back to the shot from behind of the two children running together in RHRN, inferably Copia and whoever the twin is (we are assuming Terzo for the sake of this theory). Again, this could be a character we haven’t been introduced to- but we have no reason to believe Copia’s twin died and the lyrics implies somebody coming back from the dead with the second verse. “It’s been a long time coming” rings especially true for Terzo because now it’s been YEARS since he was killed and even longer since he was dragged offstage. The lyrics about being jaded and not remembering everything could even be about him being dead for so long that it’s effected his memory- maybe he even forgot his own identity and that he even was Papa, hence him coming back as a “new guy”?

I’d also like to bring attention to the bridge. I know not everybody has seen a translation for it.

More lyrics about hiding. Hiding in the cemetery in the verses, death, life, Sister, hiding, and conquering in the bridge. There are people who saw Terzo’s foot twitch in Chapter 3 while he was being embalmed and wondered if he was dead at all. I really believe this was just something for comedic effect but what if he was hiding somehow the whole time?

Even if we push aside all other characters and theories, “your death, my life” specifically ties this song to the lore for me. Sister died so that Copia could go on and rise to a new level in the clergy. But I have also already seen people talking about Sister’s death meaning Terzo coming back to life in the case that he is also her son.

But Hunter’s Moon isn’t the only thing I’m seeing connections to since seeing the movie.

At the end of the film as we see Copia as Brother Imperator for the first time, in his new garb, preparing to welcome New Guy, the first thing he says,

“We seem to have remodeled here.”

They were remodeling in the Escape the Ministry game.

ETM gives us the tidbit that the statues introduced in the renovation are believed by some (in-world) to be a kind of conduit you can use to summon a Papa’s spirit to the mortal plane (and we know that Nihil’s spirit can posess his body, albeit temporarily ). While the statues of Primo, Secondo, and Nihil have notes that talk about what music they like or enjoying watching tv, Terzo’s specifies of all things that there was no autopsy on his body.

Also worth mentioning; there is still an empty pedestal meant for a statue (is Sister getting one?)

And in the room behind Terzo’s statue, is a bunch of nooses. Each room has something to do with one of the songs on the Phantomime EP, this one being Hanging Around, but this note was also in there any wasn’t really used in any of the puzzles in the game.

Primo’s note does specify that they were “forced into retirement from life” by Sister, Nihil, and The Clergy. Sounds like a revenge list to me!

(I also cannot help but point out that in the shot of Copia mentioning the remodel, there is vibrant purple lighting behind him like in Terzo’s chasuble.)

There’s also the gag with Copia being surrounded by Ghosts and talking to them but the janitor comes down the hall and cannot hear or see them. Is being able to sense the ghosts an Emeritus thing? Something higher members of the clergy, maybe with higher powers can do? Can ghosts control who can see or hear them? If the other three Papas do have ghosts, this could be why we haven’t seen them at all- they view most of the people in the ministry as their traitors and murderers. So maybe they really ARE hiding somewhere.

One last thing I will bring up, and this is PURELY rumor, but I did hear that there was chatter at Download about a possible fall tour from Ghost.

The Hunter’s Moon this year will be Thursday, October 17th.

Of course this is all just for fun and it may not mean anything at the end of the day! The ghovie and its sudden end left us all with a lot of excitement for more so my mind has been running ever since I saw it. There is definitely stuff that is becoming more tangibly tied to the actual plot of Ghost in my opinion.

If you guys have anything to add or a different theory I’d love to hear it!

@fagdykemuppet

[fandom]

Movies

Week Ending July 29th, 2024

Deadpool & Wolverine

Twisters

Barbie +9

Inside Out 2 -2

Lord of the Rings

Transformers One

Saw -1

An Extremely Goofy Movie -5

Rite Here Rite Now +5

Ultraman Rising -6

The Fantastic Four: First Steps

Challengers -3

Red, White, and Royal Blue -6

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse +1

Top Gun: Maverick +3

Venom

The Hobbit -6

Five Nights at Freddy's -8

Ratatouille

Dead Poets Society -1

The number in italics indicates how many spots a title moved up or down from the previous week. Bolded titles weren’t on the list last week.

[gauloiseblue]

For though I am a sinner / You call me to your table.

(König × Reader)

[May contain: heavy religious imagery, obsessive behavior, murder]

Credit to @rainlovesyou12

When he was six, he witnessed the rite of communion for the first time. As his brother approached the altar, the priest announced, “Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sins of the world. Blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb.”

His brother whispered a few words he couldn't catch, before he stepped forward to receive bread and wine.

He didn't understand what the ritual was, or what the purpose of it was. But he looked up and saw that his parents smiled, almost too proudly.

At eight, the church adversely taught him about it.

He was crying, screaming, as his parents dragged him to the altar. The priest's eyes were cold, as he spoke the same verse his brother received. When he resisted, his mother yanked him by his arm and forced him to look into her eyes. She was angry, and it's a loose word for what she exhibited that day.

When he stood in front of the table, tear-streaked, and trembling, the priest took a piece of the bread, and offered it to him. With his hands clasped, he muttered, "Lord I am not worthy"

That morning, he retched up the blood and the body of Christ.

He wiped off his mouth, as he lifted his head from the toilet bowl. The sour taste of the wine still lingered in the back of his tongue, and he bent down to wash his mouth with running water.

He didn't understand the joy of union with God through communion. It was dreadful to think that, by consuming a part of Christ, one could lead a salvation. But why would you take a part of someone else when all your life you never knew him?

His mother loved Him, and she loved Him more than her own son. She visited the church day and night, recited her praises in front of the wooden cross, where the statue of Christ watched upon her, cold and motionless. His father was a stern man, and he'd remind him of all-seeing God, who'd always watch him from above every time he misbehaved. They believed in salvation, and they believed in sins. For the only people who's versed in God's orders were them.

Rejecting a body of Christ might’ve put a curse on him, as he's blind to the doctrines his parents taught. Turning your gaze from your mother when she talked was a sin, but looking away when the priest took a young boy into a room wasn't a sin. Yet his brother understood it, and he had no choice but to obey.

And he tried, he tried to be good. But it's never enough in his parents' eyes.

It wasn't until he's old enough, that he had the courage to leave the house. Carrying all of his belongings, and all of his sins.

He rejected God as he rejected His salvation, but then again, he had rejected Him the moment he spat out the bread and wine. Without the eye of God upon him, he's freed from the sanctions. No more Hail Mary or Our Father prayers, just him and his conscience.

He relished in his freedom, venturing outside the tiny box he once called home. It's easier to live without the fear of God. In his line of work, he couldn't afford to worry, even just for a second. His parents might be horrified to find out that their son had abandoned the way to heaven, but he's content, content with the way he lived.

Yet it only lasted for long, before he saw Him in every face.

When he stood in the war, with his hands bloodied and bodies by his feet, he often mused on the possibility that they were once a child of God. Did they swallow His flesh, when the priest placed a part of Him on their tongue? Did they feel at peace, after knowing that the blood of Him would lead them to salvation? And would he, as an apostate, burn in endless fire after killing many of His lambs?

Sometimes he stared at his ceiling, wondering if the omniscient one was looking at him through the pale light.

They said God is present in every lights

In every ray of the sun,

In every glow of the moon,

Yet the darkness still creeps

From the long shadow

The light creates

He received a new contract the next morning that required him to fly across the ocean. He accepted it, without knowing what was in store for him.

Between the light and the dark

There's a boundary where

The dark would collide

With the whiteness of the light

Leaving a gray line

Where two forces

Dance in eternal war

Right after the touchdown, the chopper came to a sudden halt. He snapped out of his thoughts, as he looked out the window and saw the base from afar.

When he stepped out of the aircraft, he was greeted by a blinding light, before it all died down once he winced. As his vision adjusted, he noticed two figures approached him. One's stone-cold face, and the other one wore a striking white uniform, that he almost mistook them as something else.

The new commander was a stern man, the common kind that one could find everywhere in the military. But his eyes wandered to a rare sight beside him.

You greeted him with a smile, something that he's not quite used to. You held a clipboard in your hand, and he could tell that your job was closely tied to the item. The commander noticed his attention and cleared his throat.

"This is (Name), she'll help you move to your room. Meet me at the office when you're done."

And so, he followed after you.

You were warm, and polite. You made small talk with him without prying too much, and he found himself relaxed in your presence.

When he had stored his things away, you took him to the office, where the commander had waited for him.

The briefing was short, since he had read the files on the way here. But one thing that struck him was the silence from the man when he brought up the secretary.

Once, he was told that anything outside the contract is none of his business, but he couldn't help but be curious. Why the lack of response? What was it about you, that he was reluctant to share?

It didn't take long before he found the nature of your relationship with him.

Alas, the sun has to set

And the dark would triumph

As the shadows march

Towards the horizon

Till this day, he can't find the reason why someone like you would hand your life to a man as cold as him. Even when the answers are already splayed out on the table. It's not hard to piece them together when soldiers' tongues were loose, he just had to say a word, and they'd immediately take the bait.

When the world is shrouded

By the darkness and black

Could the Almighty

Blame humans

For turning blind?

When he saw you sitting in the kitchen, alone, with your head hung low, he found himself inexplicably drawn to you. He laughed at himself when the thought of comforting you crossed his mind, but what kind of human he was, if he didn't feel any sympathy for you?

It's an open secret that you had a loveless marriage, and yet, you stayed with him, despite of the rage that your husband showed that morning.

He'd understand if you wished to throw out your frustration to him, but when you saw him by the table, you offered him a tired smile.

After all,

Humanity

Would always be

Lost

Without its shepherd

"Why didn't you leave him?"

Your face stayed the same despite of the intrusive question, since it's nothing you never heard before.

"Because I chose it that way." You mused, "I don't think you'd understand. I owe him my life. I wouldn't be here if it's not because of him." You told him as you looked at him in the eyes, "Without him, I am nothing."

And he was silent. Silent as he turned, and left you behind. Though he wore a mask, he knew that you saw him. You saw through his false front.

That day, he dreamt of his mother. Her voice echoed, as she chanted her praise at the altar. The devotion in her eyes, the adoration for the Savior whom she owed her life to, awakened the ghastly side of him.

Your devoutness evoked the memory of his own past, ripping his earth open, as the molten rock poured into the land. An ugly jealousy, for something he could never had.

Sentiment.

Something that the commander deemed as unnecessary.

He felt his eyes darkened whenever he witnessed the man's apathy, but his heart would scream at the slightest affection his commander showed to you.

He'd carry this envy until the day of the big Ops.

While Adam bore the title

Of the first Sinner

It was Cain who was the truest,

The most hideous Sinner

For he killed not to survive

But to satisfy his envy

The soldiers were briefed on the possibility of death, or imprisonment due to their carelessness. The commander shouted that it's not an ordinary mission, and everyone is responsible for their own safety.

A sentence that'd become his own doom.

When they infiltrated the enemy base, he knew the possibility of the enemy having bombs planted on each floor. Not to slow them down, but to bury them to the ground.

It wasn't his negligence if he didn't warn his commander about it.

He wasn't an advisor after all.

By the time they discovered the explosives, it was already too late.

He was with the commander when the whole buildings shook, with cracks began to form on the walls. He yelled at the man to follow him, as they made their way out of the room.

As they raced towards the window, a heavy rubble fell through the ceiling, onto the commander's leg. He cried in pain, as the protruding steel dug into his flesh.

"König—" He called out when he stood there, unmoving.

He could've saved him—he should've, but he chose to remain still.

"König." The man looked at him, as suspicion dripped from his voice. Seeing him in that state caused a vile feeling to rose from his chest, as he bared his teeth into a grin.

"Should've said your safety is my business."

His commander's eyes widened, and his jaw tightened into an angry snarl. "Which side is it that you work for?"

"No one."

The man screamed his name when he turned, before a sickening crack filled the room.

He got out just as the building collapsed behind him, swallowing the lives of unfortunate men who were still inside.

The main objective of the mission was reached, but what greeted them at the base was silence. There were no cheers or pats on the back, just a heavy silence.

Many soldiers were injured, and the infirmary wasn't prepared to handle that many. Which pushed the other staff to be one-night medics, and you were no exception.

He only suffered a minor injury, so he could only watch you run in and out of the room from afar.

Of course, the pleasure was short-lived

Since his hatred for his brother

Had nowhere to go anymore

When he found you the next day, with your food untouched, and tears stained your cheeks, he felt his heart squeezed with remorse.

He approached you, as if you were a lone figure—whom, he could confess to and repent—at the confessional. He'd recite the Holy Mary prayers for a thousand years, if that's what it takes for him to be forgiven by you.

But when you looked at him, your lips formed a small smile—the same smile that you gave to him back then, before he pried into your privacy.

"Have you eaten?" You asked him, and he almost ripped out his skin, so you'd see the sins that were carved into his bones. "Come, sit with me."

You took a small bread from the basket and carried it close to his hand, before placing the bun into his palm.

And he understood. He understood the utterance one had to say at the God's table, when they received the Holy supper.

When he brought the bread to his lips, he muttered the soundless words he couldn't deliver,

"Lord, I am unworthy."

[symphoniecalando]

Why did you do it? Why blow it all up when you finally won? (- presidentofacrater)

Won.

Tubbo, you know, we didn't win. We lost a long time ago. We lost when Schlatt was elected. Probably before that, actually.

I'm not sure this wasn't a doomed story from the start.

[onestrangechild]

(Context: A pair of robotic creatures debate the existence of this strange substance called “Adrenaline”)

Rho sat at one of the many tables of the staff lounge aboard the ship, watching a data pad keenly. Another of their kin, Swa, sat down near them

“Query.” Swa’s digital voice broke Rho’s mechanical concentration, their lights regaining focus and color

“Acknowledge.” Rho pinged back

“What are you watching?”

“A human video.”

“Query.”

“Acknowledge.”

“What is the human doing?”

Rho turned the screen towards Swa and they watched together, the lights covering what would be technically their face dimming and fading in color. In the video, a very strong human is doing bench presses, and as he brings the bar to his chest and begins to lift he struggles noticeably. He sputters and grunts, the bar slowly rising a few inches at a time before it clatters against the rack and he sits up. Rho pauses the video and looks to their friend

“Query.” Rho says

“Acknowledge.”

“Did you observe?”

“Query.” Swa looks at Rho, then the screen again as Rho replays just a few seconds

“Observe.” they say, resuming a few seconds before the human put down the bar. Swa stared, compiling a response

“… Affirm. Organic predatory life, such as ‘Humans’, commonly enjoy lifting heavy objects. It serves to strengthen their bodies, impress mates, and ward off other predators.” Swa explained

“Affirm, this is known. Query.” Rho chirped indignantly. Or, as close as machine life could get.

“Acknowledge.”

“Query; Adrenaline.”

“False.”

“Affirm. Challenge.”

With typical machine precision, Rho slowly played back the last few seconds, pausing a few moments each time the human lifted the bar closer to the rack. Swa nodded and looked back to their friend

“Query.”

“The human clearly struggles to lift the entire weight”

“Affirm. Continue.”

“It is almost measurable, the distance the human lifts the weight between-“ the lights on Rho’s “face” began to pulse gradually, a soft whirring sound coming from somewhere inside them “-gasps. Then, at the last show of effort-“ They play the last moment when the human puts the weight down and gets up “- he lifts it far higher. High enough to be an undeniable outlier.”

“… Affirm.”

Swa looks at the screen, lights dimming almost off as they seem deep in thought. They didn’t think it was possible, predatory species being supremely strong is known and accepted, and humans ARE a predatory species, if highly specialized. What Swa couldn’t understand, what logic their brain outright refused to accept is that their bodies would evolve to force them to use less of their strength unless in these “dire emergencies” he hears other humans explain. They rest their head in their hands, hydrolics hissing quietly

“… Query.” Rho says, watching them struggle with this supposed evidence

“Sustaining. Buffering.”

“Query.”

“Query: Why would the human anatomy handicap itself in such a way?” Swa lifted their head, their hand clanking against the sheet metal table

“Unknown.”

This answer doesn’t seem to please Swa, who just sits there, their lights pulsing slowly

“Compare: Humans to Dreere.” Swa finally says a few moments of Deep computing later

“Query.”

“Both are organic specialized predatory species, but one doesn’t have this Adrenaline substance.”

“Correction: Hormone.”

“Affirm. Gratitude.”

“Acknowledge.”

“Query: Why do Dreere not have this Adrenaline hormone?”

Now it was Rho’s time to think. Their lights began to pulse slowly, Swa joining them in thought for a while. Some of the crew saw them, would talk and laugh amongst themselves, before finally one would have an answer

“Wound recovery” Rho soon answered

“Query” Swa chirped, lights brightening as if excited

“Compare: Rites and rituals of Dreere Eipothakae to Human Doctors.”

“Eipothakae are all but holy, assembling their wounded with a care and precision-“ Swa would be interrupted by their friend

“Verse the Human Doctor, who will often not even need to do such extensive repairs, as are common in the Dreere.”

“Acknowledge; because Humans do not use their full strength, the attrition of their musculature is never nearly as pronounced as the Dreere. Their own bodies force them to converse their strength…”

“Query.”

“Affirm, this is a very… sound hypothesis.”

“Shall we show this to the council?”

“Affirm”

Rho and Swa proceed to stand, chatting idly as they walked out

[punderdome]

The Fine Print

Ok, so this is the first of many things for me: this is my first fic, this is my first time writing romance (no I do not count whatever weird smut I tried to write at 13) , and I've literally never posted on Tumblr, so you're going to have to just help smooth the edges a little. I would love any amount of help, but here is my first chapter and it's a good thing it's SFW

Major edit: The exposition (Chapter 1) should read a little bit differently now and a lot clearer. Huge thanks to @bitethedevil, @a-true-neutral, and @mslanna for help with tons of different things like writing structure, POV, and tumblr in general. I was able to start many of their corrections for Chapter 2, but I went back and gave another round of polish for Chapter 1.

Read on AO3: [Chapter 1]

Synopsis:

Rapidly running out of options, Tav signing Raphael’s contract was the only way to free herself from the tadpole and defeat the Elder Brain and save her love from his eventual ruin. She should have paid closer attention to the wording of the contract before she signed it. Now, Tav gets more than she bargained for, and the devil has come to collect.

Chapter 1: The Devil's Den

The Devil’s Den.   She had met with Raphael many times before but was never filled with this much dread.  He was some sort of evil cambion bard, verbose but not foreboding, versed in iambic pentameter not ill-omen.  He was rhymes and lullabies, cherries and sulfur.  He seemed like he should be a character in a play whispering out his dastardly plans to the audience while standing on stage right.

The desperation of the Illithid voice in her mind raged and howled as she walked across the balcony to the ornate door carved with the likeness of a devil.  The rage shivered down every vertebra one after the other, demanding to be heard.  She refused it.

“What are we doing here?” Gale demanded.  “You can’t honestly want to make a deal with the devil.”

Tav eased him gently, running her hand down the Karsite scar on his chest.  “He helped Astarion understand the Rite, he might have other information at a price we’re willing to pay.”  She knew what he wanted the last time they visited: the Crown of Karsus.  Gale’s latest obsession.

“You know what he wants,” Gale pounced.  “He wants the Crown.”

“And my Prince requires rescue.” Lae’zel reminded him firmly.  “The perfumed trickster inside will provide us the means to rescue him for only a small price.”

Gale’s jaw clenched firmly.  Ascension.   She knew Gale thought that would solve all their problems.  In his mind they would be together for eternity, wanting for nothing, infinite in power.  Gale had dreamed of what Goddess that Tav would become.  At night, when they lay together, he told her of his imaginings of her as the Goddess of Regrowth.  The Goddess of Winter.  The Goddess of Snow.  She was all of these goddesses, currently residing in flesh in his mind, and he wanted her to pick one.  He would trace the path of her white scales on her human form and regale her with stories of how much they would shine when she was with him in Elysium.

“This deal will only spell trouble for all of us,” Gale countered.  “You will save your people from the Grand Design only to doom them further.”  Tav could feel the pinpricks of the Emperor’s eager agreement to her paramour, but she did not care to remind him mentally that he never gave a shit about Lae’zel’s people or any of them at all.

Raphael’s prior deal had been tempting.  They would gain the tools needed to defeat an Elder Brain and would finally be free from the looming dread.  The Grand Design would be over.  Raphael even promised to throw in a lavish dinner at the House of Hope at the conclusion of their adventure, allowing her band of mighty heroes to celebrate their victory in style.

Gale couldn’t ascend.  Gale couldn’t have that power.

Gale couldn’t leave her.

She took a quick look behind her and saw the panic on his face.  He was trying to hide it behind a mild scowl and his glorious beard.  Tav knew Tara hated that beard, but she melted every time the lips within went to her neck and the bristles tickled.  He quickly shook his head in warning not to knock at the door.

Tav didn’t want to lie to Gale, but she knew the terrible row they would have if she told him the truth.  She had come to read Raphael’s deal, and likely, sign.  Their terrible predicament would have a path to resolution.  A path to redemption , Raphael had called it.  Forceful eviction of their other tenant.   She had purposely left Wyll and Karlach back at camp, knowing how disapproving they would be of what was about to occur.  She wanted to have left Gale back as well, but he forcefully demanded that wherever his beloved went, so he too would go.  So, she reluctantly agreed to drag him along to a meeting that would break his heart and destroy his dreams.  The dread pooled deeply in her abdomen.  This was the only way to be free of the tadpole - or it was the only way that relieved the guilt at her lack of faith.

Lae’zel stood proud, eager for her to knock on the door and grant her the path to Prince Orpheus’s freedom.  When Tav hesitated, she urged her on.  Enter.  Go.

Tav could feel the sweat on her palms.  She took a deep breath and whispered silently to herself.  You know Infernal.  He won’t be able to trick you with hidden loopholes.  She researched Cania and Hellfire magic at the university, though sorceresses were often not accepted in academic circles.  Her research was about to be put into practical use, though she wished the stakes weren't so high.

Gale’s face had drifted from furious into stony.  His rage had hidden but not extinguished behind his eyes.  He knew they were there about the Crown, despite whatever story she tried to tell him. 

Tav ignored his gaze and placed three firm knocks on the door.

She had to do it.  Gale would just have to deal with the consequences.

“Come in,” the deep voice purred from behind the door.  Tav opened it and entered.

“Ah, my most cherished client.” Raphael’s face was smug.  He was wearing his human guise and gave a grand gesture of welcoming with a smile.  “Please, please, come partake of the Devil’s Den where we have no shortage of sins to enjoy.”

Raphael strode to his desk, crossing his legs as he lounged in an ornate chair behind it.  He gestured again to three ornate chairs opposite him.  Tav seated herself in the center, but both Gale and Lae’zel elected to stand.

“Now tell me,” he purred.  “What can I do for my most favored client?”  He cocked a brow and leaned back, relaxing into the silence.

Tav wasn’t going to be put on the back foot so early into a negotiation.  She leaned forward and rested her head in her hands.  “I thought you always claimed to be a good host.”  Raphael’s eyes narrowed before widening again with a smirk.  He snapped and a bottle of wine appeared with four goblets.  He waved and a mage hand poured and served each glass.  Tav took hers but the the mage hand had to leave the other two in front of Gale and Lae'zel.  Tav and Raphael each took sips from their own goblets, but the ones before the other two were left deliberately untouched.

“I imagine you are not just the famished coming to feast, but there is a reason you have come knocking at my door.” Raphael countered, now that his abilities as host could not be challenged.

“We have come to deal,” Lae’zel finished for her.  “We have come to negotiate for the Orphic Hammer.”  Raphael’s brow lifted quickly and his smug smirk brightened.  Tav stiffened, and she thought she could audibly hear Gale turn to her in betrayal and anger.  What she had wanted to hide from him was now completely out in the open.  She was going to accept the devil's deal.  Tav tilted her head slightly to Gale and saw his face completely red and his hands shaking.  His eyes were forced closed.  Tav winced at how much this must be hurting him.

“Aha!” Raphael exclaimed triumphantly.  “Are you now?” His voice held a cocky musicality.  He always knew they would come knocking at his door, and as much as it hurt to admit it, he was always right.

“Yes, Devil.  We have come to negotiate for the Orphic Hammer," Lae'zel repeated, becoming more annoyed and impatient at Raphael's lazy interactions.

Raphael turned to Tav directly, still holding her goblet and asked again.  “You are the only one with whom I wish to make a deal.  Are you here to make a deal with me?”  Smugness radiated off of him.  Tav paused, and Lae’zel gave her a look that was surely going to result in Gith expletives if Tav wasn’t forthcoming.

She swallowed and refused to look back at Gale who was likely trying to summon multiple Scorching Rays into the back of her skull.

“Yes, Raphael, I am here to make a deal for the Orphic Hammer.”  Tav spoke plainly, knowing that any attempts at subterfuge would result in a much more complicated contract to read when the actual signing came.

Gale immediately stiffened, and she knew she there was no way to deny that she had lied to him on several occasions.  She knew him well enough to understand that his fears were contorting and consolidating into a verbose rage that probably would require a dictionary the morning hence.  He stormed out of the Devil’s Den to return to camp without another word spoken between them.  Tav hadn’t wanted him to be here for this, and she felt a heavy pang of sadness that he had decided to join.

“My Little Mouse,” Raphael started, the excitement in his voice palpable.  “Then I believe we should get started with the contract I prepared.”  He snapped his fingers and a pitch black piece of parchment appeared in his hands.  Even in his human guise, his grin widened and his eyes glowed.  Tav felt like she could feel flickers of his cambion gaze break through his glamor.  He handed her a document aglow with the fiery runes of an Infernal contract.

“I had this prepared for you, in hopes you would return.”  Raphael rolled up the scroll and passed it to her.  She unfurled it, starting to read the runes within.  The infernal script danced in front of her as she tried to parse its meaning, but this wasn’t her first time reading and translating Infernal language.  She rolled it out fully over the desk to get a better scope of what legalese awaited her.  Raphael leaned over, amused at her reading.  Her fingers traced firmly over the runes, reviewing the translations.

“Do you require assistance?” Raphael taunted.  He leaned back in his chair again, waiting for a reply.

“No.”  She didn’t need his help.  He would have demanded additional clauses if she agreed to any additional services.  Raphael would never do anything for free.  The devil always received what was owed to him.

Lae’zel was waiting eagerly but impatiently.  Her armored boot tapped against the wood floors of the Devil’s Den.  Tap. Tap. Tap. Orpheus. Tap. That energy seemed to radiate from her impatience.

Tav blinked and took a deep breath, hoping Raphael wouldn’t notice the momentary lapse of focus.  His brow raised slightly, before he relaxed again, appearing disinterested.  The language was intentionally complex, written to confuse rather than educate.  She took her time and traced each rune.  She occasionally sipped at her goblet while ruminating on the meaning held within the runes.  They were sharp and jagged and angular - nothing like her Common language writing which was looping and gentle.  As with all Infernal text, the true meaning was held deeply within.

Raphael’s smile widened as she persisted.  His Mouse was a clever one.

“Shall I translate?” Raphael taunted.  They both knew that he had to be honest in their dealings, but every moment of weakness would set her back some sort of irrational and irritating demand of his.

“Raphael, I am only taking my time.” Tav breathed in and out deeply, internally trying to regain some sense of control over the accursed document while remaining calm in front of the accursed devil.  The distracting foot taps from her Githyanki colleague were not helping.

“Of course, my dearest Mouse, we have all the time of the Hells.”  Raphael sat back and continued to drink his wine.  He studied her with uncomfortable concentration as she continued to read.

“Crown for Hammer… Unable to invade mortal realms…” Tav started to roughly translate aloud as she read her contract.  Raphael raised an eyebrow but didn’t say another word as her monologue continued. “Soul collateral… Tavara Aureum.”  Tav looked him straight in the eye, though she was numb from so much horrible legal writing.  “Why just my soul?”

Raphael checked his nails uninterested in her question.  “Why would I want the others?”

“Are they safe from you if I fail?” Tav responded nervously.  The Little Mouse was fatigued and nervous, and Raphael found this state delightful.

“Would you like them to be collateral, my darling?” he responded again, still uninterested in her concerns.

“No,” Tav responded firmly.  Lae’zel gave an affectionate and approving noise, though it seemed more like a tut than a hum.

“Very well.”  Raphael finished falsely examining his nails and continued to watch his favorite client read.  She paused at the bottom of a page on some sort of footnote referencing an appendix.  Oh Gods, how many appendices did he include?

“Something wrong?” Raphael challenged.  The Mouse bit.

“No,” Tav fought back.  She thought back to all of her wizard colleagues who disregarded her because of her innate sorceress gifts of winter and storms.  Ignorant sorceresses could not study Hellfire.  Dragon Children were too spoiled to be able to truly understand Hellfire.  Raphael clearly believed in the same fashion that Little Mousies could not understand his writing.

There was one clause that caused a multitude of rereadings.  She had a hard time deciphering it and didn’t know its meaning.  “Pater….” she almost tried to sound it out, the rest of the word huddled in her chest, locked in ice.  “Pater…” she repeated again.  It was part of a line, a subclause for Raphael’s duties to her.  He had agreed to protect her something something pater something.

Tav could do this by herself, and she definitely didn't want his help.  He was not going to translate, and he was not going to read it to her like she was a child. 

Raphael watched her intently.  Lae’zel’s foot tapped impatiently.

“Give me the quill, I’m ready to sign,” she declared triumphantly.

Wordlessly and with an unreadable expression, Raphael handed her a quill and ink.  Lae’zel’s eyes burned through her as she signed the contract.  The resident devil clasped his hands in joy before snapping and handing Lae’zel the Orphic Hammer.

“Thank you,” Tav deadpanned, fatigued and still frightened of Gale’s reaction.

“Thank you, Devil.” Lae’zel didn’t bother waiting for a response before heading back to camp.  She was out of earshot before Raphael responded to her.  Delight was a new look on his face that she had never seen before.

“You are most welcome, my Lady.”

*****

When she returned to Gale at camp, he was hiding: fuming in his tent.  Tav approached him, hoping she could lure him forth so they could speak.

“Gale, please come out.  I want to talk,” she pleaded quietly, so the entire camp couldn’t hear her.

“You didn’t want to talk before, and I certainly don’t want to talk now,”  He bit back angrily.  She paused, sadness biting at her and a horrible feeling of tension lay beneath her sternum.

“Please, Gale.  Please talk to me.”  Her voice became lower, and before she realized it, she was softly begging him to leave his tent or welcome her inside.

The reply became short and stiff.  “There is nothing for us to talk about.”

“Gale…” she took a sharp breath.  “I did it for you.”

Incensed, he sharply stood up and ripped the tent flap open to stare at her in the face.  Fat tears were rolling down her cheeks and her look pleading.  Mocking, he raised his voice so everyone could hear him.  “For me?  You threw away everything that I wanted and dreamed of.  You discarded all of my gifts and all of my ambitions for what ?” His voice was now a shout, emphasizing his final question.  All of her companions in the camp turned to stare at the two of them.

“Prince Orpheus!” Tav could hear Lae’zel call from behind her.  Gale’s face became red and angry.  He was obviously not expecting a third party to intrude.

“My love,” Tav pleaded, her voice missing the any confidence she might have had at her negotiations with the devil.  The confident, competent front she wore meeting with Raphael had eroded, leaving behind only a weak vulnerability.  Tears continued to fall, freezing on her cheekbones when they hit patches of scales.

“Do not call me your love.  I gave, and I promised.  You took, and you keep taking.  You stole godhood from us, Tav.  We could have been together for eternity.”

“Gale, Mystra would have ended you.  I couldn’t let her hurt you.”

“Why will I never be good enough for you?” Gale challenged.  He prodded his finger at her, which lightly struck the sensitive patch of scales on her chest that mirrored his own scar from the Orb of Karsus.

“You were always more than enough…” Tav continued to cry, but her pleas went unheard.  Gale’s face became red again and he turned away quickly.

“I will help you defeat the Elder Brain, but then I never want to see you again, Tavara Aureum.”  He threw his hands up in a grand gesture of exasperation.  “I’ve wasted too much of my energies on you.  We will get rid of these tadpoles, and then that’s the end of us.”

“Gale… Waterdeep…” Tav started to wail.  Some sort of dam inside her broke, her magic swirled angry and chaotic.  Her fingers crusted with ice that she could no longer control.  

“When all of this is over, I am going back to Waterdeep.  You are not coming with me.” 

Gale retreated back into his tent, closing the flap with an unmistakable huff.  Tav slowly retreated back into her tent, gingerly closed the flap, and lay motionless on her side for some time.  Long after the darkness was heavy in the sky, she continued to cry hail on her pillow.

[teecupangel]

pops in here bc I’ve been writing Resident Evil crossover AUs for fun (and angst) and I have a fun little idea for you!

so, re4make has dropped some interesting and tasty lore about Los Illuminados, aka the parasite cult that makes up the main bad guys in this particular game. according to the new lore, they popped up in 1554 and were exiled from their old place in 1741. now, we know that mutations and parasites and viruses can possibly extend somebody’s life in REverse beyond their natural lifespan and also make them far more durable than humans. I was thinking—Edward Kenway gets killed in 1735. this we’re well aware of. but what if he wasn’t?

say that Birch is aware of Los Iluminados and their work. he wants to keep a closer eye on them since he hears a lot about Las Plagas and its hive mind abilities, but he’s not about to risk becoming a part of their hive mind—he doesn’t entirely trust this cult. and he has a pesky Assassin who’s just found out that he’s actually a Templar, and who has a book and a son he would defend. if he survives the night—and it’s damn near a guarantee that he would, Birch has heard that he once cleared a whole deck of a galleon on his own—there’s nothing stopping him from taking up his sword and beelining to Birch and just cutting down every last member of the British Rite. but he can’t do that, if he has a bug inside his head.

so Edward gets knocked unconscious, and dragged off to the cult. now Birch has a reason to keep an eye on the cult, and he’s taken Edward out of the picture with no one the wiser for it.

years later—hundreds of years later—Desmond Miles, 17yo runaway, gets kidnapped along with Ashley Graham for whatever reason. maybe he saw too much and immediately launched himself at Krauser and actually managed to acquit himself pretty well in a fight, only to get stuffed into a van along with a very terrified First Daughter. Leon goes to find them.

in the meantime, Saddler has a very fucked-up Edward stand guard, and Desmond starts to talk to this guy, bc something about him seems…not quite the same as the rest of the cult. there’s some core of humanity still holding stubbornly on inside him, even if he looks pretty bad off, if not heavily mutated by now. which is how Leon ends up finding both Ashley and Desmond having managed to get a very snarly pirate to help break them out and has to gently convince said pirate that yes he really is here to help them please put that pitchfork down sir.

Oooohhh, if you wanted to, you can even include one of Ezio’s or Aquilar’s descendants in the lore as well, maybe even both? 1554 is around the time Flavia and Marcello would be 20~21 years old. Old enough to be Assassins that would be sent to foreign lands to help other Brotherhoods. We can even have them be sent by the current mentor of the Spanish Brotherhood because of this cult that supposed worship something ‘strange’. The mentor thought that the Italian Brotherhood who had a mentor who had been quite verse in strange things would have an idea of what they’re dealing with. Flavia or Marcello (or both if you want) asks to be sent because it seems connected to the precursors and, as Ezio Auditore’s children, it’s their duty to continue their father’s legacy.

They meet up with Aquilar’s child (or grandchild maybe?) and they help in exiling Los Illuminados, making the cult hate them and the Brotherhood in the process.

It’s because of their hatred for the Brotherhood that Birch was able to have a distant alliance with them and it’s because of his connection with the cult that Edward starts to suspect him as being a Templar.

(To sprinkle more angst, how about Haytham saw his father being dragged away and tried to save him, killing one of the kidnappers which ends with Teresa seeing him as a cold blooded killer and he is indoctrinated by Birch as a way to try and find Edward but never found him. After learning Birch was the leader of his father’s kidnapping, he gives up on Edward because Birch burned all evidence that will link him to Edward and the Los Illuminados)

Okay, so we go to the Ashley and Desmond part of the story.

Ashley is around 20 years old when she was abducted so, if you’d like, she could be in New York to shop or something when she was kidnapped. Desmond was on his way to his first shift in Bad Weather and saw a woman struggling while being dragged into a car with men looking like professional bodyguards (suit, sunglasses, wired ear pieces) on the ground, unconscious maybe? Dead even?

Desmond didn’t have time to think, his body reacted and he punched one of them. He starts to fight them off while telling the girl to run and the girl tried to, screaming for help but there were more men than they expected but her screaming (and his battle cries, they were not screams, they were battle cries damn it) was attracting attention so they had to book it quickly and Desmond was swept alongside the girl in the process.

Leon is briefed that an unknown man with no past of his own may be with the president’s daughter and he’s a low priority. The most that Leon is expected to do is find out who he was and if he was truly just taken alongside the Ashley because he tried to be a good Samaritan.

Now Saddler though…

Saddler had planned to kill Desmond from the very beginning but then he noticed something peculiar.

Desmond looked familiar.

So he let Desmond live because he needs to find out why Desmond looks familiar at all. He orders Edward to guard them and to keep them there.

Leon starts doing his job and Saddler gets sidetracked.

When he heard that Edward had ‘betrayed’ them, he realized why Desmond looked so familiar.

In one of the oldest journals written by his ancestors, there were sketches of the three Assassins who led to their fall and exile.

And two of them…

… looked very similar to Desmond Miles.

So now, Saddler believes Desmond is a descendant of those who exiled them and wants to infect him as well.

Because what better revenge is there than to have a descendant of those who wronged them become their ‘property’?

Unorganized Notes:

I like to imagine Ashley and Desmond become friends immediately, with Desmond helping Ashley stay calm while Ashley gives Desmond something he wanted ever since he was a child, a close friend.

Ashley would definitely not leave without Desmond and Desmond would do everything he can to keep Ashley safe.

Edward ‘recognize’ Desmond, in a way that Desmond reminds him of his young son, but he doesn’t understand it, because the infection inside him mutated thanks to his ‘bloodline’, so he’s not exactly the same as the others.

Edward will be conflicted though because his infection would make him want to obey the cult but he can't hurt Desmond at all. He doesn't want to and his body will never allow it.

Is it his own free will? The reminder of a past long gone? Or...

The Calculations at work?

[midnightanxietytm]

Hello! This is the same asker who requested for the Lion Narinder hurt/comfort. I hope you have been doing fine. So, do you take more than one request from the same person? I would like to do so, if you don't mind. My request, if you choose to take it:

Sheeps, were traditionally taught to sing since they were wee lambs, but ever since the Bishops started to hunt them down, the tradition of singing has been sparse, but in return, as defiance, the Sheeps instead start to sing their last song, a funeral requiem, as they go down swinging, refusing to be silenced without a fight. So the Lamb, survivor of the last pocket resistance, would hear their guardians voices for the last time too be singing as they fight a doomed fight against the Bishops's followers as they were escaping.

When they were resurrected as a Vessel for Death, they sing a lot during their crusades, especially when they're near death. Narinder is especially intrigued by the singing. One wouldn't expect such a foul-tongued, crass, angry Lamb to have such a sweet, mellifluous voice that carries so well as it rings in the air.

I hope this doesn't bother you. May your month be easygoing. Eat your vegetables and drink water regularly.

a/n: I do remember you! And this time you've touched on a headcannon I already had for lamb's funeral rites.

Song is The Parting Glass by Celtic Woman

Warning: Descriptions of death by poison (briefly but better safe than sorry)

Songs of a past life

The dreadful drag of their axe against the ground is a stark contrast to the soft melody that they sing.

Narinder observed all of his Little Lamb’s crusades, and they always sang. Narinder found it weird but also delightful; that they never flinched when killing, to the point of singing while doing it.

Their lyrics changed often, sometimes cheerful, sometimes pensive, always somewhat familiar to Narinder, but he never cared enough to find out.

Until the first battle with Amdusias.

It wasn’t their fault, really. Narinder at least wouldn’t really blame them, he was patient enough, and the Lamb had lenience to make some mistakes.

They were poisoned by one of the worms right before encountering Amdusias, but they hadn’t noticed it in time, not until their movements were already sluggish and their brain was starting to give out. They barely managed to flee, if only to not give Leshy the privilege of seeing them killed by his disciple.

The Lamb fell against the trunk of a tree, breathing heavily and clutching their fading heartbeat. And they sang.

“Of all the money that e'er I had I spent it in good company

and all the harm that e'er I did alas, it was to none but me

And all I've done for want of wit to memory now I can't recall

so fill to me the parting glass goodnight and joy be to you all”

This one Narinder remembered, painfully so. His vessel's voice carried the softness instilled upon them by a thousand lambs before them; a song to comfort the dying, soothe the mourning, rest the soul. A song that every lamb sang as they were brought to the blade, the only song he heard for a millennia as each of his protected ones met their fate.

“So fill to me the parting glass and gather as the evening falls

And gently rise and softly call goodnight and joy be to you all.

Of all the comrades that e'er I've had they're sorry for my going away

and all the sweethearts that e'er I had they'd wish me one more day to stay

but since it fell into my lot that I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and I'll softly call goodnight and joy be to you all”

Their voice was so sweet, nothing like the bitter ichor of their enemies, but alas, they weren't past the third verse when his body gave out, and they reached His realm. They sat upon the gateway, clearly still shaken for a good few moments.

“Fucking dammit!” They yell out as soon as they recover, Narinder chuckles, There you go, that’s the Lamb I know, he thinks. “Damn poison ruining my streak! I was so close!”

“Cease your anger, my vessel, death no longer means the end for you. Soon, you can be back twice as strong…” He says, voice rasping. “No need to sing funeral rites either, for you can simply rise again.”

The Lamb, in turn, takes in a big breath, and exhales loudly, though their face remains in a frown. “I quite like our-… the funeral songs.”

“Do you now?” Narinder bends down carefully, chains rattling loudly as he gets down to his vessel’s level. “Finish it, the one you were singing.”

They smile up at him and start from where they had left.

“So fill to me the parting glass and gather as the evening falls

And gently rise and softly call goodnight and joy be to you all

Ah

But since it fell into my lot that I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and softly call good night and joy be to you all

Fill to me the parting glass and gather as the evening falls and gently rise and softly call goodnight and joy be to you all.

Fill to me the parting glass

And gather as the evening falls and gently rise and softly call goodnight and joy be to you all goodnight and joy be to you all.”

…

The Lamb turns in their bed and contemplates their lover; the evening sun entering through the windows casts shadows upon Narinder’s face, but he doesn’t seem bothered. His beauty is still godly, and their wounds still hurt.

They softly kiss his face, stand up from the bed, and leave his shelter.

But since it fell into my lot that I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and softly call good night and joy be to you all

I loved making this, thank you for the ask! I hope you have a good day every day!