#I WOULDN'T HAVE POSTED IT OTHERWISE BUT THE SIN | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

edgeray · 10 months ago

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“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

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Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt.

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes.

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them.

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here.

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be.

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead.

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage.

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly.

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it?

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you.

"Someone wants you."

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight."

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight."

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else."

"They're not someone you or I can refuse."

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh.

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.”

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking.

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting.

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both.

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you.

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken?

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself.

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch.

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end?

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face.

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them.

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face.

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily.

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount.

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh.

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client.

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers.

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk.

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation.

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice.

“Sit.”

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own.

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin.

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave.

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly.

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin.

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson.

“Doll.”

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you.

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by:

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds.

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger.

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge.

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste:

They taste like sin.

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them.

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds.

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody.

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh.

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact.

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips.

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you.

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle.

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf.

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips.

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting.

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear.

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward.

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.”

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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danielsarmand · 7 months ago

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honestly i think what i don't understand is why people expect certain things from certain characters. like why do you expect armand to earnestly give two damns about claudia and madeleine, or about anyone else beside himself and perhaps louis, or lestat, or people he has personally developed feelings for and/or entertained a relationship with? hell, why do you expect lestat, even, to truly care about claudia? louis is the one who wanted her, and for his own selfish reasons, no less! to make himself feel better about himself, to feel righteous and good, to feel like he'd atoned for his sins, to feel cleansed. and sure, he came to care for her, to love her, but never enough. never more than he loved lestat, never more than he loved his own pride and hubris.

and that is because each and every one of this characters is selfish, has been selfish, will be selfish. vampires are monsters. they are what's left when you're no longer the human you were, and some of them weren't good people to begin with, and some others have hundreds of years of abuse and trauma in place of human bones, and most of the times both things are true. louis has been warned time and time again, claudia has been warned time and time again, they have even been warned—multiple times—by the people who ended up hurting them the most. they were told there's no such thing as a good vampire, they were told to keep to themselves, they were told to leave, they were warned both with words and with actions. they proceeded to ignore all the warnings, all the signs, and to turn into wretched little things themselves in the process, because that's how it goes.

it confuses me, is all, to see posts where people are so outraged about armand not doing anything to stop what happened, or about him manipulating louis into believing he couldn't, because why did you expect him to? armand is not a good, immaculate entity. he operates under his own set of morals, his own rules, always has. at no point in the show was the audience meant to be fooled by him. we were always meant to be wary of him, because he is a 500+ yo vampire and we do not have a single example in favour of any vampire, really, let alone one so old and powerful. you cannot in your right mind ask this of armand. you cannot ask of him to be a decent, morally irreprehensible character who does the right thing and saves the day, because he was never meant to be that character for you, nor was it ever implied that he would. you cannot ask someone to be something they aren't and then get mad when—well, they're not.

the show is set in a future where things have gone very clearly awry, and the set of characters we are left with were never meant to be easily digestible, regardless of what you wanted them to be. otherwise, they wouldn't be all we're left with. so by all means, be mad at armand, be mad at lestat, be mad at louis, curse their names until you can't anymore—they deserve it! none of them, none of them, is exempt. but the surprise? the absolute confusion as to why they'd do what they each have done? nonsensical. they did all of those things—and more—because they were never good enough not to. they were never heroes. that's really all there is to it.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #iwtv meta #the vampire armand #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #armand #iwtv spoilers #will i get anon hate for this. probable

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olderthannetfic · 11 days ago

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I'm so glad that nobody in my native language pulls the "write for yourself! don't want comments, feedback, hits, bookmarks, or interaction!" thing. In English language fandoms it's apparently a big character flaw or a sign of immaturity to want someone to read what you wrote. Meanwhile in my fandoms we're all completely honest about the fact that... yeah. If you post it, you would like someone to read it. Otherwise, you wouldn't post it in the first place. And there's never this competition to be the least interested in what other people think that USAmericans feel the need to do. Irony poisoning isn't much of a problem in our country so you can outright say, "It makes me happy when someone comments." You're allowed to be proud of your work and think it's worthy of being looked at.

Idk, I'm sure it's cultural. Pride is a sin in Christianity and the US is very Christian. But it sounds rough. I don't think I'd enjoy having to constantly tell people how much I don't care what others think and how I don't care if anyone reads my work. It sounds so insincere to me. I doubt it's much fun to constantly have to act unenthused in order to seem cool. And it's definitely an act. People who actually believe something don't have to chant it like a mantra at every opportunity.

A part of me is honestly really sad for people who get this angry backlash whenever they want interaction with their works. Fandom may not be a social hobby in the US. It's more mainstream, so it's not the same as it is here. But I love gushing about comments. I love replying to comments. I smile when I see something of mine that I worked hard on has been thoroughly bookmarked and loved. My friends feel the same. We gush at each other about comments and responses. We don't have to act indifferent and uninterested and go, "I don't care if I get comments, I write for myself" at others so they know we're indifferent and uninterested and write for the 'right' reason. I feel sorry for writers in the US. Imagine being sad no one likes what you've made and the response is that not only are your feelings wrong, your very intentions as the writer must secretly have been to seek validation and praise and fame, otherwise you wouldn't admit to liking comments.

Whenever I see a post going "I write for myself but I wish people commented" it kind of reminds me of US cosplayers. They slather their pictures over every social media platform on Earth. They clearly would like recognition for their work. But they have to start any complaints with the disclaimer, "I cosplay because I love the character, but-" so everyone knows their intentions are pure and so are their actions. There's a level of nervousness, of 'what will people think that I think if I don't use a disclaimer?' that looks miserable to live with.

You know, I'm getting awfully tired of you puling infants repeatedly misinterpreting "write for yourself".

As I said here quite recently, it's standard writing advice from outside of fandom. It means that you should make aesthetic decisions based on what you like rather than on a hypothetical audience.

The observation underlying this stock advice is that writers who write what they themselves think is good produce art that is more likely to hook an audience. Writers who are chasing after some audience whose taste they don't even share usually produce limp, uninspiring work.

Yes, there are some wackadoos who are like "I have no feelings! Community is a lie!" and think that makes them sound grown up. This isn't an American problem but an edgy (wish-they-still-were-a) teenager problem.

I dislike stats-chasing nonsense because it's a hallmark of the people who want to turn fandom into influencer garbage. I suggest people obsess less over stats because caring too much about the numbers tends to make people sad when they look at some juggernaut ship from the first peak in some fandom and then have unrealistic expectations. But finding community through fandom and liking to know other people enjoyed your work is commonplace everywhere.

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paradoxcase · 4 months ago

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Someone posted on one of the reddit asexual communities a bit ago saying that they thought they might be ace for XYZ reasons which were completely sensible reasons to think that, but that the idea that they might be ace made them feel sad because they felt like they wouldn't get to experience sex or sexual attraction the way most people did, and was that feeling sad thing an indication that they weren't really ace? And a bunch of us responded that, nah, actually that's a pretty common experience

But it made me wonder, like, is that actually a primarily ace and/or aro experience, because those identities are kind of necessarily about things you don't experience, or do other queer people feel this way, too? Like I've heard of people who start out with negative thoughts about being queer, but it's usually stuff like, I'm afraid I will be the victim of a hate crime, I'm afraid my parents will kick me out of the house, I'm afraid I won't have enough money to transition. I haven't heard as much stuff that's like, I'm sad that I didn't live up to my expectations for being "normal". I don't mean like self-hatred stuff, either, like not stuff like, there's something wrong with me, or I'm broken, or I'm gross, or I'm sinning against god just by existing, but just like, I'm sad, I'm mourning some life experiences that I thought I would have that I probably won't have after all

So, I'm curious what other people's experiences have been. Polls have limited options, so I necessarily had to condense a lot of identities into a few groups, hopefully most people are included here. If you have felt that way about multiple labels, pick whichever one you want. If you have never experienced this, just pick the group you identify most strongly with if you identify with multiple

Please reblog this, because if it only stays on my part of tumblr probably like 90% of responses will be from ace people

#queer #asexual #aromantic #gay #lesbian #bi #pan #trans #nonbinary #polls

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sissytobitch10seconds · 5 months ago

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So I'm going to go on a little tangent here. I usually don't do the whole symbolism is the actual meaning thing because it doesn't make sense to me most times.

But I keep seeing the take that the ending of the Umbrella Academy is telling abused people that it's their fault and they have to die for the sin of being abused. I don't think this is what the show was telling us at all, if we're going down the route of things not being taken literally.

When Five goes to Max's diner and meets all the other Fives, they're distinguished by one word in front of their name, which implies that they're not really all that different from each other. Otherwise, they would have chosen other names for themselves. This is an important part of my theory for what the ending actually meant.

The timelines fractured when the marigold was released and created the forty three kids. I believe that because Marigold is such a strong element that literally warps the environment it belongs in (In the comics Allison created a giant John Wilks Booth to kill the Abraham Lincoln statue that had come to life, Klaus can basically raise the dead, Diego can warp space to make things turn and move, etc.) it also fractured the bodies that it inhabits. It created life inside of those women and thus it's not that far of a stretch to assume that each timeline has a part of the people it created instead of it being the standard timeline nonsense.

I mean, if it were the standard theory with timelines (i.e. the timeline is always divulging with each action or inaction that we perform) then Five wouldn't have said they needed to come together. We have always trusted Five when it comes to timeline stuff before, he was intelligent enough to have created the Commission after all.

So if the timelines hold a part of the forty-three, then they have to come together for all of the Marigold Holders to be whole. Their souls may exist in the singular timeline where the durango has consumed the marigold, but we don't know that for sure.

Thus, because each timeline represents a fraction of our beloved characters, the ending where they die is not actually telling them that they have to die because of their abuse. It's telling them (and us) that to recover from abuse and become a non-fractured person, you have to let the version of yourself that your abuser created become a part of you or die off. I know that I had to let go of the person that my abusive ex-girlfriend made so that I could feel more like my true self.

We see Lila and Diego's three kids, Claire, and Lila's parents playing in the park in the end-credits scene. Umbrella Academy isn't a stupid show, it already showed us what happened when kids without parents are born. So it implies that some form of at least Lila, Diego, and Allison exist in the final timeline.

Thus, the ending is not telling us that abused people have to die to stop causing pain or whatever the inane take is, it's telling us that to heal you have to come to terms with all the parts of yourself and let go of the bad behaviors that you exhibit. I could do a whole other post about how the Umbrellas aren't really full people, they're defense mechanisms walking around in people-suits. Our Umbrellas aren't gone, they're existing in a better form and without the pain that Reginald caused them which would fundamentally change them as people and make them unrecognizable to us.

The flower represent the abused part of them, the powers and the Academy and the end of the world and the Commission and Oblivion, that still exists but is so small in their healed selves that they don't even have to look at it if they don't want to.

#tua #the umbrella academy #tua s4 #tua spoilers #the umbrella academy spoilers #the umbrella academy s4 #viktor hargreeves #lila pitts #diego hargreeves #five hargreeves #the boy #number five #luther hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves

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burnt-kloverfield · 2 months ago

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Just saw Heretic, the one with Hugh Grant and Sophie Thatcher and Chloe East, about the Mormon Missionaries.

It's definitely a scary movie. It tried to be mind bending and twisty, and it was, but not in the way it was trying to be. I'm just jazzed that there's a horror movie with Mormons.

It's definitely not a Mormon Horror Movie, just only slightly closer to a Horror Movie about Mormons. I did really enjoy this movie, but it was clear that it wasn't made by Mormons. Like there's a certain flavor of behavior that mormons have that the missionaries just didn't have.

Like I'm Mormon. I was a sister missionary. I was a dang good sister missionary. These missionary characters only vaguely resembled the sister missionaries I served with. Like, they've got the cardigan down. But otherwise?

I literally leaned over to my brother in the theater and went "these are really bad missionaries." Like they didn't actually even open the Book of Mormon. They didn't read a scripture. They didn't even start with a prayer. These gals had horrible conversation skills and absolutely did not teach anything. They came in totally unprepared.

Hugh Grant is perfect and phenomenal in this, and I have met so many people saying the exact same things he has. Countless people with his talking points. (At least until we get to the legit scary parts of him. That was actually scary.)(no spoilers because holy crap)

The last part of the movie felt rushed, and like something was missing, like they cut out scenes or something, but the ending was nice and a relief. Good ending.

It was a good movie. The thing was that the details that it missed were in the cultural aspect of how Mormon missionaries(and mormons in general) actually act. Like you wouldn't know unless it was your culture or religion, you know? Like, they didn't even have a Book of Mormon in hand to give him. Sister Paxton just had her one she had all marked up and sticky noted in her bag(she didn't even have her quad with her?). And the one elder that came looking for them? Where was his companion? There are few things that a missionary gets sent home for and leaving your companion is a big one.

I do appreciate the direction they took with Sister Barnes, of her being smart and logical and sincere and tragic backstory. Very perfect set up and good foil for Sister Paxton who was born and raised mormon in Ogden Utah with 8 siblings. And honestly, I am glad that she got to be smart, too.

But it was very clear that the actress didn't know how mormon behaved or acted. She didn't pray like a mormon. Any born and raised utah mormon is going to fold her arms over her chest and bow her head and start her prayer with Dear Heavenly Father. But Chloe East instead clasped her hands. I rarely ever see Mormons clasp their hands if they're not on their knees at the side of their bed.

Like, it's not like it's a sin to pray that way, it's just that there's a way people who were born and raised a utah Mormon move and act and speak. And this wasn't it. And I could tell and it was distracting.

Like Hugh Grant spoke more like a Mormon than the sister missionaries did. He got the wording and the phrasing and cadence right for certain things. Especially the little Morony vs Moroni mispronunciation thing.

It's just interesting how clear it is to tell when someone isn't actually a part of the culture just from mannerisms.

Sorry for the long post but dang, this movie was good, and could have been so much better, but how do you convey that there's a certain way that utah mormons hold themselves.

#heretic #heretic 2024 #and yes I know it's the church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints #mormon #i know that we're counseled to use the full name of the church #but this is about cultural Mormonism just as much as it is about how bad these missionaries for the church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day #they were bad missionaries okay #like they were bad at teaching and bad at following the spirit #this could have been a phenomenal movie #and it was off the mark #scary but off the mark

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ami-atmosphere · 4 months ago

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See What I See 🪞

[Read on AO3] [Full Illustration, R18] Pairing: Gale x Amihan (Tav) / WindWeave

Summary: Amihan is worried about her apparent lack of expression. Gale proves otherwise in front of a magic mirror.

Warnings: Mirror Sex, Vaginal Sex, Smut, Post-Canon

Word Count: 1.2k

“Gale,” Amihan whimpered. “Is…is this truly necessary?”

The couple stood bare in front of a magnificently-sized mirror, not one of their already existing mirrors, but one that Gale conjured himself with his magic– a demonstration, he insisted. Amihan had previously spoken of her dismay regarding her own inexpressiveness– how she knows she can appear distant and unconcerned, how it makes her feel unattractive compared to the blooming ladies of Waterdeep. Naturally, Gale disagreed with this notion and decided he must go about and prove that she already was beautiful and expressive.

“Of course, my breeze,” Gale replied. “Otherwise, I fear you would refuse to believe me, stubborn as you are.” He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“No, I want you to see what I see,” He whispered against her neck, voice dripping with desire.

A shiver ran through Amihan’s spine, and he smirked, feeling her tremble within his embrace. Gale knew she loved his voice, particularly when he’d take a more commanding tone. She loved giving him control, loved learning about what he likes, and that in turn was intoxicating for him. Amihan turned her face towards him, her lips parting and her eyes looking at him with that touch of innocence and pleading he loved so much.

“Show me,” she managed, voice wavering but still full of resolve.

“With pleasure.”

Immediately, his lips found hers in a heated kiss, his tongue gently coaxing her lips to open and allowing her very own to swirl with his.

“Mmph…” Amihan moaned in their kiss, her legs losing balance as he put more fervour in his movements. He was devouring her, and if not for their mortal lungs, he was convinced he would never part his lips with hers. Alas, Gale did eventually break away from the kiss, allowing the two of them to breathe, a thin string of saliva connecting them for a few more seconds. He marvelled at her reddened lips, her lustful gaze. Oh, how he loved seeing her like this.

“Simply exquisite,” he grinned. “Now, my breeze– If you would, please.”

His hand beckoned her eyes to face the mirror, and Amihan watched herself with heavy eyes. She never saw herself this way, never seen herself looking so positively sinful.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered against her ear.

“I don’t–” she tried to protest but was quickly interrupted by Gale’s wandering hands. One settled on her breast, while the other slowly moved lower towards her core.

“So sensitive…” he continued.

“Gale…” Amihan mewled, her head resting on his shoulder as both of his hands began to move simultaneously. He had always been a master of concentration and of the somatic component, and he capitalised on this skill just as much as his practised tongue on his darling wife. His hand below slid between her folds, feeling her slickness, coating his fingers with her.

“…And so wet.”

Oh, what he wouldn't give to have his tongue lap her essence at that very moment, but he relented. There are plenty of days ahead of them to do just that. Still, he found his hips moving softly against her ass, his hot, aching cock dripping generously on her ivory skin.

“Need…you…please–” Amihan begged, her voice ragged full of need. “I want…to see myself…as you fuck me…”

Seeing, hearing, feeling a person like Amihan, who's normally so full of self-control, calm, and collectedness, in this state, so deeply affected by him, begging for him— needing him. Him, only him. It was better than any pleasure the Weave could provide, and it’s a wonder he didn't burst right there and then. Of course, this was not their first time, but by the gods is it intoxicating, like anew, every single time. So how could Gale possibly deny his precious wife’s adorable pleading? When with just the sound of her voice, with the way she looked at him— hells , if she wanted him spinning around her during the act, he was certain to follow.

He lined himself to her centre, the length of him rubbing against her soft folds for some moment, coating his length with her fluids, breath hitching at the feeling. Amihan whimpered, he was so close but refused to enter still. Her hand wrapped around his arm, nails digging on his skin. His teasing was torture for both of them he knew, and yet that made their joining all the more rewarding.

With a knowing smirk, he finally let his cock enter her tight, warm entrance, and immediately Gale was reduced to a mumbling, grunting mess. He took a deep shaky breath to help himself recover composure and continue his hands’ previous ministrations, now joined with his thrusts, tender in pace but firm, and deep.

His hands were relentless in their attention to her body. One rolled a nipple between his fingers, while the other rubbed at her swollen bud, in time with his thrusts. Amihan bit back her moans, her eyes instinctively closing in her own attempt of focusing and recomposing herself.

“My love…my breeze,” Gale murmured between thrusts, “Open your eyes…you promised…please.”

“Gods, Gale–” She let out a needy whine, finding it hard to focus. Her eyes opened once more, and her gaze flitted to their reflections. Of Gale desperately rutting against her, and of her own wanton expression.

“See what I see,” he rasped with a wide smirk. “Look how alluring you are…how lewd…how expressive,” followed by indistinctive strings of praises against her neck.

Gale felt her clench around him at his words, making him drown in that sweet sensation of her tightness. His hips slammed further against her in response. Amihan held on to the mirror, watching her own expression with hazy, unfocused eyes.

“So perfect,” Gale began again, his grip on her becoming tighter, getting more possessive. “Mine…only mine. Only I get to see you like this. Only I…”

“Gale , fuck– ” Amihan cried out curses from her delicate lips. Gale could tell she was close, as was he. His thrusts became more frenzied and erratic, determined to make her reach her peak with him.

“Let go, my breeze. Let me feel you, let me see you,” he cooed, the hand on her breast moving up to her chin to keep her gaze anchored to the mirror.

“Can’t…anymore…coming…Gale– I’m–”

Her back arched against him, mouth opened wide, followed by a gasp and a shiver. Gale felt her contract around him and he followed soon after, spilling inside of her with more strings of incomprehensible praises, not quite as poetic as he normally preferred to be. He kept himself within her for a few more moments, burying his nose in her hair, arms still tight around her, savouring every last drop of their release.

“I love you,” Amihan whispered, her head turning to plant a soft kiss on his temple.

“And I you. I trust I have convinced you on the matter?”

“I don’t know…” she smiled playfully. “Perhaps we need to repeat the activity three more times in order for me to make a sound judgement.”

Gale’s eyes widened in surprise at his wife’s remark, then laughed.

“Have I rubbed off on you that much, dear?”

“Quite.”

#bg3 #gale dekarios #amihan silverwind #windweave #galetav #baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #art #gale x oc #bg3 gale #gale smut #bg3 fanfiction #my doodles #bg3 smut

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sweetshelluvaau · 1 month ago

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My copy and pasted post of a convostation I had with a firend about Mastermind.

Spoilers under the cut

Also the more I think about this episode the more stupid it is and how I hate it:

what does Andre gain for putting IMP on trial? Outside of three dead imps and a hellhound? It would make more sense to have Stolas on trial than Blitzo because he can use that as a power play

why wasn't Stolas not there to begin with? He's the 'victim' having his book stolen to begin with they would want his testimony. The only reason why they did it the way they did was for Stolas can see the execution on TV to come in like the big hero he is and save the man he loves gag me with a spoon please

it wouldn't make sense for Blitz to hire Striker because my God he's an imp don't they have little power to begin with? Plus Blitzo is also an assassin as he said he could do it himself. Wouldn't some of the Sins have some brains to figure out how stupid that sounds.

let's talk about Striker for a second. Why was he there? It was so ooc for him to even speak for a noble, let alone bullshit that they'd take his word over someone like Stella or idk fucking Stolas!?

Dude even Ozzie would call out bullshit right away too because Stolas told him about how Stolas wanted to set Blitzo 'free' and he has the crystal now so he can do his job legality. Of course you could have Mammon go 'of course the imp fucker would defend an imp' and that's what caused the drama to begin with suppose to whatever happened in the show. Stolas didn't give Ozzie the full story but still that's testimony enough. More than whatever bullshit Striker pulled out of his ass. Also: isn't Blitzo now under his jurisdiction anyways that could be used in their defense.

Stolas didn't take accountability for shit he kept singing about him being the 'Mastermind' but Mastermind of what you stupid cunt?! Yes it is his fault but not because he 'planned' this whole thing. He wanted to get sex out of Blitzo so he used his book as leverage to force that out of Blitzo but of course we can't have that now that would make Stolas look bad.

God the whole court plot was so stupid and poorly put together. I didn't care for the song it was shit minus for Satan because Patrick Page's voice is mmmm

Speaking of Satan: I like both his character and his voice which I knew was going to be the case anyways because um...Patrick Page but I wished they gave him a more regal outfit because otherwise I don't mind the design. Belph's design is cute but doesn't scream 'A Sin' to me. I don't like Levi's design it's kinda lackluster but I do like the idea of the two heads because 'two faced' I do think that was clever but not sure If that was Viv's intention or just ended up working out that way.

Stoltiz is canon, which means it's only gonna even more down hill from here.

But yeah those are my thoughts on Mastermind. Will I watch Sinmas? Nah most likely not but I think I had my fill of this show because there's so much horrible written melodrama I can stomach before it becomes too much. I only really watched Mastermind for Satan anyways.

#here goes sweets off her bullshit again #helluva boss critical #not gonna use the spoilers tag being i dont want stans coming down my throat just dont hace rhe patience right now #but its underrewd more so hopefully thet'd be enough

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justcallmecj · 6 months ago

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Pact Mark Location Headcanon: Asmodeus

Should I label this post as suggestive? Maybe? It's Asmo so I can't help but think his mark would be in some more lewd/suggestive places, y'know? Regardless, we'll see what I write out at the end of this. I guess this is a minor suggestive warning for anyone who may need it. Nothing explicit tho. Just now realizing Asmo has the most spots on my list...

Again, under the pretext that you are together, either all the brothers or just you two, you pick!

Asmodeus

Tramp stamp:

Again, Asmo's mark can have some more lewd locations

And there is something oddly fitting in my head about his mark basically being a tramp stamp.

I don't have much for this one other than a scene I can't get out of my head.

You in his room, or him in yours, chilling and getting ready for bed or having a spa day.

You're resting on your stomach for whatever reason and Asmo is just laying next to you, rubbing his hand against the pact mark and enjoying the feeling he gets from the fact it's sensitive to touch.

And it's not a lewd or sexual act, it's sweet and sensual, a quite moment of cute intimacy in the safety of a bedroom, away from the rest of the world.

On the other end of the spectrum imagine this when things get spicy!

Pelvic Bone:

And here is where the suggestive part comes in.

Asmodeus is the Avatar of Lust, so the mark of Lust is easy to imagine in a more intimate spot like right above the pelvis in the spot between your sex and belly button.

And in my head it kinda looks like a womb tattoo which works with Asmodues's connection to incubi and succubi

Now, I said this post wouldn't get explicit (bc I don't have the energy for that currently) but just...imagine the possibilities.

I also really see Asmo as a touchy feely person, which he is even in canon, so I see Asmo being a person who just loves to have his hands on someone, especially if they hold his pact mark.

So he loves to be next to you and simply touch the mark, whether things are sexual or not he just loves the touch.

(He does this with Solomon too and you can't tell me otherwise)

Heel:

Alright this one is iffy but it's a cool idea so I thought I'd go through with it.

Humans are often weak to lust and desire. Sure, maybe not so much as they are to greed, pride and wrath, but still weak.

So much so they do stupid things due to it that oddly enough doesn't have as many consequences as the other sins simply because it is typically viewed as a base instinct in humans. A natural weakness.

And what is a common phrase among humans for people who have a weak spot?

An Achilles heel.

The thought of Asmo's Lust mark being on your "Achilles heel" tickles a corner of my brain.

Also Asmo loves to give your anklets as a way of decorate the mark.

Inside of wrist:

This just stems from the image of Asmo kissing the inside of your wrist, whether sexual or not doesn't matter, it's just an intimate place to kiss and he loves to see your reaction from it.

I have very little reason for this one other than this.

Maybe it's also right over a pulse point and he can feel your heart rate pick up when he gets flirty or things get spicy.

I will say it again, feel free to comment some of your own location headcanons! If you want, I can write some scenarios of either your hc or these ones.

#obey me shall we date #obey me #mc x asmodeus #reader x asmodeus obey me #Pact marks #obey me headcanons #justcallmecj headcanons

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kikitakite · 7 months ago

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@fantasyfictionfables

I was going to reblog some of your posts because I wanted to discuss your takes on Mystra, but then I found out you're a Christian conservative who hates gay people.

No gay person thinks their sexual orientation is their identity, but it's absolutely PART of their identity, just as being straight is part of yours. You can claim otherwise, but it determines who you might love and marry and that person will one day become a part of you and your identity. It's inevitable. As a wife and mother of three, you should know that better than anyone.

But people from groups like yours shame gay people for exploring that part of themselves and that's why Pride Month exists. Pride isn't "propaganda". It's about marginalized people showing the world they exist and they're not ashamed of it. Parades are also a great way for gay people to meet each other. My bestie met her wife at a march 15 years ago and they've been together ever since. It's beautiful. They have two happy, gorgeous children who wouldn't exist without Pride, because their moms never would've met.

Pride also raises money to help gay teens who've been cast out of their homes and gay refugees who've had to flee their country because being gay is illegal there. It also provides support for gay people who need medical help, therapy for abuse, suicide prevention and more. It's a safe space for people who are often discriminated against and even KILLED just for being who they are. So sorry that seems to bother you.

Your take isn't brave, it's just ignorant and hateful. You didn't have to write that post. Nothing provoked it. You just WANTED to to air your allegiances. And then you turned off comments and reblogs lmfao. For the majority of the year, gay people survive just like us straights. They go about their day and don't even mention being gay. You picked the one month in the entire year that's dedicated to them to complain about their existence and call them "deranged". And then you have the audacity to say you "bear no ill will" towards them? Bullshit.

I can only assume the word "pride" scares you because you're a Christian and it's a sin, am I right? Well here's something ironic: lust is also a sin, yet your entire blog not only consists of Gale thirst posts, but you're also stealing Tim Downie's voice to make audio clips using AI. Hmmm, I wonder if God would approve of a married woman posting NSFW content and using a man's voice for her hedonistic writings without his consent. 🤔

And by the way, as a veteran DnD player I can tell you right now that Mystra has done some absolutely VILE shit to her followers. She's not perfect. None of the gods in DnD are. They're flawed and often cruel. I've seen you compare Mystra and Gale to stories in the Bible, but that almost feels blasphemous. Mystra has a history of evil deeds. She orchestrated Elminster's rape, made sure he had kids and never told him about them. She turned Volo into an anchor without his knowledge. She tortured a peasant because he refused to sleep with her, then killed his wife and punished him for crying about it. And don't even get me started on the "daughters" she created. The third Mystra (who has Mystra and Mystryl's memories) is cruel to Gale as well and the game gives so much context for that. Plus ALL the companions agree she's unreasonable and tell Gale to reject her, and if he does it leads to one of his most satisfying endings. He's happy, he's a teacher, he marries tav and everyone approves. Your way of playing isn't the only right way and people aren't wrong for criticizing Mystra. There's plenty about her that deserves to be criticized, as is the case with every god in the pantheon.

Speaking of, I have nothing against Christians, but I do when they use their faith to shame people and act like total hypocrites.

#pride month #happy pride 🌈#homophobia #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #mystra #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #call out post #tw r4p3

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ceruleanwhore · 7 months ago

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I know it's been a minute since Hazbin dropped and I'm late to the hate train but I have things I want to say, so I shall.

First off, the whole thing makes absolutely no fucking sense, conceptually. There is really no good way to execute this batshit idea of Lucifer having a daughter and that daughter deciding to start a fucking hotel in Hell to redeem sinners so they can go to Heaven. Also, the culling shit with the angels showing up to just kill already dead souls for no reason also makes no sense and there really isn't any way to make it make sense.

Secondly, when making yet another piece of media inspired by Christian canon, even if it is Christianity and you hate the religion, you absolutely have to know the source material before you go fucking with it. That's why, for example, Dogma is such a good movie but this series falls flat even though both are comedic critiques of Christianity - Dogma understands the subject well enough to criticize it intelligently whereas Hazbin feels like it was conceptualized and made by someone who only watched like two episodes of Veggie Tales and otherwise knows jack shit about the religion. Throwing Lilith in there is worse because she isn't even in Christianity and it has the same vibes as when CCD classes host a Passover Seder by and for a bunch of gentiles to 'teach' about what Jesus was up to when he was around. It's just so disrespectful. Actually, that's what it is - the creators learned everything they know about Christianity, Heaven, and Hell from Tumblr posts which is definitely why she's in there.

If they knew more about the thing they're trying to make a whole ass show about, Adam and Eve wouldn't have been angels, there would be no hotel because you could just have the creation of Purgatory instead or, at the very least, some take on the harrowing of Hell and salvation of the virtuous pagans in Limbo. Also, even if you don't want to touch the Bible because it's icky (and I mean yeah), all you had to do was read like Dante's Inferno and peep the Ars Goetia and then actually make a structured Hell with a hierarchy and everything. I think kinda like what Rachel Smythe did with the worldbuilding in Lore Olympus, they wanted to modernize Hell for some reason, so the turf war/mafia type shit was supposed to replace a stronger hierarchy of Hell with princes and dukes and presidents and such, but I fucking hate it and there's no goddamn structure.

More importantly, the worldbuilding of Hell itself completely misses the fucking point of Hell as a thing. Hell is there both to contain Satan and the fallen angels who joined him in that uprising thing that one time and also to serve as a place where sinners go when they die and are punished for their sins. We never see even once any sort of actual system for sorting all these souls and punishing them for their sins. On the contrary, characters like Angel Dust appear to get to do drugs for the rest of their immortal lives and, since they're dead, it's not like those are going to kill them so it really doesn't read like a punishment. The closest we get to actual punishments are when the sinners/demons have gone and made deals that give other residents of Hell control over them, like how Husk is under Alastor's control and then Alastor apparently also has some kind of deal screwing him over, and Angel's situation with shitty boa dude is pretty similar too. It feels like they did the extermination shit to replace punishment in Hell along with these deals we see here and there, which is utterly fucking ridiculous and makes absolutely no sense.

The other thing I'd add kind of going off that is that Heaven in this series also makes literally no fucking sense. It's actually also the biggest issue I have with Good Omens that it makes NO SENSE for the angels to have no clue what God's plan is or, in this case, how souls even get into Heaven. The whole fucking point is that there's an entire, nicely structured hierarchy for exactly this. Seraphim, cherubim, and thrones are all closest to God, so they can get the info from Them and pass it to the lower ranks. Hell, this could even be how you get problems, like you make it a bit of a gimmick that Heaven runs on a massive game of telephone. It also could've been a way to have some really cool variety in character design, so maybe some of the higher ranking angels look like the weird biblical shit with all the eyes and fire and they get progressively more normal as you go down the hierarchy. Instead, they picked like three recognizable names, made them into pretty people with wings and potentially also stupid Homestuck looking masks, and threw them in our face while just refusing to actually bother with worldbuilding or character design.

That brings me to the third thing which is that, when doing a series like this based on something like Christianity, you really have to sit down and figure out what kind of God your Christian God in your series is going to be, even if They never show up on screen. Is this God distant and neglectful and that's how all this shit is happening? Or do we have the wrathful God of the Israelites who regularly exterminates Hell out of pure sadistic rage? Or do we have a weak God on the verge of death who is barely present out of necessity while the angels take advantage of that absence and run amok? And it's not even just that determining what kind of God is supposed to be the God of this series would inform why stuff happens like it does, it would also help the writers to have a sense of direction and motive for what happens.

The writing in the show is all over the fucking place and figuring out what kind of God this God is meant to be is the very first question they should've asked themselves and it would've prevented most of the problems that currently exist in the show. If we had that, then maybe we wouldn't have weird shit with Lucifer where he very much does not feel like he's the devil at all and also Charlie is supposed to have daddy issues but then he shows up and is just a really adoring and supportive dad so that doesn't make sense. If we had that, then maybe Hell would have a fucking structure because we would actually have the motive behind Hell itself and why it exists. If we had that, then maybe we could get into the nitty gritty of the ethical/theological complexities of Hell and how, no matter how you slice it, it's really God's will at the end of the day so we could get a whole debate over if Lucifer is even evil or if God is just controlling and sadistic and all that. If we had that then maybe we could even have some reveal about how sin isn't even a concrete thing and the true nature of Hell is that it's a place people choose to go when they die because they don't feel worthy of salvation and they feel in their soul that they need to be punished. Anything, really.

Fourth is that it really, really shouldn't be a musical series. The pacing fucking sucks and they overexplain everything and I just feel like if you took all the time spent on shitty musical numbers and instead put it into showing, not telling, and also developing characters and relationships, it could be a lot better. If there was more time for shit, then maybe Charlie could not be a Mary Sue and Vaggie could have a personality and Angel could be an actual fucking character that isn't just an animated twink with trauma who gets off on violating people's boundaries. Also, I just really didn't like most of the songs in the series (outside the series they're fine) and I skipped a lot of those scenes.

Fifth and final is that it really just wasn't funny. A lot of the stuff that was supposed to be funny was just excessive swearing that felt completely unnatural, like that tiktok going around of that girl saying the n word. If you're bothering to do a whole series set in Hell that's ostensibly about Christianity, then why tf aren't you leaning more into biting criticism of Christianity for your humor? If they'd just gone full Dogma with this, it would've been so much better but no.

So yeah, it fucking sucked and so did the character design.

#anti hazbin hotel #anti hazbin #anti vivziepop #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #christianity #worldbuilding

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gartenofbanny · 1 year ago

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I believe Mammon is basic and boring as a Sin and Antagonist in Helluva Boss. But in a series where a portion of the villains are just one-note, Mammon is a really really special case to me.

Mammon is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, and Helluva Boss tends to put their own unique twist regarding them for better or for worse. It really just depends on your preference.

Lucifer, despite being the Prince of Pride, loves his daughter Charlie and his wife, Lilith, presumably putting his family first before himself. Asmodeus, despite being the Sin of Lust, is in a healthy relationship with a Demon that isn't a succubus. Lastly, Beelzebub who, despite being the Sin of Gluttony, was worried about Blitzo's emotional state after he downed an entire gallon of the alcoholic beverage she likely made. Despite embodying sins, these characters moreso embody the more positive aspect of them, which again is for better or worse depending on your preference.

And then there's Mammon. He's the Sin of Greed, and for some reason, he's the only Sin who embodies the Sinful aspect of greediness. Asmodeus proclaims that Mammon has always been like this since the "start of Hell" meaning he has always been a greedy asshole and will always be a greedy asshole because that's what he is.

Excuse my french, but what a lazy ass character Mammon is.

The reason I've really decided to make this post is because a friend sent me a scene from Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood. I haven't watched the anime, but this scene, in particular, really opened my eyes to how the Greediness isn't just about money. How Greed like the other sins have Virtues to them.

youtube

Now I'm not expecting Helluva Boss to have FMA: Brotherhood level of writing, but I will ask this. If Vivziepop is able to portray the sin of Lust and Gluttony in complex or somewhat redeemable lights, then why not do so for the Sin of Greed?

This series took the most basic understanding of Greed and just made an antagonist out of it, and that's really why Mammon feels very basic to me. It doesn't feel as if much thought was put into him compared to Asmodeus and Beelzebub.

Mammon is evil because he's greedy and he wants money, so he exploits his cash clown for cash. Now, if he was the only antagonist like that, I wouldn't care, but Stella and Crimson are two villains in Helluva Boss who have basic ass motives with no cause behind them. Stella is a dick to Stolas and wants to abuse him just because. Crimson is a bad father towards Moxxie and treats him like shit..just because (I thought mafias were all about family)

How can I take Mammon as a serious villain when he's just like Crimson and Stella? Well, at least in terms of voice acting and design, he's unique, but in terms of character motivation and writing. Mammon isn't it.

However, critics and fans alike, if you think otherwise, I'd love to read them.

Anyway, thank you all for reading, and I hope you all have a nice day! ❤️

#vivziepop critical #helluva boss #vivziepop #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop criticism #helluva boss critique #vivienne medrano #helluva critical #Youtube

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ifishouldvanish · 11 months ago

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Some Mizrak / Mizrox Analysis and Headcanons

I know, I know, I'm That Alurox Blog™, but I'm just gonna take off the rarepair goggles for a bit to take a closer look at Mizrak and his relationship with Olrox as it's presented in canon. I feel like there's a tendency for his character to be reduced to just the 'repressed gay monk' archetype and it does him a disservice because he's way more interesting than that!!!

Anyway probably not as cohesive as my Olrox analysis because I don't really have specific headcanons with regard to his backstory yet but here goes:

1. Mizrak FUCKS!!1!

All the "haha the Catholic monk folded and had gay sex with a hot vampire in .2 seconds" jokes aside... I think Mizrak really does fuck. Like I'm not convinced at all that he is some repressed virgin who just got his world rocked for the first time.

First of all, he takes like, zero convincing to jump in bed with someone who has just established themselves as an enemy. We get the little fight in the courtyard, Olrox saying, "let's do this somewhere more comfortable" and next we see them they're already post-coitus. Furthermore, Mizrak is like... pretty fucking casual about it? Like, he's the one brushing a clingy Olrox off in the morning. I'm sorry but I don't see any evidence in that scene that suggests he hasn't done this sort of thing before. This man has had casual sex before, presumably with other men.

Sure, we get a few shots of him being mopey and conflicted in the morning after scene, but these are brought on by Olrox watering the seeds of doubt he already has about the whole working with Erzsebet thing; not Catholic Guilt over knocking boots with a vampire.

Also just... from a writer's perspective, if you have some repressed monk character and he's gonna get carnal with a vampire, you are MILKING that shit for all it's worth. You're gonna lay on the angst, the temptation, the moral quandary of giving into the sins of the flesh. But all of that is markedly absent in these scenes. We just see two grown men who think each other are hot and decided to have sex about it.

2. A Foundation of Mistrust

The first thing either of these men learn about each other is that they are on opposite sides of the same conflict (and it don't stop them from fuckin' 😌)

Olrox's mistrust is born out of his experiences with colonization by the Spanish, and an understanding that imperialism is the ultimate goal of Erzsebet's mission. Mizrak's distrust is born out of Olrox being a vampire, and the antagonistic nature of their first meeting.

But there's still a draw, of course. Despite going along with the abbot's plans, Mizrak expresses some misgivings about the whole thing. He doesn't want to work with Erzsebet—they just have no other choice. This is probably a position that Olrox knows all too well: just as native Americans were divided on whether or not to help the American colonists, just as some states in mesoamerica decided working with the Spanish was a good opportunity to strike blows to the increasingly powerful Mexica Alliance.

A telling thing Mizrak says to Olrox is, "There's evil everywhere we look, so we use our heads." In the context of their conversation, he's referring to the arrangement with Erzsebet—but I think it's also his general attitude toward Olrox as well. He's willing to get close to him, but he's going to keep his wits about him and not lower his guard.

They don't trust each other, but they do begin to understand each other. For what it's worth, I do think Olrox grows to trust Mizrak by the end of the season (otherwise he wouldn't have put his cards on the table to protect him during the battle), but it's clear from Mizrak's reaction that he has not grown to return that trust yet.

Which isn't to say that Mizrak is being unfair here. As far as he's aware, Olrox really hasn't done anything to earn his trust yet. Pulling him out of battle was supposed to be Olrox's gesture of "see? I'm sticking my neck out for you!" but to Mizrak it's just cowardice. Which... I'll touch on later.

3. "Is that what you have planned for me?" / "Of course not, I'm not in love with you."

Again, jokes about Mizrak having the absolute balls to be like "oh so ur in love with me?" after like, two nights aside... This is a really interesting exchange they have here??

For me, Mizrak's line here is just an expression of his distrust. Olrox has just told him about the only man he's ever loved, and this??? THIS is his response???

Hoo boy. This isn't "well, we are having sex and hanging out so obviously you're falling in love with me 😌". This is "I think you're just trying to manipulate me into believing you actually have a conscience/are capable of compassion, and I'm not falling for it." Mizrak thinks he has Olrox all figured out. Thinks he's calling a bluff.

And so with that framing?? Olrox's response, "Of course not, Mizrak. I'm not in love with you," is a FANTASTIC rebuttal. This isn't "oops, you caught me slipping and catching feelings, time to deny, deny, deny!!!" This is, "Of course you can trust me. I'm not trying to lure you in with romance or manipulate you into temptation—we both know I didn't have to do any of that to get here. I'm just here to tell you like it is, and you know in your heart that I haven't told you a lie yet."

Mizrak is accusing Olrox of trying to manipulate him into developing feelings for him, and Olrox is saying, "Gods no, I know you're smarter than that."

Which... is SO delicious in that I'm sure this is the line that will prove to be a lie. It's just not one yet. Ooh the foreshadowing and dramatic irony of it all gives me goosebumps!!! (Have I mentioned that I love Olrox and everything about the way his lines are written??? 🫠🫠 THE character of all time I love him sm)

4. Mizrak Has Nothing to Lose (History of the Knights of Malta Speedrun)

We know that Mizrak and the abbot came from Malta, and the 8-pointed cross they bear identifies them as part of the Order of St John. The history of the Order and of Malta is basically a centuries-long back and forth between the Ottoman, Holy Roman, and Byzantine empires. The Order is founded in Jerusalem 1023 with the mission of preserving the faith, aiding the poor, and providing care to people making pilgrimages to the Holy Land, regardless of faith. But they turn into this sort of paramilitary outfit during the crusades—granted authority by the pope to sort of act on its own without any real checks and balances. In short, they are tasked with defending the Catholic church independently of any conflicts between individual European/Christian nations, and European powers grant them land and financial support so they can carry out their mission.

Eventually the Ottomans expel them from Jerusalem (and a few other places), and the Order makes its new home on Malta, where they are tolerated by the locals in exchange for establishing some infrastructure (hospitals, schools, etc) and boosting the economy. The Order famously defends Malta from another Ottoman attack in 1565 and they're heralded as heroes of the church (but let's stick a pin in that for now)

As the centuries go by and the conflict between the Muslim world and Christian world kinda fizzles out, the Order becomes an outdated relic of a bygone era. The Catholic church lost some traction in the protestant reformation, and a more complex political landscape has the knights taking arms against other catholic entities (particularly the Franco-Spanish war). In fact, by the time Nocturne is set, the Order had already established a protestant division because they just REALLY didn't want to lose the support of Germany and England. France, who had been one of the Order's strongest supporters, forms an alliance with the Ottomans, and they just kinda have to look the other way.

As a sovereign entity that's no longer needed or even really wanted by mainland Europe, the Order decides to use its advantageous location to take on the responsibility of intercepting Ottoman ships—confiscating goods and taking slaves, to the extent that Malta becomes something of a major slave trade hub in the Mediterranean. The age of piracy is in full swing, and the Order earns itself a not so great reputation of effectively being pirates themselves, as even Christian ships start complaining that they're getting raided by the Knights. This campaign was called the 'Corso', and despite the Order's vows of poverty, it entitled them to a portion of any spoils they confiscated during a time when the Maltese economy was doing poorly.

Their souring reputation creates a cyclical effect where more and more countries drop their financial support for the Order, and the Knights have to lean further into the piracy and slave trade stuff to support Malta's economy. Not only is Catholicism losing ground, but the Order's mission: preserving the faith and aiding the poor, has become more of a loosely interpreted suggestion. The meaning of the 8-pointed cross gets diluted, as non-members of the Order are able to fly the flag—for a fee.

So imagine you are Mizrak, and you're a devoted Catholic who's committed himself to the Mission™ only to find... It's pretty much bullshit. No one cares, least of all the Knights of Malta who are more interested in engaging in legalized piracy and slave trade than God. You've lost all sense of purpose. But then... Some abbot named Emmanuel comes along and HE is legit. HE believes in the power of God and Faith and the Church. HE sees the way the world has turned its back on God and HE has a plan to fix it.

Sure, it involves allying with a vampire and creating a demon army for her, but that's hardly any different from anything else the Order's been up to for the past two centuries or so. At least this time it's For The Cause. You have to believe Emmanuel is doing the right thing, that he's in this for the right reasons—because if you can't have faith in that, then what else is there? The world has already abandoned you.

(The history of Malta and the Order is pretty wild honestly. Here are some sources to check out:)

History | The Knights of Malta

r/AskHistorians - What Were the Knights really like?

The Decline of The Order (PDF)

Noble Slavers: The Knights of Malta and Slavery in the 16/17th Century

Tragic Tales of Slaves in Malta

5. Courage as a Virtue and Redemption

So back to courage, and back to that pin from the Order's history.

The Ottoman Empire was massive, and during the Great Siege of Malta in 1565, they vastly outnumbered the Knights. Ottoman forces had about 30-40 thousand soldiers while the Knights had six thousand—half of which were Maltese civilians who were called upon for service. The siege lasted four months, and ended in a decisive victory for Malta.

This was an epic underdog story that turned the tides of the conflict and revitalized Christian morale across Europe. And I think this story is what drives Mizrak. This is why he became a Knight in the first place. What he believes the Order is capable of, what he believes Emmanuel is fighting for.

To be clear, I think Mizrak is disheartened by what the Order and church has become by the 18th century. So Emmanuel's plan, as sketchy as it is, is an opportunity to restore it to its former glory and rally people around the church again. To return the sort of disgraced Order to its original mission: preserving the faith and protecting the vulnerable.

This is his Moment to serve his God in the fullest extent of the word, to take a stand for what he believes in. Anything short of that is cowardice. And that's why he's so offended that Olrox would pull him out of that fight.

And if we take all this context from the previous points here and we circle back to his and Olrox's first meeting, it adds a new layer of meaning to, "It doesn't sit well with your faith" and Mizrak's defensive, "What would you know about faith?" — Mizrak has likely already had to compromise his morals on more than one occasion, with his faith being the one thing he still has to hold onto to justify it.

6. So What Is His Deal?

Honestly, I really don't know. The history of Malta and the Knights is so long and winding, the show could do just about anything with his backstory and I'd be like, "yeah, that checks out."

What I do think we can take away from canon is:

He's a True Believer and defender of the Catholic faith. One of his first lines to Olrox is his "faith is a foundation" speech where he quotes Isaiah 43:2. In the finale, we got his call to the other Knights to put down their swords and pray with him for forgiveness to stop the madness. When Olrox presses him about why he's forging night creatures, he explains that Catholics are being executed.

He's a pragmatist. Despite his devotion to the church, he demonstrates some moral flexibility so to speak. There's the "use our heads" line, of course. But there's also this line during the meeting with Drolta: "We don't have to pretend to like each other. This is an arrangement convenient to us both because we share a common enemy." Devoted as he is, this man is not a purist.

... But he still has lines he will not cross. Earlier in the season, we see the abbot express discomfort about Drolta attacking Maria, about harming children. But by the end of the season, he's justifying sacrificing her to Erzsebet. Mizrak however, remains steadfast in the "killing children is wrong, even if they are part of the 'godless mob'" position. Holding this line is what pushes him to deflect from Emmanuel and Erzsebet.

#castlevania #castlevania nocturne #mizrak #Olrox #mizrox

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