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lilacxquartz · 25 days ago

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sickly sweet;

kenjaku x f!reader

plot: just as you got ill, your once distant husband started to be caring again — themes: one shot, domestic dread, character study, problematic mindset/themes, manipulation — w.c: 2k • masterlist

a/n: this is a story about kenjaku but the reader is unaware of such a fact… so the name we refer to him as is via suguru/geto and why it’s tagged as such.

For the longest time, you thought that there was something a little… off-putting about your husband.

It wasn’t always this way, but ever since he came back home following an accident, he changed for the worse. Before then, he was vibrant and abuzz with energy and then… something simply just changed. You caught wind of something happening within the cult, but you couldn’t investigate too much—what with you being pregnant with your first child. When he came back seemingly and alive unscathed—save for the stitches that ran across his forehead—you didn’t care to ask too many questions for as long as he was safe and sound.

(A short-lived feeling though; for what lingered just beneath the surface, left dread in its wake.)

The decline of what once made Suguru himself was a slow one, like a thick seeping venom that took its good, sweet time to enter your system. Before you tell something was amiss, he was already deep within your bloodstream—you were hooked—poisoned, yet unaware of just how devastating the damage truly was.

If you had to go back to when you first noticed that something was off, then perhaps when he tried to reintegrate back into your life. It was an ordinary event. He was simply just getting back home late one night and greeted you in the hallway as he stepped inside. At a glance, this would have been normal, but something didn’t feel quite right.

You remembered that sinking feeling of realisation perfectly well.

That moment when you were looking back into the eyes of a stranger, wearing the skin of the man you once knew—of the man that you once loved.

He’d announce his arrival too, singing out your name in a melody that felt forced, “I’m home,” he’d say, his smooth voice feeling somehow rehearsed.

Suguru’s characteristic warmth started to fade the more that you noticed such quirks, the delicately crafted facade beginning to crack. The kindness was retained, but there was a certain underlying edge to it as if he was playing a fabricated role rather than being the man you wanted him to be.

Still, you chose to ignore it. At least at first. You told yourself that if there was an accident, then maybe it was just his personality that was off and if given enough time, it would all smooth over.

(Although, it never did.)

As the months passed you both by, and the man claiming to be Suguru grew colder and more distant, too. Sure, he lived with you and practiced small talk with you, but it all felt fake, somehow. It was as if you were a temporary obstacle in the grand scheme of things and he was simply humouring you whenever he cared to, often disappearing into the night without warning.

Initially, you suspected adultery. It wouldn’t have been too far of a reach, knowing that some people, no matter how well you think you’d know them, would still succumb to temptation… but that didn’t seem to be the case. Whenever he returned, he would be the same just as he was before. Cold and distant. Should you have tried to initiate something intimate too, then he wouldn’t deny you such pleasures, but it always left you feeling unclean, somehow used instead. The moves he pulled were certainly familiar and something that Suguru would do, but it was devoid of the same tenderness that Suguru had.

So for the most part, you stopped initiating and also, you didn’t pay too much attention to him again. For the time being, you cared more to focus on your pregnancy and then hopefully leave somewhere far away from this whole mess.

(But then you got sick.)

It was deep into your pregnancy when you fell ill, bordering just below the final term. A low-grade fever that crept into your system, throwing you off balance. While you initially thought it to be fine, it was hard to ignore by the end of the week. You didn’t think that whoever was occupying your husband’s body would notice such a thing, but something awoke in him from the moment he did.

This deeply caring side of him was hard to dismiss, too, given that it felt close to how Suguru used to be with you.

Just like before, it didn’t take too long for you to notice the changes in his demeanour, the differences being almost jarring by that point. You woke up to the rush of cold air spilling into the room, watching on through partially blurred vision as the sheer curtains wafted in the breeze.

Suguru’s voice played in the background as he addressed you, his voice smooth like molten honey, “You’re awake.”

You initially didn’t respond as you were still waking up. Your eyes flicked over to where he sat on the edge of the bed, watching somewhat warily as he smoothed his palms across your blanketed form, his touch almost reverent.

“Some fresh air will do you good,” he softly murmured before stepping away to the dresser, bringing over a cup of tea to your nightstand table, “I brewed you some tea too. Ginger and honey, just how you like it.”

You warily eyed the cup but didn’t refuse it. The pleasant aroma filled your senses and soothed you as the steam rose and after about a minute, you sat up to take a sip, finding that the warmth from the tea actually did help a bit.

Just as you set the cup down though, Suguru moved closer, extending his hand to press against your forehead, his touch feeling cold against your heated flesh.

“You’re so warm…” he whispered, his thumb brushing along your temple and down your cheekbones. “I should have been more… attentive. Forgive me for being so busy.”

You blinked up at him as the tea settled in your body. Something about this whole interaction filled you with unease as if the applied sweetness wasn’t genuine.

“I’m fine,” you croaked, “really,” you emphasised after a hot second.

Suguru however just hummed, his voice taking on a condescending tone, “Oh, but you’re not, are you?” he asked, curling his lips into a calm, measured smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, his gaze appearing devoid of any warmth, “worry not though, my love, I’ll take care of everything.”

Relief wasn’t quite what you felt however as he hovered around you for the remainder of your sickness, locking himself into your shadow day and night, seemingly abandoning his work to tend to you. He urged you to eat, and hydrate and even helped you bathe, prattling on about the importance of vapours when one felt congested.

“You’re not usually this caring,” you let slip as you settled into bed, regretting your word choice right away. The atmosphere of the room changed within a beat at such an admission and though you tried to backtrack, the dread had already settled.

Suguru’s smile faltered, seeming almost offended(?)

“I may have been busy, yes…” he trailed off, his eyes drifting away from you before giving you back his attention tenfold, “but you’re still… my wife, correct? I have to apply my priorities carefully. You’re… important to me.”

The way that he referred to you as his wife didn’t feel as comforting as his intention might have been; the term felt almost possessive as if laced with warning. The way he said it and how he said it, was a little bit too deliberate—as if he was trying to convince himself of a role he had to maintain.

Still, the hours dragged on throughout the rest of the evening without an issue, or so he thought. He encouraged you to sip on hot broth whenever you were lucid enough and sat at your side vigilantly, watching you with a sharp eye to ensure that nothing would go wrong.

Such intensely applied care, however, soon started to feel suffocating by the end of the day and all you wanted to do was to have a break and sleep the flu away. You didn’t mean to snap the way that you did, fully expecting him to nip or protest at your attitude from the moment you let your composure slip away, but he didn’t.

“—please,” you spat out, unable to hold back any longer as you pushed him away, “just—I… I need to sleep.”

For a moment, a brief hint of anger flashed across his features, but then he simply schooled his expression into that same cold smile from before.

“Of course,” he murmured, brushing your hair away from your eyes, “I should have known. Please, rest for as long as you need to.”

You gulped down all of your unease beyond that point, too exhausted to care, but later in the night—you woke up and something felt wrong. Your eyes fluttered open with a jarring start as your breath caught in the back of your throat. You tried to swallow, but it felt like sharp glass resided in your lungs, the sensation like fire when you tried to breathe in or out. Your eyes struggled to adjust to the dark, but a familiar figure sat unnervingly close to where you lay.

“Suguru…?” you called out.

He must have remained close to you the entire night, even after you had fallen asleep. His deep gaze fixed on you with such a grave intensity that it stole the rest of the air away from the room, leaving you barely able to breathe at that point, feeling suffocated from being so close.

Before you could call out to him again though, Suguru hushed you with the application of his fingers pressed right against your lips. He then leaned closer, allowing the smell of something vaguely metallic to fill your senses, but also medicinal or even herbal.

You listened to his silent request to keep in bed, feeling as his fingertips swept across the side of your neck using soft, featherlight strokes, to trace along your pulse point. His touch lingered for a little too long as he settled around the area, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the blood flowing.

(A warning, perhaps?)

“Go back to sleep,” he softly parted a bit clearer that time, following up with a gentle hum to the tune of a lullaby you didn’t know. Despite how soothing it felt, your innate instincts were screaming at you to distance yourself—to not let this person get too close—that this wasn’t Suguru.

(But your exhaustion simply took you over.)

“That’s right,” he whispered, his breath rolling hot against your forehead as he parted a delicate kiss against your skin, “continue to live in bliss and I'll give you the life you so desperately crave.”

You woke up slightly again as he strode over to the bedroom door, lingering in the frame as he looked back at you with that same unsettling, unreadable stare.

“Just, don’t misunderstand,” he couldn’t resist, his true self seeping through the cracks of the facade he wore so well, “I’ll only keep that up if you don’t snoop around too far,” he then paused, lowering his voice on purpose so that you couldn’t hear him, speaking more to himself than to you, “as long as you learn to keep curious—as long as you don’t figure out who I really am—then I can keep you safe.”

You didn’t reply, trying to pretend that you were already asleep. He knew that you weren’t though, choosing not to bother you.

“Sleep tight, my wife.”

The door then clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in that thick, oppressive silence that you had gotten to know so well. You didn’t dare break through it, though, not even as you felt the squeeze of his phantom fingers remaining wrapped around your neck, constricting around your throat like an invisible collar, binding you to a whole new nightmare; a silent reminder of just how much your life had changed ever since that day.

Of just how much… he had changed.

A part of you knew that it would never get better, but if being sick was what it took to get even a glimpse of your old husband back, then that’s something you wouldn’t hesitate to do.

Because even if he did come to annoy you in the end—it was better than accepting that he might truly be gone.

(So why not live a little in your delusions, just this once? Or twice? Or… however long it took to feel normal again.)

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cindol · 5 months ago

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if ur requests are open can I request earthy black girl! reader x jjk men i love ur writing lots

jjk men and their earthy black gf !

jujutsu kaisen x black fem reader

incl — nanami kento , sukuna ryomen, gojo satoru, geto suguru and shiu kong .

cw + — established relationships, slightly suggestive with gojo, reader has locs, cult leader geto,

| NANAMI KENTO

he originally met you when saving you from a curse on your shoulder before it could develop and kill you in his usual bakery. It confused you when he tapped your shoulder and got you turning to him but he made up the excuse of swatting a fly away and ever since you developed a relationship with you.

Nanami’s favorite thing about you was how in touch you were with your roots and how you weren’t someone very big on technology, a simple tv and android does good for you and that’s just how he liked it with you.

Nanami's usual activity with you was to stroll through your garden with you just picking any fruit or veggie and in season flowers.

You always refuse to let him go without a meal after work. You always saw how drained he looked after work and tutted at that while prepping to cook.

“aye, just stay there baby. You’re crazy if you think I’ll let my boyfriend just go to bed without a meal.” saying it while getting ready to chop up some veggies and greens for a soup.

Your relationship with plants is what impressed, hearing you coo and sing at your venus flytrap while plopping a bug into it’s trapping mouth made him curious and intrigued.

“if you don’t mind me asking dear, what makes you sing to it?”

you were still humming while feeding the plant their bug of the day then stopped to answer.“a venus plant is a living thing, kento and living beings need some love and words of encouragement to grow, don't cha’ think?”

| SUKUNA RYOMEN

sukuna’s old school, always has been and always will be so your earthy nature wasn’t something he was bothered by. How natural you were with everything you did reminded him of his childhood in a way, always seeing his mother in their garden.

As earthy as you are he refused to let you garden in dirty gloves, he actually scoffed in disbelief seeing you in the gloves.” you needed a new pair of gloves you could’ve really told me woman.’’

You abruptly stopped to chuckle at your boyfriend.’’i’m not a materialistic person ‘kuna, these gloves of mine have done just their job for years.’’

Anything you say goes out one ear and the other for him.”nonsense, i refuse to have you garden in those unruly gloves, i’ll call uraume to pick up a pair of gardening gloves the nearest store i’m sure they won’t mind.’’

sukuna likes to see you in your most natural state. You liked to do some little glam, a little eyelashes and lip gloss but he liked when you were all natural. To him, seeing your brunette colored locs in a ponytail and you in your dark green robe showing some cleavage was his favorite sight of you when you entered the kitchen.

sukuna not being careful of his own health doesn’t slide around him. a simple cough or wound makes you immediately take any herbs and first aid kit out.

“uraume won’t be here always to take care of you ‘kuna, you gotta let me take care of you.”

when you try to put an evil eye necklace around his necklace a loud roar of laughter comes from his mouth.“No damn necklace will protect me of all people from any bad spirit.”

| SATORU GOJO

After a long day with his students he enjoyed being with you. When he enters your house you shush up whatever ranting he’s gonna ramble about the elders.

“Let's just forget all of that, yeah? I think a nice fresh water bath would do you some good today.” whilst shutting him up and taking off his black blindfold.

gojo enjoyed bathing with you just to have a front row to see how you untie your locs and see them drop down to your back along with your towel to show your….assets.

gojo liked how natural you were down to your hair. When he asked for you to dye your hair the same color as his he was excited to see your once brown locs now a snow white color in your black headwrap.

“thought hair dye went against like, the earthy thing?”

a small tittering sound came from your mouth at that.“Henna hair dye. The earth has many resources satoru.”

| SUGURU GETO

suguru appreciates how down to earth you are, he sees it as a good influence on his girls. Being a cult leader can be taxing and takes up much of his time so when you’re around to remind them they’re not so alone when geto’s on cult leader duties it makes him happy.

when you both are alone in his master bedroom hearing how you spent the day with the girls picking tender plump fruits from the family garden and putting them into your hand made wooden baskets to bring home.

geto isn't one to restrict how you choose to dress. He’ll gladly wear his yukata with a gold kasaya garment while you walk around the place in a strapless knitted olive green dress and knitted white long sweater, and whoever has an issue with it can take it up with him

#jjk x black reader #jjk x black y/n #jjk x black!fem reader #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x fem!reader

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saintsandsorcery · 7 days ago

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A series of letters from Gale written throughout the game (based on this post right here)

(The first one is written on a ripped out book page, his mother’s address is written on the back of it between the texts original lines) My apologies for not writing sooner. I sould have, I know that, but only now that I find myself involved in a cults business does it come to mind. I can’t say much, but, for the first time in a while, I am not alone. Love, Gale

(The name written at the top of the letter has been crossed out. It was written in a haste, some of the ink is smudged and the letters are hard to make out) Tav, You can’t possibly feel this way, so I will just assume that I got it all wrong. I know that you are just being kind, I have told you of my affliction with the orb and you try to make it better in your own way. I understand. I would love to kiss you or to simply hold your hand, but you don’t have to give me anything, what you have done for me will suffice for more than one lifetime. Gale

(The third letter features a hand drawn map of the Sword Coast with several dots and circles highlighting the most important stops on their travels at the bottom of the page. He carefully tiptoes around the more gruesome events. It is once again addressed to Morena Dekarios) …and the Druids grove of course. I am very lucky to be in such good company, otherwise I’d have been lost long before all this started. Do you remember the markets? I was seven, I think, there were screams and you just took me by the hand and ran. You explained it to me later, in simpler terms of course.I wanted to thank you for that, I keep being reminded of how different my life would have been if it all went a little different that day another day, too, but no one could have prevented that. No one but myself. Love, Gale.

(Scribbled on corner torn from a recipe) Tav is smiling like that again.

(Written on a fresh sheet of paper, only a little crumpled) Tav, I love you. There is no better way to say it and I fear the perfect moment will never come. My time is short, but it would be an honour to dedicate what is left of it to you. Gale. (This letter isn’t hidden with the others. It remains neatly folded in Tavs pocket, they take it out every once in a while and he can’t help but feel a little proud when they do - not for long though, the guilt always follows)

(His own name, except that he uses Of Waterdeep instead of Dekarios, the date he signs with predates the current one by several months) Don’t do it. You think it will guarantee you Mystras affection, I know how much you want it. But don’t do it. Please. There is so much more now, so much…

(The letter is a mess of smudged ink and crossed out sentences) … keep the tower and all within its walls, you know where I hide the key. Let Tav look an around, If they wish to do so, I’m sure they’ll love the library. If things had been different I might have introduced them to you as my partner. We would have had tea together and I had been given the chance to explain everything. And maybe we will, maybe this letter will go unsent, just like the other. I am sorry. Gale

(Tav holds them in their hands, singed, water-soaked pieces of paper. It is a wonder that the letters remained mostly intact, the one Tav has kept for themselves these past few weeks looking worst of all - not that it matters, all that is important are the words they memorised by now. Words like love. And I love you, they whisper, I still do)

#bg3 #gale dekarios #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #tav x gale #bg3 tav #baldurs gate gale #galemance #tw angst #the wizard of waterdeep

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thegnomelord · 2 years ago

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Devotion in Steel

How They Worship You After The Hunt: Dottore, Childe, Zhongli.

So this is based off This idea I had about a cyberpunk reader in a cult!Sagau genshin, so this is just me testing the waters. I spent wayyy too much time on this one lol but this brainrot is still going strong.

CW: Suggestive themes, cult/yandere characters, reader is GN, mentioned gore for Zhongli part. First time writing Yandere's so tell me how it goes lol.

Dottore: Silent Curiosity

He does not worship you openly; he doesn't sing hymns about your mercy or your cruelty, nor does he press his face into the ground whenever you pass, like certain archons wishing for redemption. His worship is quiet. To the unworthy, the way he touches you — with clinically cold hands, examining every gear, and bolt, and piston with the same calculating gaze reserved for one of his machines — may as well be the highest form of sacrilege. Who is he to act as if you are just another of his toys? Who is he to not even say a single word to you? Who is he to touch and pull on your mechanical components like some urchin child toying with an object they do not realize is precious? But they can't do anything, because You do not see it their way. You do not stop or punish him, you encourage him; it isn't rare to find you two alone, him on his knees with your arm held in his hands, silently watching the moving mechanisms beneath your plating as you explain the intricacies of your mechanical form to him in that synthetic voice of yours that makes his bones tremble. His touch is clinical, precise, but it is by no means cold; His worship is conveyed through his actions. With reverence he cleans the dirt and grime from the seams in your armor, happy to stay on his knees for hours, days even, so long as not a single speck of dirt is left to mar your perfect body. With piety he polishes every gear, with admiration he oils every piston, worshiping even the smallest piece in your body like it is a holy relic. To Dottore, being able to see technology millennia ahead of his own and learn of knowledge yet undiscovered would have been bliss. But to feel it beneath his fingers? To feel it in his bones as that artificial voice of yours reveals the world's secrets? Heaven.

Tartaglia: Eager Veneration

Once, Tartaglia had only known of you from the stories his parents had told him; of a loving creator, a place of safety and solace in this harsh world. Later, when he fell into the Abyss, Skirk told him new stories of you, passed down to her by the denizens of the Abyss — ones his parents wouldn't have dared to utter lest they tempt Celestia to punish them for heresy. So when you descended, full of harsh edges and your body geared for battle, he embraced you as you were. He would have loved you regardless of your appearance, but something about the mechanical version of you made sense to him; Children resemble their parents after all, why should you have appeared like the demure little thing the tapestries depicted you as when Teyvat could be harsh, and cruel, and cold? He remembered his parents teachings, tried to be respectful like the other acolytes, on their knees, with their heads pressed to the ground. He would have done so happily, would have kneeled before you until he was nothing but bones, would have slaughtered countries in your name... yet the abyss gnawed on his bones, needing your attention like a babe needed a parent. So when you showed him favor? When you offered him to touch the divine metal of your cybernetic body? He couldn't stop himself. Anxiety tempered his eagerness, he did not seek more than what you offered him, yet his hands still glided over your skin and metal with the same energy as the little gears beneath your outer shell. Trembling fingers traced old dents and scratches that ripperdocs had neglected to fix, words of absolute devotion leaving his lips as he put his head to your chest, listening to the tik tik tik of mechanical organs beneath your chassis. But your weapons enchanted him the most. It reminded him so much of the Foul Legacy hiding under his skin; the promise of danger and death lurking beneath the surface, ready to be used as soon as a threat appeared — a similarity between you two that no one else could claim. He could spend days simply kissing and lavishing the seams in the armor, feeling where fake skin transitioned into metal which hid your weaponry from the world. Though you never allowed him more than a look, he yearned to touch them, to kiss the sharp blades, to feel his bones bend under your mechanical strength, to feel the monowire burn through his skin... Please, won't you let him? He survived the Abyss, he promises that he's tough, he can handle the pain... just this once, let him worship you, all of you, please?

Zhongli: Desperate Absolution

Zhongli is afraid; to touch, to breathe, to even exist near you. How can he not be, when he is the reason for your missing parts? Your aching joints? When he was the one who harmed you, who tainted your holy body with his hate and prejudice? When he was so prideful as to forsake his creator because they did not fit his own imagination? When the truth was revealed, the real impostor laying dead and your mechanical frame speckled with drops of your golden blood, he understood he was in no place to anything but bow and pray your fury would be swift and merciful, though he did not deserve it. Yet even as he knelt before you, head bowed so low it was flush with the ground and eyes shut tight, not daring to even glance at your metallic feet, a part of him still yearned for a chance at redemption; to earn back the chance to worship you, to earn your forgiveness through devotion. He would do anything for it; Kiss and lick the dirt off your mechanical feet, be at your beck and call till the end of time... If you wished to regain your lost parts — he would scour the far reaches of Teyvat until he found all the metal pieces you had lost, and those that were permanently damaged? He would carve his bones into shape, until they fit... If you told him to forfeit his flesh like you had done — he would claw at his skin until not a single scrap of meat hangs off his bones. He would happily wander the earth as a skeleton, grafting pieces of old Khaenri'ahn technology to himself until he resembled you, just so you could inflict the same wounds he had done to you... Yet you did no such thing. Even as his thoughts gained a voice, escaping his mouth through muffled whimpers, all you did was watch him, your mechanical gaze racking over his shivering form as he tried to stop his hiccupping cries. Truly pathetic. Then your fingers found his chin, gripping him in a bruising as you raised his head to look at you. Your mechanical eyes reflected in the tears running down his cheeks, the metal joints in your fingers nipping at his skin. His eyes met your cold gaze, and he wondered what you will ask of him — His eyes? His tongue? His arms? The impostor would have demanded all that and more... He would give it in a heartbeat. But please, find it in your cold heart to forgive him.

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noxturnalnymph · 11 months ago

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Devotion 🖤 II. Predator or Prey? (Ch 5)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

⚠️PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE SERIES WARNINGS, ESPECIALLY: possessiveness, manipulation, Joel gets mean, Joel gets verbally and physically abusive.⚠️

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE

II. Predator or Prey?

CH 5 (6.1k) Joel doesn’t see a single hair on your head for days, Tess is guarding you like a mother bear, refusing to let him even peer in your doorway. Still sick, she keeps muttering to him, leave her alone she says repeatedly. Who the fuck does she think she is to tell him what to do? This is his fucking house. And yet she keeps sending him out of it, keeping him the busiest he’s ever been in the community. He leaves at sunrise and comes back long after dark.

Then, finally, he walks into his house on Christmas Eve after having been out all day and you’re wrapped in a blanket, sleeping in the chair in front of the fireplace. He stands over you, watching you sleep until a noise from the kitchen wakes you, your startled eyes darting around and meeting his intense stare. Your eyes are wild once again looking up at him, a heady combination of fear and anger. He drinks it in.

You quickly dart your eyes back to your lap and that’s where they stay for the rest of the evening. Even when you’re sitting at the dinner table next to each other, and when he’s standing in front of you at the valley gathering to sing Christmas Carols in the large church around the town square. You won’t look up.

The next morning the household all gathers together to exchange Christmas gifts. Joel watches you open the gift he wrapped for you, after he told Tess that you would be his giftee and not the random name she had drawn for him. You pull the twine and old newspaper away from a tattered paperback copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, turning it over in your hands to inspect the ripped cover.

He waits with bated breath as you look it over and then, without even a glance in his direction, you set it down at your side. That used to be his favorite book, the one he would read to Sarah when she was very young and bored of her little children’s board books. He remembers how much she loved him doing low, rumbled voices for the Gorgons and would giggle when he described all the different creatures Arthur encountered in his travels through the galaxy.

But you don’t react, you don’t say anything, you don’t look at him. He feels his guts tightening, pulling inwards, igniting a low, burning flame of anger. He clenches his teeth and tries not to audibly growl as the day proceeds on and you ignore him as if he were invisible. As if you couldn’t feel him staring at you. As if he weren’t a hulking, burning man sitting within inches of you all day and night.

–

Two days later, the Thursday meeting is wrapping up and you’re moving as quickly as possible, to be able to walk with the rest of the group back to the house. The last farmer breaks off from you and Joel, and you can see the front porch in the near distance, quickening your steps to make it inside the house as rapidly as possible. You hear him close behind you, matching your pace and just before you reach the door handle he grabs your wrist.

He pulls you backwards into his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist and splaying his hand over your stomach, pressing his nose into the back of your head and inhaling your scent. He’s gripping you so hard you can barely struggle against him. When you gonna get over this, baby?, he growls in your ear. Baby. You’re not his baby. You tell him so as you try and wrestle your face away from his, the scraping of his stubble along your neck, the moist heat of his breath.

“Yes you are, you’re mine.”

He hates the way you thrash in his arms, the way you avoid his gaze day in and day out. He hates that you haven’t even thanked him for the Christmas gift, that you left it sitting still on the floor in the family room. He hates that you’re making such a big deal out of a stupid little blow job. What was he supposed to do? You were too sick to take care of him, so he found relief where he needed to. It’s nothing new, this is how it's always been. He deserves to be taken care of.

He lets go of you and you bolt upstairs into your room. He hears the lock click behind you.

He was so close. So fucking close. He almost had you, how did you slip through his fingers? He knows how. He made a mistake. His mistake was letting you think that you had some kind of exclusivity to him, some kind of claim on him. How could you think that after all this time? You’ve been here long enough, you should know better. You should know how this place works by now. What makes you think you get to tell him what he can and can’t do, that you get to decide what goes on in his house? This was your fault. You were wild once, you were free. But you gave in like all the rest of them, you gave up, you let him tame you. Why did you do that? Why were you so easy for him to break?

–

You’re being so fucking sensitive, acting like a kicked puppy. It’s New Year’s Eve and he’s had to stare at his Christmas gift on the floor for a week now. He can’t even walk through that room without getting pissed off. The way you’re acting like a spoiled fucking brat, flinching when he goes to touch you and sitting in silence at every meal. Yesterday at the interfaith service, he filed in with the rest of the household and watched you try and sit in the third row instead of your usual place with the other women in the second row, directly behind him. How fucking childish you are. He gets up out of his seat when he notices and grabs you by the hair, ignoring your pathetic little cries, Tess’ pleading with him to stop, and the startled gasps of those around him. He drags you to the second pew and throws you down next to Tess, where you belong. All of this nonsense because you won’t forgive him. No – not forgive – he doesn’t need fucking forgiveness. You’re just playing the victim, like you always do. God, he should have seen the writing on the wall. He should have known that you were never gonna be satisfied with what he gave you, even when he gave you so much. You only ever wanted more, all you did was take. There you are again, creeping around the edges of the room, trying to hide yourself from him. As if he can’t fucking see you, as if he can’t fucking feel your presence in the room. He’d tried to follow you when you darted off immediately after arriving tonight but Tess redirected him to the old theater that was used as a dance hall. He had people to talk to, she’d said, as if he gave a shit about what any of them had to talk about. He has his own fucking problems right now, he shouldn’t have to listen to Peter blabbering about whatever stupid issues he was having with his furnace. Or was it his roof? Who fucking knows, Joel isn’t even listening to him. He sees you dart into a shadow and he excuses himself to Peter as he’s already walking away. You need to grow the fuck up and stop playing these stupid, childish games.

Is Joel doin’ okay?

People keep asking Tess. They’re too reverent of him to be specific in their questioning, they won’t say that he seems off or cranky or downright distracted. But they can see it as well as she can. He’s grasping at you as you dodge him in the hallways at home and now he’s started doing it in public. She watches him grab your arm and push you against the wall at the New Year’s Eve party and she crosses the room as swiftly as she can without drawing unwanted attention.

She hears him snarling I’m the only one who fuckin’ knows you as she pulls him off you, leaving you to scuttle away and find another dark corner to hide in. Joel pushes against Tess’ grip on him, knocking her backwards so she almost stumbles over a row of chairs. Before she can fully lose her balance he’s grabbing her arm, hard, pulling her back upright and then snapping at her.

“Why are you so fuckin’ clumsy?”

Several people nearby whisper to each other but Tess smiles and attempts to laugh off the incident as a joke. She sees he’s starting to lose it, that the cracks are starting to show. His foul mood is permeating the very air around him, threatening to rot everything they’ve worked so hard to build. She feels like she has to do something, she just doesn’t know what.

–

The following Thursday you just barely beat him up the steps inside the house and by the time he’s rattling the door handle of your room you’ve locked yourself securely inside. He’s scaring you. You were hurt by him. So hurt. And you were mad. So fucking mad. But now? Now you’re mostly just scared. You don’t think he would touch you without your permission but he’s been getting physical with you, powerful and rough, growling nasty shit in your ear and subtly suggesting your permission is inevitable.

Two days later you return to the house with Sasha after your baths and scamper up to your room only to find the door gone, removed from its hinges completely. No more locked doors in this house without my permission, Joel announces as he stands – smiling – at the bottom of the stairs, inescapable. You try to brush past him on the way down but he pulls you close, shoving his face into your neck and biting firmly at your jaw. Your hands fumble on his shirt, clawing to push him away, telling him to get away from you.

With a huff he pushes you backwards, your back colliding with the stairway wall and rattling the framed artwork hanging there. He loosely wraps a hand around the column of your throat and holds you there.

“Get away,” he mumbles. “S’my fuckin’ house and you want me to get away?”

He stands there a moment longer and squeezes your throat with just enough force to demonstrate that he could do more if he wanted, but instead he turns to walk away. Just then the front door opens and you see Tess returning with an armful of scavenged items. Seeing an opportunity to escape out the door you tense your body to run, but you hesitate. You make the mistake of looking over at Joel before you go and he’s looking right at you. You bolt forward but before you even clear the threshold of the door his fist is in your collar, yanking you backwards onto the floor.

“You can’t fuckin run from me, girl,” he points his finger in your face where you lie. “You can’t fuckin’ escape.” He grabs the front of your shirt to lift half your body off the floor, closing the distance between his face and yours. “I’m already in there…” he taps his finger in the middle of your forehead. “You’ll never be rid of me.”

The sting of his words hurts worse than the callous way he lets your body drop back to the floor. You hate to admit he’s right. He’s already in your head, you think about him constantly even still, even after what he did. You feel him deep inside of you, digging his claws in, settling in for permanent residency. You know you’ll never be the same, that you’ll never be without him again. You’re possessed by him.

That night after dinner Joel makes an announcement. No one is allowed to leave the house without his permission and no one goes anywhere alone. Tess audibly scoffs at his announcement before she’s cowed by his sharp glare in her direction. You remain silent beside him. He saw the way you looked at that open door, he knew you were going to flee. He won’t lose you. He can’t.

You belong to him.

–

On Monday, Tess assigns you to hunt and gather with Sasha, which should keep you out of the house all day. You’re not sure how much of the crazy look in his eyes Tess actually sees, but he’s becoming more cruel and unpredictable. You know he’s just acting out because you’re not giving him what he wants, which he’s clearly used to getting. You don’t think he’d really hurt you, you don’t think the other women would allow him to hurt you, but you’re becoming more doubtful with each outburst that he has.

You’re so happy to be out of the house and away from his constant scowl and ever-watchful eye and Sasha doesn’t put up a fight when you offer to separate from her. You point out that you can cover more ground apart but that’s not the real reason you want to split up.

You like Sasha, she has a no-bullshit attitude and talks to you like she’s known you forever, making her really easy to be around. You’re able to easily ignore the fact that she’s most definitely slept with Joel because she’s smart, resourceful, and strong – things you don’t consider yourself – and she makes you feel safe when you’re with her. Sometimes you think that maybe you spent too much time with your head in the clouds fantasizing about Joel when you should have been learning from Sasha instead. You’ve learned more survival techniques in the last month than you have in the last decade, and that’s all because of her. She’s been a great teacher and she doesn’t make you feel stupid or useless – although you make yourself feel that way sometimes. Part of you wants to tag along with her but you think she might be easier to convince to let you come with her again if you stay out of her way today.

It’s cold but not snowing and you’ve bundled up with the winter gear Tess gave you from their last raid. You explore the edges of town, places you’ve never been before. You pass by some abandoned buildings but know they’ve all been picked over. You’ve rarely been out this far from the house before, and never alone. Joel and Tess would let you go fishing and set traps with Sasha but always preferred that you keep closer to home, Joel especially seemed to want you to stay in the yard if you weren’t with him.

It’s kind of exciting to explore the borders of the small mountain town on your own, fulfilling a sense of adventure while being almost perfectly safe, as all the buildings have already been cleared and are routinely patrolled. But you feel a bit of freedom out here, freedom that Joel has been taking from you bit by bit. You feel lighter, unencumbered by the weight of Joel’s expectations and his hands constantly pawing at you. At the house you feel like a bird in a cage, and walking through the snow-capped buildings today reminds you of what independence feels like.

There’s a loosely constructed barricade along the valley-facing edge of town made from broken down cars wedged together, building materials from deconstructed buildings, and logs from felled trees. Along the mountain-slope side of the town, there’s less of a structure – the rocky woods being protective enough on its own. There’s still some repurposed fencing that runs along sections of the hill, with paths walked by the patrols snaking in and out. It’s along one of these sections of fence that you find a large overgrown thicket of sumac bushes.

Conical clusters of deep, red berries still hang heavy on the branches, bowing them down to the snow-dappled earth. You remember your dad giving you lessons on the Sumac bushes that grew on the bike path near your house growing up. The fuzzy red berries are edible, but sumac with smooth, white berries are poisonous. You know these berries are okay to eat but you’re not sure how good they’ll taste, since they most likely ripened months ago.

You break off some of the better-looking bunches, putting them into the satchel slung over your shoulder. Your stomach rumbles, reminding you how you barely ate breakfast this morning. Out of the corner of your eye you watched Joel scowling at you until you lost your appetite and asked to be dismissed from the table. The berries aren’t as plump and juicy as they once were but they are tart and filling – once you’ve eaten enough of them.

You head into the center of the thick brush, shielded from the biting wind amongst the dense leaves. You find a comfortable spot to rest and pick at the bush, mindlessly eating the small, scarlet berries. You start to feel alone, to feel lonely. You think about your search for Bianca on New Year’s Eve. You’d looked in every building around the main square, but just like Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve, you didn’t see her. The dance hall was your last place to look for her and all you’d found was Joel - the one person you were working your hardest to avoid.

You were reeling from what happened, from witnessing what still makes you sick. Even now you feel a knot in your stomach, biting back tears whenever you’re left with your thoughts too long. What’s worse is that the pain and suppressed jealousy is renewed every time you see Kerri. You weren’t sure what kind of comfort Biance would even offer you but maybe if you asked her about Joel, you could see the truth in her eyes. Did she know? Had she fucked him? What were you supposed to do?

How can you move on from what feels like nothing short of a betrayal?

Maybe you’re being over-dramatic, maybe you should get over it. That’s what Joel keeps telling you - just move past this – muttering it into the wood from the other side of your closed bedroom door. But it twists like a knife stuck into your insides and squeezes your heart tight like it’s going to stop beating. You’ve given him nothing but trust, and he’s lied to you — just like the rest of them. He’s just like the rest of them. The tears that run down your cheeks chill you, so you bury your face in your knees, waiting out the time you wanted alone. Is this what you wanted?

When you meet back up with Sasha to head home you proudly show her your harvest. She looks them over and tells you that they’re a bit dried out but would most likely still be tasty and has several ideas of what to use them for. She says you did a good job but you wonder if she’s just being nice, seeing as how she has two rabbits slung over her shoulder and a satchel full of rattling black walnuts as well as heaping boughs of conifer needles she says are for medicinal uses. She asks how many of them you ate and you find yourselves laughing together when she points out how stained red your fingertips and tongue are.

Sitting around the dinner table that night however, there’s no laughter. Everyone eats in near silence, only interrupted by Tess’ low voice quietly asking Sasha if the afternoon was prosperous. You’re pushing food around your plate, waiting for Joel to dismiss you from the table when he grabs your left hand roughly. Your fork clatters to the plate, piercing the quiet of the meal.

“What’s all this? Blood?” he nods towards your red-stained fingers, looking at Sasha down the table, expecting an answer from her instead.

“N– no! T– the red is from berries sh– we picked today,” she stumbles.

“Berries?” he scoffs. He makes a show of looking around the table, sweeping his free hand over the surface. “Where are they?” He finally looks at you but you don’t lift your head to meet his eyes. “You didn’t bring any to share?” He squeezes your fingers together painfully. “Ate them all yourself?” he rumbles.

“They’re downstairs,” Sasha interrupts, earning a sharp look in her direction. He doesn’t say anything but the why is obvious on his face. She continues, “They’re kinda dried out so I thought they’d be better fully dried and then we can use them–”

He raises his free hand up to silence her, still squeezing your fingers tight in his other hand’s grip.

“You don’t like the food we feed you here?” he gestures to your half-full plate of cold food. Your eyes remain cast down. “Hmm?” he squeezes tighter until you wince.

“Joel,” Tess starts.

“Shut up,” he barks, not looking at her.

“Maybe you’re full from all the dried up fuckin’ berries you ate today.”

He throws your hand down on the table and stands up next to you. He grabs your plate and lifts it over your head before throwing it forcefully against the wall behind you. The plate shatters, the food splattering against the wall and sliding down to the floor. Joel’s face is back at your ear instantly. His hot breath wafts across your face as he snarls at you.

“If that fat little belly is so full of berries you can’t even eat your dinner, why don’t you head up to bed?”

You hesitate, afraid to move.

“Now!” he screams, and slams his fist down on the table, causing plates and silverware to rattle loudly, making everyone at the table to jump.

You get up and run up the stairs to your bedroom. You lie facing away from the open doorway, this position serving as your only form of privacy. Hours later when everyone else heads to bed you hear his lingering footsteps in the hallway and hear him announce that no one is allowed to eat food outside of the house without his permission. He’s talking to everyone but you can tell he’s facing you when he says it. He lingers there for a while before you hear him retreat to his room, slamming the door loudly behind him.

–

You wake up early in a panicked sweat and think you’ll beat him to breakfast but find him already at the table silently watching, waiting. You have to get away from him today, you’re jumping at every little thing, the scrape of his knife across the plate and the movements of his feet under the table. You spend breakfast being watched again, picking at the eggs on your plate. He stares you down for a while and then huffs loudly, muttering under his breath.

“You better eat your fuckin’ breakfast or I’ll fuckin’ feed it to you myself.”

You beg Tess to let you go out foraging again, thinking Sasha will be okay with splitting up again. Tess allows it and Sasha reluctantly concedes that you can split up, strongly advising you to find somewhere quiet to lie low. She passes you some jerky, shelled walnuts, and drinking water from her pack before quickly plaiting her long, light hair. She tells you she’s going to head towards the old ski resort, but says that you have to stay close to town and out of sight. Her blue eyes are piercing as she makes you promise to meet up at the entrance of the old cemetery just before sunset so you can head back to the house together.

This plan goes off without a hitch and Sasha returns with enough foraged and scavenged items that it’s completely believable that you were both working to collect them, even though you spent the entire day wandering around the old lumber mill. There’s nothing to do there but it’s been cleared of infected so you know it’s safe. It’s also surrounded by woods and separated by a creek from the old inns and apartment buildings filled with Valley residents, so you know no one will see you there.

You repeat the pattern for the next several days and on the third morning you swipe a blanket from the couch and a book from Joel’s office after he leaves. You’ve spent the days stacking scraps of wood into makeshift furniture as if the mill was your own little rough-loft apartment, and are going to spend today reading about Dr. Alan Grant and Dr. Ellie Sattler’s terrible visit to Jurassic Park. You’ve gotten comfortable here, letting yourself relax in a way that you can’t at home.

Joel is watching you morning, noon, and night, and you don’t even have a bedroom door to stop his prying eyes. You should feel exposed here in this wide-open room, left alone all day, but you feel the opposite. At home you hear his grumbling voice, even when you can’t make out the words, you still hear it like a constant buzz in the background. But at the mill in the woods you only hear the soft sounds of the nearby creek and the gentle pat pat pat of the dripping snow being melted off the roof by the mid-day sun. You feel protected here in your clandestine daytime accommodation, you feel unshackled. The idea that you could transform a run-down abandoned thing into a comfortable and beautiful space fills you with a sense of beauty. You snuggle into your blanket and dive into the book. Eventually you close your eyes, letting your mind replay the scenes from the movie that you so distinctly remember from your childhood – the vibrations of the T-Rex’s steps, spattering rain on large, tropical leaves, the screeching of the raptors.

You wake up to complete darkness and a freezing rain misting against the half-broken windows. Shit. You’ve completely lost all track of time and have fallen asleep on your wooden cot, bundled snugly in a blanket with your book laid over your face. You’ve missed your late afternoon bath, you’ve missed your meet up with Sasha, you’ve maybe even missed your weekly meeting with Joel. You sit up in a panic as you recognize Sasha’s voice calling out for you. Shit! Then you hear a second voice, higher-pitched, calling your name out, followed by a deep rumble, almost barking your name. Fuck. You’re so fucked, the whole house is looking for you. He’s looking for you.

It’s Thursday and you should’ve been home hours ago, the sun having long since set. You should both be at your meeting right now but Joel’s heart nearly seized up when Sasha came home, late herself, without you in tow. She explained you’d gotten separated on the way back from the abandoned resort and she hadn’t been able to locate you. He sent Tess to the meeting in his place and threw on two pairs of socks and his warmest coat, envisioning having to hike a while to find where you might be hiding from him.

Sasha tells him that she last saw you by the old cemetery, so that’s where they start, Rosie throwing on a raincoat and volunteering to join in the search. The three of them quickly cover the cemetery and then work their way across some old cornfields, moving towards the community center. About forty minutes into the search he's beginning to think about doubling back when his flashlight hits a moving figure trotting across the softball fields. There you are.

“Sorry,” you shout, your voice breaking, waving your arms over your head and making your way towards them in the dark.

He waits until you get closer to unleash his rage. Once you’re within his reach he grabs the scarf tail hanging out the front of your jacket and yanks you against him. You sputter with the force and reach to your neck to loosen your scarf but he blocks your hands, grabbing the front of your jacket with both fists and lifting your feet off the ground.

His face is so close to yours you can feel the moist heat wafting over your face, and spit from his angry muttering hitting your lips. Where the fuck have you been? Weren’t you fuckin’ listenin’ to me when I said you couldn’t go out alone? What are you thinkin’? You begin to cry, a strangled wail slipping out of your mouth. You’re not fuckin’ thinkin’, are you baby? There’s not a thought in that stupid little fuckin’ head. Your body is heaving with sobs now, tears streaming down your face. He lowers you back to the ground but holds you still.

The walk back to the house is silent except for your weeping, Joel clutching you tight to him as the other women trail behind. When you get inside you’re sniffling and shivering and Joel takes you upstairs to the bathroom. Kerri, who has been boiling water for a hot bath pending your arrival, gets the other women to help her bring several buckets of hot water to fill the tub, while Joel runs cold water from the tap to make it a more comfortable temperature.

Everyone leaves you and Joel alone in the bathroom and he robotically begins to peel your cold, damp clothes off your trembling body and pile them on the floor. You’re going to be completely naked in front of him. The only other time that happened, the situation was very different. You sniffle, looking towards him, trying to read his expression but his face is stone, impassive and stiff. You stifle a sob.

You let him strip you down to your underwear before you let out a whimper, too scared to say anything or bat his hands away. Shush, he mutters, turning you away from him by the shoulders. You face the steaming water, tears still silently dripping down your face. You’re almost naked now and cold, so cold, his hands feel burning against your skin. He undoes your bra at your back and lets you pull it down your arms as he unceremoniously tugs your underwear down your legs. This is it. You’re exposed.

You jolt as he grabs your upper arm roughly and guides you to step into the tub, letting go as you sink down into the hot water. You hiss as it feels scalding against your cold, clammy skin and when you sit and turn back to face him you find the room empty. He’s gone, left the door wide open, left you by yourself. You sit in the tub in the big, cold, empty room and begin to cry again, quieter this time. You think you really fucked up. Joel’s furious with you and Sasha and Tess are probably mad too.

You silently sob, shaking with fear at what he might do to you, how he might retaliate. A knot in your stomach forms at the idea that he’d put his hands on you, that he would touch your body for pleasure when the thought of him only causes you pain. But then a sickening thought forms in the back of your mind that you’re such a pain in his ass that he probably doesn’t even want you anymore. You’re just a burden to him at this point, a helpless little baby he has to look after. Can’t be trusted to do anything useful around this house, can’t even be trusted to spend an afternoon alone without turning up wet and freezing cold.

–

You’ve been hugging your knees and letting your sorry self bawl into the bathwater until it turned tepid. Joel hasn’t returned and you haven’t heard his footsteps out in the hallway. You stand up and drain the tub, beginning to shiver once again as the cold air hits you. Without a towel to grab you tiptoe – still dripping wet – the few feet to your bedroom. Once inside you grab a blanket off your bed and wrap it around yourself, wicking away the water droplets on your skin and warming you back up. You climb into bed wrapped up like that, curling on your side with another blanket on the bed overtop you.

You’re startled out of your almost-sleep by the weight of a body sitting on the bed at your back. Fear strikes like a knife through your heart, knowing it’s him.

“Come ‘ere…” you barely hear his throaty growl.

You dare to hesitate and he springs into action, throwing the covers off you and dragging your naked body out of your blanket cocoon, throwing you – legs still flailing – over his knees. You open your mouth to cry out but a warm hand clamps over it firmly, silencing any protest you could make. Unbidden tears spill out of your eyes, running down over his fingers and falling to the floor below.

“You disobey me and you get punished,” he says matter-of-factly.

He begins with swats to the back of your thighs, your yelps completely muted by the heavy hand wrapped around your jaw. He doesn’t give you time between strikes to recover, nor does he pause to soothe your skin or offer you any comfort. You want to squirm away from the sting but you’re too scared of what he’ll do if you try to fight him.

He delivers smacks to one cheek just long enough for it to almost go numb, before switching to the other. His blows land over and over, sharp and hot, unrelenting. You continue to cry, soaking his hand at your face, fighting to remain as still as possible despite every instinct in your body screaming to do the opposite. You’re not counting but it must be at least two dozen strikes before he finally stops.

You lie still and stinging, his denim-clad thighs rough and still rain-damp against your ribs. He remains above you, hands pulled back to his side, panting but mute. Eventually he shifts you off his lap and gently tucks you back into bed, his tender touches belying the harsh discipline he just doled out. He moves to the doorway and stops, his back to you, his head lowered. His voice rumbles deeply but clearly, to be sure you can hear him.

“I don’t know what you were tryin’ to do, but I swear to god, if you ever defy me again I will make you fuckin’ regret it.”

—

Tess returns from the meeting hours later, walking in the house to what looks like the middle of an argument. Joel has Sasha up against the wall in the front hallway, one hand splayed out on her chest pushing her back flush and the other hand pointing a finger in her face. Tess can’t make out what’s being said but Joel clearly doesn’t let her entrance interrupt him.

Then – to her surprise – she watches as Sasha slaps Joel across the face. Joel takes several steps back, looking quite surprised. She sees his face go dark and pulls his own hand back, bringing it forward to reciprocate, knocking Sasha several feet over from where she was standing. But Sasha is ready for it, she takes the hit, absorbs it, and catches herself before she falls too far. She almost immediately rights herself, standing back in front of Joel, chin up, looking defiant. She raises her hand to slap him again and he stops it mid-air, grabbing her wrist firmly but not roughly.

“Alright, enough,” he rumbles.

He releases her wrist and they nod to each other, apparently at an understanding. Sasha goes upstairs as Joel walks towards the door where Tess still stands. He’s moving slowly, like he’s weighted down, but his breathing is rapid, his eyes wide, and his forehead dappled with sweat.

“Is PJ–” she starts.

“She doesn’t go out with Sasha anymore,” he interrupts. “In fact, she doesn’t go out at all. She stays here at the house. I don’t care what she does, but she does not leave.” He turns from her to walk away.

“Is PJ alright?” Tess finishes her sentence to his retreating figure.

“She will be,” he calls back, stalking towards his office.

Tess fully recognizes that the situation is becoming untenable. Joel has been growing more and more unstable, becoming increasingly physically violent with you, snapping at everyone in the house constantly, lashing out at her during their daily meetings and even worse is when he snarls his bullshit out in public, in front of Valley members. She understands that he’s not in a good headspace to talk about his feelings, but his affection for you has rapidly twisted into something much darker, something much more sinister.

You are such a distraction to him and people are definitely noticing, someone new asks her nearly every day about him. She can’t keep covering for his volatile behavior. She has to find a way to intervene.

🖤

Thank you endlessly to @papipascalispunk for helping me with this series and listening to me rant (AND RANTING WITH ME) about Cult Leader Joel (CJ). 🫂I appreciate everything you do.

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper @missladym1981 @xdaddysprincessxx @lumoverheaven @ghoulettesinspace @brittmb115 @wintersquirrel @obscurexsorrows @littlevenicebitch69 @lulawantmula @pedroswife69 @joeldjarin @heimtathurss @untamedheart81 @pixielou5 @feel1n-h1gh

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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sadiecoocoo · 3 months ago

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Can we talk about the fact that Viktor was kind of not doing the best thing?

(Please be aware that I do not play or read the lore for lol so this might all be info that everyone knows already or I might be completely wrong)

Yes he was healing people, but he was changing people.

Salo, the corrupt politician who didn’t give a damn about the undercity and was fully prepared to lead the charge in invading Zaun gets his legs healed and he just decides to live down in the undercity and work for Jesus because he helped him?

And not only that but also be perfectly okay with Viktor always being in his head and being able to take over his body whenever he pleases, even if Salo could still take his body back when he wanted to?

Not only that but NO ONE in that community cared about dying. The guy at the front gate, who I forget his name, had a gun pointed to his head and barely reacted. We know this character, for the few scenes he’s been in, to be a very reactive character. He always seemed a little jumpy and scared anytime he showed up, always stuttering and looking around like something was about to jump out at him, even before he took any shimmer. But now that Viktor healed him, he gets a gun pointed at his head, and he’s completely unbothered? And he was faced with Piltover’s army and was just “please no weapons :D”

Not only that but when Jayce was freaking out in the community and pointed the hammer at that kid, they just looked at it. And then they decided to take him to viktor, with the murder weapon (even though they had been very adamant on the no weapons rule before??). Still kudos to that kid to seeing a guy who needed help and immediately taking him to said help

Another thing, that really might just be my interpretation, no one actually looked happy. There were no kids playing, or adults just talking with friends. Everyone was always carrying some bag of supplies or working and everyone looked like there was some place they needed to be. The only people that acted like people were Vi, Jinx, and Isha.

And of course I can’t just not mention the fact that when Viktor died everyone that he healed died too. Which, y’know, isn’t normal

But this last point makes me feel like the community was some kind of hive mind. We know that when a queen bee dies, all the worker bees will eventually die too, unless there’s a bee keeper, even if it’s not instant like with the community. And going back to an earlier point, everyone was acting like worker bees, getting food for the colony and making honey.

Now, all this isn’t to say that I think Jayce was right, though I do believe he had a valid reason or was at least not in his right mind at the time, and he probably had no idea what all would happen when he killed Viktor

In conclusion, I really don’t think Viktor would have helped Zaun in the long run. Eventually, as Singed said, he would die, and then everyone else he healed would too. He would change people to become drone-like and completely monotone in all their actions. Of course, this doesn’t mean Viktor himself is in the wrong, because he clearly had no grasp of what he was really doing and was being heavily influenced by the hexcore in the guise of Sky. Still, looking deeper into it, the community was inhumane and a literal cult

(Also please think about how much Vander would change if he had been fully healed by Viktor, there’s no guarantee that he would even still care about Vi and Jinx since he would be influenced by the hexcore too through Viktor)

Thank you for reading this wall of a theory/rant, I’d love to discuss if anyone has any other points they’d like to add! :)

#arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane season 2 #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #arcane theory #arcane rant #arcane vi #jinx arcane #arcane jinx #arcane jayce #arcane vander #vander #jayce talis

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sukunasun · 5 months ago

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Thinking about Geto who would have never thought he likes to be called daddy. Outside of being a real parent ofc. It’s unexpected. As Reader tries to work with the recently adopted twins to ease their trauma and get them ready for school via play therapy, they attach themselves to her easily, hungry for a maternal figure in their life. Whenever Geto sits in the waiting area for the session to end, Mimiko and Nanako blast out the door and Reader somehow always refer to him as daddy in their presence. “Oh, look, daddy is ready to pick you up”, “Go, tell daddy how good you two were”, “Come on, show these drawings to daddy”. And it has him in a chokehold. The word just sounds so good from her mouth. So good he might try to rizz her up. And he couldn’t care less about that it’s unprofessional for reader to fuck a client’s parent. For him it’s a challenge. A challenge to hear that word again. Just for him and nobody else.

why it sounds so good has less to do with sex but necessity. the assurance that he—single father of two with no experience, no status, and not a dime to his name—is a protector, capable and conscious of his life. no longer the smart-talking teen or charismatic cult leader with plans for world domination.

he thinks it shouldn't feel this good to be relied upon when he's barely thirty and buckles under pressure to make ends meet. three part-time jobs and it's still not enough. the stress of juggling priorities and responsibilities is immense. his wants and needs set aside. which is probably why his self-esteem tanked and he constantly feels like a failure. making mistakes, trying again, learning and re-learning the basics. how to cook, how to clean is more important. ultimately, 'how to parent' isn't a step-by-step process.

despite that, you don't see him differently. in fact, you admire him for it. "it can't be easy but you're doing a great job, the girls love you so much," you say, with clear eyes and unwavering affirmation—then asking his daughters in a fond and friendly tone—"isn't daddy the best?"

there are so many meanings to a word and he's aware you're only referring to him as the father of his children because making that distinction is important. it helps the girls get accustomed to seeing him as a parent, not just the person who's saved them. he won't jump to conclusions. he respects you after all. sweet sing-song voice and a heart of gold are just a bonus, you've helped his girls, you've helped him.

still, the novelty doesn't fade, and neither does the sentiment. the pride that blooms when he hears it ringing in his ears, resounding in his chest. he's daddy. geto rarely seeks approval. only compliance, obedience, and maybe servitude on a rare occasion...but praise and recognition? it's too hard to pass up when it's from you.

although, the sexual connotation lingers. curse his dirty mind filled with filthy intentions. he'd only just gotten the hang of keeping his composure around you, carrying conversations with ease while pushing those obscene thoughts away. they beg for his attention as much as your instructions do, 'remember this and that...' gets lost while pulling himself together before you catch on. eye contact and all smiles as he memorizes your face.

he's going to need it later. or whenever he requires a little help. his imagination works wonders but he's also a stickler for accuracy. your lab coat hides modest sweaters and long skirts, maybe a loose-fitting t-shirt when you and the girls play outside. he can't picture your figure underneath when nothing is revealing. not the heft and weight of perky bosoms and a full ass, the dip and curve of a waistline, part of him—all of him—hopes he'd be the only one who gets to pry those layers off you, unveiling that secret side.

your glasses give it away, shielding the same lewd thoughts of your own. he notices your wandering eyes coveting his body, feels your rapid heartbeat on the side of his arm when you're pressed close. he's well aware of the effect he has on most women, but especially for someone like you who tries so hard to resist.

as weeks went by, his plans to tempt you were coming closer to reaching fruition. "daddy talks about you a lot," nanako whispers as she lets you in on a secret and mimiko nods in agreement, her voice lowered too, "mhm, daddy said you're very smart and pretty."

they wouldn't lie about him, so you smile and take their word for it. falling for giggling faces hidden behind tiny hands. you reply, "that's so nice of him, please do thank him for me," for confidentiality's sake, because you wouldn't want geto getting embarrassed.

besides, there are rules on keeping them at a distance, they aren't your only clients, growing attached would make things difficult and you're starting to see the effects of it as the days go by. for all that talk about 'being professional' you spend too much time thinking about their daddy outside of these walls.

"you shouldn't give him preferential treatment..." says the receptionist, not hiding her cheshire cat grin. she's been watching you like a hawk since he walked in and made an appointment—it wasn't his body, or his face that caught your eye, both beautiful and modelled after a dream but once the shock has set in and you observed him closely, the scene has stuck with you since. his daughters are twins, both dressed well for the weather and there are no signs of distress in their expressions. they look at him like he's their favourite person. wide, shining eyes and a giddy-ness in their steps. he keeps them close to him, "no wandering around, let's not get lost," he said, sounding assertive but gentle at the same time. they nod, holding onto his pant leg on each side. the way his posture straightened tall, his expression serious as he filled out forms, requiring no assistance should you add, with the details when often most don't even remember birth dates or blood types.

most do the bare minimum but he stood out then in a suit, "i thought it was important to make a good first impression," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. it's hardly a formal occasion but the thought is appreciated when he looks so stunningly handsome. the other single mothers who come by seem to think so too. some bring him leftover bentos and homemade curry. you always thought they'd charm him well enough given that he's single—a fact you're surprisingly way too relieved about—but he remains happy and perfectly content as a bachelor.

the receptionist continues, pointing out these tiny changes you make to your routine—fixing your hair, using a new perfume, your voice pitches higher around him, repeatedly checking your reflection in your compact before his arrival—it's just as evident to you, the woman who's always been unbothered with keeping up appearances. "aw...does someone have a crush on daddy?" she pouts childishly.

"i like all my clients equally," you correct her, "and i don't see him that way. if anything, i just think he's a great parent is all. he's always on time for sessions and applies what we've learned. he's shown exceptional effort."

she wiggles her brows suggestively, "i bet he's exceptional in other ways too...if you know what i mean." ugh. just when you think it couldn't get worse.

"that's none of our business and we shouldn't be discussing this, it's very inappropriate," you know better than to jeopardize your position. you've worked hard for this, spent weeks gaining the trust of two very sweet and adorable girls, it's not worth considering an illicit affair. yes, an affair, because that's all it'll ever be when he's got too much on his plate.

"tsk, you're no fun," she swats you and your hardened face away, deciding then to finally get back to work, but not before she gets the last word in, sighing longingly, "i wonder if he'll ever marry..."

you admittedly do too. fantasizing about being his wife has become a habit and you like to think he'd make room for you, raising the girls together. there wouldn't want for anything because he gets shit done. so responsible and decisive. it's all about taking the initiative, unlike all the other lacklustre men you've dated before. he'll make plans and treat you to nice things. no excuses, no need to soothe bruised egos. it would be nice to be taken care of for once. so much so that it would be easy to relinquish control. all you need is a taste of submission.

geto isn't afraid of a challenge. not even if you play hard to get. how you'd like to step on his toes, a dominating figure who puts you in your place, you wouldn't make it easy for him when he doesn't cower at the sight of a well-made woman.

that night, you barely make it pass your door before your clothes come off. biting your lip and holding back a moan, feeling a heat rise in your belly. tonight isn't about getting it over with but to last as long as possible. or at least until you get to the good part without coming all over your fingers—imagining his weight pressing down onto you. legs folded up and resting upon broad, sturdy shoulders. feet lifted with no purchase, you can't do anything but take it as he thrusts slow and steady, feeling your tight walls clamp down. milking him for everything he's got.

your fingers slip in and the stretch barely measures up to the real thing as you mimic every drag and pull of his cock. you don't worry about size or shape because it belongs to him. how often you've thought about the weight of it on your tongue, dripping precum down your fist. you'd strip him out of his lame harem pants, his pressed trousers, those god-forsaken gym shorts that drive you crazy. taking him down your throat when it's hot out and he's just finished one of his many night shifts. you heard he's working at a restaurant now. oh he'd smell like grease and noodles but you couldn't care less. your mouth begs to suck him off. after all, it's the least you could do when daddy works so hard.

"shh, you wouldn't want the girls waking up," he'd warn, but doing just the opposite to keep you quiet. it makes your legs shake, craving it all the more. i'm sorry daddy, lies on tip of your tongue, you whisper it out into an empty bedroom. save for the sounds of the squelching, slippery mess you make.

he's vocal but not dramatic, he doesn't rush into things, and takes his time to talk you through it. "i know it feels good, i've got you, i'll make my baby come," his baby, you love the sound of it. his voice wraps around you like a cocoon. so secure you could let go, give in to him, submit. he'd tend to your pleasure more than his own. let him take charge, let him make full use of your pussy like he owns it. maybe he'll punish you if you disobey.

glasses askew, hair frazzled, resolve in shambles. your tears spill, they burn your cheeks. i can't, i shouldn't, you chant. it doesn't matter that his cock stretches you out deliciously, or that he sneaks a hand to wrap around your neck, you can't let this man make you lose all your inhibitions and better judgement. your mind races, wet and sticky fingers pumping faster, there's a ringing in your ears and you hear your own breaths huffing out, your pussy clenches and for a second, it feels like your orgasm might slip from you the more you hold back.

how real he appears in your mind's eye, "daddy, daddy, daddy please," you whine, cry, scream. a familiar wave builds and wrings a knot in your stomach, your clit throbs and your fingers jam themselves against that spot deep inside, wishing it was him prodding you with vigor. you're so close you think of his broad back, his sweaty neck, his veiny arms around you so tight. holding you hostage as he gently coaxes you towards the edge. "that's it," he groans and you swear you hear it above you— "come for daddy," and you're crumbling and coming undone at the seams, not the least bit sated or sure of facing him again the next morning.

#ask #anon #sunpiece #saturated #geto suguru #just a short one #jjk smut #jjk hcs #geto suguru x reader #geto smut #geto x reader

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skyhavens · 2 months ago

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i was tagged by the lovely and effervescent @rosenfey to do this uquiz for my ocs, and i thought! hey! this is a great opportunity to do a lore dump about ippolita! so that's what all of this nonsense is. 🖤

patron saint of lost faith — patron saint of leaving it by the roadside. patron saint of it slipping out of your fingers. patron saint of searching and searching. patron saint of yearning for it back. patron saint of scraping your fingers down to the bone trying to hold onto it. patron saint of losing it anyway. saint of lost faith. not the saint of getting it back.

ippolita cabrielli (eventually, ippolita de riva or ippolitta dellamorte, depending upon the date of reference) was born smack in the middle of 9:25 dragon, not long before the fifth blight. her father, filippo, worked as a dyemaker for a renowned vendecolori just outside of antiva city, in a small, riverside town called alivia.

not once did her father speak of her mother. only her paternal grandmother spoke of the woman at all, and every time she brought up her existence, filippo flinched like he'd been struck. there was a story there, but it wasn't hers to learn.

when she was barely ten, she watched the vendecolori's even younger son drown in one of her father's dye vats. not long after that, she was taken from him as payment for what he allowed to transpire.

after a confusing few weeks, she was offered to the crows for a surprisingly hefty sum, and not long after, she began the rigorous and often excruciating training required of crow fledglings. ippolita proved to have a somewhat innate talent in acrobatics, but her true skill was in observation. she did not just pick up useful information, but she picked up voices and affectations that would have made her something of a mimic, if not for the high pitch of her childish voice.

became an official crow at eighteen. during the celebration that followed, she engaged in a brief (and very drunk) tryst with illario dellamorte. she's forgotten; he hasn't.

when she was barely nineteen, she was tossed to the lions rather than the wolves. her first foreign contract was in far-flung serault. for a time, she posed as a soft-spoken washerwoman for the city's floundering chantry. kill the leader of the cult of masked andraste, she was told. and kill them, she did.

subsequent contracts left her circling around orlais, and with every finished contract, she waited, wondering when she would be brought home.

she was twenty-three when she returned to antiva — not to antiva city, where she'd received most of her training, but to not-yet-occupied treviso. and for five of the years that followed, she continued making a name for herself under the mantle of house de riva.

ippolita is a drowner. whether it's in a canal, a bath, or a particularly deep puddle, it's her go-to method of assassination. it isn't all she's capable of, but it's how she prefers to kill. otherwise, she has a particularly nasty stiletto that makes its way into the rest of her marks.

found a number of letters from an anonymous admirer upon her return to treviso. someone had been paying attention to her work while she was away. she still doesn't know who wrote them. the romantic in her has kept them for years and delights every time she finds a new one in her apartment.

loves music and has a lovely singing voice, though she couldn't play a note herself. there is little in the world that enraptures her like agile fingers on lute strings.

horribly allergic to cats.

would rather starve than eat rice and the smell of onions fried in butter makes her nauseated. eat something enough, and you find you cannot stand the taste.

she stands at an absolutely miniscule 4'11, but is powerfully built. she is small, but strong and fat around her belly and hips and ass. there's no knocking her over. varric thought she was a dwarf until he caught a glimpse of her ears.

#type: headcanons #oc: ippolita de riva #anyway here's the girl and all of her lore so far

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bottomlouisficfest · 3 months ago

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We hope you’ve enjoyed the last two weeks of fics from the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2024! Every two weeks, we’re compiling all of the fics from that period into one roundup post so they’re easy to find for anyone looking to catch up on fics they missed. Enjoy these amazing fics and give them the love they deserve!

Help Me Make It Through The Night

A fic by ColourfulSuitmoon on AO3 | @Anna74rry on Twitter

23k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Be a dear and get that for me,” Liz says. There’s a glint of something mischievous on her face but Louis ignores it, figuring her cold has slowed her down from worrying about answering the door. He heads to the door and opens it. On the other side is one of the most beautiful men Louis has ever seen. He’s a bit taller than Louis and he has broad shoulders. His legs seem to last for days and Louis can tell that he’s muscular, but with a feminine softness in his form. He has short curly hair and his eyes are the prettiest shade of green Louis has ever encountered before. There’s a smile on his face and dimples on his cheeks and Louis kind of wants to dig his finger in the left one. Just poke it a little. The smile on the man’s face dies when he sees Louis. The following silence is uncomfortable. “Louis Tomlinson,” the man says with distaste in his voice. Louis can’t comprehend why he sounds like that. He’s only just met the man… Oh, wait! No. He knows this man. Or he knew him when he was a boy. The man before him is Harry Styles, the boy he and his mates back in school used to bully relentlessly.

cherries and honey

A fic by houisminou on AO3 | @houisminou on Tumblr | @houisminou on Twitter

8k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 412: Louis is surprised that he doesn't have any cravings while pregnant and that he doesn't feel overly emotional, but he just doesn't notice. Harry does though. Featuring an emotional, demanding, and happy pregnant Louis who unconsciously sends Harry to make or get his current cravings.

Me and my Husband

A fic by louisbaby28 on AO3 | @lovemelolitaa on Twitter

19k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

That moment where he lay in his bed and it was the only time where he could share everything with Harry. His ex-husband comes into his dreams after Louis has waited for him all day. And he knows that when he wakes up that Harry won't be there, he loves the night just the same. Because it's going to bring him Harry back, after a long day without him. In a place of dreams, where his world is perfect. Or where Harry met someone else, leaving behind everything he once built with Louis.

if i cannot bend heaven, i'll rise hell

A fic by outropeace on AO3 | @outropeace on Tumblr | @outropeaces on Twitter

109k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

It blooms: In 1807, a boy falls for the wrong monster. It eats: In 1969, omegas began to disappear as rumors of the rising of a cannibalistic cult spread like wildfire. It grins: Now, one of the most powerful vampires of the West sits down for an interview to reveal all his sins. “Exodus 7:14-11:10, right before he sent the plagues, he said to Moses; ‘By this you will know that I am the Lord.’.” The vampire said with the ghost of a smile, small, almost intimate. “How can you annihilate something that you cannot touch, something you cannot see? How can you fight against a hungry God?"

God I Love the English

A fic by yourgorgeouscolors on AO3 | xx on Twitter

39k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"His free hand comes up to hold the space where the microphone attaches to the microphone stand, his other hand holding the two ends of the pride flag close to his chest. Louis’ eyes drift upwards once more to the VIP area. He’s singing directly to Harry now. “Wanna be with you. I fancy you.” The stage lights go black." Or, the one where Louis is a singer and Harry is an actor and they enjoy teasing their fans a little too much.

Lost In Psychic Dire Straits

A fic by whoknows on AO3 | @crazyupsetter on Tumblr

11k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Through the one way glass, Harry watches as the suspect fidgets, drumming his fingers on top of the table briefly before picking at the skin on his left thumb. A nervous habit, one that makes him prone to shedding DNA all over the place. With any luck forensics will come back with a strong match. “His lawyer or a lawyer?” Harry clarifies. “His lawyer,” Marianne tells him. “Seems like Mr. Tomlinson has spent the better part of the last decade running around trying to convince people he's a psychic. Got enough brains to have an attorney on speed dial, seems like.”

You're Not Harry Styles (or are you?)

A fic by Blue_Green28 on AO3 | @bluegreen28fics on Tumblr | @_blue_green28 on Twitter

20k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Singer Louis Tomlinson finally meets his crush - ex-boybander Harry Styles - on a late night talk show after he recently released a hit single mentioning Harry. They hit it off and fall in love.

yours to reign

A fic by louixamor on AO3 | @louixamor on Tumblr | @louixamor on Twitter

40k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

When a dictator threatens to steal the crown of Costa Luna, prince Louis is forced to go into hiding in Louisiana, where he must lie about his true identity. Major Joe Styles promises to keep him safe in his home while Costa Luna fights to regain control. His plan for Louis is simple: blend in until the storm subsides. Falling in love with Harry Styles would only make things complicated. So, naturally, that's exactly what he ends up doing. Or the Princess Protection Program AU.

Sharp as Sugar, Sweet as Spice

A fic by HoldingOnToChaos on AO3 | @holdingontochaos on Tumblr | @cautioninchaos on Twitter

60k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis loves his life. He’s got great friends, endless hookups, everyone loves him, and he’s a top student set to graduate with a medical degree. When he meets Harry by chance one day, he expects it to just be a sneaky blowjob with a hot dad—it ends up being anything but that, well, except for the DILF part, that’s most definitely the case. -- Or Harry is a DILF and Louis is a tart, and despite the casual nature of their arrangement, they fall in love—not that that’s easy to admit to each other.

–

Remember to give these fics kudos and comments, and spread their fic posts!

–

All roundups will be linked here:

Weeks 1-2 Roundup

Weeks 3-4 Roundup

Weeks 5-6 Roundup

Weeks 7-8 Roundup

Weeks 9-10 Roundup

Weeks 11-12 Roundup

#blff 2024

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cconfusedkat · 2 months ago

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Hi! I exert too much time and energy into very unnecessary things, and So this happens to be One of those things,

This post will cover the following; the ancestors/the six sheep of sanheim, paloma & mystic seller, and an abrupt timeline summary :> here is my bishop refs post

Year -1000, a Rise of Meliora and early beginnings of Columbidae

These people we are looking at are considered Archangelic Lambs, Six Sheep of Sanheim, or simply just Archangelo. They all try to compliment one another regarding each individual God's personality.

Archangelo, God of Courage & Freedom, they/them. Algerian sheep

Balam, God of Cunning & Past/Present, she/they. Braunes Bergschaf sheep

Callicantzaros, God of Feast & Festival, they/them. Valais Blackneck goat

Decarabia, Demigod of Singing & Drinking, he/they. Bizet sheep

Gaap, God of Love/Hatred & Tides, she/her. Bergamasca sheep

Zagan, God of Witt, they/them. Askanian sheep

Lastly, they're all inspired off of demons from demonology :-) hence the repeating number of 6 and the name "Archangelo" in reference to Satan before being damned (since he was an archangel)

Year -600, the death of two beloved rulers, yet the rise of a new one

Paloma, who took over her kingdom after her parents died to old age, was a God of Tranquil & Grain (or vice versa). Columbidae is an independent nation, unlike Meliora who is ruled by walking Gods

Though, in rough times, Paloma couldn't cope properly with the loss of her parents. Archangelo and Paloma stumbled across each other in -600, the lamb being there for the dove for as long as possible.

However, a Particular shadow-being didn't like the closeness of their relationship, of whom we talk of;

Mystic Seller, who once was known as Mystique, a shadow who ran away from their old home (Mystici) to pursue being a disciple under Paloma.

Mystic had been Paloma's disciple ever since -1000. When they saw Archangelo and Paloma get closer and closer to their almost engagement, Mystic had a major issue with it.

And so, they would do anything to prevent them getting engaged ,,, which did cause the butterfly effect of the lamb genocide 😭😭 lamdalcjskc i like how im srs with everything else and then here Its Just. Yeah the development of paloma and archangelo uniting nations as both lambs & doves lead to an eventual lamb genocide- yep- Yeah Man,

Soooo Essentially for a better summary of timelines rather than my excessive yapping, here's a little something I've gathered over their history: (of course other major events happened but Still)

-1000 ； Beginning of Lamb (Archangelo) and that's mainly the true species for some time

-900 ； Thriving country of Meliora, Mystici's (the country Mystic is from/shadow being's lurk) begins to form due to the Gods Boundary Line of there needing to be other species

-800 ； Rise of Columbidae's Empire which eventually is a nation lead by doves and a couple of other leading land animals

-700 ； War breaks out for a couple of years between Columbidae, The Lands of the Old Faith (which are a five state colony), and Archangelo trying to make peace

-600 ； Monarch and Queen of Columbidae, now leaving the entire nation of Columbidae under Monarch Paloma. She had yet to ascend to Godhood, and she still didn't know how to continue running her parents cult after they pass away from old age. Archangelo offers his hand to working with Paloma and combining their countries as well as cults ++ religions, thus Paloma ascends to Godhood as a former Bishop.

(The Lands of the Old Faith are still beefing with both Meliora and Columbidae. The colonies chose to leave Mystici alone)

-500 ；Everything in society is about to collapse. The Betrayal happens (where Narinder gives his siblings his injuries and gets sent to Below), Mystic killed all the Archangelics and saved Archangelo for last (ripping off their horns), and Paloma falls into another deep depression.

-500 — -20 ； Lamb Genocide. Each and every Lamb is now almost gone, leaving Allure and Zainab to be the only lambs left, who ran away for so long.

Year 0 ； Allure and Zainab are captured by the colonies. Zainab gets executed first, Allure gets executed a day after, but the twist is of course Allure being able to bare the Red Crown with the help of TOWW/Narinder. Year 0 is the beginning of- get ready- Cult of the Lamb YEAHHHHHHHH🗣🗣🗣 or also their cult is called Alluring/Allureable Lamb lmaoxaldjdkm

And with that, Mystic had already set everything into place. They outright planned the lamb genocide, they told Shamura about Narinder betraying them, they got Paloma killed by Shamura, and now all they had to do was visit the little lamb five years into their cult. Not even Ratau knew about Mystic's existence.

Mystic Pursuit!! An eventful AU that is all under Mystic's control of a silly little butterfly effect !!!! Yayyyy

Next post will be Allure lore with a liiiitttle animatic and their own refs again C:<< I have yet to cover the three witnesses (i still havent drawn them) but they have loads of lore as well :-]

#sydneys doodles #mystic pursuit #cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl au #In other words: “you're fucked” is a Very fitting song for this holy mother of asshole /silly #ummm what do i tag. Uhh #lamb #the lamb #cotl oc #cotl ocs #Or . Or something #paloma #archangelics #<- probably their tag overall #mystic seller #Now i can pursue my insanity about the witnesses🗣🗣🗣#mystic pursuit au refs #<- RUH ROH. Forgot that one too

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oonajaeadira · 1 year ago

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I'll Leave a Light On For You

Fandom: Bloodsucking Bastards / Max Phillips

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n. (There is a little description, but it’s still you. Believe me, it will make sense. We’re dealing with the supernatural here.)

Rating: T.

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Allusions to the atrocities of war and its lasting effects. Max is a vampire. Traumatic soul memory. Me assuming I know anything about French culture of the 1930s.

Summary: Max has reservations when it comes to love, and for very good reasons.

A/N: This is my entry for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. While I played one selfish card in my hand and wrote something of a companion to Light Only Shows You Where the Shadows Are, this can still be read as a standalone.

To my giftee, the amazing and wonderful @artemiseamoon : First of all, I admire you so much and I was really nervous to write for you. But I looked among your generous prompt choices (omgs thank you for so many good choices) and was surprised to find Max as an option. I wasn’t going to choose him at first but then my eye caught “past lives” and something in me zinged. Soul mates, angsty romance, second chance at love… and I’ve been itching to write an angsty Max. I know you are a fan of soft and whump, so all those elements had a party in my heart and here we are. I really hope you’re having a nice holiday and a good time off. Happy Secret Santa, Arte. <3

What we’ve been told is that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That’s almost correct.

The truth is…it’s not just your current life.

It’s all of them.

Max hardly remembers the fear, the pain, the cold of his draining. Even though he knew what was coming, bought into the cult, the human instinct of fight or flight is hard to dismiss no matter how well they’ve been prepped and it was to be expected. But it was a flash in the pan and once he came around to the undead side of things, those pesky human responses were all quickly forgotten.

For a time. Until he saw your light and–

Anyway. Human instincts. Pffft. Adorable. Trading the constant possibility of fear for that of glee, of rapture, of delight? Human instincts are trash. Not to mention their senses, poor suckers. The things they can’t see can’t hear can’t smell can’t taste? Tragic.

If only the feelings weren’t heightened too. It makes some things–some people–hard to ignore–

Feelings were something he could also have done without in his human life–the latest one anyway–and did whatever he could do to avoid.

It wasn’t until he died that he understood why.

As the life drained out of him and the delirium set in, there was a rushing sound, a pull through his soul like the drag of blood from his body, and he was laying, feeble, wailing, bloody and naked among the limbs of his mother.

But not the mother he so recently remembered, the one that showed her approval only when he provided her with some accomplishment worthy of crowing about to her society friends. No, this one was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she died of fever when he was only five years old.

Max saw it all, from within himself and without, remembered the pull of his heart and watched the tears fall down his little face as they nailed his mother’s body in a pine box and put it in a hole at the top of a hill under a tree.

He always imagined he heard her singing to him in the grasses after that.

The world welcomed a new century, and not long afterward, he was a young man, looking to take over his father’s wine fields. But the chance was stolen when an archduke was shot. Max–Pierre, as he was called then–and all of the close friends and cousins he had were thrust into a great war.

He was the only one to walk out of the fray. And when he came home, he found his father’s fields had been burned and that nothing remained.

That was a dark time. Ten years of looking back rather than looking forward. Ten years–it went by so fast–while he watched the world around him try to repair itself and find its footing again, not realizing that the roots of evil still grew beneath the soil.

He kept his head down and his hands working wherever he could.

But then he met a woman.

And she was Pierre’s life. Max’s life. Before he was Max.

It happened in the winter, just before Noël. And her name was Yaëlle.

Max remembered that before she even told him as he watched the story of this strange old life.

Yaëlle. It means “beautiful one.”

“It also means ‘goat,’” she’d said. “That seems more fitting.” She never thought of herself pretty, and perhaps she wasn’t fashionable and maybe she was stronger than she was dainty, with a weak chin and curly dark hair she couldn’t control. But the light in her eyes when she laughed–and what a laugh, like a little bird–the sway of her hips and the confidence in her carriage, her air of easy care and comfort caught his heart like a surly bear in the prettiest trap.

She’d simply been passing through the marché de Noēl, looking but not stopping, taking the kerchief off her head so the snow could land in her curls, when a child approached her selling buns in the shape of a cross and she gave the child a franc before sitting down at the statue of some cardinal or other in the center of the square.

She could have sat on any of the other benches, but she chose to plonk down next to Max. Next to Pierre.

“You want this?” she asked, offering the bun. “Not really my thing.”

How could she have known he was hungry? That he was lonely? That he was facing the market rather than the river because he was trying not to succumb to his inclinations, a pull to walk out onto the thin ice and let himself be taken by the stream?

He was instantly entranced by her. He felt himself smiling. Something shifted within. A destiny.

“You sure?” he asked.

She peered at him, scrutinized his whole self like she could see a glow around him and was looking for its source.

She found it in his eyes.

“Absolutely. I already ate three hand pies today. The last thing I need is more bread.”

He laughed for the first time in a long while. They talked. He ate.

On Christmas Eve when everyone was at the evening’s mass, she was there again, sitting alone, and this time it was he who had hot food and came to join her on the bench while the night was silent and cold and the stars were twinkling.

It was then that he learned why she was not in church–her folk did not observe Noēl. And she learned why he was not in church–he had lost his faith, that everyone he had ever loved was taken and there were not enough candles in the sanctuary to light for all of them.

“What if I lit one?” she’d asked.

“Who would you light it for?”

“For you. So you don’t have to sit in the dark.” When he was only silent, she said, “You fought in the Great War, didn’t you.” And when he looked away–when he shut her out–she continued. “My husband fought in that war. And he never could find his heart again. He said he loved me, but I don’t think he ever really did, not all the way. But I loved him all the way and when he put an end to his own life I thought I would have to do it too. Instead, I sat in the dark for a long time. It’s something I can see in a person. I can see you’re sitting in the dark.”

They stayed quiet for a time on the bench under the statue of the cardinal and when the church bells started to toll–signaling the magic of the empty square would soon be disrupted by the mass emptying into its streets–she stood and pulled her coat around her.

“My home is down that street, a little one with a red roof. It’s warm and I’ve plenty of hand pies--I made too many. I’ll leave a candle in the window until I’m asleep. You’re always welcome there, Max.”

And then she smiled and turned down the avenue where she’d pointed.

He blinked. Just before she reached the edge of the square he called out, “My name isn’t Max. It’s Pierre.”

She turned and gave a sly wink. “Good to know. I think once you get a belly full of my pies, you’ll let me call you whatever I want.”

He only sat long enough to watch the churchgoers file out of the holy service, many of them with people they loved, humming, happy, cheeks glowing in that way when one steps into a fresh cold world after being an hour or two soaking in the warmth. And once the square was empty again, he stood, gave only a fleeting look to the river, and then walked resolutely down Yaëlle’s street.

A little house with a red roof and a candle in the window.

He stayed for supper and came back many nights after.

And then one night he never left.

Max recalled the rest of that life with a lurking despair. While he couldn’t quite remember how it went, something in him carried it through to the life he’d just left…and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was yet.

A few years of joy, of the greatest love he’d felt since his childhood. Like the mother he’d lost, another woman who was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she couldn’t anymore.

They never celebrated Noël as the others did, but in their own way. For a handful of years they would go sit on the bench in the square and hand out pies to their neighbors and anyone who came to join them where they sat. They would listen to the singing in the church and watch the stars scintillate overhead. They would leave their shoes by the fireplace and wake up to find gifts they’d bought for each other with the little francs that they had. And they would never talk about what they would do in the future, because they knew it would be this and that’s all they aspired to and it would be a happy life.

And Max watched Pierre forget about the rot that still ran its roots through the soil.

And one day soldiers came to town when he was out in the fields and they took Yaëlle and some of the other dark-haired, joyful, bird-laughing folk about town and murdered them. By the time he returned for the evening, the soldiers had gone and left him nothing but a ravaged house and a body to bury.

There’s nothing he could have done, the mourning neighbors told him, the tide was rising. If he had fought them, they would have shot him too.

Pierre said that it would have been better that way.

Pierre stopped working in the fields when he started to hear his mother’s voice singing among the grasses again…now joined by Yaëlle’s sweet alto.

He had one more Noël in that life. He drank as much as he could take without falling over and stumbled out to sit on the bench in the square, weeping once the churchgoers had gone. He didn’t say a word, but Max remembered what Pierre was thinking then.

Love hurts too much. It is always taken. It’s not worth the trouble.

And then Pierre fell asleep on that bench and never woke up again.

There wasn’t much time between that first life and this one, maybe a few decades in the dark. Just long enough for a voice to reach him in the void–a voice he knew well and loved with his whole heart for only a short time–to say,

“That was a good first try, Max. Let’s give it another go, okay? Another place, another time, when it’s not so hard. I’ll leave a light on for you.”

____

Max’s life had been shorter this time. But he’d learned a thing or two and kept love at arm’s length. Sex was good and companionship was fine, but he wouldn’t invest in anything that could drain him in an instant and leave him destitute.

Now power, that could fill the void.

So when fortune smiled and he was given the choice, he swallowed hard and put his neck to the teeth, traded in his humanity for power that nobody could take away from him…and a heart that had no need for warmth.

He was wrong about that last point though.

And he didn’t even know it until he saw something that humans couldn’t see.

Heard something they couldn’t hear, a long ago and far away voice singing.

Smelled you on the wind.

Followed it to you–a woman, just another human woman–walking out of a bar along some street in the city.

And he saw a light glowing from within you.

You wore another face, another body, but all he saw was you.

Yaëlle.

Beautiful one.

He followed you that night, and several nights after. He was the reason that car swerved before it hit you, the reason you weren’t approached by that seedy guy at the club. He was the reason you kept looking behind you now and then and when you finally saw him–having dinner at the same restaurant, totally by coincidence, you on a friendly outing, him trying to charm a client into a contract–it broke his heart that you did not know him instantly.

He found he was surprised that he still had a heart to break. He’d been so fucking careful.

Max almost gave into the anger, the disappointment. Replayed the pathetic way Pierre let himself be brought down and tried to remind himself not to let himself be broken again.

But then he heard your voice in a way only those who walk in death can.

Let’s give it another go. I’ll leave a light on for you.

____

Heightened feeling is the one drawback of all this power. It’s one thing to latch onto a target, to fixate on some middle manager or accountant or IT specialist until there’s a good time to finally strike. That is an itch that can be satisfied with a well-timed, fear-seasoned, adrenaline-soaked kill.

But love sinks its fangs in and doesn’t let go. It sucks at something that can’t be drained, has no end, can never get enough. It can drive an immortal--a never-ending being of heightened existence--to madness.

There will come a day in the future when you’ll trust him for no good reason, when you’ll understand the monster he is and whisper under your breath against your better judgment, when you’ll invite him in. For dinner.

And he’ll come around again and again.

And then one day, he’ll stay.

And you’ll yawn ask him on the edge of sleep, “Why me? Of all these humans that you could easily enthrall and have without question, why choose this?”

Max will look at you in the darkness and see nothing but your light.

You won’t understand when he puts on a show of an irritated sigh and tells you, “You gave me another chance, sweetmeats,” but you’ll doze in his cold arms, absolutely confident as he is that nothing will ever hurt you again. Including himself.

And that night he’ll stay until you wake.

He won’t have you sit in the darkness alone.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years ago

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Nymph Idol

Yan Church + "Incubus" Priest/Cult Reader [18+ Mdni]

Tw/Tags Religious Themes/Slight Trauma, implied underage drinking and dubious activities as a result (All parties are 18/19), Reader is G.N but mentioned to have a penis in some parts and is called "Mister" once. Reader (obviously) has no set features, but they do have a birthmark.

Faith had always been a unwavering staple in your life.

Raised by the people of your procreators' church; you were versed in literature beyond levels for those your age so you had voice to praise your Lord. Head of the youth choir, and the one chosen to begin prayer at dinner as you got older. Early on, the seeds of your influence on others sprouted during the primary years of your innocence. Walking into class that chilly winter morn, a classmate greeted you at the door, declaring their love to you with a letter in hand. They wanted to be the first, as your heart may have been lost somewhere in the clutter on your desk. Valentine's day - the day when those playground crushes could be seen as more and those holding passing stares could finally look you in the eye. A moment before, you never realized you had so many admirers. What could it have been that made so many look your way? You'd never know, not in this school - as once your parents found the notes in your bag you were shipped straight off to a school of the faith. And thus the cycle repeated.

For you, life was pretty much the same after the change. Go to school, study, help out the surrounding community as best you could. Outside of the little bubble you made for yourself, yet another flock of worshippers came to plate. They saw you as the silent, dedicated and hard working type - enamored by every word that came from your mouth. Even rejection fueled their desire as you let each person down with respectful and caring approach. They invited you to parties and hangouts, and while you never touched a drop of whatever they gave you - you agreed every time. Out in the real world, you came to the conclusion you were still that same sheltered child from years back. You'd neither kissed nor felt first love like those around you and in films you saw. You longed for the freedom of you, but the life of a priest was chosen for you before you were even born, and you had taken the vow of celibacy to heart.

You achieved your first taste of freedom at the end of highschool. To celebrate the graduating class, a nature retreat was scheduled. Seated between two of the most determined of your suitors - you could already tell this trip would change you for better or worse. Had the seats not been assigned, it would have been another hour before the bus took off with everyone dragging you around. These two were sure to win you in the end with their records and authority over their peers. One had been arrested and agreed to go to your school if the charges were dropped, the other forced with no benefit on their part - until they met you. Together, the pair grew close over their shared hatred of their environment, and become inseparable from their shared intrigued in you. When no one would look their way, you meet them with a smile whenever your paths crossed. So cute - just like an angel. The entire ride there, neither party removed their hand from your thigh.

"Wow, Y/n - your legs are really nice... You brought shorts with you right?"

"If you didn't, we have something you can put on."

The heat was instantaneous. Alone on a hot bus, your head swam from their gentle touches and praise. Noting the way you squirmed in your seat and squeezed the hem of your shirt over the source of your discomfort, they couldn't ignore you any longer. They were ready to suck you off right then and there under the cover of a blanket and let the whole class hear you sing. Alas, their fun was temporarily delayed by the arrival at your destination. You were the first off the bus with an express trip to the bathroom. Getting away from those two wasn't going to be as easy as you thought as they were your bunkmates.

Your only bunkmates.

Things started off harmlessly enough. Down at the lake, one would splash water at your shirt while the other whined that their bottoms were too lose. They'd complain about you wearing a shirt in the water, but you excused yourself due to the strange birthmark on your chest. They asked you to pick their outfits for the day, and snuck in your bed at night for nothing more than your warmth. As your days decreased, so went their subtlety. They'd stand in front of you in lines with the sole purpose of rubbing their ass against your crotch; their partner getting their share when you finally sat down and they sat in your lap. They'd walk around the cabin in nothing else but their underwear saying something about losing the towel tucked under your bed. When sleeping with you, one moaned so sweetly in your ear as their legs tangled with yours. Of all the nights they haunted your dreams, that was the first you woke with stained shorts.

Overtime you suspected they were finally giving up. They wore modest clothing, and you hardly ever saw them outside of activities or meals. You became alone due to them always sneaking out and in that solitude you committed acts of self pleasure you'd never done before. Your untaught hands felt like they'd been graced by touch of an angel as you chased your long awaited high - shooting ropes into the dainty fabric left under your pillow. The shame you beared for using their underwear mixed so perfectly into the pleasure that your vision went white as you came a second time. It wasn't long till the thing was soaked with so much of your release there wasn't any where for it to go, but your damp things. They left them there for that purpose, so it was okay - right? You'd rinse them and hand them to dry before anyone came back. It was one mistake that you could easily come back from.

"Well, well, well-"

Shit.

"The wait was longer than I'd like, but the results definitely make up for it. Come outside, "Mister Priest". We've been listening to you since you started and you're even cuter than I imagined. We'll treat you right."

You wanted to come up with an excuse or to at least be given the opportunity to clean up, but your mind was anywhere but your head at this point. They helped you fresh up partly by tongue-cleaning your navel and thighs with their tongue before leading you outside into the thick forest where their companion was waiting by the fire they'd built. They had two water bottles in their hands. One clear, and the other filled halfway with a dark liquid. The pair had stopped drinking for a while so your first kiss didn't taste like whiskey, but after both had explored the reigns of your mouth with their tongue it was back to gunning the alcohol. You drank a little too, or rather it was siphoned down your throat as they took turns spitting it in your mouth between kisses.

The rest of the night was a blur after that. You were talking about... something, but soon enough your cock was stuffed down one of their throats and all conversation was lost - your lifelong vows tarnished in one, sin-filled eve. Come morning, you woke with their numbers in your phone and their nude bodies against yours. Your head was killing you. Some water, and some gentle reassurance by your new lovers soothe the ache, and woke you to the world you now lived in. Drinking, having sex- What would they think? The people back home.... None of the people in your church did anything like this in their youth - as far as they'd tell. What were you supposed to do now?

"Baby...Relax. There's no harm in a little indulgence every now and then. You're still that same angel in our eyes. Horns just fit you a little better."

They.. They were right. You did have horns - presented in the lustful urges shunned and magnified by your upbringing. It wasn't you - it was a demon. That mark proved it. An insatiable beast. Your body was sensitive from the night prior yet you wanted more. To taste the flesh of anyone willing to give it to you. Slipping back into the covers - those believes were etched into your heart as you guided their heads down to the heat of your lust, mouths ready to please their new lord.

Life moved on after that. The goodbyes you shared with your lovers were more tearful than the nights you choked them half to unconscious only to lick their tears as they'd instructed. You saw each other on occasion, but moving to different parts of the country with no way to make visits permanent at the time shorted your hours together. When college began, they assured you their hearts would belong to you, and if you decided to seek out others they'd be fine with it. Their permission was not needed, but a nice gesture as you had already been scouting out your new playmate. The believes of the supernatural were strong in the new community, but faith prevailed. Show them a little proof and they'll take it that extra mile. Luckily for you, you had been born with all the evidence you needed.

"I try not to show this to everyone, but I know I can trust you now. I know you probably won't believe me, but it's the only excuse I have."

Taking off your shirt, their eyes always shoot to that birthmark on your chest, nestled on the skin of the cage shielding your heart. Some have described it as charred wings, others a crown of thorns. When you were in that stage of curiosity about the world around you, you always wondered what a hypothetical partner would think of it. Your first thoughts were fear or disgust, but the only thing you've ever seen on their faces is pure awe and need.

"I...was cursed by a demon at birth. My faith will always remain in the hands of God, but the effects of the devil's influence are relentless. I'm not strong enough to take care of it on my own... Will you help me?"

"..y-yes!"

With your charms, more eyes were drawn your way. Your lies kept your image clean. Day by day, it became easier for you to sneak your way in the beds and hearts of your peers. While your end goals were far from the realm of innocence, you still cared for this people and their well-being. It's what kept them crawling back -- following you after you graduated.

In priesthood, dozens came from all counters and backgrounds to see you in your prime. Many were old faces - awaiting the day you'd open your arms to them once more. If we're being honest here you've probably seen some of them during the weeks before. You never lied about your involvement with others, and if someone were to grow more jealous than you'd like them to be... they were taking care of before you had the chance to block them and move on. You still blocked them anyway, and messages from unfamiliar numbers claiming to be their families were deleted before you even knew about them.

In the eyes of your flock, you could do no wrong. An innocent member of the church, and a solider of their lord in need of their aid. Most have already abandoned their loyalty to that figure - use its name to raise your own. They whisper to those in the surrounding area about an idol that can teach them the true freedoms of life and erase loneliness from their hearts for the rest of their days. You're sure to give those brave and willing enough a private sermon they're sure to never forget. You finish every public prayer with a straight face and smile as you're serviced by your most loyal followers beneath the podium and your robes. A quick look underneath and you'll find whoever brought you to climax sharing the fruits of their labor with their neighbor through a sloppy kiss, savouring all you have to give. It took quite a while for you to detach your facial expression and sounds from such pleasure, but you've had years of practice by now. Your faithful pets and servants attempt to break that wall with every stroke and curve of their tongues fingers, or bodies - and you're more than welcome to let them try.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere smut #yandere harem

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funnyscienceman · 3 months ago

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ok so umm thoughts

Dont like that ori didnt get to do her 'going down to help despite dad's orders', unless somehow she did that as the, like what, twelve year old she's stuck as in that coccoon? So there's hers AND viktor's agency down the drain lmao

Singed actually being, if not corin, A reveck is still cool. Though idk why corin would be a separate person at this rate. I guess it's not impossible. In any case the locket has the initials C.R. on it in fancy writing so take that how you will

I love singed being goofy doing his own thing hes so funny

'No one in power is innocent' and also 'Patience is a virtue that comes with age, both of which I have in abundance' and like everything else in that scene. singed ily

I just love singed getting to be emotional. Getting to talk more and do more besides the baseline stuff in s1. Believe me i love those too bits too but i love singed BECAUSE he can have all this depth and is still somehow extremely silly lmfao

'Chin up, little one.' HE KNOWS HOW TO TALK TO CHILDREN. like we already knew that from his scene with viktor but it's just cool getting to see more of it. He knows how to talk to kids, how to interact with them, because he was ACTUALLY HALFWAY DECENT AT THE DAD THING. granted we dont get to see much of him being a dad with ori alive and walking around but im honesty willing to bet on it, because

Doesnt that make him MORE fucked up? That he would know how to be gentle, how to talk to kids, "Don't be afraid. You built this? Why aren't you playing with the others?" "Chin up, little one. We won't be in there for long." THE TONE OF VOICE. He CAN be decent, he CAN be kind, and he CHOOSES to experiment on and torture people and hurt people and let them get hurt for his own ends. Even his own PUPIL, he's willing to sabotage, just to get to warwick, for orianna. I have no doubts that he gives A shit about viktor, but he also loves Ori and he's put her in a coccoon and did she want that?

Besides the fact that he also could just see how the whole thing was some measure of fucked up and was like nah yeah thats not gonna last lmao heres ur warning kid, take it or leave it

In the moment i had thought that the instant cut from isha to singed at the rally was singed seeing that a kid was getting hurt and choosing that moment to act, but that could've also just been a cut to his reaction to cutting himself to draw warwick out, idk. This is just a footnote it doesnt matter much in the grand scheme of things lmao

Singed in a public space. Never thought i would see the day

THE BEDTIME STORY LITERALLY BEING THEIR SITUATION FFS

I will never recover from all this singed material. What's that? Viktor's started a cult? Jayce has a beard? Caitlyn's flip-flopping allegiances? Dude i dont care, im just here for singed. Look at him being goofy how could you not love him

Though to be real i am going to mourn the massive change to Ori's lore. What was so cool about the idea to me was how Orianna took her own life into her hands, first from dad, then death, and then dad again. I was baffled by it before, but upon rereading it i realize now why Ori left after giving dad her heart — he couldnt stop her from leaving anymore. It's framed as 'oh she's not human anymore so she has to find her place in this world' but it's really the root of her going down to Zaun in the first place: not the part where she's kind and giving, but the wanderlust. She wanted to go out and see the world, and Corin was always like no, it's too dangerous, you're staying here; and he was even pretty sucky about it by making the mechanical lungs require a key for winding, which he kept on his person up until he got sick. After the surgery, Ori took the key and left.

I'd thought myself that it was because she couldnt face him afterwards — i mean, she DID drug her dad and then perform heart surgery on him, using herself as the donor, all without his knowledge or consent; loving a gesture as it was it's still pretty fucked up LMAO — but i guess there's no reason for it to not be multiple things at once. And not like it matters much given s2 act2

One thing i find funny is how ori's image in the locket keeps changing. In s1 she looked like a lil baby, a preschooler maybe. In singed's arcane skin she looked like a teenager or even a young adult. Here in act 2 she looks like a tween lmao pick one rito

My thoughts are all over the place. Im no good at organizing. It's 12am and im brimming with energy.

Honestly no matter what happens, i think it'll be fine. Whatever riot declares as canon, you dont have to keep it. The thing about creative stuff like stories and characters is that once they're out there, they're not just the creators' anymore. That's the fun part about fanfic, we can just do our own thing and ignore whatever mess is going on in 'canon' lmfao

I like the idea of Ori's story being intact, and singed being corin reveck, and ori still going fullmetal and doing the heart surgery and leaving all before arcane even starts. I like the idea of s1 leading directly to all the fun fun fun stuff of league and LoR lore. Also i think singed doing all this unhinged science stuff and keeping himself alive just to preserve the last piece of his daughter, which she had given to him to save him, is pretty neat, so. I'm gonna stick with all that unless something absolutely drastic changes my mind

(Also i think it'd be funny if the worst man to ever walk Runeterra only came to exist/didnt die when nature said he should simply because his daughter, piltover's best most moral champion, loved him so much she gave him the last of her humanity to save him. Like congrats ori, your dad is still alive and kickin! Bad news is he has now aided and abetted imperialism/colonialism, chemical warfare, drug trafficking, and up to a thousand and maybe more awful awful human experiments and other crimes against humanity. Like can you imagine her coming back to piltover and finding all that out? That could mess her up. And wouldnt that be a neat character conflict to work out! Maybe with viktor who's also trying to find a balance between helping people and cold hard machinery! I love this little bubble and i will never leave thanks hahaha)

#arcane season 2 #arcane season 2 spoilers #orianna reveck #corin reveck #singed league of legends #singed arcane #arcane league of legends

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untitled5071 · 1 year ago

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Hi! here’s a oneshot request. I would love a fic of them going out on a cute date! They unfortunately didn’t get to do that in the movie and it makes me sad, they deserve a cute date 🩵🪡⚡️

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

Sneaking into drive-in movies was almost laughably easy.

Lisa snuck ahead to try to scope out the scene, delighted to find that there were very few cars to block their view, and even fewer people to spot them on the little hill just to the left of the field the screen was in. Cult films were hardly the kind that drew the Brookside crowd in, which is exactly what Lisa was banking on. With a self-satisfied smile, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and strutted back into the woods where her undead boyfriend was waiting.

She found him exactly where she left him, a picnic basket dangling from one hand and a folded blanket clasped in the other. He was wearing one of her dad’s sweaters; it hung slightly large on his thin frame, but the black and purple really brought out the dark circles around his eyes, and his regular pants. When she came into view, his sunken eyes locked onto her and his pale lips spread in a sickeningly fond smile, one that only widened when she took both of his hands and pulled him towards the spot they would be watching the movie from, spreading her eyes wide and presenting the site of their date with all the bravado a ringmaster would a circus.

“Here we are! The best date sight in all of Brookside for people who can’t be seen in public because of their growing criminal record!”

The still-nameless creature surveyed the area approvingly, dropping his burdens at the spots Lisa pointed to. Together, they unfurled the large crocheted afghan that Lisa’s mother had made and placed it over the fallen leaves and slightly damp grass, Lisa bending down to smooth it out while the creature lugged over the picnic basket and laid it on top. The two of them crawled on top of the afghan and settled in the middle, sides pressed together while Lisa started to pull things out of the basket and the creature watched fondly.

She laid out two cans of Pepsi Free, some Doritos, popcorn, some various Hostess snack cakes, peach rings, licorice, Milk Duds and any other slightly appealing movie food she could have possibly grabbed from the convenience store downtown. Along with them, she produced some napkins, a small portable radio, and a set of travel pillows. She spread the items out accordingly; the snacks and napkins in front of them within easy reach, the pillows behind them The radio she laid between them at their feet, and she fiddled with the dial until she landed on the station that was tuned into the movie while her lover started at the dancing cartoon food on the giant screen, entranced by the wonders of the future.

“I always felt like they were trying to trap you, ya know? Cute singing popcorn and soda, telling everyone to go to one specific place in a dark field, seems like they’re either about to murder you or brainwash you into buying way more food than you could ever comfortably eat in the span of two-ish hours and then you;re stuck lugging it all home or throwing away enough popcorn to feed a small family.”

As he always did when she got going, the creature sat back and listened to her go, watching her lips moving a million miles a minute with a lovestruck grin on his, utterly lost in the speed and passion with which she spoke about things he hardly understood. It didn’t matter though; he would listen to her talk about whatever for as long as she wanted.

Eventually, the few meager previews rolled past and eventually ended, and the main feature began. Lisa opened a can of Pepsi Free with a small crack and tore the bag of peach rings unevenly down the side, sliding a few onto her fingers as the creature opened his arm to her, and she snuggled into his side, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest (she was still so fascinated by the fact that he was breathing, regardless of how much air he actually required) as the Geffen Company logo faded out and the dramatic narrator began his spiel.

The living and not-really-entirely living couple rested their heads against each other as the story of a meek flower shop worker and his unfortunate entanglement with a killer plant began to unfold, Lisa’s thoughts spilling out of her mouth as soon as they landed in her brain and the creature nodding along, expertly dividing his attention between his girlfriend and the film.

He was a bit startled by the movie’s iconic puppet, gesturing frantically at the screen and then the woods around them, but Lisa just gently grabbed his hands to calm him before explaining that no, giant plants like that don’t exist, it was just a puppet, and then a five minute long rant about the benefits of practical effects versus the relatively new marvel of computer animation. He listened fondly, rubbing a hand up and down her arm and rubbing small circles into her flesh.

When the main character’s conscience started to catch up with him and he went to confront his horticultural demons, Lisa shivered, and the creature noticed the goosebumps that had suddenly appeared on her skin. He tilted his head her way and grunted inquisitively, miming a shiver when she locked eyes with him.

“Yeah, I’m a little chilly. It’s my fault for not watching the forecast for tonight, but I can’t manage to make it past the evening news report before I get too bummed out, you know? Especially since most of the local reports nowadays are about the ‘disappearances’ around town and I’m trying not to give myself away, right? I guess tulle was also a bad choice of sleeves but you have to admit this top looks amazing on me, right?”

The creature chuckled silently, nodding in agreement at her assessment of her outfit before holding up a finger, telling her to wait before leaning back, arranging the pillows behind them to his liking before laying down, beckoning Lisa with his stitched-on hand. She complied immediately, snuggling into his side while his arms wrapped around her, the movie almost entirely forgotten in front of them.

They laid like that, Lisa’s head buried in her boyfriend’s neck while he played tenderly with her curls as the songs continued to play, and as a romantic ballad started up, Lisa shifted to lay her head on the creature’s chest, his hold adjusting accordingly so she never left the protective circle of his arms. She sighed, and at his answering warble, she tilted her head so she was looking up at him with wonderstruck eyes.

“How can you be so warm?”

Her undead lover looked at her adoringly before reaching over and booping her on the nose, making her scrunch it teasingly.

“Me?”

The creature nodded, and Lisa exhaled softly, eyes soft and dreamy. Carefully, the creature leaned his head forward and gave her a gentle peck on the forehead, making her smile widen. When he went for the next one, she leaned up herself and met him in the middle, their lips connecting once, twice, three times as the movie’s soundtrack swelled behind them. They stayed that way, locked in each other's arms as the credits rolled and the headlights of the cars below flicked to life and departed. As the screen was turned off for the night, they laid together on their blanket and watched the stars, silent but content in their chosen company.

They would have to do this again tomorrow night.

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