#I HAVE TRANSCENDED DEATH ITSELF

[cuinaminute229]

With death comes life

pairing: Agatha x Rio x reader

summary: To fall in love with both life and death is almost impossible. They contradict each other, they are different sides to the same coin. Agatha once managed the impossible. But time and grief can break almost anything, and this time it breaks what feels like everything.

a/n: there will be more parts to this. I find this dynamic rather interesting and I am definitely going to explore it. not a lot of warning in this part except for mild swearing. slightly protective Rio.

...

Life and Death go hand in hand.

One can not exist without the other. 

It’s a partnership that transcends time itself.

Agatha Harkness does not understand this. She can not, because for the longest time all she has ever known is death.

All she has ever done is take. She takes and takes and takes until there is nothing left to give. Until there is nothing left you can give.

Death will love her. Life will despise her. 

That is how it will be for centuries.

…

The witches’ road is a place that does not welcome you. It fights you every step of the way.

It is a graveyard. It takes what it wants without thoughts of sympathy or solace. It digs up fear and trauma like gold. It twists and stretches and tears the desires of witches brave enough to step foot on the road.

You hate it and yet you are summoned.

The dirt between your fingers is a sensation that feels as familiar as holding death's hand. Clawing your way from beneath the earth is not something you're very familiar with.

You're not usually summoned alongside her, this is different.

The echoes of multiple screams ring in your ears as you crawl your way out of a fresh grave, growling through clenched teeth when you finally break the surface.

Your joints and bones pop as you twist and jerk to realign what's been broken. You swear you're going to ring the witch's neck that's summoned you. 

You tilt your head and feel a crack in your neck, you grimace before you jerk your head and relief seeps into your muscles.

With a flex of your fingers you adjust your clothes before the colors of the leaves scattered amongst the ground catches your eye.

Just as the realization settles and you finally understand where you are, a hand that brushes against the length of your back is the only thing that seems to ground you. You lean into her touch with a slow forced exhale.

Rio is here, that is the only comfort you feel. 

You absolutely hate the witches’ road.

When you finally glance up at the witches who were just screaming bloody murder, you notice her right away. 

Her thick brown hair falling against her shoulders, the white button up shirt that complements her dress pants, the locket that’s always with her. 

Agatha Harkness and this coven of four have summoned you and Rio to the road. 

The rage that heats your blood is a sensation that you will never get used to, it burns like the sun and yet it's all you can feel as you glare daggers at her.

The only thing that stops you from lunging at her is Rio’s quick reaction. The hand that was resting on your back has encircled your waist, she tugs you back against her, resting her chin on your shoulder. 

“Easy there tiger.” Her soft chuckle of amusement is not distraction enough from what you want to say. 

“What the fuck are you doing Agatha?” Your words are harsh and yet you feel no sympathy when she flinches at your tone.

“Excuse me?” The witch in the pink dress places a hand over her heart like you personally offended her. 

“You’re excused.” You pay her no mind, your eyes are only on Agatha. “Now answer the question.”

Agatha says nothing. Her eyes look from you to Rio and back like she can barely believe what she’s seeing. Like she didn’t intend for this to happen.

“Cat got your tongue?” Rio teases, her smile predatory, the hold on your waist a touch possessive. 

“How did you—?” This time she points at the two of you. 

“We were in the neighborhood.” Rio interrupts her with a casual response. There is no need to explain further, she will know the truth.

“But uhh,” The youngest member of the coven, a teenage boy, lifts his hand up like he’s waiting to voice his question. You frown at the notion, not quite understanding.

“Yes Teen?” The oldest of the group turns to look at the kid who answers once the attention turns to him. 

“Why are there two of them?” He gestures between you and Rio, his confusion clear as he then turns to look at Agatha like she has all the answers.

You scoff at the thought, she knows nothing. Not when it comes to you and especially not when it comes to Rio. That was made very clear centuries ago.

Agatha glares at you as if this time you truly have offended her but all you do is glare right back.

The moment of eye contact drags on longer than you thought it would. The witch's pride is a strong thing and you know she hates backing down first but you are not in the mood to give in. 

You refuse to give her what she wants.

When fingers dance along the thin fabric that covers your ribs you jerk involuntarily, turn to glare at Rio. She gives you an innocent smile but her eyes burn with something that silently tells you to calm down.

“Doesn't matter.” Agatha's anger is a harsh bite, hiding the vulnerability that comes with seeing the both of you. “We have a green witch. Now let's go.”

The whoosh of her coat is followed by a slow breath that relaxes your shoulders. You can not let your anger get the best of you while here. The road will only take it and twist it until it gets a chance to throw it in your face.

“Being summoned is so much fun isn't it? Just like old times.” Rio teases you, presses a soft kiss to your shoulder in a silent apology. 

Before you can turn and properly question her about why you are here a voice calls your attention. “Uhh hello?” 

You roll your eyes but turn to glance at the three witches that have lingered after Agatha stormed off.

“Hello.” You merely say in return. You owe these witches nothing more.

“So uh did we summon two green witches?” The witch with red in her hair gestures to the two of you. You feel Rio shake her head from where her face is still pressed into your shoulder, her chuckle is low enough that the others do not hear it. 

You find her amusement endearing and annoying.

“To keep things simple, yes.” 

The continued looks of confusion merely make you smirk at the unsuspecting women. 

With one last brush of fingers over your ribs, one last ghost of a kiss that tickles the skin of your neck, Rio steps away. Her smile is bright, the twinkle in her dark eyes promise nothing but mischief and self entertainment.

“We're supposed to walk this thing right?” She steps around you and points toward the road. When she only gets a few shrugs of consensus she hums in response before leaving you behind with these confused witches.

You shake your head with a soft smile, of course she would find a way to ignore all your questions for even just a little bit longer.

“Let's get this over with.”

...

part 2

[thepsychonyx]

I want to speak about why the second part of the Best-True ending of Dragon Age Veilguard pierced me so deeply. The Flycam screenshots are from Aru/Elf botanist (YT linked at the bottom).

To set the tone, the music established the emotive themes of the scene. It speaks to the Lost Elf theme- however it is forever changed and lighter. This elf that was Lost for so many years is now Found. There is hope in the strings, there is redemption in each note. This also speaks to the specific codex from the lighthouse in Solas’ secret room. Not his office at the top of the building, extravagant, beautiful, overshadowing all others and looking down in godly benevolence - his private quarters on the main floor, where parts of his travel with the Inquisition surround him.

When Lavellan speaks to Solas, she is using a resolute voice, almost chastising him for thinking he has to do this alone. He has her, and she will keep reminding him.

Solas implores her to think of the dangers the journey he is going on will have, his head is down to show the residual shame and his plea for her safety. But also a part of him hopes. The reason all he says is that “there will be danger” is a statement of warning but not fully imploring her to stay. His heart has a pause, he is prioritising her safety and wants her aware of the dangers.

This is the shot normally, the downward and side tilt are clear making the imploring effect of his words resonate further. Unlike before where he only looked at her for small spans of time his attention is fully focused since being absolved of his duty. After she responds that she will be with him, forever no matter what, he shifts. This is akin to when making vows “I stay with you in sickness and in death” but they are crossing the boundaries of mortality. This is “I stay with you in any plight, any condition, any reality. I commit my eternity to you”

Her response is an amalgamation of the following:

1) You are not alone in it emotionally and mentally as I am with you

2) Physically I am with you to endure it with you

3) Our joined manifestations will make it a better place quite literally, so the bleak darkness that could have encroached will not exist when we are together

This is also validated a bit by Trick Weekes QA:

She then states their love is eternal, and she chooses to walk on any path with him fully and wholly. A love that transcends time, mortal barriers, immortality, the different realms of existence. This combined with their standing pose as if at the altar of a wedding is the final part of her vows. Said in the same hallelujah pattern and in elven as he would speak - she commits to his language (mentally and emotionally) so he best will understand her declaration. (This is confirmed by @northgalis on Twitter).

This, in front of the witnesses who are the allies who helped them unite in their union, Rook and Morrigan whilst overseen by the Veil itself in the position of holiness. His blood is the bond they now share, the new blood magic in a way that ties them to a new fate of their own making. The veil that brought them together in the beginning of the journey they now tread into together.

Then they confirm their vows with a kiss, she pulls him in first, similarly to their first kiss in the fade and he reciprocates. Solas is weakened, hurting, feeling unworthy of the brightest soul in the universe but she chooses him and he finally submits to his desire and need for her. His duty now to himself, atonement and the woman who chose him with it all in mind.

Aru’s flycam footage also shows the kiss being deeper and him actively

After the kiss, he SMILES. The ending is now so much less bleak it is tender, it is soft it is comfort, it is peace.

A smiling glance. meeting at a crescendo; a shared moment of understanding;

Screenshot from Daoithe on Tumblr.

He then proceeds to thank Rook, for helping him see when he allowed himself to be so plagued by grief and guilt and not giving up on him as it could have turned to despair, revenge and anger, like all the other endings which I hate because they go against his very nature. The other endings spit in the face of his complexity the story keeps explicitly imploring you to see and have empathy. Solas is a spirit of wisdom, when guilt festers that wisdom manifests in the worst possible ways. And with no one to listen and read between the lines, the fate he is subjected too is far too unkind. But here, he not only is freed of his guilt but also, just as importantly and very implicitly, his fear of dying alone.

If you have played inquisition you will recall there is a moment near the climax of Here Lies the Abyss where Inquisitor and their chosen companions go into the Fade. Solas is easily one of the most fascinating and best companions to take with you as he from the onset has been a “Fade expert” and his lines throughout are intriguing and educational. During the quest you come across graves embodying the different characters biggest fears. And Solas? Dying alone. The god who went against everyone he knew for a better world, whose empathy only continued to hurt him and freed others with hopes to better the world is the most lonely man. And he is terrified and within himself brought low by his loneliness in his commitment to the path he feels he must take. This is why the next part transcends the scene.

After the kiss which confirmed their bond and pact - binding them together with love and empathy, wisdom and curiosity married - he thanks rook and looks back at Lavellan, his Vhenan. And it is a *micro second* shot that completely defeats me. His head held high, the concerned imploring tilt gone as he holds his chin higher in appreciation, respect and awe for the woman who chose him. The love of his life, his eternal companion. The only one to truly fully see him, respect him, and love him wholly. Who has forgiven him and chooses a path which only leads to him. He is honoured to be loved by her, and will work to be the better man he feels she deserves, but also beginning to accept that her love for him is in any form he takes. The one he prizes above all others, chose him, and he will never be alone - and that is everything.

Seeing completely, and being wholly seen.

This scene literally destroyed me in the best way. I am left hollow with love and adoration for this character and his relationship to his love Lavellan and no other romance will meet the threshold they have created for me. It is not Solavellan hell no longer, they have transcended to Solavellan heaven.

My playthrough video of the second half of the ending sequence.

Here is Arus Flycam YT video for reference:

Arus Flycam Lavellan POV of the True - Best ending

[servantofthefates]

10 Reasons Why I Love Being a Witch

1) Witchcraft loves me back.

With witchcraft, you get what you give. If you respect a spell’s instructions and perform it with faith, it will work. If you treat your tarot deck with regard, it will give you honest answers. Witchcraft yields results here and now, instead of promising eternal happiness after death.

2) It embraces who I am.

Witchcraft will never censor your truth by asking you to suppress your emotions. Pride, anger, greed, lust, envy… These are what make you human. And they are fuel for rituals. The craft teaches you how to harness and direct them, so you can live up to your potential.

3) It does not care about money.

Whether you use a $30 or a $3 candle will not affect the outcome of your spell. And the number of tarot decks, crystal balls and pendulums you own does not reflect how good a diviner you are. With witchcraft, faith and power are the only currencies that matter.

4) It allows me to avenge myself.

Turning the other cheek may sound nice. But it and self-love cannot co-exist. And in witchcraft, you have to love yourself before the occult allows you command it. The craft lets me practice self-love by giving back malice to anyone who sends it to me.

5) It allows me to help myself.

When your natural gifts are not enough to survive a challenge or accomplish a task, witchcraft lets you call upon the old gods and their minions for assistance. Spells that protect and disarm, heal and harm, grant and transcend are all at your fingertips.

6) It allows me to help others.

Witchcraft requires you to give back. But not through tithes or other taxes like that. Whenever you come across another soul who you think deserves your assistance, you can cast spells for them or perform divination on their behalf.

7) It lets me master myself.

Most people only know their conscious self. As a witch, you will be introduced to your other selves: your higher self and your shadow self. When the three of you have a strong understanding of one another, there is no obstacle you cannot conquer.

8) It lets me glimpse what is hidden.

Through divination, witchcraft allows you to witness things that have not yet come to pass. It also gives you access to the concealed present and the hidden past. This means you can look into people’s souls and see all their hidden motivations.

9) It dissolves my fears.

As a witch, you know that you are always where you are meant to be. Any unexpected, painful or tragic detours are only meant to reroute you to your true purpose. Witchcraft leads you to your true path. It is impossible to get lost.

10) I am the Pope of my religion.

Even though my family taught me the craft, I was given the chance to put that knowledge to the test. Nobody forced me to believe in anything that did not show itself to be true. And whenever I want to talk to my gods, I do not need a middle man. I always have a direct line.

[niby-skaje]

Emmrich shouldn't be allowed to become a Lich if romanced.

Okay. Hear me out.

Regardless of our personal views as a player/Rook on a subject of lichdom, I feel, given what we've learned, that lich lords of Necropolis should not allow Emmrich to become a lich if he has a beloved.

Lichdom is important. It is rare - so rare that Emmrich himself mentions that he was the lords' first living petitioner in a long time. There aren't many liches there I suppose. We only get to see a maximum of three at a time. It is not something to be trifled with, as the process is some high, advanced magic with the soul sifting required and the journey one has to partake - journey of self-discovery and learning to even be considered worthy. And then it still can go wrong. Our soul may still fail the final test (I assume it must be a possibility).

And then, the burden - the burden of knowledge, of power and responsibility that they have. We know that if we choose to bring Manfred back, then lichdom is lost for Emmrich forever for it shows that he cannot accept that others, those dear to him, will inevitably die, and that would mean that he might be susceptible to the abuse of power, as the lich we speak to states. Such power in the wrong hands could easily lead to tyranny.

But when Emmrich is romanced, he becomes even less able to accept mortality - this time not only his own, but Rook's as well. And while lichdom may take away the fear of death he's felt all his life (if in a healthy way, that's another matter entirely), it replaces it with something new - the fear of losing his love. And not just fear - the knowledge, the certainty, that Rook WILL die. If not now, then someday, in twenty, maybe forty years. But it will. It is as certain as life and death itself.

And Emmrich has waited so long for the love of his life! Even if we omit all the banter and all the little things in the game, he himself tells us that we are the best thing that has ever happened to him. Most magnificent, in his own words. And from the little bits here and there we get to know that he longed for that kind of love all his life.He has turned to other things, to the pursuit of knowledge and immortality, because he has given up hope - only for love to find him so late, right on the doorstep of his lichdom. He accepts it, he allows himself to be swayed by that love, he immerses himself in it completely, like a besotted fool (again, in his own words).

With all that, we know that once the time comes, he cannot and will not let Rook go. He may have slight doubts and we may talk to him about it, but we know that he cannot really choose and in the end he refuses to do so, assuring us that his love will be unchanged even as a lich. But that is not true, for now his love is different, as he now knows that we will be parted and he will remain. The dread he's felt all his life now changes its target, and the love and the fear become so intertwined, so painful, in a way he didn't even expect.

Very, very dangerous for someone with such immense power.

And then, after being trapped in the Fade he tells us that he will allow nothing to part us again. "Not in this, nor any other world". He will find a way, no matter the cost. Even as a lich, though some of his senses may be altered or dulled, he still feels, the emotions still flow within him as they did when he was mortal, perhaps even more so. He loves Rook more than anything in the world, he dreads the time when they will be separated, he dreads how he would go on without them, how he would mourn them for eternity... though now he has all the power and knowledge and time of the lich. He may be able to find a way - even if it is an abuse of the responsibility of his new position. He is blinded by love, even in a state that should transcend all things mortal.

Lich lords are not supposed to care about themselves, for they are meant to serve the Necropolis, to thwart any dangers outside of mortals' grasps, they are to guide and protect. A higher purpose, not of the flesh and the heart, but of wisdom and reason.

With all that in mind, with all the potential for abuse of power he is given, I cannot fathom how the lich lords could entrust such power to romanced Emmrich - or anyone else, for that matter, who is unwilling to sever their ties with the mortal world once and for all. For me, there should be no doubt that to ascend as a lich, one must shed all mortal ties, whatever they may be - and that includes love.

Emmrich's obligatory tax.

[justmeasanoptimist]

The Fall of The House of Usher was clinically good but also so sad? In the face of greed and ambition, love falters? It cannot grow, and therefore, no one under its spell can experience the fulfillment of loving and being loved? It's a Mike Flanagan horror story, but love doesn't transcend time and space and fear and death itself?

Gonna have to spend a few days thinking about how love, when pitted against a culture that values money above all else, fails to flourish so that instead of sacrificing for the people you love, you sacrifice people for opportunity to become rich. This is the ultimate horror, the ultimate tragedy, and I will have to take time to recover.

[horeformilfs]

I have an ask for you. So this can either be with Alcina, Donna, or any of the Dimitrescu daughters.

All I really want is like reader going absolutely ape-shit on some kind of foe. For whatever reason you want. Whether it be Eathan or just some random person trying to hurt her lover. The circumstance is completely up to you.

Oh, and if reader could have some kind of power, plant manipulation, shape-shifting, whatever, that would be loved.

Aaaanyway, thank you very much for even reading this. If you don't like it, just ignore me. No harm done. Have a fabulous day/night, and stay safe!

💐💐

I love this idea and made it kinda angsty

I'll Protect You...Because I Love You

Dimitrescu Family x Fem!Reader

TW: Arguing, Drinking, Fighting, Stabbing Blood, Fainting, Ethan Winters being a dick, Death

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

In the dimly lit corridors of Castle Dimitrescu, Y/N moved with practiced ease, her footsteps echoing against the ancient stone walls. She had become accustomed to the labyrinthine layout of the castle during her time as Lady Alcina Dimitrescu's maid, navigating its sprawling halls with a sense of familiarity that bordered on intimacy.

But Y/N's relationship with Alcina transcended the boundaries of employer and servant. Over the course of eight months, their connection had blossomed into something far deeper—a love that defied the constraints of their disparate stations. Alcina's formidable presence had initially intimidated Y/N, but beneath her regal facade lay a woman of unparalleled complexity, whose icy exterior belied a warmth that Y/N found impossible to resist.

Despite the differences in their status, Y/N and Alcina had forged a bond built on mutual respect and unwavering devotion. In the quiet moments between their duties, they stole fleeting glances and exchanged whispered confessions, their love growing with each passing day.

And it wasn't just Alcina who had captured Y/N's heart; her affection extended to Alcina's three daughters—Daniela, Cassandra, and Bela. Initially wary of their mother's new paramour, the sisters had gradually warmed to Y/N's presence, finding in her a kindred spirit who shared their love for the sprawling grounds of Castle Dimitrescu.

Y/N's connection to the Dimitrescu family ran deeper still, for she harbored a secret that she had kept hidden from Alcina and her daughters—a power as ancient as the castle itself. Y/N possessed the ability of chlorokinesis, the power to manipulate and control plant life with but a thought. It was a gift she had inherited from her ancestors, one that she had honed in secret, fearful of the repercussions should her abilities be discovered.

But despite the challenges they faced, Y/N's love for Alcina remained steadfast, a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to engulf them. And as the sun dipped below the horizon and the castle came to life with the flickering of candlelight, Y/N knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, she would face them with unwavering courage, guided by the love that bound her to Alcina and her daughters.

As Y/N approached the door to their shared bedroom, she could sense the tension radiating from within. The air crackled with an uneasy energy, sending a shiver down her spine. With a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit chamber.

Alcina sat at her vanity, her usually regal posture slumped with frustration. Y/N's heart ached at the sight of her beloved in such turmoil, her concern outweighing any fear that lingered in the air.

"What's wrong, Alcina?" Y/N ventured softly, her voice a gentle caress in the stillness of the room.

Alcina's response was immediate, her words tumbling forth in a torrent of anger and resentment. "That blasted Miranda! She thinks she can dictate every aspect of our lives, as if we're mere pawns in her game!"

Y/N listened in silence as Alcina ranted, her heart breaking with each word that fell from her lips. But before she could offer solace, Alcina's frustration reached a boiling point, her hands clenching into fists as she unleashed her fury upon the unsuspecting vanity.

The sound of splintering wood echoed through the room, mingling with Alcina's ragged breaths. Y/N moved closer, her instincts urging her to comfort her lover in her time of need.

"Alcina, please," Y/N pleaded, reaching out a trembling hand in a futile attempt to soothe her. "Let me help you."

But Alcina's response was sharp, her eyes blazing with an intensity that sent a chill down Y/N's spine. "Stay back, Y/N! This is none of your concern!"

Y/N recoiled at the venom in Alcina's voice, her heart pounding in her chest as she took a cautious step backwards. The sight of Alcina unsheathing her claws sent a wave of fear coursing through her, the primal instinct to flee warring with her desire to stand by her lover's side.

With a heavy heart, Y/N made her decision, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke. "I'll leave you alone, Alcina. I... I need some air."

And with that, Y/N turned on her heel and fled the room, her footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as she made her way downstairs, the weight of Alcina's anger heavy upon her shoulders.

As Y/N entered the dining room, her steps heavy with the weight of her emotions, she failed to notice the three figures huddled together at the far end of the room. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela exchanged concerned glances as they watched Y/N's distant demeanor, their hearts aching at the sight of her pain.

With a shared understanding born of years spent in each other's company, the sisters moved as one, their footsteps silent against the polished floors as they approached their beloved Mămica. Y/N's shoulders sagged with the weight of her burdens, her trembling hands reaching for the crystal decanter of whiskey that stood sentinel upon the table.

The clink of glass echoed through the room as Y/N poured herself a generous measure, her movements mechanical as she downed it in one swift motion. The sisters exchanged worried glances, their concern deepening as they watched a solitary tear slip down Y/N's cheek.

Bela, the eldest of the sisters, stepped forward first, her voice gentle as she addressed Y/N. "Mămica, are you okay?"

Y/N startled at the sound of Bela's voice, her eyes widening in surprise as she met the concerned gazes of the Dimitrescu sisters. She attempted to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered at the edges, her facade crumbling under the weight of her emotions.

"I... I'm fine," Y/N replied, her voice betraying the turmoil raging within her.

But Daniela wasn't convinced, her keen intuition sensing the truth behind Y/N's facade. "Did you and Mamă have a fight?"

Y/N hesitated, her gaze flickering between the three sisters as she struggled to find the words. "Yes, but it's nothing for you to worry about."

Cassandra reached out a hand, her touch gentle as she brushed a stray tear from Y/N's cheek. "You don't have to pretend. We're here for you."

Y/N felt a sense of comfort envelop her as she sank into the plush cushions of the living room couch, Daniela nestled in her lap like a protective shield against the storm raging within her. The warmth of the fire cast flickering shadows across the room, a soothing counterpoint to the turmoil churning in Y/N's mind.

Daniela, ever the embodiment of affection, wrapped her arms around Y/N, seeking solace in the embrace of the woman she regarded as her other mother. Y/N returned the gesture, her touch gentle as she ran her fingers through Daniela's hair, the rhythmic motion a balm to her frayed nerves.

With a deep breath, Daniela ventured to broach the subject that hung heavy in the air. "Mămica, what happened? Why are you so upset?"

Y/N hesitated, her heart heavy with the weight of her confession. "It's... it's nothing, darling. Just a disagreement with Mamă."

But Bela, ever perceptive, sensed the gravity of the situation, her gaze piercing as she pressed for answers. "But why did you leave? You always stay with Mamă when she's upset."

Y/N's resolve wavered at Bela's question, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke. "Because... because Mamă got so angry... her claws came out."

The revelation hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the depths of Alcina's fury. The sisters exchanged shocked glances, their concern for Y/N mingling with a sense of unease at the thought of their mother unleashing her wrath upon the woman they held dear.

"That's... that's never happened before," Cassandra murmured, her voice tinged with apprehension.

Y/N nodded, her own disbelief mirroring that of the Dimitrescu sisters. "I know. That's why... that's why I had to leave."

And as the flames danced in the hearth and the night stretched on before them, Y/N knew that no matter the challenges they faced, they would navigate them together, bound by the unbreakable bonds of love and family.

As the warmth of the fire bathed the living room in a soft glow, Y/N found solace in the embrace of the Dimitrescu sisters, their presence a comforting reminder of the love that bound them together. Cassandra and Bela nestled into Y/N's side, their forms molded against hers as they sought refuge from the storm brewing outside. Meanwhile, Daniela remained perched in Y/N's lap, her attention focused on the book in her hands as she read aloud in a soothing cadence.

But their tranquil moment was shattered by the arrival of Alcina, her footsteps heavy with the weight of her frustration. She swept into the room, her icy gaze fixing on the group gathered before her.

"Why aren't you all in the dining room? Dinner should have been ready by now," Alcina demanded, her tone sharp with irritation.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under Alcina's gaze, her protective instinct kicking in as she sought to shield the girls from their mother's anger. "We were just spending some time together, Alcina. We'll be there shortly."

Alcina's response was a dismissive roll of her eyes, her frustration palpable as she turned on her heel and made her way to the dining room.

As they sat down to dinner, the atmosphere was thick with tension, the strained silence punctuated only by the clinking of silverware against porcelain. Alcina's mood cast a pall over the table, her brooding silence a stark contrast to the usual lively chatter that filled the air.

The daughters exchanged uneasy glances, their resentment simmering beneath the surface as they grappled with their mother's recent outburst. Y/N's heart ached at the palpable discord, her own frustration mingling with a sense of helplessness in the face of Alcina's wrath.

But amidst the awkwardness and resentment, Y/N found solace in the unwavering support of the Dimitrescu sisters, their presence a reminder that no matter the challenges they faced, they would weather them together, bound by the unbreakable bonds of love and family.

As Y/N raced downstairs, her heart pounded in her chest with each step, adrenaline coursing through her veins at the revelation of Ethan Winters' presence in the castle. She found Alcina in the main hall, her imposing figure a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around them.

"Alcina, what's happening?" Y/N's voice trembled with urgency as she approached her lover.

Alcina's gaze flickered with a mix of fury and determination as she turned to face Y/N. "Ethan Winters has escaped Heisenberg and infiltrated the castle. But don't worry, I'll deal with him."

Y/N's mind raced with a myriad of emotions, fear and concern warring within her as she processed Alcina's words. "What about the girls, Alcina? Are they safe?"

For a moment, Alcina remained silent, her expression unreadable as she locked eyes with Y/N. In that brief exchange, Y/N sensed the truth—the girls were still in the library, unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows.

Without waiting for a response, Y/N broke into a sprint, her feet pounding against the cold stone floors as she raced towards the library. Alcina followed close behind, her presence a reassuring presence in the face of uncertainty.

As Y/N rushed towards the library, her heart pounding with fear and urgency, she flung open the doors, relief flooding her as she laid eyes on the girls, safe and sound within the comforting embrace of books.

"Mămica, Mamă, what's going on?" Daniela's voice cut through the tension, her brow furrowed with confusion.

Before Y/N could respond, a deafening gunshot shattered the tranquility of the room, the sound reverberating off the walls as time seemed to slow to a crawl. Instinctively, Y/N moved to shield Bela, her body tensing in anticipation of impact.

But she was too late.

The bullet struck true, searing pain tearing through Y/N's abdomen as she staggered backward, the force of the impact sending her crashing to the ground. Shock and disbelief painted the faces of Alcina and the girls as they watched in horror, their cries of alarm echoing in the chaos that ensued.

Ethan Winters emerged from the shadows, his presence a menacing reminder of the danger that lurked within the castle walls. Y/N fought through the pain, her voice strained as she addressed him.

"Why are you here, Ethan?" she pleaded, desperation coloring her words.

But Ethan remained silent, his gaze cold and unyielding as he turned his attention to the Dimitrescu sisters and Alcina. Panic surged within Y/N as she watched him advance, her instincts screaming at her to protect her family at all costs.

With a fierce resolve, Y/N pushed herself to her feet, her body protesting with each movement as she positioned herself between Ethan and the ones she loved. "Stay back!" she warned, her voice trembling with a mixture of pain and determination.

But Ethan showed no signs of relenting, his gaze locked on his targets with a chilling intensity. With a resigned sigh, Y/N braced herself for the inevitable confrontation, her mind racing with thoughts of how to keep her family safe in the face of overwhelming odds.

As Y/N summoned the vines with her chlorokinesis, her focus shifted solely to protecting Alcina and the girls from the imminent threat of Ethan Winters. The tendrils of greenery twisted and coiled around Ethan, ensnaring him in a tight grip as she launched herself into the fray.

The girls and Alcina watched in stunned silence as Y/N unleashed her power, their eyes wide with astonishment at the revelation of her hidden abilities. The air crackled with energy as Y/N and Ethan clashed, each blow resonating with the weight of their opposing desires.

But despite Y/N's valiant efforts, Ethan proved to be a formidable opponent, his desperation driving him to strike out with renewed ferocity. As he delivered a final, devastating blow, piercing Y/N's abdomen with a merciless stab, a cry of anguish tore through the air.

With the last of her strength, Y/N summoned forth a vine, twisting it around Ethan's neck in a desperate bid for survival. With a sickening snap, his lifeless body crumpled to the ground, the threat he posed extinguished in an instant.

Exhausted and wounded, Y/N collapsed to the ground, her body trembling with the effort of her exertions. Alcina and the girls rushed to her side, their expressions a mix of concern and disbelief as they surveyed the scene before them.

"Daniela, keep her awake!" Alcina's voice rang out, laced with urgency as she knelt beside Y/N, her hands trembling as she sought to staunch the flow of blood from her wounds.

The youngest Dimitrescu sister nodded frantically, her hands gentle as she cradled Y/N's head in her lap, her voice trembling with emotion. "Stay with us, Mămica. Please, don't leave us."

Y/N's vision blurred as she struggled to remain conscious, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she met Alcina's gaze with unyielding determination. "I'll protect you because... because I love you," she whispered, her voice barely a whisper before darkness claimed her, her body succumbing to the darkness that threatened to consume her.

With tender care, Alcina lifted Y/N into her arms, cradling her gently as she carried her to their room, the girls trailing behind in solemn silence. The journey felt endless, each step a testament to the weight of their collective worries as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Castle Dimitrescu.

Upon reaching their sanctuary, Alcina laid Y/N upon the bed with infinite gentleness, her touch reverent as she began to tend to her injuries. With practiced precision, she cleaned and dressed Y/N's wounds, her movements deliberate as she worked to ease her lover's pain.

The girls watched with a mixture of awe and concern, their hearts heavy with the realization of Y/N's sacrifice. As Alcina finished her ministrations, they crawled into bed beside Y/N, seeking solace in the warmth of her embrace.

Bela nestled close to Y/N's side, her touch light as a feather as she draped an arm over her, while Cassandra snuggled against her other side, her breaths soft and steady against Y/N's skin. Daniela settled in the crook of Y/N's arm, her presence a soothing balm against the ache of her injuries.

Alcina took a seat in a large chair nearby, her eyes never leaving Y/N's form as she held vigil over her beloved. With a book in hand, she settled in for the long night ahead, the pages offering little distraction from the weight of her worries.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, Y/N stirred from her slumber, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of the Dimitrescu sisters gathered around her bedside, their faces radiant with relief and joy.

"Mămica, you're awake!" Daniela exclaimed, her voice filled with unrestrained delight as she threw her arms around Y/N, her embrace warm and comforting.

Bela and Cassandra echoed their sister's sentiments, their smiles bright as they showered Y/N with affectionate hugs and whispered words of gratitude.

Alcina watched from the foot of the bed, her heart swelling with love and relief at the sight of Y/N awake and alert once more. With a soft smile, she approached Y/N, her gaze tender as she spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Alcina began, her voice laced with sincerity. "For what happened last night, and for the hurtful words I spoke. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make amends and to work on controlling my temper."

Y/N's heart swelled with gratitude at Alcina's apology, her own forgiveness offered freely as she reached out to take her lover's hand in hers. "Thank you, Alcina. I know we'll get through this together."

With the tension of the previous night lifted, the day unfolded with a sense of newfound peace and harmony. The Dimitrescu family spent the hours together, basking in the warmth of each other's company, the laughter of the girls filling the air with joy.

As they shared meals and shared stories, the bond between them grew stronger, their love for one another shining brightly amidst the shadows of their shared past. And as the day drew to a close, Y/N found solace in the embrace of her family, grateful for the second chance they had been given to cherish the moments they shared together.

[tosahobi-if]

GAME OUT NOW

Misfortune begets misfortune; evil will prey upon itself. Just as how the fox cannot live without the rabbit, the predator must understand what rises will fall.

Long before you were born, the Great Calamity, a calculated effort by Magyo cultists nearly wiped out the entirety of the Jungpa sects. If not for the noble sacrifice of the peerless Sword Saint of the Mount Hua Sect: the Divine Blade, Yeo Jinhu, demonic forces would have rent the heavens and the earth asunder.

Despite his triumph, nothing would ever be the same – the losses were staggering, the task of rebuilding the sects to their former glory seemed to prove an insurmountable challenge. Yet nearly two decades after his death, peace returned to the land once more.

After the death of your parents, you lead an ordinary, if not monotonous, life as the playmate of the spoiled young master of the Mount Hua Sect. However, all is not what it seems. Following the mysterious arrival of an amnesiac with strange abilities, whispers of a plot brewing in the shadows start to surface, and the world as you know it begins to fall apart around your feet.

Suddenly confronted with the uncertainty of the future, you must unravel the tragedy of what truly conspired all those years ago before you risk losing all you hold dear.

tosahobi (18+) is a muhyeop choose-your-own adventure game centered around elements of korean folklore and taoism in a tale of family, grief, and heritage.

play as a customizable main character: choose their physical appearance, gender, pronouns, sexuality, and more.

explore different relationships: from platonic to romantic to familial, build a variety of relationships with the cast (and hopefully make more friends than you do enemies.)

choose from different skill sets: pick between medicine, weaponry, tactics, and hand-to-hand combat. each field comes with its own advantages and disadvantages that affect multiple scenarios as the story progresses.

choice-driven story: with several routes and (many) choices, fail or succeed and find your way to an ending (whether it be happy or not.)

something is incredibly wrong: can you feel it too?

THE YOUNG MASTER

Yeo Jinwol of the Mount Hua Sect, is the youngest son of the sect leader. Contrary to his charming public demeanor, he has a childish side and can be extraordinarily stubborn. Having grown up in the shadow of his elder brothers he is fiercely protective of those he considers precious to him and struggles to measure up to the expectations placed on his shoulders. Assigned his playmate at a young age, whether you consider it fortuitous or not the two of you have been stuck together for years.

THE ENIGMA

Yul is your sajae, a disciple under the same master as you. Despite their amnesia, they're preternaturally talented at whatever they set their mind to. With strange yet unexplainable abilities that seem to stretch far beyond the scope of their powers, their missing memories may be the key to unlocking the answers you seek. Reclusive yet dedicated you'd almost think they were far, far older than their age if not for their intense sweet tooth and their tendency to follow you around like a very clingy second shadow.

THE PRODIGY

Baek Iseul, the Frozen Blade, is the rising star Emei Sect and has long been hailed as the next Sword Saint. Contrary to her cheerful personality you've never met anyone with a sharper gaze before. Hailing from obscurity, her power rivals even those who have trained for years and years, and has amassed an ever-growing collection of heroic feats under her belt. Popular and well-liked with a mischievous streak, you're really not sure why someone with such a promising future has taken a liking to you.

???

if to transcend means to leave the world behind, bind me to the soil so even long after my death, long after my body has turned to dust, i can find you once more.

[centrally-unplanned]

IRL (In Real Life) - Buffydom Propaganda And The Internet-That-Was

It is 1997. You just got back from the latest Hot Topic run to restock on whatever the most raven-black bomb of Manic Panic they have on the shelves is, so you can do double-duty bleaching your hair in the shower while watching a CRT TV precariously mounted on the lip of your sink. On that TV is the Season 1 finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and you are obsessed. Unfortunately for you, no one else in Bowling Green, Ohio, shares your passion for a CW WB show about vampire hunting teens who purposefully fumble their line deliveries. You are alone, and you have shit you gotta say about it to someone, anyone, who will understand.

Fortunately for you, the marketing team at ye old WB anticipated that their audience would be a bunch of fucking nerds, and boy do they have a solution to your problem! Welcome to the Bronze:

A while back I stumbled upon the inexplicable existence of "IRL (In Real Life)", a 2007 documentary about the community that formed around the aforementioned Buffy fan discussion forum/chatboard. Officially running from around the launch of the show until it switched over to UPN after its fifth season (with the forum dying a dramatic death in the process), The Bronze was a highly active center for the Buffy fandom, which generated several spillovers into real life. In particular, it was famous for the creatives and even actors on the show occasionally posting on the forum, which culminated in members of the community organizing a yearly party in Los Angeles where posters would fly out and be joined by said cast and crew. This documentary charts its culture & history via interviewing an array of its members.

As always, I am not here to give the blow-by-blow; instead, what is the narrative this documentary is trying to sell?

My previous documentary write-up was about nerd culture in the 2010��s; newly ascendant, growing confident in its own values and looking to justify that to itself, wealthy and with a developed enough ecosystem for crowdfunding to create professional, polished documentaries of its own heroes. None of that is true for IRL. Filmed on whatever camcorder/potato hybrid proto-Ebay would cough up from its zero-bid listings in a series of hotel rooms and people’s living rooms in 2003-2004 after the forum had died, this is the era of nerd culture at its most conflicted and insecure; mocked by the mainstream and unsure if it should be proud of that fact or deeply ashamed of it. And this documentary wears this conflict right on its sleeve; one of its opening lines is a confident assurance to the audience of “don’t worry, we aren’t like those nerds”:

Throwing Trekkies under the bus in the process, cold! Particularly given how it proceeds to barely even blink before pivoting to explaining their hobby of running “WITTs”, multi-day-long collaborative roleplays:

You are exactly those Trekkies my dudes; you weren’t just at the devil’s sacrament you were hosting it! "WITT" stands for Whedon Improvisational Theatre Troupe, you can't recover from that guys.

(I love how “dozens” is large by the way - it was for the internet in 2001, right?)

Anyway, beyond documenting the forum and its members, the conclusion this documentary wants you to hold is that the Bronze was a special place of real community, and it is a community of “normal” people, who made real relationships. And in particular, that internet relationships can be just as real as those found in meatspace, that these relationships transcended the digital and entered the physical; and that this is what fandom can be about.

I want to start with the ways that narrative was correct within the context of the time. I can actually explain that Klingon comment! I have one extant interview with the director of the film, Stephanie Tuszynski, and she put her motivation as follows: 

FFN: What made you decide to study Buffy fandom, particularly the Bronze, for your documentary? ST: The idea to do a documentary film about the Bronze actually came to me very early on, because "Trekkies" came out in the late 1990s so I was already a Bronzer at that point. And when I saw it I started throwing things at my television. I was incensed. That wasn't a documentary about the fandom experience, it was "hey let's find the most extreme examples possible and have a freak show!" It infuriated me […] It reinforced every awful stereotype about media fans while purporting to be objective.

It wasn’t a random example - the 1997 documentary Trekkies set the “standard” view of fandom as extremist oddballs, and Tuszynski specifically wanted to counter that. It was the early 2000’s after all, nerd stereotypes were strong, you had to fight them explicitly! In a society where there is strong background hostility to one’s identity, you will attempt to normalize it using known reference points; and certainly the people on these forums were more “normal” than the stereotypes admitted to because that entire binary framework is a dead end.

More importantly to the narrative is the online aspect, “making friends on the internet”. Another find I have is a blog post from a professor who used the film in a class; and in the film’s narrative of “people with no one ‘irl’ to share their hobby with finding friends online” triggered a debate around if the online relationships are “taking away” from in-person relationships that are presumed to be more valuable. A debate that still rages to this day over social media! But the contours were different back then, the internet was presumed to be niche, ancillary, and relationships made online in a completely separate box from “in person” friendships. The documentary goes to great lengths to explain that they were a real community because that idea is so contested. Ironically, they do this by emphasizing that they met up in person, hung out, attended each other's weddings, etc; as if only by meeting up in person could the relationships be validated as real? But you can’t truly fault them for meeting their implicit critics halfway in making their case.

So what can I fault them for?

*****

I was perpetually amused when watching the doc that they included two married couples in the filming, and for both one of the spouses would talk and the other would sit there, in silence, the entire time. Maybe they were members of the community and just not talkers; maybe their lines got cut in post. But what I kept thinking was that they were there selling normality to me; married couples are just inherently less oddball, less threatening, and in the era where “nerd = virgin” just less nerdy. Like with the Klingon line, there is an intentionality to the “just like you” vibe.

Which, as mentioned with the extensive forum roleplay, inevitably breaks down once the reality of forum activity is dug into. And I buried the lede here - you may have seen the title of the “longest” roleplay was “RTBS Soul Restoration Project”, but what does that mean? RTBS was a forum member’s name, and well:

Oh yeah, we are saving our friend from “a fate worse than death: worshiping Britney Spears” - welcome to 2001 baby! This is peak “nerd wars” stuff, the normies hate our shit so we hate the normie shit right back. Which is exactly how nerd culture was in the 2000's. I am not at all throwing shade at their tongue-in-cheek roleplay, resplendent in the ludicrously purple prose and asterisk-laden action descriptions as required by the early internet; but it sits in clear tension with some of the other messaging in this film. Leave Britney alone guys!

The documentary highlights a number of common practices from the forum - people doing daily greetings, the way that it being one unending massive chain of posts with no threading or topics meant people would mass-tag individual people to respond to and form “circles” that way - but there are things it leaves out. I did what any normal person would do after watching this documentary and read through over a year of archived posts on The Bronze to understand the community - but man did I not have to, as on literally the first page of my archived link I see:

And through God’s good grace that second link is archived:

Yes there are pictures at the link, and yes later on it does compare Buffy’s cleavage to the Mona Lisa. (The Giles link is not quite functional, but I was able to find it; sadly it is not nearly as thirsty)

I also found these “onboarding” sites for new members. Remember, this forum was the official forum, which meant there were no community mods or ability to “pin rules”, it was pure anarchy - so advice filled the gaps. And one of the bigger ones, in its *sighs and rubs forehead* blue font on black background, warns against “hottie posting” aka talking about how hot say Angel is, not because it isn’t allowed, but because it is like “pointing out the sky is blue” - it is so common that it will just get washed out.

It might seem like a similarly sky-is-blue comment to note that this forum was heavily about shipping, hotness discussion, fanfiction, and the like. Of course it was, right? These website “senior members” were trying to minimize it, police it, but it broke through constantly and also simmered under the surface through discussions and RP’s from my own review of the forum. The documentary, however, spends incredibly little time on it. Brief mentions of Angel fics, and no mention (iirc) of discussion of how hot the women were at all. Because once again those details really don’t fit into the narrative it is trying to sell.

At one point in the documentary someone notes how diverse all the friends they met in this community were? Which I broke out laughing over. In one way it is not wrong, I get it! Midwest college kids meeting people from all over the country, ages 40 to 14, talking about something no one in their podunk town understands. But on the other hand, you could not come up with a more standardized slice of humanity if you tried to rig it. Everyone here is an American+ with computer access in 1998, it is a grab bag of sys admins, nerd creatives, and comp sci majors.  I did a random sampling googling the people interviewed to see what they are up to now, and literally a third of them are librarians. Even their fashion is like God played a prank on this director; not even a 2000’s anime con panel lineup is this stereotypical in the combinations of alt-goth lit girls and nerdcore computer bros.

The evolutionary process of joining this forum -> liking it enough to go to the live meetups -> liking that enough to participate in a documentary about it was a pressure cooker spitting out only a certain kind of person. Which is truly fascinating to see on display! This is the internet-that-was; and it bleeds through the grainy film despite the director’s efforts at times to the contrary.

Though even then it was only a very specific slice of the internet-that-was, because this is a very special breed of Online; namely, the professionals.

*****

Something that is decidedly not typical of The Bronze as an online community is that, as mentioned before, Joss Whedon and other creatives posted on the web forum, answering questions and also just playing around, and how that led to in-person parties where both forum members and cast/crew attended - the Posting Board Parties, or PBP’s. At these they hosted fundraisers, talked about the show, and in the documentary one girl reverently describes with incredible Repressed Lesbian Energy her experience of seeing Eliza Dushku dancing next to her. The PBP had a panel of party organizers, admission systems to keep out the “undesirables”, budgets, the works.

All this the documentary shares openly; it is a peak moment where the digital becomes real in a transcendent way, opening doors analog reality never could. It is also a cold-sweat-waking nightmare story from the lens of a modern Hollywood social media manager; one person in the documentary tells the tale of how one time lead actress Allyson Hannigan posted her phone number on the forum asking people to leave her cute voicemails. The person in question immediately called, and got Hannigan herself instead of the voicemail, so they chatted for a bit (The guy telling this tale is obviously lovestruck; his wife is sitting in typical silence next to him). Today this would be a code-red, nuke your phone situation; but the circle was so cloistered, and the rules so unwritten, that no one cared in these early years.

What they share less openly is all the drama that went into this event. They wax nostalgic about how the parties brought them together, but what isn’t mentioned is the church schism it caused, as the moment cast from the show started attending the party it got mobbed by outsiders. By its ~3rd year there were approximately 400 guests but only ~50 or so were from the forum. They had a huge fight about it, the head of PFP planning committee - “Morbius the Vampire”, who was later jailed for financial fraud btw - told the dissenting faction why don’t they just throw their own party if they hate his so much, and so they did. There was more fighting about it, and eventually they held a peace summit at an LA joint called Mel’s Diner to merge the two factions together. (My source for this is a book, which I will link later)

Hilarious, for sure, but while so much of what we have discussed is “proto online nerd communities”, this part is most decidedly not. The typical web forum absolutely cannot replicate the experience of roleplay-posting your way into shaking hands with Joss Whedon and having a shitfight over party budgets in LA. But most posters never got to attend these parties, of course, this didn’t mean much to them. While for those who did, you cannot help but imagine that this played a gigantic role in making them all become a “real” community. And care enough about that circle to, well after the forum was gone, schlep to a hotel room to be interviewed for a documentary about it. Participating in a documentary is always, in some way, an exercise in selection bias; but here the pruning is turned up to 11 - this is a very elite slice of a very unique fandom experience.

*****

I have one deeper level to go on this thread, somewhat buried in time today, that further shaped the participants here: “Whedon Studies”. The 2000’s was not the birth of media studies as an academic discipline; but it was the birth of fandom-driven media studies, and Buffy was nearly unassailably the leading light of that movement. Academics hosted entire conferences (and inexplicably still do!) on Buffy, Firefly, etc; almost all from the lens of gender & media, as Buffy’s brand was deeply entrenched in that deconstructive milieu. This movement would die a fiery death during the 2010’s shift in media & gender politics, and when the controversies around the toxic working conditions on the set of Buffy/Angel led to Joss Whedon’s near-total expulsion from creative pursuits. The whole edifice is, in a deep way, “cringe” for many of its former participants today.

But what is relevant for our story is that director Stephanie Tuszynski was a full member of that movement; while composing this film she was, for example, giving talks like these at conferences devoted to the Buffyverse:

God that is a lot of talks. This film itself was her thesis project for her I believe philosophy masters, and in our scant interviews lists other fandom-academic film projects she wanted to tackle (which as best I can tell fizzled out later). And the interview subjects were often participants in the same space as well! Academic-types doing media studies with a Buffy bent, or things like culture writers for new media outlets. One of them, writer Allyson Beatrice, even published a book about the Buffy fandom that was in regular bookstores:

To quote the blurb:

A hilarious collection of true stories from Allyson's days as one of the Internet's leading cult TV fan gurus, her mind-boggling escapades include meetings with network executives in dark steakhouses to try to save doomed TV shows and one hastily arranged wedding for two committed Buffy fans. 

I highlight this not to say that academics cannot make documentaries, they certainly can. What I am saying is that if you point your camera at career Buffyverse writer Allyson Beatrice, and label her as a typical forum member giving you the hometown everygirl perspective on the community, you are, however unintentionally, lying to your audience. In its quest to give you the just-like-me Buffy fandom experience, what this documentary elides is that it is often giving you the lens of people who are fans of Buffy as a career. Those people are going to be bringing very different experiences to the table - of course they are concerned with sanitization, with nerd culture debates, the works. That is their bread-and-butter trade.

This dynamic bled into the forum’s day-to-day; there was a very clear hierarchy of “veterans” and “top” posters, who organize the live parties, have deep roots in the community, and even the ear of the show team...and everyone else. Particularly because as mentioned there were no rules on the forum, but since that can’t actually function in practice they self-generated community rules and thus their own leadership class. Cliques and groups were common and named, and veteran posters even had formally designated groupies:

I had also by this time become a groupie. I so enjoyed one particular Bronzer’s posts that she allowed me to become the seventh of her groupies. It was through groupie-dom that I got my first taste of firsthand WITT: several Bronzers, on the occasion of the birthday of she-to-whom-we-group, each took turns grabbing the microphone and praising the day that she was born. In retrospect, I’m not sure why we did this. But it was fun, and very funny, too, as we each took turns waxing melodramatic off the top of our heads. And from work, no less.

The source for this by the way is a 400 page ethnography of The Bronze posted by academic who did *cough* “field research” there; I am sure their membership in the “Bronzers Adoring Darla” fangroup was purely for comprehensive data collection purposes.

And to emphasize, I am not saying this is problematic or anything - the groupie things were all in good fun, best I can tell. I simply aim to showcase how the Bronze wasn’t just a baby version of online fandom forum dynamics; but also a baby version of e-celebrity mechanics. Something the documentary does not even attempt to touch on because that would be something normal people would not understand.

*****

All of the above may have come off like one big roast, and it is a little bit, but as I have mentioned before every documentary is propaganda. It is just impossible to have a tight film building a narrative out of the pieces of letting people speak to the camera without that narrative being but a slice of the truth those people want you to know. The Bronze web forum was a very special place to these highly invested fans, and this documentary is not lying to you about that.

But it is also a big part of early internet fandom! The Bronze was famous at the time, and it is right there at the beginning of so many shifts; the first generation of non-technical internet users, a new era of ‘fantasy’ media with the trappings of prestige and social critique, a boom in critique-as-community, and more. I very much want the full picture of that community; who made it up, what did they want from it and what did they get from it, and so on. No film could offer the full picture; this film’s homebrew rawness gives a valuable piece of it, and I enjoyed it for that. I just aimed here to draw out not only what the broader, more accurate dynamics of The Bronze were, but also the cultural question of why the film focuses on what it does, hides what it refuses to show, and what that says about 2000’s internet & nerd culture. Hopefully I succeeded in that.

And also to have fun looking at some incredibly dated Buffy fandom bullshit. May it have been fun for you too! {hugs you and waves goodbye}

[machineheraldbabe]

viktor, a messiah inverted.

arcane season 2 spoilers throughout.

I have a plethora of thoughts on Viktor's strictly season 2, act 1 arc so far and I'd like to get them down in writing before act 2 drops. without a clue about how this evolves in future acts, I'd like to unpack the ways in which arcane has painted Viktor not as a simple Christ-figure, but an inverted messianic figure in just 2 tight episodes.

important note: i'm speaking strictly in terms of literary/film analysis. as you'll see, i'm taking an archetypal angle and won't be evoking any true discussions of faith in this post. i would never want to offend anyone of any religious beliefs, and i hope the secondary source i bring in helps clarify my meaning <3

Lit scholar and professor Robert Detweiler, writing in a very old (1964) but useful article about Christ figures in American literature, defines 3 manifestations of such symbolism: the disguised biblical christ; the christ figure as "mythological archetype;" and the christ figure as a symbol. i'll be using the second definition, the archetype, which he defines as the following:

“He can be the redeemer on the supernatural level who mediates between God and man or the culture-bringer on the natural level who introduces people to a better life " (115).

*In general, when I'm talking about a Christ figure (which I'll then invert in Viktor's case), I mean a fictionalized account of Christ's experiences and teachings, in whatever way they can manifest in the corresponding literature/story.

Arcane is very heavy on archetypes, and this version of a Christ figure is the most divorced from any distinctly biblical iterations that would hinder an analysis like this one. This definition then invokes 2 main questions: who is the God, or the transcendent, in Arcane, and what is the "better life?" I argue the following: the transcendent would refer to the arcane itself, as it's the only larger than life force we have to work with at this point in the series; the "better life" is the healing Viktor is offering shimmer addicts. Culture-bringer makes Viktor into a bestower of the knowledge the he was "granted" from above (time away from Zaun, time spent enduring the Hexcore). His "descent" to the undercity represents a "mission" of spreading that knowledge and healing. All that, combined with a stunningly on the nose visual rework, he's got the full Jesus-Christ-Allegory package.

But I just don't think it's so black and white!

They've altered an otherwise one-for-one replication of traditional, overdone Christ, messianic allegories into an eerie perversion. I've broken that down into 6 main points...

An Unwilling Resurrection

As Viktor states very obliquely to Jayce, "I was supposed to die." 1x09 all but closes with Viktor telling Jayce to allow him to die by promising to destroy the Hexcore. With his time running out, Viktor resigns himself to his own death; he would even have something of a legacy, as pointed out by Heimerdinger.

But Jayce wrenches him back to life. Whereas a typical Christ figure, in Detweiler's view especially, would have this resurrection spring from a transcendent divine will, Viktor is fighting against said will. He rebukes the life that's been re-thrust upon him. So, while it may be a Christ-like resurrection on the surface, it's far from it in intent and impact.

A Concealed Crucifixion

Viktor's physical positioning is very similar to that of a figure nailed to a cross, sans the fully outstretched arms, in this full-body shot. Yet, whereas a Christ's figure's demise would most likely be displayed as a testament of that character's sacrifice, Jayce has concealed Viktor. He lets only his most trusted confidant, Mel, witness Viktor. Maybe Cait has seen him, too, based on her conversation with Jayce, but in general he's not been seen by a large audience.

The Empty Tomb

Christ's departure from the tomb after 3 days is crucial tenet of Christian belief -- Viktor leaving his cocoon/tomb is not joyous, nor is it a sign of transcendent prophecy. If the arcane is the transcendent in this case, Heimerdinger's frequent warnings about its potential for destruction do not promise anything good by its manifestation walking among the common people - a marked difference from a traditional Christ figure. The empty cavern he leaves is but an eerie revision of the stone being moved from the tomb's opening.

Blind Leading the Blind

Viktor is not on a divine-inspired mission; he's being manipulated to some degree by an entity that has invaded his psyche, taking the form of Sky. He's not piloting himself, nor is there a benevolent transcendent being guiding him toward spreading good will. Viktor is blind, not a teacher, and he leads the blind, the shimmer addicts, further into a darkness over which he has no control (yet! I'm confident he'll be regaining agency soon). Even his eyes, now without their old amber hue, point to the fact that he's not seeing nor living clearly right now.

Cultists. Not Disciples.

The blind in question are not called to love and learn from Viktor organically. Whether by implication or a plot device to expounded upon later, Viktor very frighteningly draws the shimmer addict (Huck) toward him and forces his power unto him. As far as we can tell now, the result was nothing bad, but the Sump addicts have bent their knees to him out of desperate fear, not benevolence or worship. The mercy he's extended them is inspired by the malevolent arcane, which seems hungry and commanding.

Enslavement to, Not Embodiment of, the Transcendent

While Viktor has consumed (or been consumed by?) the arcane, he still does not embody it. Despite aligning with Detweiler's "culture-bringer," Viktor can only maintain this for so long. His body is weakened by this episodic healing - he collapses after healing Huck the first time. And in the newly released poster, we can see what appears to be brown rust/rot beginning to corrupt his hand.

If Viktor truly embodied the transcendent, the arcane, it would mesh properly with his person. Instead, he's been enslaved to it. The degree to which it's currently affecting him may be up for debate, but all signs point to Viktor not being totally with us just yet.

In sum, Viktor has the superficial workings of a typical messianic symbol, but beneath the surface, the writers have made not an anti-Christ, but an upside-down version. If Viktor had malicious intent and spread what was outwardly harmful, especially inspiring that in others, then a new term may be necessary. But the tragedy involved in his story so far is that of attempted healing, attempted redemption, and attempted forgiveness all being corrupted by the transcendent arcane.

I'm very excited to see where they take his arc next. I like to think that this analysis can stand on its own, at least for now!

[alyrasturnz]

can you write a wedding day for matt since mr tough guy said some fucked up things about his wedding

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎TIMELESS

❐ summary » not even the relentless march of time, with all its cruel and unyielding nature, nor the finality of death itself, could sever the bond between matt and y/n. their connection, forged in the fires of shared experiences and deep emotions, transcends the temporal constraints and the veil of mortality, standing as a testament to a love that defies the very essence of existence and eternity.

❐ pairings » husband!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » none

❐ a/n && w/c » i hate this so much😣 my writers block is eating me alive • 1.93k

as you took your father's hand, he felt the profound weight of countless years of memories and boundless love. with each step he guided you down the aisle, the echoes of time resonated deeply, marking not just the passage of moments, but the culmination of a lifetime's journey.

your heels delicately pressed upon the meticulously arranged petals that adorned the ground, each step a symphony of grace. you watched as your flower girls, having fulfilled their enchanting duty, gracefully took their seats, their presence a testament to the beauty of the moment.

the sun was setting, casting a perfect tapestry of pink and orange hues across the sky. you chose the very beach where you and matt shared your first kiss, a place imbued with the tender echoes of your love's beginning.

when you reached matt, he paused, his gaze locking deeply with yours, silently conveying a profound symphony of love and pride. in that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the unspoken bond between you, a testament to the journey you had shared and the future that lay ahead.

he then turned to matt, placing your hand into his with a firm yet tender grip, a gesture that carried the weight of countless unspoken words. "take care of her," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, resonating with the depth of a father's love and the gravity of entrusting his most precious treasure.

a hush fell over the gathered crowd as matt’s eyes, brimming with a mixture of love and awe, met yours. your father, with a tender smile and perhaps a glimmer of a tear, stepped back, entrusting you, his precious daughter, to the man you had chosen. the weight of the moment hung in the air, a silent testament to the bonds of love and trust that had brought you to this juncture.

the officiant smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling with the gravity of the moment, as he began the ceremony. "dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the sacred union of matthew sturniolo and y/n l/n in holy matrimony," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of tradition and the promise of a shared future.

"today, we celebrate love, commitment, and the beautiful journey that matthew and y/n are about to embark upon together," the officiant stated, his voice imbued with reverence and joy, as he acknowledged the profound significance of the vows about to be exchanged.

"and now, we will have a reading from nick sturniolo, who will share a passage that holds special meaning for matthew and y/n," he said, as nick walked up with a small, tear-stained smile on his face, the weight of his emotions evident in his every step.

nick takes a deep breath, steadying himself as he prepares to speak. "in the grand tapestry of life, there are threads that shine brighter than others. these threads are woven with love, trust, and shared dreams. today, we celebrate the union of two souls whose threads have intertwined, creating a pattern of beauty and strength. as they walk this path together, may they find joy in the simple moments, courage in the face of challenges, and a love that grows deeper with each passing day," he said, his voice laden with emotion. the crowd erupted in applause, their clapping echoing through the room as nick, his cheeks still glistening with tears, took a moment to compose himself.

with a small, heartfelt smile, he nodded to the couple before making his way back to his seat, each step measured and deliberate, the weight of the moment settling upon him.

your eyes welled with tears, the emotion swelling within you until it could no longer be contained. the tears found their way down your cheeks, tracing a path of raw, unfiltered sentiment, each droplet a testament to the depth of feeling that coursed through you in that poignant moment.

if someone had approached your younger self and foretold that you would one day stand here, side by side with matthew sturniolo, you would have scoffed at the notion. with a dismissive wave, you would have told them to kick rocks, utterly incredulous at the idea. the very thought would have seemed so far-fetched, so beyond the realm of possibility, that you would have dismissed it as nothing more than a fanciful tale. yet, here you are, defying the expectations of that younger self, living a reality that once seemed impossible.

"matthew and y/n, please join hands and exchange your vows," the officiant intoned, their voice a gentle command that pierced through the fog of your reverie, snapping you back to the present moment.

you lift your gaze to meet matt's, his eyes brimming with unspoken emotion. as you place your hands within his, the weight of the moment settles upon you, each touch a silent promise of the journey you are about to embark upon together.

"y/n, from the very first moment our eyes met, i felt an unspoken connection, a bond that transcends time and space. you are my anchor in the storm, my sanctuary, and the most precious gift life has bestowed upon me. your unwavering kindness, your boundless strength, and your infinite love have taught me what it truly means to be loved unconditionally. today, i pledge to be your steadfast partner, to stand by your side through every joy and every trial. i vow to share in your laughter, to soothe your tears, and to walk with you through every chapter of our lives. our story began the very second i found you on the swings when we were little, and from that moment, i knew you were destined to be a part of my life. you are not just my best friend or my soulmate; you are the very heartbeat of my existence. as we journey together, may our love be the eternal flame that guides us, illuminating our path and warming our hearts. with you, i have found my true home, my forever. and even when our earthly journey ends, not even death can do us part. i will find you in another life, for our souls are eternally intertwined. i will love you farther than the point when our bodies decay, for our love transcends the physical realm. with you, i am home," matt said, his voice cracking every now and then, each word laden with emotion. you let out a soft giggle, closing your eyes with a smile, feeling the weight of his words settle deep within your heart.

"in another life, you still would have turned my head. from the moment our eyes met, i knew my heart had found its eternal home. life is far too fleeting to love you in just one lifetime, so i vow to seek you out in all my other existences, to cherish every moment we share. from that first glance, my soul recognized yours, as if we were two halves of a whole finally reunited. your presence bestows upon me a sense of peace and completeness i had never known before. each day with you is a blessing, and i am endlessly grateful for the love we share. i pledge to stand by your side, through every joy and every challenge. i promise to be your rock, your confidant, and your greatest supporter. our love is a timeless melody, and i am grateful for every note we compose together. together, we will weather the storms and bask in the sunshine, knowing that our bond grows stronger with each passing day. with this ring, i pledge my eternal love, my unwavering commitment, and my deepest respect. for in every lifetime, in every era, it has always been you. you are my past, my present, and my future, and i will cherish you always, with every beat of my heart," you respond, your voice brimming with an emotion you never knew existed, every word resonating with the depth of your love. your hands tremble slightly as you reach out, gently clasping their fingers, feeling the warmth of their skin against yours.

your eyes lock, and in that instant, the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you standing in the timeless moment. a tear escapes, tracing a path down your cheek, embodying the profound connection you share.

matt's smile was a tender curve of reassurance, a silent promise that echoed in the quiet space between you. he gently disengaged your hands, the brief separation a whisper of cool air against your skin. his hand ascended with deliberate grace, each movement a delicate choreography of care. he cupped your face with a reverence that spoke volumes, his thumb tracing the path of your tears with an almost sacred tenderness.

the touch was more than just skin against skin; it was a balm for your soul, a wordless vow of unwavering support. after wiping away the remnants of your sorrow, he reclaimed your hand, the reconnection a reaffirmation of the bond that anchored you both.

"might i request the rings now?" the officiant intoned, his voice a blend of solemnity and anticipation. madi and chris approached with measured steps, their movements imbued with the gravity of the moment, the air thick with the weight of unspoken vows about to be sealed.

madi and chris, their faces awash with emotion, gently placed the rings into the officiant's waiting hand. as they turned to walk away, tears cascaded down their cheeks, each drop a testament to the profound significance of the moment.

"these rings stand as eternal emblems of your unwavering love and commitment," the officiant proclaimed, his voice resonating with solemnity. "matthew, please take the ring and place it upon y/n's finger, repeating after me." as he handed the ring to matthew, the moment seemed to crystallize.

"with this ring, i thee wed," matthew intoned, his words a binding promise woven into the fabric of their shared future. a gentle smile curved on his lips, a tender expression that spoke volumes, as he carefully slid the ring onto your finger.

"y/n, please take the ring and place it upon matthew's finger, repeating after me," the officiant instructed, his voice imbued with a solemn gravity. as he handed the ring to you, the atmosphere seemed to thicken with anticipation.

"with this ring, i thee wed," you echoed, your voice carrying the weight of a timeless vow. you lift your gaze to meet matt's eyes, a profound connection shimmering between you, as you delicately slide the ring onto his finger.

the officiant gazes at the both of you with a gentle, knowing smile. "by the power vested in me," he intones with a voice rich in solemnity, "i now pronounce you husband and wife. you may kiss the bride."

you gaze at matt with a radiant smile, your eyes locking in a moment of profound connection. slowly, you wrap your arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of his presence enveloping you. his hands, gentle yet firm, find their way around your waist, pulling you ever closer.

as your lips meet in a tender, heartfelt kiss, the world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this sacred moment. tears of joy cascade down your cheeks, mingling together in a shared expression of overwhelming emotion.

the crowd, witnessing this beautiful union, erupts in a symphony of applause, their claps echoing the joyous celebration of your love. amidst the applause, you feel the weight of this moment, a culmination of your journey together, filled with trials and triumphs, now sealed with a kiss that speaks of a future bound by love and understanding.

[herlondonboy]

arms tonite, clarisse la rue

summary: I cry in the afterlife I cry hard because I have died, and you're alive I try to escape afterlife I try hard to get back inside your arms alive VERY loosely based off of this request

warnings: mc death obviously, sad everyone, my lack of knowledge on the battle of manhattan because i read the books 7 years ago

wc: 1.7k

you sit against the ancient tree, the bark rough against your back, a painful reminder of the chaos that unfolded. your fingers clutch your stomach, the pain intensifying with each passing moment, a stark contrast to the distant roars of battle. your chest throbs where the drakon's claws had viciously slashed you moments ago.

the air is thick with tension as you watch your friends and family, armed and determined, engage in the fierce battle of manhattan. the clash of weapons, the echoes of spells, and the monstrous roars resonate through the air, creating a cacophony that drowns the world around you.

your gaze shifts from one familiar face to another, each caught in the chaos of combat. the weight of your injuries pales in comparison to the heaviness in your heart as you realise the magnitude of the conflict. the realisation that more lives are at stake than just your own sends a shiver down your spine.

tears blur your vision as you witness the sacrifices being made for the greater good. the ground beneath you trembles with the resonance of battle, a painful reminder of the fragile line between victory and defeat. you wipe away the tears, a silent vow to honour those who fight alongside you.

despite the searing pain and the exhaustion that threatens to consume you, you summon the strength to stand. your every step is a battle against your own limitations. as you move towards the frontline, determination replaces despair. the stakes are too high, and you refuse to let the sacrifices of those around you be in vain.

with each step, you feel the weight of responsibility on your shoulders. the tree, once a refuge, now seems like an anchor holding you back. but you press forward, driven by a desire to protect the ones you love.

the battlefield unfolds before you like a tapestry of chaos, but you find a rhythm within it. your own pain becomes a fuel, transforming into a relentless determination. you join the fight, your weapon cutting through the air as you face the challenges that threaten your world.

in the midst of battle, you catch glimpses of your friends, their resilience mirroring your own. the scars on your chest throb in sync with the beating heart of the battle, a constant reminder of the price of survival. yet, you fight on, not just for yourself, but for the future of those you hold dear.

the battle of manhattan rages on, a testament to the strength of the human spirit in the face of adversity. and as the dust settles, you stand amidst the fallen, a survivor, a witness to the sacrifices that define the heart of heroes.

locked in the chaos of battle, your eyes meet clarisse's across the tumultuous field. the concern etched on her face speaks volumes, a reflection of the scars left by the loss of silena beauregard. the memory of silena's sacrifice lingers, and clarisse fears history may repeat itself.

summoning every ounce of energy within you, you manage a reassuring smile for clarisse, a silent promise that you'll make it through. the connection between you two transcends the battlefield, a source of strength that fuels your determination.

as you let out a ferocious battle cry, it echoes through the turmoil, a proclamation of defiance against the forces that threaten your world. the resonance of your voice, joined by the battle cries of others, creates a symphony of resistance that shakes the very foundations of the battleground.

with renewed vigour, you charge back into the fray, your weapon slicing through the air as you engage with the enemies that stand before you. clarisse fights by your side, a formidable duo that refuses to be broken by the looming shadows of kronos.

the battlefield becomes a dance of blades and magic, each movement a calculated effort to turn the tides of war. your connection with clarisse strengthens your resolve, and together you weave through the chaos, fighting back the forces of darkness.

clarisse's concern transforms into determination as she witnesses your tenacity. the bond between you becomes a beacon of hope in the midst of despair. silena's sacrifice, though painful, serves as a reminder of the strength that arises from unity and love.

amidst the clash of weapons and the eruption of spells, you and clarisse carve a path forward. the battlefield is a canvas of struggle, but your shared commitment to each other becomes a driving force that propels you through the hardships.

as the battle unfolds, you find moments to lock eyes with clarisse, exchanging silent reassurances that you're still standing, that the darkness hasn't claimed you. the weight of her worry lessens with each shared glance, replaced by a growing confidence in your resilience.

the battle of manhattan rages on, but your bond with clarisse becomes a source of inspiration for those around you. the echoes of your battle cry reverberate through the hearts of allies, spurring them on to face the challenges that lie ahead. together, you fight not just for survival but for a future where love triumphs over the shadows that threaten to engulf the world.

tears stream down your face, mixing with the dirt and blood on your cheeks. the pain radiates through your body, each breath a struggle. clarisse's hands, stained with the battle's residue, continue to apply pressure to the wound, her movements desperate and unyielding.

"sorry," she mutters through her own sobs, her voice breaking with every apology. but despite the pain, you recognised the strength in her touch, the fierce determination to defy the cruel hand fate has dealt.

you wince as her hands press against the wound, the searing pain intensified by the pressure. your breath catches, and you find it harder to form words. finally, you manage to muster the strength to speak, "sto... stop!"

clarisse's hands fall to the side, and she looks at you with a mix of sorrow and regret. you can see the pain in her eyes as she watches you, helpless in the face of impending loss. "stop, please," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible over the battlefield's cacophony.

she apologises again, her hands cradling your head as if trying to shield you from the cruel reality. you can feel her trembling, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. in this shared vulnerability, the world around you seems to fade, leaving only the raw, painful connection between two souls entwined by love and loss.

as the battle continues to rage, clarisse stays by your side, her gaze fixed on your face. the chaos unfolds around you, a stark contrast to the stillness of this intimate, heartbreaking moment. in the hushed pauses between your sobs, you confess the fear that grips your heart, the terror of facing the unknown, of losing everything you hold dear.

"clarisse, i’m scared," you admit, your voice a fragile whisper.

clarisse's eyes well up with tears, but she brushes them away with the back of her hand. "you're not going anywhere," she insists, though the lie hangs heavy in the air, a bittersweet attempt to offer comfort in the face of inevitable tragedy.

the battlefield's rhythm continues, a cruel reminder of life's relentless march forward. you feel the grip of mortality tightening, each breath becoming shallower. clarisse leans in, her forehead touching yours, a final act of closeness in the fleeting moments that remain.

in the quiet between the clashes of war, your final breath escapes you. clarisse's hands still cradle your head, her eyes closed, as if trying to hold onto the fragile threads of your presence. the battlefield's chaos, now distant, becomes the backdrop to a heartbreaking silence.

clarisse stays there, lost in a mix of grief and disbelief. the world around her continues to turn, but in that stillness, she remains with you, holding onto the memory of love and loss amidst the echoes of battle.

clarisse, fueled by the searing pain of your loss, rises from the ground, her eyes reflecting the torment that lingers within. the battlefield, now stained with the blood of the fallen, becomes the canvas upon which she paints her grief and rage. without you to return to, her actions are untethered, reckless in the face of her newfound solitude.

she charges into the fray with a ferocity unmatched, each swing of her weapon cutting through the enemy lines. the air crackles with the energy of her relentless assault, a testament to the storm of emotions that rages within her. clarisse fights not only for victory but to drown out the haunting echoes of your final moments.

as she carves a path through the chaos, a determination burns in her eyes, a fire fueled by the memory of your courage. the world around her blurs, and she becomes a force of nature, unyielding in her pursuit of justice. her every movement is a declaration that your sacrifice will not be in vain.

the battle rages on, and as percy confronts kronos, the culmination of their struggles unfolds. in the aftermath of percy's victory, clarisse stands amidst the wreckage, alive but changed. the victory is bittersweet, and the reality of a world without you sets in.

chris rodriguez, battle-weary and scarred, kneels beside clarisse. he sees the turmoil in her eyes, the weight of a heart burdened with grief and guilt. without a word, he offers her a silent comfort, a presence that understands the scars etched into the soul.

clarisse, attempting to remain stoic, fights against the torrent of emotions threatening to consume her. but as the battlefield falls into an uneasy silence, she crumbles. tears stream down her face, a torrent of pain and regret released in a torrential downpour.

"i couldn't do it," she chokes out between sobs. "the one thing i was born to do, and i couldn't protect them." the realisation of her perceived failure gnaws at her, leaving her vulnerable in the aftermath of the war.

chris, with a gentleness unexpected from a seasoned warrior, places a hand on her shoulder. he understands the depth of her grief, having faced his own demons. in the quiet aftermath, they share a moment of shared sorrow, acknowledging the harsh reality of a world that demands sacrifices, even from those who fight with everything they have.

as the first light of dawn breaks over the battlefield, clarisse rises from her emotional abyss, a survivor forged in the crucible of loss. the scars of battle may fade, but the wounds of the heart linger, a reminder that even in victory, the cost can be immeasurable.

you cried that night. because you died in the arms of your lover, and it couldn't have been more perfect.

[mrinafria]

Is Seon Jae corny?

One of the biggest charms of Lovely Runner for me is how it portrays a romance that is youthful, goofy, foolish and yet touches your heart in the most sensible and mature way possible. It doesn't forget it's a romcom at heart and serves us just that, so going into the show expecting a different genre is just unfair to the show (and yourself because you are the one setting yourself up for disappointment imo).

I'm not a big fan of immature childish romance devoid of any substance but that is not what we see here, despite Seon Jae being 19yo (or 20 or 34 yo). There's youthful anticipation, excitement and emotions but somehow Seon Jae's character (and Im Sol's character too, although she's always been 34yo in the main narrative) manages to transcend the notion of age and time with what he feels for Im Sol, the extent of it and the way he acts when it comes to her. Romance today is calculative and is often done in moderation, which is not necessarily a bad thing, because it is essential to learn to love ourselves too as we love someone special, but for both Im Sol and Seon Jae, loving themselves is also intrinsically connected to loving each other. Im Sol learns to appreciate life through loving Seon Jae, Seon Jae loves Im Sol because he appreciates what life has to offer.

This scene, for instance. I've rambled about this in the past too. It always warms my heart to see how, in all the timelines, he never gives up on life itself due to Im Sol not reciprocating his feelings/not remembering him. The guilt/heartbreak, longing and lovesickness are palpable in all versions of Seon Jae across all timelines but every time, he chooses to move forward in life (despite his heart being stuck in time with his Sol-ah), embracing everything life has to offer him. One of the things that becomes evident pretty early on in Lovely Runner is Seon Jae loves life. He may struggle sometimes but he doesn't think of it as a chore or burden to live on. He has things he cherishes, people he hangs out with, his dreams, aspirations, pain and struggle outside of Im Sol. He is not a pushover, he has stuff going on, he has a life. And he's not someone who'll casually say things like "I'll die for you" to anyone just to impress and get them to date him. Such grand statements don't usually make much of an impact on me as a viewer either but here, it somehow just works? Perhaps because we know he loves his life and wouldn't give it up no matter how hard things get, except for when he, his first and only love, part of his soul, is in crisis--tested by fate and time and death--and he is adamant about not letting it mess with his happiness, just like he wasn't ready to give up swimming despite Im Sol's warnings and his existing injury. That is the only time he'd make an exception: choose to live a short, worthwhile life, than live a long one devoid of any happy memories or love. It is not his childishness. In fact, he is doing what many of us can never, ever do. And perhaps that's why it doesn't sit well with some of the viewers; he complicates how we define love, happiness, fulfillment these days.

And come to think of it, he doesn't really say he'll die for her. He says Even if I die trying to save you, it's okay: it's a sad thing, Sol-ah. it's painful, yes, but it's okay. I might be worried for the remaining 14 years of my life, but that's because I'll have very little time to love you, to be in this feeling, to cherish the moments I make with you. I'll be sad that I won't see my first grey hair with you or be with you in so many of your big milestones in life, but it's okay. I'll try to make the most of whatever we get, now and tomorrow.

His sadness and heartbreak comes not from not being able to live his life to the fullest, but not being able to live his life with her. That exact same sentiment is conveyed by the final 2023 Seon Jae too, who doesn't even remember Im Sol or any of his old timeline versions and yet says the same thing.

The 2009 Seon Jae doesn't say 'I WILL die trying to save you'; he says 'if', there is a conditional. Even when he's aware of the impending doom, he doesn't give up on his life, on the 'if'. The guy with that face that has accepted a death that is yet to come, with eyes brimming with tears, with a heart determined to live hoping for an 'if' until then… when this guy makes such cheesy claims about his love and death, it's no longer an empty exaggerated promise. It hits a lot harder and leaves me momentarily breathless. That claim, stemming from the inherent human instinct to just want to be happy, and that non-calculative, selfless, pure kind of love, is exactly the thing I signed up for. That proclamation—simple, corny—is pain wrapped in momentary happiness, and my heart sinks, thinking just how fast he had to grow up in that short span of moments.

Ryu Seon Jae is like a North Star—he may not shine the brightest, but he shines bright enough in the same way, consistently, in every timeline we see him in. He is the star you could identify even in the sea of a million stars. Because that's how distinct his persona is. He may be corny and a loser, but he is corny and a loser exclusively for Im Sol, not in his life. That's the best kind of corny and loser one could find.

[krahk]

Blood for Ruin

Part One

Masterlist

Thank you all so much for the love and support for Part One, it is always so scary sharing brain children. You are all amazing.

Part Two

(Or, Alastor Proves he Makes a Shit Hotel Host by Bullying a Murder Victim)

By the time you opened your eyes, you had been moved to a bed, a comfy bed, in a warm lit room that was modestly decorated. And you were alone, thank god. Sitting up on the edge of the bed and kicking the sheets off as you straightened up. You stretched in a vain attempt to bring yourself some comfort, at least in body if not the mind. Doing this however, resulted in an immediate eye opening panic, because the sides of your arms brushing against either side of your head caught onto nothing.

Y’no, nothing. Nothing where ears should be. Looking around frantically, there was a cracked door heading into what was possibly a bathroom- please god, please be a bathroom. You body checked the frame as you ran in, muttering a whiny ‘ow’ before flicking a switch that turned on the overhead lights by the sink. Door open, lights on aaaand yep. Yep, yep yep. Ears missing. Hyperventilating now, you stumbled to the vanity and braced yourself on the ledge, staring into your own reflection as the panic began to set in.

Hell took your ears!? This was fucking ridiculous. Could one bitch to the devil? But also…how…how were you hearing? Because you definitely could hear. In fact you could hear better than before, like the wind outside rattling against something and a creak from the walls possibly 2 rooms over. Your brain might have been empty of explanation but your ears more than made up for it in what you heard. You leaned towards the mirror, turning your head back and forth trying to figure out what had happened to you. Then you felt it, a twitch, a little itch, at the very top of your head. Eyes drifted upwards to the pair of soft brown ears (?) That didn't quite point straight up, instead pointing more in a 45 degree angle. The left one was flicking of its own accord. The scream that left your mouth was instinctual, and loud.

Almost immediately you heard a knocking at the door and Charlie waltzed in, breathing hard, indicating the speed in which she came to your need. You spun around to meet her eyes, hands whipping to the very soft - so soft - ears utop your crown, breath shaking as you tried to get control over yourself.

“Ooohhh, yes, yes you’ve discovered your adorable new features! Thank goodness, I was so worried!” Charlie said, hands waving in front of her before clasping them together on her chest. “Everyone who comes to hell as a sinner takes on a delightful new appearance that reflects the way they lived and died! It’s a great way for you to meet new people and uh…learn to live a better life in spite of them! Many people take on animal appearances, my dad thinks it’s because every soul transcends the image of a human body.”

Still taking large breaths to keep yourself from screaming, your stuttering proof of your inability to form basic words, Charlie continued.

“Angel Dust is a spider, we think because he was involved in a ‘web of crime’ with his exciting mafia family - Husk…well okay Husk is interesting because I’m pretty sure cats in the overworld don’t have wings but he was a gambler before death so maybe he was just lucky to get wings too! You know, cards fell in his favour ha-haaa…” She trailed off awkwardly, face scrunching in a manner that you understood as her realising maybe she wasn’t explaining any part of this new discovery very well. She rubbed the back of her head with one hand, the other one placing itself on her hip. “Alastor is a deer demon, and it looks like you could be one too! I mean, you’ve got similar ears, although yours are much cuter because they are kind of floppy. And your nose is so cute! Like a baby doe! You’re pretty adorable honestly.”

You glanced at the mirror again, hands finally falling to your face to rest on your chin with your fingers covering your mouth lightly, spaced apart to allow your haggard breathing to come in and out. She was right, you did have a cute nose, it was similar to Charlie’s in appearance, and your ears did closely resemble the ears of a hooved forest animal. They reminded you of a mule deer's ears, the only deers you ever saw in Oregon (where your home was). Looking closer at yourself without the same level of panic your eyes moved back and forth rapidly taking in the new details of your person. Your skin all around was a sort of fawn colour, if fawn the colour could look dead. It was as if Bambi had died and his fur turned an ashier colour devoid of the warmth of active blood. That was you! Your ears were a dark blonde peppered with black, complimenting the soft blondish brown of your hair. Fingertips and nails were black, the black creeping up your arms before ending below the sleeve of your short sleeved pyjama top. You looked down and poked your foot out a bit to see if your lower limbs matched and hooray…they did.

In another world, maybe one where this was a costume, you would admit that you were cute out loud. However denial was still the leading emotion so you just slightly nodded at yourself before slowly turning around to face your gracious host once more.

“So. I’m a deer, so that’s a fun new fact…will I stay this way while I’m…here?” You winced at your admission of hell being your new place of residency.

“Yup!” Charlie replied in a chipper voice.

”And if I manage to get to heaven…will I change into something new?”

Charlie paused, the hand that was on her head had shifted to her chin, finger now tapping in pensive thought. “Hmm, I’m not sure? But from what my dad has said, humans who go up to heaven also take on forms that reflect their earthly life. Soooo you would probably stay a deer.”

”How would your dad know? Can we talk to the people in heaven?” This casual conversation was helping hasten the subsiding panic.

“Uh no. Heaven and Hell are pretty much separated all the time, except for the extermination BUT we’re working on that…My dad is Lucifer. Like the archangel!”

Your face was in obvious shock. Jaw dropped lightly and your hands came to your sternum, and you gaped at Charlie with wide eyes. “Lucifer? Like…the Devil? Satan himself?” What the actual fuck, why was your luck so cursed?

Charlie rocked back and forth on her heels, slightly grimacing from your comments before answering. “Yes, my dad is the Devil - but Satan is his own person, lots of people get them confused, much to dad’s chagrin. Lucifer Morningstar is my dad, the Devil, the King of Hell, fallen angel, and Satan is just the Lord of Wrath. It’s all very simple once you’ve been here a while.” Charlie had come to your side and wrapped her arm around your shoulders to walk you out of the bathroom. ”You should really join us downstairs for a proper tour, breakfast was over a while ago but we might be able to find some lunch in case you’re hungry.”

Your stomach rumbled at the thought of food. Was Hell just like Earth, but scarier? And redder? Would you need to get a job? Pay taxes? Oh good god, was Hell was just the worst part of living on monotonous repeat? Brutal. And certainly great punishment.

“We can work on getting you some more personal clothing later, but you are Vaggie look to be around the same size so she’s dropped off a few pieces just to get you in gear for redemption! I should probably go tell the others that you’re fine. I can’t wait for you to join us!” Charlie was so sickly sweet it was crazy to think she was the daughter of the Devil. She was too cheerful for a normal person, never mind a demon. She waved to you and said bye before closing the door as she exited.

Picking up the first couple of pieces in the donated pile, you dressed yourself in a shorter dress with a billowing skirt oh my god you have a tail ignore it ignore it ignore it and thicker grey socks that went all the way up to the middle of your thighs, covering up your black skin meeting up with the length of the dress. The dress was a softer white colour, not as bright as a crisp, new piece, this was a well loved item. No complaints, it was broken in and you were grateful for the gift. The only questionable features were the X’s that were placed directly over the nipples of the top. That was…quite the fashion statement. No time to be picky, something would be better than the pyjamas you died in. No shoes were provided so you simply walked out of the room into the hallway without.

The hallway appeared neverending from both sides, the detailed wallpaper and carpet going for visual miles. Which way was the right way? Good thing you were unconscious when you were brought up here, makes it much easier to retrace your steps. You were grateful for your giant new ears because it seemed like you could follow the sound of chatter down a hall.

Frowning, you let instinct take over and you went to the right. You were passing a door on your left and you felt the hair on your body begin to rise, a staticky sensation passing over your skin. It was a similar feeling to when you would take a giant fleece blanket out of the dryer when it was still warm. You shuddered and made an audible noise of discomfort. Thankfully it appeared that you chose the right path however, since you found yourself at a set of stairs that appeared to curve to the lower floor. You could hear the chatter clearer- “She screamed at the mirror? She’s adorable! She coulda been a worm or a giant slug or-” You shook your head, attempting to ignore the conversation you were accidentally eavesdropping on. A click was heard behind you and you whipped around to face the creature that resulted in your uncomfortable welcome to the hotel in the first place.

Alastor.

Now that he wasn’t talking and simply staring at you, analysing your being, you could really take in his face. Large, red eyes with a frightening depth to them were framed by darker red skin on his lids, his nose somehow sharp but similar to your own, his was more nose-like however. His smile was the worst part though. You were unsure of what could possibly make him smile so wide. His teeth were very large, and clean despite their colour. Strange for a person framed after a prey animal to have such sharp teeth, and you instinctively ran your tongue over your own behind your lips to discover sharper canines only, nothing comparable to the man in front of you.

In the silence his eyes narrowed and focused on you, making his face far more intimidating. Again, an unintentional shiver ran down your back and you shuddered under his gaze. You were a startled deer, caught in his frightening gaze. You were so unsure and uncomfortable with the situation that you had completely missed that he said something to you. You closed your eyes and shook your head to get out of your thoughts.

”Pardon? I’m sorry, I missed what you said there.” You admitted with crossed fingers that he would accept the apology.

”Yes, clearly. I merely asked you if you slept well! You took quite a nasty fall to the floor! Generally people know my history before I can make them faint from fear so I will accept the compliment. It appears as if my sabbatical has had very little effect on my presence.” He bowed slightly in a polite manner, arm crossing over his stomach as he did so, the other arm holding a microphone that was promptly used as a cane once he came up from his polite gesture. You had done a small curtsy in return, awkwardly grabbing the side of the small skirt to fulfil the action. He appeared to nod in acknowledgment, hopefully appreciating the polite return.

Your arms dropped back to your side as you processed what the man had said. Things were only going to continue to confuse you. This was all a nightmare, honestly.

“Now, on to a more serious matter,” He snapped his fingers, and the both of you were in a different room. Two chairs to your left were angled around a small table, the little radio featured on top of it. God damn it that fucking thing again. Farther behind one of the chairs however, the room opened into a bayou swamp environment - dark, marshy and foggy, the eerie sounds coming from it promised danger of an unknown kind. What kind of place was this? You could feel your ears flick from the ambient sounds coming from the strange forest as Alastor continued his interrogation. Walking to the antique, he asked “What were you doing with my radio, my dear?” Gesturing with his free hand to the little machine.

You essentially vomited out the story behind it, where you found it, why you were there, the reason you took it home with you. He listened intently, glancing at it once you finished your very brief history with the item. It truly wasn't a scandalous thing that you pilfered from some ritzy location, you salvaged it from a hoarder's house after it was put there by a woman with an obsession with Antiques Roadshow.

“If it is yours, why did it come here with me? Charlie said that possessions don’t follow souls into hell, but this did?” You inquired, hoping perhaps he held the answer.

Alastor became pensive “Hmmm. It is quite peculiar that it came with you. What were you doing with it? Please do not miss a single detail my dear, I am curious about our situation.

You frowned. What else other than grabbing the cord as you fell back? You listed out your actions on your fingers, reciting out loud the steps you took before your death. When you landed on the finger you paired with ‘took the back panel off-‘ he shouted a sharp ha-Hah! Confused and with a frown you continued, ending with cutting your hand on it before putting everything back together and heading to bed. Well, then dying. The actual ending.

“Are you sure that was all you did? Do not leave a single detail out, or you might regret it.” A sound attune with a record scratch sound from nowhere as you stared at the demon. Took radio home, took radio apart, bled on the radio, cleaned blood off the radio - your eyes went wide. And you silently checked off a step you missed in your story. You had cleaned blood off the symbols in the radio, the ones that looked like they themselves had been written in blood. Alastors gaze sharpened at your realisation.

“On the panel, inside the radio…” You started, “There were these symbols inside of it, I didn’t really get a good look at them before cutting my hand open,” You absentmindedly looked at your palm only to see a bright white scar where the long cut once was. Already? A Scar in hell? Alastor had stalked towards you and grabbed your hand to look at it. The air around the two of you was suffocating. It was difficult to think straight with him in front of you. And you were suddenly hyper aware of yourself, and him. Holding your hand was almost too much to handle and you tried to pull it back only for him to grip harder, nails pressing into your hand painfully. He raised his other hand palm up and held it beside yours. A matching scar was present. He frowned, though his smile was still prominent.

Dropping your hand he returned to the radio and black shadow tendrils rose from the floor and grabbed it, taking pieces off and placing the back panel of it in his hands. In silence he looked at the mess before entering into a low laugh, one that increased with each breath before he was near hysteria. His figure increased in size, antlers growing in size from his head, limbs lengthening - he swung his head to face yours as his figure started to loom over yours.

“Well my dear, we seem to have a problem” he said in a strange, distorted voice, his figure still looming. “You have compromised some old runes within my radio…it could possibly explain how you ended up here, with us, looking as you do.” Halfway through his terrifying statement he had returned to his ‘normal’ form and fluffed out the lapel of his coat as he did so. Eyes returning to yours the room became darker, and green symbols similar to the ones in the radio appeared on the floor, some appearing to raise up and float around the two of you.

“You will not mention any part of this radio or what you know of it, including where it was found or how you came into possession with it. You will not let others know of how your scar came on your person, and you certainly will not mention any of the runes you saw.” He wasn’t making a request, he was clearly demanding it. It felt as if wind was billowing his hair and coat as his eyes took on a much brighter look. ”If you do, I promise you will regret having ever come here and I will devour your soul only after a long and painful torture, am I clear?” You nodded in acknowledgement, knowing that the only reason you had not thrown up yet was the complete lack of food in your system, though the bile was resting at the back of your throat from fear.

He raised his hand to yours in a handshake motion, beckoning you with the outreached hand to join yours with his. You grabbed his hand with your own, both scars meeting in the middle, and they began to glow before he said only one word - “Deal?”

Well really, was there any other option? You nodded before he tsk-tsked your action, “I need vocal consent my dear, it is required.” The last word turning dark with static.

“Deal.” You barked out, and as soon as you responded, the room reverted back to its original state immediately. Alastor took his hand back and wiped it on the opposite sleeve. ”Excellent. You may leave now, the stairs will direct you right into the lobby. Please tell Ms. Morningstar that my afternoon has changed and I am unable to join her.” The door swung open on its own accord and black tangible tendrils of shadow had all but shoved you across the room and out the door before slamming the door shut so hard you swore the wood splintered slightly.

You paused to catch your breath, staring at the door, which you now knew led to Alastors Room. On the other side you could tell he must have been pacing back and forth, his heels clacking on the hard floors as he did so. Soon after however, it sounded as if a wild animal was throwing furniture and ripping fabric, loud screaming as it did so. Not about to stick around, you sprinted to the stairs and nearly slipped from the lack of shoes trying to place distance between you and the Demon upstairs. You kept up the pace on the main floor until you ran past an open door and caught sight of Charlie sitting on a sofa. You entered the room, out of breath and slightly sweaty from the encounter upstairs. She waved excitedly before patting the open seat beside her for you to sit as she held up an apple in her other hand. You sat, accepted the apple and took a bite before looking at the Television and promptly choking as you watched a news anchor discuss something called an ‘Extermination’, didn’t Charlie mention that upstairs?

Thankfully, once things had settled down in your head, you found yourself swept up in trust exercises, oh goody. Thankfully this spiralled into chaos and you were glad everyone had simply accepted your presence without hesitation, there were far more exciting things happening. It was especially comforting that Alastor would be keeping his promise and leaving on an outing for the day.

****

I will add here, this will be a semi-slow burn. Alastor is aroace pre-reader, but with time things change. Time, magic, and forced proximity.

[proxi-dreams]

Three years after drawing my all time favorite Castlevania piece, I thought it was high time to Redo it after improving my style throughout those years! From my original penned piece from high school, to my first attempt at digital art, compared to Three years experience, I can proudly say that Lillies for Tepes is finally Complete!!!!

Their love is not only compelling, its a perfect example of both tragedy and hope. While Tragic that they were separated both by Death and their views on Humanity, their love was shown to transcend both differences and beyond even death itself. Therein lies the hope that while Dracula gave himself to the painful sorrow after her wrongful Death, Lisa achieved something no human truly had accomplished....she made the man Vlad Tepes see the good in the world before that, and in the end that is what gave him the awakening needed.

I'm very proud of this piece compared to the first, so shares, likes and feedback is appreciated! Also these will be available as prints and stickers, and for those that have bought the previous piece, show me where you put the OG Lillies for Tepes and you'll get a special discount!!

Penned art OG

Digital version OG

Art is mine

Castlevania belongs to Konami

[blingblong55]

The sun and moon-Vladimir Makarov

Based on a request:

Okay, but I was on TikTok and you’re the only blog I know who really likes Makarov besides me and 🙈😭😫🥰🙈 if you know the audio, that goes like 🎶 me and the devil… walking side by side 🎵 it made me think of him and reader and just, like… idk. Becoming his queen and I just love the idea of him seeing all this (whether he saw it from the beginning or noticed it after a while/before anyone else) potential in you that no one else seemed to, and fosters that in you, making you two a power couple in your little dynasty. He may do the dirty work and have blood on his hands, but you’re just trying to do good and make the world a better place again, even if it’s by any means necessary. Idk. Maybe it’s also bc I also just love hades & persephone sm too and it also gives me the grumpy & sunshine trope as well in a way too but I thought I’d share bc I’ve been loving this thought so much 🥰😭🥰🙈 ---- F!reader, romance/fluff, established!relationship ----

A/N: making this honestly lets me be a little more creative so thank you! I just couldn't stop writing and I think this will be the best I've ever done

Russia is a place known to be cold, and really, for him this is what life is like. For you, on a different side of the world, it's more calm and beautiful.

In the world of cruelty, there exists a power couple like no other. Vladimir Makarov, feared and revered, walks the path of darkness, his hands stained with the blood of many. Yet, beside him stands y/n, his love, the queen of his heart and his guiding light. Together, they forge a new destiny, a dynasty built on strength.

He is a titan among men, commands armies with a flick of his wrist and leaves a trail of destruction in his wake. To stand in front of him, it so is in the presence of death itself yet, there is one who walks beside him, a figure shrouded in mystery and clocked in the endgame of your own making.

Y/n, they call you, a name whispered in hushed tones by those who have glimpsed her fleeting presence. To some, you're a beacon of hope, a flicker of light in the darkness, your mere presence enough to quell the storm raging within Makarov's soul. But who are you, his angel, who holds the heart of the most feared man in the world? Some say you're his queen, his equal in every way, gaze as steely as his own, resolve unshakable in the face of adversity. Others whisper of a love born from the depths of despair, forged in the fires of war, a bond that transcends time and space.

As the world trembles beneath the weight of their combined might, one thing remains certain: where there is Vladimir Makarov, there too shall be y/n, walking side by side, their destinies entwined in a dance of darkness and light, love and war.

Amid chaos and carnage that define their existence, Makarov sits by a window, looking out to the gardens. In the hazy corridors of his mind, he recalls the first time he laid eyes on you, a glimpse of beauty amidst the ugliness of war. "What's her name?" He asks one of his men. You stood before him, gaze unwavering, spirit unbroken. "Y/n, daughter of-" "go away," he says sternly and walks up to you. "As beautiful as day, Y/N," he takes your hand and kisses it. "Who are you?" Oh, that soft voice of yours that melts his cold heart. "Vladimir but you can call me Vovo," his accent rich and smooth.

There is something about you that sets you apart from the rest, that ignited a spark of curiosity within him.

"Makarov, war is on," a man walked into the room. "If you must excuse me dear, I have some…stuff to do," he walks out of the room as if it's just another typical day for him.

Days passed, and you were told to stay indoors since you didn't seem capable of winning a war, much less fighting one. And with one knock on the door, he walks inside, interrupting your train of thought. "C'mon, I'm not letting your beauty rot in this room," he says, extending his hand and you take it without doubt. "Where are we to go?" you ask.

"To battle my dear, but you'll stick beside me," he mentions, guiding you through the dark corridors.

And as he is called back to attention, the beautiful memory fades. As it fades and the present comes crashing back, Makarov is left with a sense of longing, a yearning for a time when the world was simpler, when he and you were just two souls bound together by fate. And though the scars of war may never heal, he takes solace in the knowledge that no matter what the future may hold, he will always have you by his side.

As the years go by, you two navigate the treacherous landscape of warfare. Where his iron fist strikes, you are the steady hand that holds the light for him to come back home.

You've learned a lot from him, from fighting to learning that not all his wrongs are from pure hate and cruelty.

It's a waltz, a dangerous, blood-driven waltz.

In the middle of all the turmoil in their line of work, there are moments of intimacy between you two, moments when they cast aside the weight of their burdens and simply exist in each other's presence. In those fleeting moments, they are not leaders of armies or the rulers of wars but two souls bound together by an unbreakable bond of love and devotion.

And though the world trembles at the sound of your names, Makarov and Y/N stand unwavering, their hearts intertwined in a dance of passion and desire. For in each other, they have found solace in a world consumed by chaos, a beacon of light in the darkness that surrounds them.

"Vovo?" you say comfortably in his arms. "Любимая?" (darling) "Will there be a day where this will end?" "Yes, but until then, I'll just keep holding you close," his warm lips meet your forehead.

They've said before that Makarov reigns as a formidable figure, feared and respected by all who cross his path. His domain is a world of shadows and chaos, where darkness reigns supreme and few dare to tread. You, you're a vision of beauty and grace that was consumed by war.

As yet another storm is to come, you and him stand together. "Don't ever leave me, okay?" he pleas. "Like I ever was," you smile.

In the shadows, he lurks and in the sun, you dance. No evil, no war and no man can separate you from the other.

It's beautiful, how you can be so opposite. Vladimir was midnight and you were sunshine. He preferred a dark room and a sunroom. Dark clothes covered him and you with warm and beautiful colours. It's a peculiar kind of love and it's warm. Loving the devil, loving an angel. The same story is told just like Hades and Persephone.

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[soapyghostie]

hiiii can i req a fem reader x dbd ghostface and legion of how would they react to readers backstory? before the fog, reader was a highly skilled and deadly merc (she doesn't mess with innocent ppl tho) who got nerfed by the entity 🙁 and became a new survivor, they found out all abt this when reader was telling her stories at the camp, and it also explains how she's so good at not getting killed pls and ty <333

I thought this request would be fun to try something a little different since it’s a very detailed request. I worked all afternoon on this request so I hope y’all enjoy. Now I’m going to go take a brain break…

The Ghost Face/Danny Johnson

In the desolated realm of the Entity, where the fog shrouds every corner and the survivors’ desperate screams echo through the air, a mysterious connection blossomed between Danny Johnson, the Ghost Face killer, and you. You are a resilient survivor whose past echoed with tales of life lived on edge. 

One evening, as the survivors gathered around the flickering campfire in the cold embrace of the Entity’s realm, you decided to share your story. The glow from the fire danced across your face, casting shadows that mirrored the secrets you held. 

Danny sat in the shadows, his iconic Ghost Face mask concealing any discernible emotion. As you began to recount your life before the fog, Danny’s curiosity intensified. 

You were a highly skilled and deadly mercenary, known for your precise tactics and an unyielding code that forbade harm to the innocent. Your reputation on Earth was both feared and respected, a shadowy figure who navigated the murky waters of morally ambiguous contracts. You described your missions with vivid detail, the adrenaline-fueled pursuits, and the high-stakes negotiations. Danny listened intently, recognizing a certain darkness in your tales that resonated with his own experiences. 

As you spoke, the survivors marveled at your tales, their eyes widening at the realization that this seemingly ordinary woman had once danced on the razor’s edge of life and death. But Danny, he remained silent, the mask concealing any emotion that may have betrayed his thoughts. 

You continued, detailing the night you found yourself ensnared by the Entity’s web. The mercenary who faced down countless dangers suddenly found yourself in a realm where the line between predator and prey blurred, and only survival mattered. The Ghost Face, still concealed in the shadows, felt an odd connection to your story. 

He admired the strength and resilience that allowed you to escape so many trials, but something deeper stirred within him. 

When you delved into the intricacies of your survival techniques during trials, Danny’s attention sharpened. He recognized the cunning strategies she employed – a result of her mercenary past. It explained why you never faltered, consistently evading the clutches of killers and outsmarting the Entity’s malevolent designs. 

After your story concluded, a heavy silence slung over the camp. Danny remained in his stoic silence, contemplating the revelations that had unfolded. He has never anticipated a connection with a survivor that transcended the typical predator-prey dynamic: an obsession. 

In the following trials, Danny found himself observing you with newfound respect. A shared understanding passed between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the shadows y’all both carried. As y’all navigated the fog together, Danny couldn’t help but feel a mysterious kinship with you, the mercenary survivor, who had faced down the darkness and emerged, still fighting.

The Legion/F.J.S.J

In the eerie realm between dimensions, where the Entity’s grasp manipulated time and reality itself, a new survivor emerged. This survivor was you who bore a mysterious past that surpassed the boundaries of the fog and was sought after by none other than The Legion – Frank, Julie, Susie, and Joey. 

The campfire flickered as the survivors gathered, each harboring their own twisted tales of suffering. Among them, you, a young woman, stood out. Your eyes held a glimpse of a world far beyond the fog, haunting memories of a life as a highly skilled and deadly mercenary. One night, curiosity seized The Legion. As the survivors shared their stories to break the monotony of their torment, you decided to unveil your past. Your voice, tinged with both sorrow and strength, resonated through the chilling air. 

Before the fog claimed you, you had navigated the shadows of society, dealing in a world of cutthroat mercenaries. Your skills were unmatched, your reputation whispered in dark corners. You spoke of stealth, precision, and a strict moral code that forbade harm to the innocent. The Legion listened intently, their interest piqued by tales that mirrored their own descent into darkness.

As you recounted your final mission before being ensnared by the Entity, The Legion exchanged glances, recognizing a kinship in the shadows. They saw echoes of their own stories in your struggles against a fate that twisted you into something beyond your control. 

You detailed your transition from a deadly operative survivor trapped in an endless cycle of trials. Your survival instincts, honed by years of dangerous missions, allowed you to navigate the fog with grace that often eluded your fellow captives. It explained why you danced on the edge of sacrifice during trials, evading the killers’ grasp with an uncanny ability.  

Frank, the charismatic leader of The Legion, felt a peculiar connection to you. He saw in you a kindred spirit, someone who, like them, had faced the darkness head-on. Susie and Joey, normally reserved and mysterious, found a silent respect for the mercenary survivor who shared their pain in the silent campfire tales. 

The Legion, usually united in their chaotic pursuit of chaos, now found themselves touched by your story. Each had faced the Entity’s cruel hand differently, but your resilience left an indelible mark on their collective consciousness. 

In the trials that followed, The Legion observed you with a newfound understanding. They saw a survivor who, despite the Entity's attempts to break you, clung to your humanity. You had faced the shadows of the world before the fog, and in the twisted realm of the Entity, you continue to defy the darkness.  

As they hunted survivors, The Legion couldn’t help but feel a strange connection to you. Through you, they found peace in shared pain and a flicker of hope that defied the unrelenting despair of the fog. And so, in the shifting shadows of the trials, you and The Legion danced to the haunting rhythm of survival, bound by the echoes of y’all’s shared pasts.