#Next time you want to come to MY cult and get MY information like that without telling me before-hand | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fairyysoup · 28 days ago

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the devil i know

chapter eight: back in hell at least it's comfortable

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Rabbit Season Duck Season ft. your demon boyfriend who doesn't want you to google him.

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking (no monstery stuff comes up but he is still a demon), blowjob, ball play, facial, making a deal with a demon (eddie's version), lover's spat but in the most hilarious way don't worry, sacrificial computer killed by fire, death mention, trauma, bullying mention, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, animal death, trauma, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, dark comedy, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

So. You’ve been at war with Eddie for two days now.

It started as a joke. You got curious– you didn’t really mean anything by it. Maybe you knew you were poking a hornet's nest, but you don’t recall him giving you any specific instructions not to. And what were the odds that this demon, in his wisdom, gave you his real, full name in a moment of crisis? What were the odds that you would actually find something about him?

You googled the name Eddie Munson.

At first, you did it on your phone, in bed, and your google search was limited to your IP address location. You got a ping for an Eddie Munson from one town over, who apparently bombed a car or something a few years back. The articles were bleak and didn’t include a lot of information. But otherwise, nothing from around Eastwick.

Then you widened your search parameters. Demons are supernatural, paranormal beings, right? Eddie said he used to be human, so you figured you should treat it like trying to find a ghost. And you didn’t know how old Eddie was– he could have lived at any point, from the last 60 years to the last 6,000 years. Although, for some reason you had a hard time picturing him living in 4,000 BCE.

You searched Eddie Munson folklore.

What are you doing?

You jumped at the sound of Eddie’s voice in your ear, locking your phone and throwing it across the bed. “Uhhh, nothing?”

Riiiight.

“What’re you– did I call you again?”

Yeah. You do it a lot, you know.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

Mm. Go to sleep, sweetheart.

And you heard nothing about it. Until the next morning, when you unlocked your phone again and saw Eddie Munson folklore had brought up a few strange results.

Eddie Munson Serial Killer

Eddie Munson Satanic Panic

Eddie Munson Cult of Hawkins

You stared at the different search results with your morning coffee poised in the air, completely halted in place. You weighed your options, wondering what on earth you were going to find, should you click on any of them.

Was it really him? Was this even worth the effort and the possible janky links to a Subreddit you didn’t need to be scouring through?

You clicked on Eddie Munson Serial Killer, just to see what would come up, if there was a Wikipedia article with the guy’s face that you could honestly identify as Not Your Eddie.

And your phone died.

You scowled, and set down your coffee so that you could try turning it on again, but all you got was a dim low battery notification. Down by your knees, Dante whined and bumped his nose against your leg to get you to pay attention to him.

“Sorry, baby,” you cooed, shoving your phone onto a charger and forgetting about it. You stooped to scratch Dante behind the ears, and kissed him on his little hellhound head. “Let’s get you some food, yeah?”

You didn’t try again until much later, when you sat down with your computer in your living room. Now it was a little bit more serious, less of a joke. Even if this ‘Eddie Munson Serial Killer’ wasn’t your Eddie Munson, you’d never heard of the guy before. And you genuinely thought you were pretty checked out on various serial killers throughout history, with your penchant for true crime podcasts.

You picked at your nails for a moment, your hands hovering over the keyboard as you weighed your options. Then, you typed the words quickly into the search bar, and hit enter.

And your fucking computer glitched, blue screened, and died.

You stared at the black screen in front of you with a feeling of exasperation that bordered on irritation. You looked up, and made eye contact with Dante, laying on your floor in a patch of sunlight. The Rottweiler gazed back at you with eyes that glowed a little bit red in the sunlight, almost knowingly.

“Eddie, what the fuck is this about?” you asked the empty air.

No answer.

“Eddie?”

Radio silence. Dante yawned and rolled onto his side. The clock in the kitchen ticked on ominously. You waited for something– Eddie’s voice in your ear, or a footstep behind you, alerting you of his presence. Nothing came.

You stared into thin air, thinking over your options. You figured you could just be looking too deeply into things. You reached forward, and tried to turn your computer back on.

The screen popped once, like there was a power surge, and then the keyboard started smoking.

“Eddie!” you screeched, flinging the computer away from your lap. Flames burst from it just as it hit the floor. Dante leapt up and barked excitedly at it. “What kind of Looney Tunes bullshit–”

The burning computer’s screen blinked on, and from behind the crackling flames, a video started playing. Off-key, jazzy fanfare blasted from the burning speakers, sounding a bit screechy and tinny, and then Porky Pig appeared from within a red circle.

“That’s all, folks!”

“Oh, I see.” You chuckled, slowly nodding in indignation. “This is war, you little shit.”

So, that brings you here. The Eastwick Public Library is a tiny, one story unit in the town plaza’s main strip mall. Situated at the end of the building, it boasts a row of about fifteen bookshelves, half of which house the ‘religion’ genre, and maybe six computers. Seven, if you count the one behind the librarian’s desk.

You keep your head down as you log into one of the public access computers. It’s been ages since you set foot in the library, and you highly doubt any of your beloved neighbors would like to see you in here, looking up obscure serial killers. You can almost imagine their lack of surprise.

You type in your keyword search for a third time, and wait for the computer to spontaneously combust. It doesn’t. Instead, a few images pop up, followed by a Wikipedia article, followed by a few newspaper links.

It’s him. It’s your Eddie.

“Edward ‘Eddie’ Munson was an alleged American serial killer. He is the only known suspect of the Cunningham-Benson-Mckinney murders of Hawkins, Indiana in the Spring of 1986, and was presumed dead after the fatal 1986 Indiana Earthquake.”

The first image that shows up is obviously a yearbook photo– the typical blue background, a close up headshot of the grin that you know and love. The second photo is in black and white, a missing persons poster. And the third photo is yet another yearbook photo, but this time it’s a group shot. A bunch of teenage boys all lined up against a brick wall, under a banner that says Hellfire Club.

“No way,” you mutter incredulously, clicking on the photo and zooming in to find Eddie in the corner, sticking out his tongue and using his fingers to create a pair of devil horns over his head.

The link for the photo is for a yearbook pdf from Hawkins. The title of it reads HAWKINS HIGH DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS HELLFIRE CLUB, 1985-86.

You press your lips together, feeling yourself gearing up to grin. Quietly, and with the most affectionate tone of voice you have ever used in your life, you croon, “You were in a D&D club?”

One by one, each computer along the row you sit at pops and fizzles with sparks before shorting out. You pull your hands away, giggling and watching the sparks come down the line until they reach your computer, and then it goes dead.

And so does the rest of the power in the building.

You let out a blast of laughter, clapping your hands over your mouth while a group of teenage girls in the back corner scream bloody murder. The library has gone dark, and the cranky librarian at the front desk is simultaneously shushing the screaming girls and herding them out the door. You’re still giggling when you get up, and you have to hide the smile on your face when you duck past the librarian on your way out.

“Don’t.” Eddie materializes in your entryway when you get back home. Melting out of the woodwork, a shadow that forms into his pouting visage. He shakes his head at the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t say anything, I’ll–”

“What?” you ask him, tilting your head. You bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling again; it had been so hard to stop your fit on the way home. He looks sheepishly away from you, a bright pink blush coloring his cheeks. “You’ll what, Eddie?”

He tries to look severe, but he can’t hide the smile beginning to wobble its way onto his lips. “I’ll Looney your Tunes so fucking hard–”

“You can’t Looney my Tunes motherfucker, I’ll Looney your Tunes.” You point an accusatory finger at him. “You owe me a goddamn computer!”

You’re not actually that mad about the computer, it was a piece of shit anyways. But Eddie surprises you by producing a new one from behind his back, and holds it out to you.

You give a placated hum as you take it from him. “So. That was you, huh?”

“No, it’s not– not technically–”

“Did you think I was gonna… gonna judge you, or something?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything in response, his eyes flicking from yours, to the computer in your hands, and back.

“You’re a demon. I made a deal with you, I sold my soul.” You screw up your face. “You’ve offered to kill someone for me like… what, three times now?”

Eddie sucks on his teeth and looks away.

“I think I’m past the point of judgment, honey.”

“It’s not that simple.” His brow furrows, and he chews on his bottom lip, stripping chapped skin from it with his teeth. “Believe me, I wouldn’t– I wouldn’t care, except that shit… the shit you read, that’s not the truth. I swear.”

“Then what is the truth?” You ask him mildly. “Were you a serial killer?”

“No.”

“But you were in a D&D club.”

He heaves a sigh, rocking back on his heels and tilting his head up towards the ceiling. You stare at him for a moment, watching him squirm a little bit like he’s looking for a way out of the conversation. Then, he grumbles, “Yeah…”

“You are so fucking cute.” Eddie’s cheeks turn bright red, and he spins away like he’s going to walk back through your bedroom door and disappear. You leap forward and grab his arm, giggling, “Nonono, don’t go. Come back here. So you’re a nerd, it’s okay. I’m a nerd. We’re nerds of a feather.”

“Sure.” Eddie snorts loudly, pulling you into a hug. His smoke surrounds you, as comforting and warm as his embrace. He buries his face in your hair, nuzzling against the side of your head. “M’gonna give you the truth, okay? The whole truth. And you have to promise not to run away.”

“Okay, Eddie.” You sigh and close your eyes as he lifts his hand and cups the side of your face. You lean into his touch. “I’m not running. I promise.”

HAWKINS, 1984

There are a few things Eddie Munson hates in this world. He has an abundance of annoyances, yes, but only a few things that he despises more than anything else. One of them is bullies- no matter where they come from. School, law enforcement, employers, whatever. It’s something he can’t deal with, and oftentimes out of his own propensity for self preservation, he spends his time avoiding them. He’s never been a fighter. He’s never been tough enough to defend himself, but running away is usually just as effective.

The second thing that he hates is loneliness. He likes to tell himself that, had he known that living in Hawkins would make him lonelier than anything, he’d have chosen to go live in Indianapolis with his Great Aunt Shirley instead of Uncle Wayne. But that’s not true at all– he loves Wayne, whenever he crosses paths with him.

But he’s being held back. Senior year of high school, and he’s not fucking graduating, and he doesn’t know if he can stand another year of bullshit from the assholes in town who can’t fucking stand him.

“You’re the only student we have who isn’t attending graduation this year,” Principal Higgins had told him, with his nose endearingly turned up in disdain. “You should feel lucky that we even offered to allow you to repeat the grade, considering your… track record.”

And so, thanks to his own irresponsibility and bad habits, he’ll be subjected to more loneliness. More bullying. More of the things he hates.

Unless.

Eddie’s done stupider things. His copper item is a… fucking moscow mule cup. Old and tarnished, but properly made of copper. He’ll get a new one for Wayne at some point, but he hasn’t seen his Uncle touch it in all the years that he’s lived with him. Eddie dirties his hands as he buries it in the wet earth, where the creek that runs through the woods behind Forest Hills trailer park splits in two. Eventually they converge again, somewhere down by Lover’s Lake, but here they create a fork.

He didn’t bother casting a circle. He doesn’t even know how the fuck that’s supposed to work.

His shoes are wet. He stands in ankle deep water, and he splashes around uncomfortably. “Hey, uh. I don’t know what I’m doing, but um. I’m– I’m here to make a deal. I guess.”

“Who’s the genius who uses a river as a crossroads?” says a woman’s voice, startling Eddie out of his wits.

Eddie jumps and loses his balance turning around in place, toppling down in the water. He looks around, hoping that he isn’t hearing things at the ripe old age of 18.

“Over here,” the voice says again, and Eddie catches a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. When he follows it, he finds a lady waving at him, crouched down beside a tree on the outer bank of the creek. Her dark hair hangs in her face, but she has a vaguely golden aura about her that makes her stand out in the night.

When she gets a good look at him, her sarcastic smile turns into a laugh. “Well, what do you know? It’s Jim Morrison.”

Eddie frowns. “I’m not Jim Morrison.”

“Obviously,” she says blandly. “Could’a fooled me, though.” She pauses, and then looks at him curiously. “What are you doing down there?”

Eddie glances down, at where he sits up to his waist in the water. He throws his hands up in defeat. “My delicates.”

She laughs and raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Yes.” He struggles up, dripping water all the way. “Y’know this is a sacred river? It was the birthplace of a love goddess or something.” He looks over at her again, and motions generally at her. “I can see the myth was true.”

The lady giggles, standing up from her crouched position. She wears a long green skirt that brushes the ground when she walks, and a crocheted shawl over some kind of halter top-looking doohickey. He tilts his head, being reminded of an old record that migrated to the back of his collection. Woodstock, ‘69. Grace Slick of Jefferson Airplane.

Grace Slick– or, at least, the demon who looks an awful lot like her, considering Grace Slick is definitely still alive– grins wickedly. “Oh, a charmer. Are you flirting with me?”

Eddie cracks a smile. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

The lady hums, standing directly across the water from him. “You wanted to make a deal. I’m here to make it with you, so if you don’t mind. What is it that you want?”

“How about being the greatest guitarist who ever lived?” Eddie gestures vaguely around at his general being. Ankle deep in water, soggy and probably looking very pathetic. “I figure maybe it’ll make things easier in the meantime. What does school matter to a rockstar, y’know? Maybe it’ll help me get the fuck out of town, for starters.”

The lady tilts her head. “And you’re not Jim Morrison, huh?”

“Was Jim Morrison a guitarist?” He rocks on his feet, nearly losing his balance again as he splashes around a bit. He plods awkwardly across the water, shoes squelching and pocket chains jingling. “What do I have to do, huh? Beg on my hands and knees? I’m already out here, soaking wet, in the middle of the night–”

“You’ll be a guitarist,” the lady tells him, her voice a bit sterner now. She regards him closely, her dark eyes narrowed at him. “The greatest who ever was and ever will be. I can see why your petition came to me.”

“My… what?”

“Your request for a demon to make a deal with. It came to me, because I favor musicians and performers.” Shortly, she produces a small, spiraled notepad that has a bunch of messily scrawled words on it. “I’ll give you your greatness. In return, you give me blood each full moon. A few drops on a tissue will do. Burn it in a dish on your window sill.”

“Is that normal?” Eddie asks, “Y’know, considering you’re also getting my soul, and everything.”

“It’s what I ask of you for veneration. Each demon asks for something different. I just find it easier than asking for a sex rite.”

“Excuse me?”

“After you die, you’ll become one of us,” she continues. “A demon of the crossroads. I don’t keep your soul. But I get power for securing it.” She snatches his arm, as he reaches towards her notebook. “Is that a yes?”

Eddie blinks, flushing pink from the cold and the woman’s grip, burning his skin. Her hand is unbearably hot, almost enough for him to jerk away. “Yes.”

The woman smiles with unnervingly sharp, pointed teeth. “Good.”

It takes a second for the pain to register; when it does, the notebook in the demon’s hand is already splashed with Eddie’s blood. He gives a pained whimper as he recognizes the pain of the wound on his arm, and begins hyperventilating the longer it grows, reaching up his arm, slicing into his muscle. His body tenses up and starts to shake, her grip on his arm disturbingly strong.

When she lets go, he curses and glances down to find a new mark on his arm. A black inked tattoo of a swarm of bats.

“So… you fought the forces of evil by playing Metallica?”

“Well, it made sense at the time.”

Teeth dug into the plush skin of your bottom lip, you suppress another giggle as you sweep your fingers through Eddie’s hair, pushing his bangs back away from his face and letting them stick up into the air as you release them. He has a tiny scar on his forehead, just shy of his hairline, which you never noticed before now. You want to kiss it.

Instead, you trace it with your fingers. Eddie’s chin rests on your stomach, his eyes dark and wanting as they gaze up at your face. He has the prettiest eyelashes you think you’ve ever seen, and he bats them at you like he means to use them for your demise.

He lays between your legs on the couch. You’d moved there naturally, with his hands coaxing you and yours pulling him like a life raft. It isn’t easy, having the contents of someone’s life– two years’ worth of it– dumped into your head all at once. When he said he was going to give you the truth, he quite literally gave it to you. Directly. Into your brain.

He gave you everything, from the time that he made his deal, all the way up to his death. You saw him forming the Hellfire Club only a few months after the deal was initially made, and watched as it evolved into a gaggle of friends that he cared for and loved. And you saw the way that he protected them until the very end, when he played the greatest rock concert ever given.

“You were so sweet, baby,” you whisper, with a tightness in your throat that tries to constrict the flow of air from getting out.

“Wonder what happened.” You bop him on the shoulder with your palm and watch his lips quirk up into a smirk. “Hey, I mean. You don’t sit through torture seminars in Hell without getting a little bit screwy on your way out.”

“They have seminars there?”

“Are you kidding?” Eddie snorts, his eyes lighting up briefly with a little bit of fire. “There’s a whole circle of Hell that’s just one big long TimeShares seminar. I’ve been to it. Probably the most horrible thing I had to experience before I could go off and start making deals. They use it as training.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“It is fucked up. It’s Hell, and I’m a salesman. Arthur Miller should have written something about that.”

“So… does God exist?”

“Oh, sure. Lots of gods. My favorite one is Hades. Cool guy. He runs Hell– the Underworld. Same thing. Persephone is kind of intimidating, though. Don’t get on her bad side.” Eddie tilts his head at you. “Pretty much any mythological figure you can think of exists on some plane of the Otherworld. Think of… gods and angels as my coworkers, in different departments. Maybe I don’t like all of them, but I work with them.”

“The Otherworld is a department store?”

“Precisely.”

Your fingers fumble with the collar of his shirt and hook around the metal chain he wears around his neck. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

His eyes bore into yours. “Anything you want.”

“How many, um–” Your eyes flutter when he shifts, and your fingers dip beneath the collar of his shirt just enough to feel the burn of his skin there– “how many deals have you made?”

“Including you,” he says, heaving a sigh that you can feel expand in his chest, “three. There was Charlotte, in ‘91, and then Adrian, in ‘99. Neither of them held up their end of the deal.”

“The… the full moon?” You can’t imagine how it could be that much of a sacrifice, being required to sleep with him once a month. You’re so pent up, so eager to do it already that the notion that someone wouldn’t seems absurd to you.

Eddie nods. “You don’t hold up your end of the deal… the contract is up. And then Hell comes to collect.”

You let that information hang in the air between you. You stare at it, the empty space over his head, as you try to process it in the silence that follows. “Quick way to an early grave?”

“Happened to me,” he mutters. “Forgot to prick my finger and rub it on a napkin during all that mess, fighting for my life. If you can believe it.”

There’s an unspoken air of heaviness in the room– the knowledge that he died far too young, protecting his friends with the talent he sold his soul to have. Far too quickly to make selling his soul even worth it in the long run. It weighs on you, pressing down on your lungs at the same time as Eddie’s weight presses in between your hips.

Your own rite looms over you, just a few days away. Something in your gut tells you that Eddie is giving you this– the honest truth– so you know what you’re in for. You promised him you wouldn’t run away.

You sold your soul and promised that you’d meet his demands if he met yours; you never expected that it would get to this point. That you’d be lying here, with him curled between your legs, and you’d have to accept that the attraction you feel towards him isn’t just due to the terms of the deal anymore.

You know him, now. Or, at least, you know him a fair bit better than you did.

You tilt your head, realizing something out of the blue. “You didn’t have to make my deal include the sex.”

“I never claimed to not be a pervert, sweetheart.” He flashes you a sharp grin. “I am your average horny little devil, you know.”

“And you didn’t have to mark me with your name,” you point out, with a note of curiosity in your voice. “Your demon didn’t.”

Eddie chuckles. “Yeah, but that’s ‘cause I’m disgustingly obsessed with you and need you to be all mine, so.”

Your heart flutters at that, singing along to the tune of some stupid love song you haven’t heard in a long time. You hum, holding Eddie’s face in your hands. His eyes flick down to your lips, and then back up to meet your gaze.

“I still think you’re sweet,” you tell him earnestly.

“You think I’m sweet?” He parrots, his hand sliding up the curve of your thigh and over your hip, his fingers curling into the hem of your shirt. He looks incredulous, like he doesn’t really believe you.

“I mean, sweet like a feral dog I have on a leash who’s out for everyone’s blood except mine. Y’know.”

He grins wickedly, a deadly twinkle in his eye as he shifts further down, his head lowering toward where your shirt bunches up around your waist, exposing a sliver of your stomach. You shudder as his hot breath hits your skin. “Is this sweet?”

Eddie presses a lingering kiss onto the soft skin just above your navel. You sigh, your fingers sliding through his hair and gripping at the roots, and he pauses. His breath hitches in his throat at the feeling of your hands in his hair, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as he hovers there, with his lips pressed softly to your stomach.

He puffs out his cheeks and blows a raspberry.

“Eddie!” you squeal, trying to get away from him as he cackles, holding you hostage to his assault. You kick your legs and manage to squirm until you throw the both of you off of the couch, rolling with him onto the floor.

Dante gets up from his spot at the end of the couch and disappears through the wall like an apparition. He tends to disappear off into the aether at random times, only to reappear later, whenever he’s hungry or if you call him. You guess that life as a hellhound is busy work. Or, maybe he’s just sick of you and Eddie being revoltingly touchy-feely in front of him.

“I take it back! I take it back, you little fuck–”

“Can’t take it back!” He rolls with you gripping onto your kicking legs until you come to a stop beside the coffee table, straddling his hips. You sit back on your heels to glare down at him, but he’s still chuckling. His eyes twinkle in the low light of your living room. “No takesies-backsies.”

This position is… too familiar. It’s intimate– it’s like you’re two normal lovers on an autumn afternoon, kicking around and doing stupid shit and just enjoying each other’s company.

Something is changing. No matter how sexually charged the relationship has been until now, something feels different. It’s in the way he looks up at you like you hung the moon. It’s in the way you lean forward and trace his lower lip with the tip of your finger, humming to yourself all the while.

Eddie stares directly into your eyes as he slowly opens his mouth and takes your finger between his teeth, his lips curving up into a mischievous smile.

“No,” you sing at him, soft but stern like he’s a misbehaving pet. “Open.”

He blinks, and releases your finger with a curious expression. You lean further down, nearly nudging your nose with his as your fingertip strokes gently down his extended tongue, his hot breath coming out gift wrapped with a sigh. Eddie snakes his arms around your waist as you replace your finger with your own tongue, sealing your mouth against his.

Handsy. You guess that’s what you can call him– you haven’t kissed him like this before, soft and sensual and unrushed. While his tongue works against yours in a way that has your mind reeling, his hands wander down to cup your ass and squeeze, until you squeak against his mouth and lurch against his touch.

The thing about this is… well. You’re not entirely sure where you stand with him anymore. Is he your patron demon? Is he your boyfriend? Infernal demon boyfriend with a sweet streak that only you get to see?

Every nerve in your body is on fire, and he’s seemingly happy to drive you crazy while you try your best not to grind down onto him. It’s all a little bit too much for you to process right now– with the way things are going, you’re wondering if you’re set for life. Who the fuck is going to compare to a demon, now that you have one? What human person will ever match up?

“I think you’ve ruined me for everyone else,” you whisper conspiratorially, letting your lips drag against his.

“Tell you a secret?” Eddie’s voice is warm in the back of his throat. He peers at you through his lashes, eyes heavy-lidded and twinkling with the barest flicker of a flame in his deep brown irises. “That was my plan all along.”

“You monster.”

“You got me all figured out.” He snickers once, dimples indenting rosy cheeks that are much too pretty to belong to a demon, but you’re starting to suspend your disbelief. Eddie’s laughter dies in his chest when your mouth attaches to his neck; a hollow noise takes its place, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows it down.

Hands hiking his t-shirt up over his stomach, you’re inching your way down his body like you have a plan, and Eddie’s frozen beneath you like he’s trying to figure out what it is. It takes him just a couple seconds, until your tongue connects with the trail of hair running down his stomach, and then he smirks knowingly.

“Oh, I see,” he hums, his eyebrows raising as you lick your way down toward his belt. “You’re a keen little thing, aren’t you? Don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“Shut up, Eddie.” It doesn’t come out as sharp as you intend for it to, because your hands are fiddling with his belt. You pull it free from his jeans and fling it over the coffee table with more force than necessary.

“Buy my silence,” he mutters sarcastically with a shit-eating grin. A playful glimmer sparkles in his eye as you curl your fingers into his waistband and tear at them, but he doesn’t move to help you at all. “Nine ninety-nine a month, with tax. Quick, before the rates go up.”

You’re shaking your head, shooting him a caustic glare as your mouth finds the soft skin just beneath his waistline. You just want to get his pants off however you can– if you have to rip them off of him, so be it.

“Oop– ten ninety-nine a month. Better think fast, baby.”

You yank them down his hips, just low enough that you can nuzzle and lick into the thick patch of hair over his groin. You breathe in the scent of his skin, lingering just beneath all his usual smoke. Warmth and salt, as though he’s real and not just the corporeal manifestation of a spirit.

“...E-eleven– ninety-ni– hmm.” Eddie’s giddy voice dies as a purr in his throat, his head rocking back against the floor. He gasps when drool rolls off of your parted lips, wetting the skin of his hip just before you suck a hickey there. He squirms. “Fuck it. You get it for free.”

“Just wanna suck you off,” you whisper, a little more slack jawed and unhinged than you were before. You suck in a deep breath and lave your tongue over the base of his cock, as it peeks out over the waist of his jeans. “Wanna taste you everywhere, baby.”

“Christ– M��not gonna stop you. Go ahead, take what you want, sweetheart.”

Eddie hisses through his teeth, his hips jumping when you lift his cock out of his pants. Warmth settles in the pit of your stomach, pulsing between your legs when you wrap your fingers around it. It’s so much better than in your dream– it’s thicker, massive, the vein along the bottom pulsing in your hand.

You spit onto it, mixing your saliva with the bead of precum gathered on the head. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Eddie.”

He gasps, kicks his hips up into your fist. “Y–you’re so fucki– hhng–”

You shush him, and look up as you trail your tongue along his shaft, feeling him twitch against you. Mouthing kisses along it, wet and soft, you suck just a bit with each one to watch his chest leap with his breath. “I wanna take you to pieces.”

“Shit–” Eddie lifts his head to gaze down at you, eyes glassy, lips red and parted as he pants. “You’re gorgeous. Oh, honey…”

Eddie moans when you slide his head into your mouth, letting your tongue glide gently over his slit. His hand flies down, tangling into your hair, the metal of his rings digging into your scalp.

You open your mouth and take him in as far as he’ll go, until he hits the back of your throat and you choke.

“Such a good fucking girl for me,” Eddie breathes, his hand on the back of your head grounding you like an anchor. “Just look at you, baby. So fuckin’ perfect, god.”

Actually, you feel like a mess, with spit dribbling down your chin and eyes watering when he hits the back of your throat. Sniffling from the tears and the lack of air, gagging on his cock. Drunk on sin and the taste of his flesh.

You imagine that’s probably what he considers perfection, though.

He stiffens when you swallow around him, your hands wrapping around his hips in an attempt to hold him down. Eddie makes a soft sound in his throat– something you might mistake as submissive, if his hand in your hair weren’t pushing you harder down onto his cock, forcing you to gag on him. The tightening of your throat around him is enough to make him twitch in your mouth.

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Fuck–”

Lips dripping saliva, your throat flexes just before you pull off with a wet gasping noise that makes Eddie curse and tighten his fist in your hair. You can’t be coy, can’t pretend like you aren’t fucking wrecked; you’re a mess of spit and tears, the salt of his precum on your tongue and in the back of your throat.

Dipping your head, you nuzzle down to suck at his balls. Slick lips latching onto soft skin, suckling just enough to make him howl and buck his hips up against your hold. You lap at him with your tongue, hearing his moan crackle in his throat with a prideful grin.

You gaze up at him with glassy eyes when he reaches down with one big hand to fist his swollen cock. Rings glint in the light and catch on his skin with a sharp edge, contrasting your light touch on his balls, making him flex his hips up into his own hand.

You’re mesmerized, watching his hand work in front of your face, with your spit and his fluids spilling over his knuckles. It kicks up a sticky, wet sound that makes something deep in your gut flutter.

“Open your mouth,” Eddie grits out, in such a commanding tone that you don’t even think to question him. You just do.

The muscles of his stomach tightens when he cums, his breath hitching on the inhale. Ropes of white spurt from his tip while he groans so loud it could rattle the ceiling. Some of it gets in your mouth, but most gets on your face– large drops on your cheeks, clinging to your lips and your chin. You moan when you lick the excess from your lips before you swallow, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuckin– filthy little girl, aren’t you?” Eddie murmurs, and reaches forward to snatch your face with his wet fingers. His rings dig into your messy cheeks, smearing his cum across your skin.

You gasp, your eyes flying open to meet his, as he grins evilly down at you. It makes you shudder, a moan caught in your throat. Your face burns. The mark on your wrist throbs in the shape of his name.

“Yeah, sweetheart. My dirty girl, all covered in my cum like that.” His thumb pets your cheek, sticky on your skin as he plays with it. “What a pretty fuckin’ painting.”

You whine as he pulls you upwards, clambering over his body. Your cunt throbs between your legs, and it turns worse when he yanks you toward his face.

Eddie’s tongue drags up your cheek, licking his cum off of your face. It makes the blood rush beneath your skin, makes your body heat up with just how filthy it all truly is. He hums low, licking your mouth and letting the tip of his tongue catch on your teeth, leaving your skin wet and stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Hm,” he grunts after a moment, tilting his head as he looks at you. Your cheeks are pinched between his fingers, your lips puckered in a way that you’re sure isn’t very sexy, but he doesn’t seem deterred by it. Eddie cracks a grin and says, “No, I don’t think I’m very sweet. Tastes more umami.”

“Oh my god.” You bark a laugh, ripping your face away from his grip so you can roll off of him.

Eddie snatches you before you can get away, pulling you down so that he can playfully bite at your cheek, giggling along with you. “No, don’t go baby, I gotta clean you up–”

“You’re obnoxious,” you cackle at him, letting him roll with you across the floor, feeling a sort of obsessive delight consume your voice.

He smushes his face against yours, and you can feel his teeth as he grins, scraping your skin. There’s an undertone to your thoughts as he does, which makes your heart pound in your chest when you acknowledge it for what it is.

You love him. You love him. You love him.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #tdik!fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #demon!eddie munson #demon!eddie #stranger things fic #roses*

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noira-l · 2 months ago

Text

𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁

Summary: You are the person people turn to on exceptional situations. Your next target is a young and ambitious cult leader - Geto Suguru.

pairing: cult leader!geto suguru x assasin!reader

wc: 8,3 k

genre: dark themes/suggestive

warnings: mdni, dark themes, morally grey actions, violence, stalking, slight gore, attempt of assasination, power dynamic, sexual tension, knife play, slight body harm, death.

author's note: I wanted to write something about Geto, hopefully however I came up with a good portrait of his character. He is my favourite btw ;3

Collector.

That's what you were called.

The title had stuck, a moniker that felt both accurate and hollow. You collected, yes - but it was never just about the objects. It was about something deeper, something rarer, something alive.

Unique techniques.

Not the hereditary ones, from great clans or families. Just the ones that little is known about, not known, or the ones that haven't been made yet.

And you had a reputation for it.

Famous, or infamous, depending on who you asked. The kind of fame earned through the silent, systematic harvesting of cursed energy. You killed, it was the way you did it. The way you absorbed the very essence of what made a sorcerer powerful. The techniques you consumed left traces on your soul, each one evoking something different. Some were strong, a burst of electricity through your veins. Others, weak, barely more than a whisper of sensation.

Your obsession grew, not with the power, but with the experience of it. Each time, you could feel it, the energy unraveling and weaving itself into you, like a rare wine tasting. It wasn’t about mere survival or strength, it was about savoring. You tasted techniques like a connoisseur, dissecting every note, every pulse, analyzing the flavor of it as it coursed through you.

You might sometimes wonder what the limits of this obsession with novelty and rarity are. You could not, like another connoisseur, buy wine from the faraway provinces of some country or taste cheese from an exceptional animal.

How far would this hunger take you?

You had to get something that belonged directly to the people, and that was quite hard. Well, unless people sometimes come to you on their own with new flavours.

You were proud of your collection.

The rain drummed against the rooftops of Tokyo, creating a symphony that was familiar to a city teeming with underground life. In a cramped, smoky alley, where the light of the street lamps barely reached, stood you.

Your black cloak blended with the darkness of the night, and your hair hid a face that few had the opportunity to see. In a world where pushing the limits of human ability was an everyday occurrence, you were something of a legend. Not surprisingly, your speciality was collecting unique abilities from those, who no longer had the chance to use them.

The black market was a place where you felt somewhat at home. Years spent here had even made you a friend of the place. Here you found everything you needed for your unconventional operations - from forbidden curses to information that could tip the balance in your favour.

It was here that you were to meet your new client.

You waited for him in one of the low, barely lit bars where the ghosts of the past mingled with the smell of tobacco, alcohol and darkness. The man who entered was wearing a fancy suit, but his nervous movements betrayed that he did not feel confident in the place. Before taking a seat opposite you, he looked around as if to make sure no one was following him. His silhouette seemed so small at the large wooden table in the corner of the bar.

"Is that you?" he asked quietly, although a note of arrogance could be detected in his voice.

"To the point." you replied dispassionately, lifting your gaze "I expect you have something interesting for me."

"Geto Suguru, cult leader, very powerfull." you've heard this name before, but you don't know a lot about him.

"Do you think he's worth adding to my collection?" you drilled him with your eyes.

"He…" he gazed too much into your gloom-shrouded eyes "He knows how to make curses obey."

Oh...

Could it be

Curse Spirit Manipulation?

Interesting.

"Geto disregarded my sponsor." the guy in the suit continued "My client was willing to invest in his cause, but this kid…. rejected him as if he was worthless. Now… now he wants someone to show him where he belongs. And who better to do that than you?’" he smiled emotionlessly.

A unique technique, one you've heard of before.

From a certain assassin who met him once.

"Conditions?" you asked, folding your hands on the table. Your movements were quiet, almost hypnotic, as if your every decision had been carefully thought out rather than the result of a moment.

"Silent work, no witnesses, no connections." replied the man opposite, nervously intertwining his fingers. His voice betrayed that he was not used to such conversations. His sweaty forehead and trembling breath indicated that being in your company filled him with anxiety.

"Price?" Your gaze penetrated him as if you were looking for weaknesses in him that you could exploit. You were definitely someone who didn't need to raise your voice to control the situation.

"Isn't adding such a unique skill to the collection a price in itself?" his lips trembled in an attempt to emphasise the merits of the task, although he clearly lacked confidence.

You lifted your gaze, your eyes hidden beneath your eyelids penetrated his body thoroughly, as if you were contemplating whether you would just get bored with him. He was of little importance to you, merely a relay of an order. Uncertainty hung in the air, and the silence between you became heavier than he could bear.

"Forty milion yen." you said in a calm, composed tone. Your words were like the blade of a knife - precise and merciless.

The man almost chuckled, his eyes widening in surprise.

"B-but-" he began to protest, trying to find words to lower the stakes. His hands began to move restlessly, looking for a foothold on the table, but found no solid footing.

"Mininaly." you interrupted him by leaning forward slightly, though without changing your expression. Your voice remained calm, but now there was a note of hardness in it that was impossible to ignore. "If you don't agree, then go find someone else to do the job."

Your words had a finality about them that left no room for negotiation. The man froze, as if he felt a chill run through his body.

He knew there was no other option. In the world in which he lived, your services were of the highest calibre, and trying to seek someone else would be tantamount to failure.

"My supervisor will not be happy with this." he lowered his gaze, driving it into his palms.

"Do I look like i care?" you asked unbothered.

He sighed, knowing that he had lost this invisible battle. He spoke after a while.

"I agree." he said quietly, although bitterness could be heard in his voice. "Forty million."

You smiled slightly, though there was not a hint of warmth in your eyes.

"Good. In that case, consider that what you wanted is already in progress."

𖤓

Was it really him?

You sat perched on the rooftop, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the city. The light fell just right, angled so that you remained invisible to him, but his figure stood clear as day before your eyes.

The photograph the client had given you was clutched in your hand, but now, comparing it to the man below, you no longer needed the image. The details had already seared into your mind.

His face was pale, flawless, as if carved from marble. The features were sharp yet elegant, each one contributing to a striking intensity that seemed to pierce through the space around him.

His eyes, those beautiful eyes - held a focus that unnerved you. Brilliant, fierce, as though the weight of the world rested behind them. They cut through the air with the same razor-sharp precision you’d seen in the photograph, but here, in person, they were alive, filled with something even the best camera couldn’t capture.

A cascade of inky black hair fell over his shoulders, shimmering slightly as it caught the light. It was long, flowing like a dark waterfall, framing the cold perfection of his face. Every movement seemed deliberate, almost regal, as if the air itself bowed to his presence.

The robes he wore were beyond extravagant. Ornate embroidery, each thread painstakingly sewn to create an image of grandeur, wrapped around him in a way that was almost otherworldly. The craftsmanship was undeniable, luxurious, every fold and crease meant to accentuate his authority. You could practically feel the texture of the fabric, sense the weight of the cloth just by watching him. Each stitch was perfect, every piece of ornamentation serving to emphasize the careful artistry that clung to him.

It has to be him.

The photograph could never truly capture the weight of his presence, but now, watching him move, you were certain.

Geto Suguru - Cult leader, Special Grade Curse User, the man your client wanted dead. The man whose cursed technique you craved to collect...

..was truly a captivating view.

𖤓

For the next few months you followed Geto Suguru from obscurity, like a shadow that never disappeared, no matter how intense the light of day was. By the third week, his patterns were etched into your mind - when he woke, when he slept, where he trained, who he trusted.

The first few weeks were standard.

Observe routines, write down habits, identify behaviors, learn about character, relationships and safety measures.

One of your techniques allowed you to dissolve into the shadows, unnoticed and unseen. It was fitting, then, that you had become exactly that - a shadow in his world, always there, always watching, never revealing yourself.

You first started with something basic, like listening to his speeches at cult headquarters, drawn by the intensity with which he spoke about his purpose.

His views were radical, even bizarre, clashing with your own sensibilities. Yet, as unsettling as they were, you couldn’t help but acknowledge that in some ways, he might be right. Not in everything, admittedly, but in enough to make you question.

He was undeniably charismatic. People hung on his every word, their eyes fixed on him like he was their savior, the one who could bring them the salvation they craved. It wasn’t surprising, pleanty of people were so lost that they belive in everything someone can say.

What did surprise you, however, was the sound of his voice. You couldn't expect this. It didn’t match the man you’d been watching from the shadows for so long. You expected something sharp, commanding—something that fit his tall, lean frame and his tilte as a leader. Instead, his voice was affable, syrupy, a smooth stroke across glazed canvas. There was a warmth to it, a richness that flowed over his audience like a soft breeze, disarming them with its elegance and making his words feel like they effortlessly slipped into their minds.

He had the ability to inspire, to reshape people’s perceptions of reality, to make his visions feel like truth. Even you, standing in the background, found yourself momentarily caught in his web of persuasion, wondering if, perhaps, there was something to his philosophy after all.

But the longer you followed him, the more you saw beyond the facade.

This elegance and smoothness hid another, far darker side. Beneath that affable demeanor and polite smile was a man who could remain utterly composed, even as chaos unfolded around him. It was unnerving to witness, how he never flinched, never lost his calm, even when the situation demanded anything but tranquility.

You saw it firsthand. There was a time when a sponsor - someone who had promised to support his cause - failed to deliver. The punishment was swift and brutal. A curse, summoned with the same grace he used in conversation, wrapped itself around the unfortunate man. It began to devour him, piece by piece, agonizingly slow. The room was filled with screams, the air thick with fear and the stench of death.

But Geto remained still. His smile never wavered, his eyes never betrayed the slightest flicker of emotion. He simply watched, as though he were observing something routine, unremarkable. His voice, when he finally spoke, was as calm and smooth as it had been during his speeches, as if he were discussing the weather, not the violent death happening before him.

That was the duality of Geto Suguru. He could shift seamlessly between the benevolent leader his followers adored and the cold, calculating figure willing to let a man be torn apart without so much as a blink. It wasn’t just cruelty - it was control. A calculated display of power, meant to remind those around him that while his voice may be velvet, there was iron beneath it.

In those moments, you saw the full depth of the man you were tracking. He wasn’t just charismatic. He was dangerous. A force that could twist both his power and his personality to fit any situation, never losing his grip on the people or curses that surrounded him. It was chilling, and yet, it was precisely this balance of charm and ruthlessness that made him so compelling.

So hard to pin down, and even harder to predict.

𖤓

When he returned from his speeches, cradling his two children in his arms, everything about him shifted. His smile, so often reserved or calculating, softened into something genuine, warm, and deeply caring. The two girls, nestled against him, wore smiles that radiated the purest joy you’d ever seen, sincere in a way that disarmed you completely. And you understood why. In those moments, they weren’t in the presence of a cult leader or a powerful sorcerer - they were simply with someone they called a father.

He cooked meals for them, simple and unpretentious. In the mornings, he walked them to school, carrying their bags and making sure they had everything they needed. He helped with their studies, patiently guiding them through lessons with the same focus he applied to anything else in his life.

He spoiled them endlessly, indulging their every whim with sweets and new toys, as if trying to make up for the darker realities surrounding their lives. Bags of candies would mysteriously appear in their hands after long days, and their rooms were filled with the latest toys, dolls, and trinkets. It was clear that nothing was off-limits when it came to their happiness.

Sometimes, you’d catch him spending entire afternoons with them, playing in their room or on the roof of the worship headquarters. Their laughter echoed through the walls, so out of place in such a grim environment, yet entirely natural in their presence. These moments seemed pulled from another life, a life that didn’t belong to a man of his power and position. In those hours, Geto wasn’t the man who summoned curses or commanded followers with radical ideals. He was just a father, a teacher, someone who valued the simplicity and joy that his children brought into his world.

It was a strange dichotomy, seeing this softer side of him. It made you question how someone who could sit calmly as a curse devoured a man could also hold so much tenderness in his hands when it came to his daughters.

Watching him with them, it was impossible not to acknowledge that, whatever else he was, he was a devoted father, a man who, in those private moments, seemed to find a kind of peace.

The perfect kind of tranquillity that you could easily disturb. They are lucky that you were commissioned to do a clean job, without additional casualties.

You would take advantage of this visible weak point, without any problem.

𖤓

You observed him daily, each training session a display of skill honed with painstaking precision. His movements were fluid, deliberate, a mastery over both body and cursed energy that left little room for error. Every gesture, every technique, was calculated down to the smallest detail. There was no wasted effort.

He began each session with strength exercises, his body moving with a kind of restrained power that spoke of years of relentless discipline. Clad in a dark, form-fitting training suit, his movements were both fluid and precise, the fabric hugging the sharp lines of his lean, muscular frame. The suit itself was simple, practical, black with subtle markings along the seams, designed for ease of movement yet offering no distraction from the task at hand. His long, dark hair was usually tied back, but occasionally a few loose strands would slip free, sticking to the nape of his neck as beads of sweat formed along his skin.

Push-ups, pull-ups, lunges - he moved through each exercise with a sense of rhythm, his body cutting through the still air like a blade. There was no excess movement, no wasted energy. His core strength was visible in the way he balanced himself, the quiet strength of his legs when he transitioned from one position to another. His breathing was steady, controlled, as if he were channeling not only physical strength but mental focus into every motion.

Everything before moving on to what fascinated you most - his control over curses.

Each curse, once summoned, was inspected with meticulous care. What surprised you was his flawless memory of each one, no matter how recently acquired. He never seemed overwhelmed by their numbers, as though he held their essence in his mind as clearly as if they were physical objects in his hands.

Often, he would stand in the middle of the square behind the base, surrounded by the dark entities he had summoned, and simply think. You could see him piecing together strategies in his mind, testing new combinations of curses. He would send projectiles flying, measuring their reach, or summon smaller curses to see how they interacted with one another. He was always refining, always pushing the boundaries of what his curses could do.

It was almost hypnotic to watch. His ability to devise new strategies and possibilities was relentless, and more than once, you caught yourself silently offering suggestions, wondering if his latest idea could be improved upon.

Even though he trained alone, there was a sense that he knew he was never truly by himself. He always seemed vaguely aware, as though he could feel your gaze, but he never let on. For him, training wasn’t just preparation for combat, it was a form of deep concentration, a space to plan, strategize, and reflect.

In the moments when he paused, resting after hours of intense focus, you could almost sense his thoughts drifting. He seemed distant then, as if his mind was wandering far beyond the physical space around him, perhaps contemplating the weight of his purpose, the future, or the fate of the world he was trying to reshape.

𖤓

There were days when you accompanied him on trivial matters—mundane errands like shopping, blending in among people as if nothing about his life was extraordinary.

It was strange, really. He always chose shops run by sorcerers, no matter how inconvenient or far they were. In these places, his demeanor softened. His face would light up with a gentle expression, his posture loosening. When speaking to fellow sorcerers, customers, salespeople, shop owners, he was almost casual, relaxed. He’d exchange words about everyday matters, asking after their lives with genuine interest, smiling as he listened to their problems or needs. It was a side of him that showed a quiet, almost paternal care for his own kind.

However, when sorcerer-run shops weren’t an option, he would settle for regular stores, those run by non-sorcerers. On the surface, his behavior didn’t change much—still polite, still composed. But after watching him for so long, you began to notice the subtle differences. There was a barrier, invisible but palpable, that separated him from everyone else. Even as he spoke to them, he remained distant, almost indifferent. His face held the same gentleness, but there was a quiet detachment beneath it, a sense that he was more than they could understand, and he made it clear in the smallest ways. It wasn’t arrogance, exactly, but an awareness of the divide that existed between him and the rest of the world. He was accessible, yet never truly one of them.

𖤓

On one occasion, you watched him as he sat at his desk in the dim light of his flat, practicing calligraphy. The black ink flowed across the paper with a precision that mirrored the discipline in every aspect of his life. Each brushstroke was planned, filled with a quiet sense of calm and inner balance. For him, this was not just art, it was a form of self-improvement, a meditative practice that demanded focus, patience, and reflection.

His face, normally composed, now carried an intensity of concentration that fascinated you. His eyes were sharp, tracing each line as though it held more significance than just its form. Every letter he wrote seemed to symbolize something deeper, every stroke a reflection of his life, carefully crafted but never without purpose. You could sense the connection between his mind and the ink, as if the act of writing was a metaphor for the control he sought in all things.

At times, his hand would pause mid-stroke, his brush hovering just above the paper. His brows furrowed slightly as he studied the work before him, considering how best to proceed. His concentration was palpable, as if the next mark could determine the balance of the entire piece. He would tilt his head just so, analyzing how the ink should glide over the expensive parchment, the way it should settle, just as his long black hair cascaded down his back with an effortless elegance.

When an error occurred—a stroke too thick or too light—he never hesitated. He would calmly set the paper aside and begin again, his patience unwavering. Sometimes, he would discard entire pages, whole phrases rewritten until they reached his exacting standards. You knew that many nights, he worked late into the hours of dawn, refusing to rest until the parchment was perfect, every line a testament to his dedication.

The completed works that hung in his office were impressive—each one a masterpiece of balance and precision, filled with a quiet power that matched the man himself. They weren’t just pieces of calligraphy; they were expressions of who he was, his relentless pursuit of mastery in every facet of life. Watching him, you couldn’t help but admire the depth of his commitment to both the smallest details and the grandest designs.

𖤓

One night, you witnessed something that shattered your carefully constructed perception of him. As usual, you stood cloaked in the safety of shadows, concealed by a cursed technique that allowed you to observe Geto closely without consequence. He sat alone in his study, dressed in his night robes, hair wet and loose, falling smoothly over his shoulders. The dim lamplight cast a long, solitary shadow across the room, highlighting the stark loneliness in his posture.

In his hands was an old photograph, though the details were initially too obscured for you to make out. His shoulders were slumped, eyes fixed on the image, completely still. The sight was so unlike him, and before you could piece together why, you saw it, a single tear sliding down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, as if trying to maintain his stoic façade, but it was futile. More tears followed, staining the photograph. It was a rare, raw moment, one that you had never associated with someone like Geto Suguru.

It felt wrong, almost invasive, to witness this vulnerability, but curiosity gnawed at you. You stepped closer, using the cursed technique to remain hidden, desperate to understand what had broken the man you thought was unbreakable.

And then, you saw the photograph.

Three people stood side by side, radiating camaraderie and carefreeness. On the left was Geto, unmistakably younger, with his hair neatly tied into a bun. His expression was calm, indifferent even, yet there was a rebellious spark in his eyes, emphasized by the crude hand sign he flashed at the camera. The person in the middle had short, reddish-brown hair and a radiant smile, eyes closed in pure joy, clutching a lollipop. And on the right...

Your heart skipped a beat.

The person standing slightly taller had striking white hair, wearing round sunglasses that had slipped slightly, revealing crystalline blue eyes. He was grinning broadly, flashing a peace sign with the same carefree energy.

Your senses sharpened, and the realization hit you with startling clarity. Those eyes - everything about him matched the description you had once heard. You studied Geto’s face again, now buried in his hands.

He knew him. There was no doubt now.

This job, already complex, had just become far more interesting.

You were tasked with eliminating Geto Suguru, and yet, standing there, watching him fall apart in the privacy of his grief, you began to feel that he was more than just a target.

He was the gateway you had long sought to get the information you needed to find.

He was a flesh and blood man who had his own desires, hopes and secrets. Secrets that may never have been meant to be uncovered, but which were now beginning to attract you more and more.

You knew that your task was coming to an inevitable end. But as you looked at it, feeling its complexity, you began to wonder if it would really be the end.

Were you in a position to find out the information you were looking for, before he expels his last breath?

𖤓

The night outside the cult’s headquarters was still, an undisturbed blanket of silence cloaking everything - a perfect contrast to the work that lay ahead. You moved effortlessly, slipping through the darkness with a kind of elegance born from experience, your presence vanishing into the shadows like ink on black velvet. The building loomed above, riddled with traps, intricate wards designed to keep the unprepared at bay. But of course, you were different. You had planned for this, down to the smallest detail.

Time, as always, was a matter of precision. You watched, waited, not in haste but with the patience of someone who has done this before. The secretary, rarely one to leave her station, finally rose. Her footsteps, barely audible, faded as she disappeared into the depths of the hallway. It was then that you moved, an invisible force in the room.

The security system awaited you next, but it was no match for the methodical motions of your hands. The control panel’s buttons yielded to your touch, each one pressed in deliberate succession. A soft, almost imperceptible click signaled the system’s deactivation, and the silence that followed was absolute. No one would suspect. Not until it was far too late.

Geto Suguru was still in his office. You had known he’d be here - his habits were a well-worn path you had studied for weeks. He liked to linger, alone, long after the cultists had gone, the weight of his decisions pressing into the late hours. Tonight was no exception.

Your feet carried you soundlessly behind him, your cursed technique weaving a veil of invisibility over you like the thinnest layer of silk. He strode ahead, his robes flowing in the faint light as he made his way down the hall. The door to his office closed with a quiet click.

This was it.

You slipped inside just as he settled into his chair, oblivious to the disruption in the air around him. The lamplight threw a soft, golden hue across his desk, illuminating the cluttered expanse of papers, scrolls, remnants of a long day. He sighed, a sound that conveyed the heavy burden of leadership as he leaned back, readying himself for the night’s work. That’s when you stepped from the shadows, your form coalescing into view like a slow brushstroke on the canvas of his solitude.

For a split second, he froze. But then, instead of fear, amusement painted his face. His laugh was low, almost a purr, as if death itself had become an old acquaintance.

"So, death pays me a visit tonight?" his voice, smooth and unruffled, slipped easily into the quiet. "You’re not the first, you know. There have been others. All of them thought they could do what you’re here for."

Before he could even think of making a move, you acted swiftly, severing his access to his cursed techniques in a single, decisive moment. His power - so closely tied to his identity - was locked away before he could call upon a single curse. He blinked, a flash of surprise crossing his face, but his composure remained almost unnervingly intact.

"Don’t bother." you said, your voice sharp and unwavering, cutting through the quiet like a blade poised just above skin. "The katana under your desk and the dagger on your thigh - neither will help you now."

His gaze flickered toward his desk, where the concealed katana lay waiting, then down to his thigh, where the dagger’s hilt was nestled beneath the folds of his robe. A small, knowing smile curved his lips, but he didn’t reach for either weapon.

With slow, measured steps, you moved forward, taking the seat across from him, the tension in the room palpable but controlled. There was no urgency for violence—no rush to end this confrontation. You had the advantage now, and that knowledge kept you calm, steady.

"Let’s talk." you offered, your voice void of malice, almost casual, as if you were suggesting a conversation over tea.

Geto leaned back in his chair, still smiling, though you noticed the flicker of intrigue behind his eyes—he hadn’t expected this.

"A conversation, is it?" he mused, his tone light, but the undercurrent of curiosity was unmistakable. "Interesting. You have me at a disadvantage, and yet here you are, offering words instead of death."

"I wouldn't call it disadvantage, I'd call it mercy, but however you prefer."

His hand hovered over the desk, the motion slow and deliberate, no longer a threat. He knew, as well as you did, that his usual methods of escape or attack were useless. The fight was already over, and now all that remained was the question of why. You could feel his curiosity hanging in the air, thickening the tension between you, though it remained strangely civil.

"Very well." he said finally, folding his hands in front of him. "Let’s talk. But tell me, what do you hope to gain from this conversation?"

"Information." you said, leaning back in your chair, mirroring his posture, your eyes never leaving his. "Corpses don’t talk."

Geto’s amusement lingered, a faint glimmer in his dark eyes, but beneath it, you could see the subtle shift in his demeanor—he was keenly aware of the limits now imposed on him.

Without his techniques, without his weapons, the usual paths out of situations like this had been cut off. Yet, even in this vulnerable state, he wasn’t rattled. If anything, he seemed curious, his attention sharpened by the unpredictability of your approach.

You leaned back in the chair, your gaze unwavering on Geto Suguru, who still wore the faintest trace of amusement on his face. Yet, beneath that surface, the tension in his posture was unmistakable. He knew his options were narrowing—no techniques, no weapons, and certainly no room to strike back.

"Years ago.." you began, your voice calm but pointed, "you participated in the mission to protect Riko Amanai. We both know how that mission ended."

For a split second, his smile faltered. His gaze sharpened as he processed your words, but he didn’t interrupt. He was waiting, measuring you, calculating your intentions. You didn’t bother giving him the space to respond.

"Toji Fushiguro.." you continued, watching his reaction as the name slipped past your lips "... he claims he killed Satoru Gojo during that mission. But we both know Gojo is alive. Untouchable, even. So I’m curious, what did Toji use to hurt him? Was it a tool?”

The atmosphere shifted. For the first time, Geto’s eyes darkened, the mask of playful indifference slipping entirely. The name 'Toji Fushiguro' was a raw nerve, one that visibly rattled him. He shifted in his seat, and the subtle tension in his jaw told you everything, the memories, the bitterness, the unresolved pain from that mission were surfacing.

"Why do you think what he says is true?" he asked, his tone cold but steady. "Satoru is alive and well."

"Toji may be a bastard and a fraud -" you replied, leaning forward just enough to make your point clear, "-but he’d never lie about killing Six Eyes. His pride wouldn’t let him.'"

The room felt heavy with the weight of that truth. Toji Fushiguro’s reputation as the "Sorcerer Killer" had been well-earned, but something had given him the edge over someone as powerful as Gojo. Something dangerous, and you needed to know what it was.

Geto’s expression hardened. He was stone-faced, but you could see the flicker of something behind his eyes—loyalty, perhaps. He wasn’t going to betray Gojo easily. That much was clear.

"Even if I had that information.." he said slowly, his voice cool but unwavering "..why would I give it to you?"

Your patience, thin to begin with, began to fray.

And then, suddenly, Geto moved, faster than you anticipated. His hand shot out, aiming for your hair, while his other hand reached for your wrist, intending to slam you against the table. His reflexes were precise, well-practiced, and had you been anyone else, he might have succeeded.

But you weren’t anyone else.

His hands passed right through you, grasping at nothing but air, as if you were made of smoke. A faint, amused smile touched your lips as you watched him realize his mistake, his hand still extended toward you - now useless.

You let out a soft, almost mocking laugh, that echoed in the silent room.

"I told you, Geto." you said, the amusement in your voice unmistakable. "That kind of play belongs in the bedroom. And it’s not going to work here."

His eyes narrowed, frustration flickering beneath his calm exterior. His hand dropped back to his side, but his expression tightened, a clear sign that he hated this feeling of helplessness. He wasn’t in control anymore, and you had just reminded him of that fact - subtly, but unmistakably.

You leaned forward, your tone dropping to something quieter, more dangerous, your gaze locking onto his.

"So." you said, voice sharp enough to cut through the air "Will you tell me? What did Toji use? I know he wasn’t lying."

The room fell silent again, the tension now palpable as Geto weighed his next move, knowing full well you weren’t leaving without answers.

You sighed, a subtle edge of exasperation creeping into your tone as Geto maintained his stubborn silence. His loyalty to Gojo was admirable, but it was beginning to wear thin, his resolve starting to crack under the weight of your persistence. You weren’t here to exploit weaknesses, but to prevent a far greater threat—one he seemed too proud to acknowledge. The real danger wasn’t you. It was the ones hunting for the same answers you sought.

Without breaking eye contact, you stood from your chair. In one fluid motion, you teleported behind him, your movement so swift that he barely had time to react. Before he could resist, your hand gripped a fistful of his long, dark hair, pulling it back gently, yet with enough force to assert control. At the same time, chains of cursed energy materialized, wrapping around his wrists. They were meant to cause pain, enough to hold him still, preventing any further struggle.

"You’re still silent." you murmured, your voice low, close to his ear. There was no malice in your tone, but a quiet firmness that left no room for misinterpretation. "I’ve already told you. This isn’t going to work. You can resist all you want, but we both know this conversation won’t end until I get what I need."

His body tensed, muscles coiling with frustration as he tested the chains, but they held fast. His pride kept him from yielding easily, but the tension in his posture was clear. You tugged his hair back, just enough to force his eyes to meet yours, the angle sharp. His expression remained hard, but there was a flicker of something else behind the frustration. Perhaps curiosity or perhaps the first signs of understanding.

"I don’t want Gojo dead." you repeated slowly, each word measured, leaving no space for doubt.

"I need to know what can hurt him. Where his limits lie. Because someone else is looking for those answers, and when they find them, we both know what happens next. Sorcerers fighting for power, tearing each other apart. A new era of chaos, like the Heian one. And we both know how dangerous that is."

Geto’s gaze faltered for a moment, his jaw tightening as the weight of your words sank in. His silence was no longer one of refusal—it was hesitation, contemplation. You pressed forward, knowing the balance was tipping.

"Is that really what you want?" you asked, your voice softening, shifting from a demand to an appeal. "Your vision of a perfect world -will it survive if everyone’s fighting for the title of 'the strongest'? If they’re killing each other without mercy? Gojo’s absence would plunge everything into chaos. You’ve seen what happens when balance is broken."

His resistance was weakening. You could see it in the slight tremor in his shoulders, the tension in his jaw slowly easing. The room felt still, heavy with the gravity of the situation. You tighten your grip on his hair, letting him know the meaning of your words.

"I’m not your enemy." you whispered, the intensity in your voice tempered with sincerity. "But I need to know. What is the one thing that can kill him? What did Toji use?"

The room hung in silence, the tension palpable as the moment stretched between you.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Geto exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly as though the weight of the decision had finally settled on him.

He looked up at you, eyes dark but resigned, and spoke quietly, his voice barely a breath. "The Inverted Spear of Heaven." he said. "It’s the only weapon that nullifies cursed techniques. That’s what Toji used to kill Satoru, if only for a moment."

You listened intently, hanging on to Geto's every word as he spoke, and as he revealed the truth, you tightened the chains around his wrists just a little more.

"But Gojo survived," you prompted, voice steady, though tension hummed between you. "How?"

Geto's gaze met yours, calm but resolute. "Because Gojo always comes back," he said, his voice soft yet certain. "He was pushed to the brink, but in the end, he found a way. That’s what makes him different. Even when you think he’s finished, he’s not."

There was an unspoken challenge in his eyes, a tension that, despite his current position, had not broken. His breathing had steadied, but the energy in the room was thick—simmering with something unresolved. His body remained taut, muscles straining against the cursed chains, though his eyes, steady and dark, dared you to push further. That fire inside him, despite everything, still burned.

You leaned in closer, voice a soft, intimate murmur yet laced with the same unyielding control that held him. "I kinda like this," you mused, letting your words linger in the air between you, "how hopeless you are in my grasp. And I think... maybe you do too."

For a split second, something raw flickered in Geto's eyes, something dangerous and defiant. He didn’t reply, but the tension between you spoke volumes. Despite the chains binding him, despite his power being stripped away, there was a part of him that refused to submit. It was that glimmer of rebellion that made this moment all the more electric. He knew what's coming.

Unexpectedly, his voice broke the silence, soft but with a strange calmness. "If this is my end, can I at least have a last wish?"

Your brow arched, amusement curling at the edges of your lips. "I never do that, but I will make an exception." you replied, your tone indulgent, as if granting him one final luxury before the inevitable.

His lips curled into a faint, bitter smirk, laced with something darker. "Kill the one who sent you after me."

You laughed softly, dark and teasing, impressed by the audacity behind his words. "Clever." you murmured, the spark of amusement glinting in your eyes. "I agree."

He was lucky that you have developed a fondness for him.

You released your grip on his hair, though the cursed chains remained, holding him still. Reaching for the knife at your side, you pulled it free in a slow, deliberate motion. The blade gleamed in the dim light, casting a soft glow as you held it between the two of you.

Gently, you lifted his chin again, this time with the flat of the knife, and traced the sharp angles of his jawline with your fingers. His skin felt cool beneath your touch, and you could feel his breath catch momentarily, his body tensing beneath the intimate pressure of the blade.

"It’s a shame… really." you murmured, your voice quiet, almost regretful as the blade hovered dangerously close to his throat. "A huge loss to let that beautiful face wither."

Your hand grazed his cheek in a tender, almost intimate gesture that stood in sharp contrast to the violence promised by the knife. You could feel his breathing quicken at the contact, his body responding to the unexpected softness. But then, as if accepting his fate, Geto exhaled slowly, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips, his eyes softening with a sense of calm surrender.

"I didn’t think death would be so beautiful." he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, yet carrying the weight of his resignation.

You returned his smile, something sad and knowing flickering in your eyes as the knife rested lightly against his skin. His fate was sealed, and you both knew it—yet there was no fear in him, only acceptance.

𖤓

The alley was shrouded in darkness, the dim flicker of distant streetlights barely reaching the edges of where you stood, as though even the light hesitated to touch this forgotten corner. The air hung thick with the remnants of rain, a dampness that clung to the walls, slicking the pavement that gleamed faintly under the errant shimmer of passing headlights. The city buzzed in the distance, its pulse faint but steady, yet here, in this narrow, forsaken space, time seemed to slow to a whisper. Shadows stretched long, silent sentinels watching as you waited, patient and still, against the cool brick.

Your senses were sharp, attuned to every murmur of the night. It wasn’t long before the man arrived, his form out of place in the cloak of darkness. Wrapped in a cheap coat, he moved with a fragile unease, his footsteps soft but betraying the tremor beneath. The tension grew, the air thickening with each step he took toward you, until he finally came to a halt before you. His face, gaunt and pale beneath the scarce light, gleamed with the sheen of sweat, though the night was cool. His voice, shaky and uncertain, trembled as it cut through the stillness.

“Is it done?” The question, brittle as a dried leaf, hung in the air.

You let the silence linger, tasting his unease before you nodded, your voice steady, emotionless. "It’s done. No one’s seen Geto Suguru for a week now. His followers grow restless. You must have felt it."

Relief washed over him, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the world had finally been lifted. With fumbling hands, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, nondescript bag, thrusting it into your hand with the desperation of someone eager to escape the moment. "Thank you… for your services," he muttered, the words rushed and hollow, already turning to leave, his back to you before the exchange was even complete.

But something held you still, the weight of the bag wrong, off. Lighter than it should be. A frown crept across your features as you opened the clasp, the soft click echoing through the alley. Inside, the faint glimmer of money caught your eye, but it was too little—only half of what had been promised.

"Wait."

The word, simple yet edged with the weight of authority, stopped him in his tracks. He turned slowly, his face twitching with forced calm, a weak smile stretched thin across his lips. "What’s the problem?" he asked, though the flicker of fear in his eyes betrayed him.

You held the bag aloft, its lightness speaking volumes. "This is only half."

The man’s face twisted, pride battling with uncertainty as he stammered a response. "My supervisor said it was a fair price. After all, you’ve gained Geto’s power, haven’t you? That’s worth more than money."

There was a false confidence in his voice, but it crumbled under the weight of the moment. His chest puffed slightly, as though pride alone could shield him from what was coming, but his eyes - nervous, darting - told another story. He stood on the edge of something sharp, something inevitable, and he knew it.

You sighed, a soft sound like the wind through withered leaves. "He said you’d do something like this."

Before he could react, his body seized, convulsing violently as his legs buckled beneath him. His neck was covered by a barely visible thread, that sunk into his neck by a single stroke of your finger. You snapped your fingers and the thread penetrated deep into his flesh, opening his throat. In an instant, he crumpled to the wet ground, eyes wide in shock, life flickering out like a candle in a storm. The shadows seemed to deepen, the silence folding in on itself as the man lay still, his fate sealed without fanfare.

From the dark, a figure stepped forward, emerging from the shadows as though he had always been part of them. His robes flowed like ink, blending into the night, his movements fluid, almost serene in their grace. His inky black hair cascaded over his shoulders, catching the faintest hint of light, while his sharp, flawless features held a cold beauty, carved from darkness itself.

"I told you he’d cause trouble." Geto said with a slight, knowing smile, amusement dancing in his eyes as he glanced down at the lifeless body.

You tossed the bag over your shoulder, unbothered, meeting Geto’s gaze with a cool, unyielding calm. "You’ve got two weeks to pay me the rest."

Geto chuckled, a sound like velvet, though there was an edge beneath it, something darker that lingered. "And how do you know I don’t have that money now?" His voice, smooth and playful, hinted at the game he enjoyed.

You raised an eyebrow, your tone steady, laced with certainty. "I know more than you think. Your funds aren’t what they used to be."

His laughter was soft, almost charming, but beneath it was the sharp glint of calculation. "Two weeks, then?" he echoed, as if testing the waters.

"Two weeks." you repeated, your voice carrying the weight of finality. "And if you try to cheat me, I’ll finish what I started."

For a moment, the alley held its breath, the world balanced on the edge of your words. Geto’s smile didn’t falter, but the spark of danger flickered in his eyes, acknowledging the truth between you.

And then, without another word, you dissolved into a swirl of black mist, your form blending into the night as though you were nothing more than a shadow yourself. The alley fell silent once more, the city’s distant hum the only sound that remained.

#geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #cult leader geto #geto x you #suguru geto x reader #suguru x reader #jjk #geto x y/n #suguru geto x y/n #jjk dark content #jjk suggestive #jjk suguru #jjk curse users #dark themes

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yourtoradorasextendedwarranty · 9 months ago

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So I am a bit ashamed given modern day politics to admit that I'm left leaning at all. Even if I'm a just Left of Center Libertarian.

But the reason why is because of the fact that a huge swath of the left has an issue when it comes to words. Specifically changing the meaning of words until they mean next to nothing at all.

What do I mean by this? Well let's consider, what words have been made to mean nothing by the left:

Gender

Sex

Abortion

Genocide

Nazi

Man

Woman

Child

Family

Capitalism

Communism

Socialism

Fascism

Racism

Sexism

Etc

The list goes on and on and on.

Nazi more or less now means, "I don't like you and you don't agree with me thus forth I will bestow this label on you so as to smear you publicly"

Gender used to mean sex and now it both does and does not mean sex and even is now used to mean "Identity" with that was never what it meant.

Genocide is SUPPOSED to mean the intentional removal of a group of people through killing them or breeding them out by sterilization or intentional delusion of their bloodline. (Example of this is the raping of Uyghur Muslim women by Han chinese men and the sterilization of the Uyghur Muslim men by chemical castration or actual castration). Now it just means, "People dying in war is genocide. People not being allowed to chemically castrate themselves is genocide. People being allowed to eat meat is genocide". IE: It means nothing at all.

And then there's my favorite phrase from the left.

"This is a threat to our Democracy" which actually translates to: This is a threat to the power of Democrats therefore we need to smear and slander anyone pushing whatever is being pushed currently. And we will use weasel words normies use in order to scare them away from whatever this thing being pushed is".

First and foremost, we DO NOT live in a Democracy. We live in a Constitutional Republic. Secondly, when people want power as BADLY as Dems and will lie, cheat, steal, and smear to get there, you should be concerned. I mean for god sake, people consider a very TINY riot at the capital with 99.99% of people unarmed completely, while we also know feds were in the crowd, an "Insurrection"; But then will not consider fire bombing the security office outside the White House, the pushing down of the WH fence, and the burning of a historical church across the street, and the injuring and killing of several Guards and Police the same thing.

So basically, it's a "If we are in power, everything we do, no matter what it is, is fine and reasonable. If you are in power anything we do to try to remove you from power is fine and reasonable.", situation.

That's why I don't like most of the left. Because they think they are gods. Their "Moral" is correct even when it never stops changing. Look at their defense of slavery in the middle east all because, "Those poor oppressed Arabs". I'm sorry but what?! SO slavery is FINE so long as it's non white doing it? That's what I'm hearing right? And sadly a lot of the time it's "YES! That is what you are hearing". If time has taught me anything it's that most of the left is a brainwashed, uneducated cult. They believe EVERYTHING outside of their cult views as evil and thus forth need to lie about it to make everyone else NOT involved or not informed also have the same resentment towards the people they hate.

And it was the last straw when I saw post after post after post of leftists excusing rape. And then people like Hasan Piker calling Kids, "Colonizers" while in the breath before talking about violent removal of people is fine if they are colonizers.

No leftists. You need to understand something very clearly. The "Right" you view as so bad and evil are consistent in most of their morals. But you view everything in bad faith. Thus can't see past your own bias long enough to realize the actual evil ones are you.

And understand. I'm not calling EVERYONE on the left evil. But if you worship the left, you probably are evil. Even if you believe you are doing "The right thing" that doesn't mean you are. And it's about time you realized that.

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cityofmeliora · 3 months ago

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What do you think about Copia’s childhood? I saw your post about Terzo’s, so I started wondering. Where do you think he was raised, who do you think he was raised by, how did it contribute to who he is today?

YESSSSSS YES YES YES YES THIS IS THE ASK I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR RAAAAHHHH–

ok so first, i just wanna be clear that this post isn't gonna include anything about Cardi's twin because i'm still waiting to see what happens next in the lore before i try to write anything involving him.

with that out of the way,

like all my Ghost headcanons, my headcanons about Cardi are built on the foundation that the band Ghost lore is about 1) an evil satanic cult, and 2) a dysfunctional showbiz family from Los Angeles.

basically, i think Cardi had a very lonely childhood. and he has psychological issues caused by a lifetime of Sister Imperator's insane parenting. his anxiety in Rite Here Rite Now, about how being Papa is all he wants to do and all he thinks he could do, SCREAMS of "unethical Hollywood parent who molded her child to be a star" to me.

i do think Sister 'raised' him, or was at least present in his life since he was a child ("You'll always be my little Cardi.") and she just... didn't him she was his mom / Nihil was his dad. (i guess it's quite similar to children of catholic clergy IRL, who are sometimes raised by family but never told about their true parentage, or know the truth and are told to hide it.)

Cardi is autistic, obviously, but i also think his awkwardness is him being socially underdeveloped because he comes from an isolated cult environment. he was a weird satanic homeschool kid who almost never interacted with anyone outside the Ministry, and he was basically left to watch movies and listen to music and play video games all day. i like the idea that Cardi had dance training when he was young, though. that was probably the only time he really got to interact with others. and because he grew up in the Los Angeles area, on the occasions he did get to go out, he was always surrounded by the entertainment industry and people trying to rise to stardom.

anyway, i think this was all somewhat intentional, or at least worked in Sister Imperator's favor, to mold him into a neurotic showbiz baby in service of her evil satanic death cult. (though i don't think he cares about the cult aspect of Ghost at all. he's been in it his whole life because he didn't have a choice and has never known anything else. he really just wants to be a rock star.) growing up without the love of friends + family, Cardi filled that void with games / music / film. so... of course he wanted to be an entertainer when he grew up– that was his only avenue for human connection.

and i think Cardi kinda knew Sister Imperator was giving him special treatment and pulling strings to put him in position to become Papa, though he never understood why.

a major point in my Terzo character analysis post is that he was very ambitious and he loved being an entertainer and a showman, but he was frustrated because he wasn't allowed to express his full potential. i wrote that his mindset was "i know i'm good enough. and i could prove it if they would just let me."

and ever since i wrote that, i can't stop thinking about how Cardi feels the exact same way.

he's super talented. he's worked very hard. he's proud of his accomplishments. he's proven he's capable! but Sister Imperator doesn't respect him. she infantilizes him. she keeps the training wheels on. she doesn't want him to be capable!

Sister Imperator does not allow Cardi to have independent thoughts or make real decisions for himself. she allows him the illusion of autonomy when she needs to, but every time he shows a little bit of awareness of how fucked up his life actually is, she shuts him down to keep him under control. she purposefully hides information from him so he won't know anything she doesn't want him to know. she intrudes on his privacy because his bedroom doesn't have a door.

i think their relationship has been like this his whole life.

you can see examples of this manipulation / obfuscation throughout the Chapters, and you can see a lot of it in Rite Here Rite Now.

first off, the opening narration gives the context / background information that sometime in late 2021, when Cardi was 51 years old, he found out his two bosses are actually his parents, and his mother kept this a secret from both him and his father his whole life. which is. wild. to say the least.

(i think when he found out, he was disappointed by the realization that he got to where he is because he was secretly a nepo baby and not because he was doing a good job on his own.)

moving on. in Rite Here Rite Now, Cardi's main source of stress was that he fully believed his parents were going to murder him and then put his body on display to sell VIP tickets for his successor's concerts. this was genuine fear, and he had a legitimate reason to believe they would do that to him because they actually did that to his three older brothers! and in the later Chapters, Sister Imperator and Mr. Psaltarian were totally fucking with his head and making him think he was going to die!

he asks Sister why he can't continue being Papa for longer –because he doesn't want his parents to kill him when they're done with him– and she just brushes him off and tells him to keep playing his show. then in the Miasma scene, Cardi has a critical moment of awareness and asks what the hell is actually going on in his life and who's in control.

PAPA EMERITUS IV: One thing I do not understand… All these things… here, all of this stuff, and all of these things we're doing, where we go, and when, and to where… Who decides these things? I mean, who's calling the shots?

this is totally fair! he has a right to know this information!

in response, his parents completely avoid answering the question. they shut him down and basically tell him he sounds ungrateful for the life he has.

SISTER IMPERATOR: You waste so much time and energy worrying about what's been and what's next, who's next and whatnot. As with all things in life, it circulates. Everything that has a beginning has an ending. There just has to be an orderly transition.

she never tells him the truth. she just tells him to stop worrying. stop thinking.

they never tell him they're not going to kill him. They Never Tell Him They're Not Going To Kill Him. THEY NEVER TELL HIM THEY'RE NOT GOING TO KILL HIM.

Cardi spends the last third of the movie making peace with the idea that he is going to die soon and his parents will be the ones to kill him. after Respite On The Spitalfields, he seems resigned to his fate. he tells the Nameless Ghouls they're not doing an encore. he says "Fuck it." but Sister Imperator, still explaining nothing, tells him to do the encore and he unenthusiastically gets back on stage.

SISTER IMPERATOR: Even though you don't understand right now, sooner or later, you will know what I'm talking about. Things –events– are unavoidable. Now you go back out there and give them one hell of an encore. And that's all you have to worry about. PAPA EMERITUS IV: Okay. SISTER IMPERATOR: Off you go.

by the beginning of Square Hammer, he decides he is actually happy with the life he has and he's okay with whatever's coming. and he still expects he's going to die... only for them to totally fake him out.

Sister Imperator dies instead. in the letter she leaves him, she tells him, "My son, I'm sorry I could not find it in my heart to tell you about my condition. I was afraid you might lose your sometimes frail concentration." more obfuscation. more infantilization.

at the end of the letter, she promotes him to head of the Clergy. he takes on his new job assignment as Frater Imperator and he seems to think he'll have more power now that Sister Imperator is "not in charge anymore." i'm not so sure about that.

and this isn't even getting into all the other weird shit going on between them in that movie! why was Cardi literally unable to see her wheelchair and medicine until the Spoksonat scene? why couldn't he remember his twin brother who he spent time with as a child? either Cardi is even more mentally unwell than we know, or Sister is messing with his head in even more ways than we know. maybe both. probably both.

i do believe Sister Imperator loves Cardi. that does not negate the fact that she is also manipulative and dishonest and has no respect for him, and that made her a terrible parent. she caused him a lifetime of unnecessary confusion and suffering in furtherance of her goals. yes, he is often childish and irresponsible. but i think the way she treated him didn't allow him to mature on his own.

the worst part about all this? i think he's convinced himself that he loves her, too. (he doesn't actually know how to feel about her. it would be too painful to think about.)

in summary, to me, Cardi's life is like The Truman Show, except it's the bad ending where the producer (Sister Imperator) successfully convinces him to stay in the bubble.

this was supposed to be a headcanons post and it totally turned into an analysis post, but i cannot help it. i just love Cardi so fucking much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I JUST WANT CARDI TO BE SAFE AND HAPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

btw i think his actual legal given name is Cardinal Copia Imperator. yeah. i believe Sister Imperator actually named him that.

#sorry this is so fucking long. i will probably make bits and pieces of this into separate posts #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #frater imperator #sister imperator #cardi #radley post #rite here rite now #the band ghost lore #headcanon #analysis

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year ago

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There's a whole lot of towns out there that you'll never visit. Most of them are chock full of people you'll never meet. Tulsa, for example. Never been there, might never go there. And that makes me a little sad.

Sure, I only have enough time on this earth to visit so many towns. And when I'm there, I don't have enough time to interrogate every single one of the locals to see if, say, any of them have a set of Mopar F-body windshield wiper linkages sitting in the back of their garage. They'll just go to waste, damned to irrelevance by my lack of time. That's what the MBAs call a "market inefficiency."

The internet has helped, sure, but you can only demand what other people have supplied. Any quick browse on a model-specific forum is full of lonely folks crying out to the heavens for a specific piece of trim, or an entire automatic transmission, that they will never receive. And it's a lot of work to put that stuff up for sale. Who knows what's actually inside that weird pile of oil-stained gewgaws that Pawpaw left behind before he joined that alien cult and drank all that Flavor-Aid? His surviving next-of-kin sure don't know the difference between a 4.11 and a 3.90 rear end, nor are they willing to teach themselves that information in order to list it on eBay for twenty bucks.

Don't worry, though, I have a solution. That solution is that the Boston Dynamics warehouse is not secured very well. Their robots are powered by a two-stroke lawnmower engine: it's like they wanted me to show up with a turbine-generator-powered plasma cutter and chop right through the rebar holding the walls of their robot storage lockup together. After that, it was a quick couple of dozen trips to the local electronics store to get the right USB-to-serial cable, and I soon had my harem of semi-autonomous Parts-Seeking Drones® roving the backwoods of America.

So, if you see a lanky, creaking doglike shape lurking outside your yard tonight, smelling oddly of pre-mix and human arterial blood, let it in your garage. All it wants to do is scan your spare parts so I can find that goddamn last piece of dash trim for the cruise control lever on my Volare. Don't worry: I won't have the robots kill you if you decide not to sell it to me after all. It would be hypocritical of me to judge another hoarder. We'll have coffee when I come see your town for the first time! We can trade junk and be best friends and call each other on the phone afterward and talk about nitrous oxide. No promises on what the robots will do if they search your entire property and don't find any Plymouth Volare stuff, though. I forgot to program that part before I let them out of radio range.

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nychta-luxury · 2 years ago

Text

An Imposter or a God's Helper? Part 2

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

You have been playing in Darling's account while they focus on their studies, you notice many strange things happening that you never seen nor heard of, despite the fact you have been playing before Darling. You have thought about contacting Hoyo, however Darling stopped you. Your not sure why, but it's not your account to control so you let it be.

————————————————————

Part 1 Part 2 (your here)

Warnings: Cult like behavior, Worship, Religious themes, Not proofread.

Darling AU

————————————————————

It's been a few days since you started playing in Darling's account, you have to admit playing on their account is like playing an unreleased hard mode in genshin.

You continued to roam around the world opening chests and trying out characters you have always wanted but never able to get. Surprisingly, Although you played before Darling, in fact you were the one who introduced genshin to them, Darling has all the characters already.

Your not sure why but Darling has always been very lucky on genshin, whether it's artifacts, wepons or characters. They would never reach hard pity. But they do still expirance the tragic lose of 50/50 something no one can escape.

You sigh as you get yet another def% artifact with amazing substats. This is worse then getting no five star. You left the domain and looked for the next one to farm, but then

Ding Dong

DINGDONGDINGDONGDINGDONG

...

There goes Darling spamming your door bell. They were always the playful type.

"Hold on! I'm coming." You yell, leaving your game open.

You opened the door and saw Darling,

"About time you visited bruh." you say

"I almost believed you abandoned me with your children, and ran away with some other person" You say dramatically, acting like one of those dramas where the father left the mother alone with their kids.

"Oh no, how could I ever leave you, what can I do to make it up for yo-" Darling was playing along before you cut them off

"Child support welkin."

"Shut yo goofy ass-"

"YOU OFFERED"

"whatever, anyways how has my account been doing? Hope they weren't too much of a hassle." Darling says, as if they are in some parent teacher conference. You roll your eyes

"A brat. I swear I lost my sanity playing on there" You say

"Ah, they tend to do that. If you want you don't need to look after it for me," Darling says with slight worry

"Nah, I can handle it. I can babysit your characters, they can be a bit tough, Darling however, they also are pretty fun to use"

"Good good, otherwise--" You hear Darling mutter about something but you couldn't hear it, it probably isn't important.

————————————————————

The characters have gotten use to your presence, this doesn't mean they gotten fond of you. More like gotten use to your controlling them and your ways of control (playing style)

They still very much despise you, after all in their eyes you stole their grace from them and that is unforgivable.

As much as they want to minimize their damage, they still have amazing artifacts due to darling already building them. So sometimes they crite even if they don't want to, and yet you praised them for it, you would yell in joy after only hitting above 30k even if they did way better with their grace.

They are not sure why but whenever you praise them they feel a slight flutter in their chest.

But their number one objective is the creator, no matter what.

Suddenly they hear a loud bell ringing repeatedly, they are quite curious who this person is and what do they have to do with this imposter.

"Hold on! I'm coming." They hear you yell, they heard a door opening. However they can't see anything all they can rely on is their hearing.

Sadly they couldn't make out your conversation however.

"-----Darling however, they also---"

What.

Did you just call The Mighty One by their name?

Teyvat instantly fell silent, everyone froze. Not only did you take their grace's world you also dare to mention them informally?

Everyone had different thoughts.

'Who are you?'

'How dare an imposter call their grace informally. '

'What is your relationship with their grace maybe enemies?'

'When is their grace coming back.'

————————————————————

After you logged off genshin a meeting was called in Teyvat

The Archons and nation leaders were called. Everyone was stiff, the room was very suffocating.

Ningguang was the first to speak up,

"As I'm sure everyone has heard, Teyvat is now being watched by an unknown individual."

Zhongli nodded and continued for her

"It also seems like this imposter has similar powers to their grace. They somehow mange to obtain one of the most known power of the creator."

Everyone was dreadfully aware of this, and many questions have yet to be answered or showed any signs of it.

Raiden decided to speak up

"I suggest we start a rebellion, it's clear that this individual believes that they can just steal the all mighty's place. As their grace's acolytes shouldn't we discard this imposter?"

"Now now, we shouldn't act so irrational now. After all we have very little information about this imposter, there are many things we have yet to consider. From what I can see all we know is that that person knows the creator so much they can even mention them informally."

Yae Miko says, the room knows she is right, there is too little information about this person. There are countless possibilities on what happened.

"Who knows maybe they might even be lovers." Yae Miko mentions, playing a very dangerous game.

"Or they might just be enemies, after all we don't know their identity. Whos to say they are lovers when we couldn't even discover? Heh."

Venti says still singing rhymes even with how serious the situation is. Although he did sound a little passive aggressive.

"Hm yes yes my apologies. " Yae Miko says half heartedly.

"I have to agree with Barbatos with this one. The chance of them even being friends are low. After all there were no mentions of it in any ancient scriptures or in any book." Jean says

"Yes, I believe that we should lable this person as an enemy, we have no clue what this person has done to their grace, they might of even stole their powers. It could explain why they manage to use the powers of the might one. Perhaps they even sealed them away."

Once the Tsaritsa said those words everyone fell silent. She might be right about this, after all it does explain a lot of things and why they haven't even seen their grace.

Everyone decided to bring their grace back to Teyvat, they will aid the might one on getting their powers back.

————————————————————

Welp thank you for reading part 2! Don't worry there will still be a small revenge but I need to get some lore in first

Tag list: @dreamlessnight @mushroomsfordays @ciaratomioka1432 @almighty-raiden-shogunate @thesnakefromafar

#genshin sagau #sagau #genshin impact #Darling au #genshin cult au #Reader is not Darling

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moomoorare · 1 month ago

Text

Okay guesses for what the next season will be called are always hilarious. I gotta take a shot at it too.

Here's my guesses:

- Spare life

Each session you can give your best buddy an extra life, but you'll lose all saturation so you better have food. It's a very secretive series where it's revealed all the hearts were either given to Pearl, who asks them so nicely. To Jimmy the most pathetic guy in the series who BEGS for them. Or Scar, who scams them out of their pockets with a new mechanic called "Trick Track Truck", at least that's what he calls it.

The mechanic is actually useful because the one who gains the most will be brought back to life to fight with the last remaining player.

Jimmy still loses but comes second to last. Gem wins because I want her to.

- One life

Hate this title, great because it confuses people even more with the numbering scheme. Anyways it's actually a murder mystery dinner they all have to solve. They can't really solve anything because they keep killing each other. That doesn't matter because actually they have like 15 lives, also there's a bomb. No one wins. Kidding!!! Skizz wins cus he was the one faking being shot at the murder mystery party he sat up.

-False Life.

Because I want False to be added. That's it. 🥰

-Cub Life

Or Cub. Who's a literal bear that stalks them and makes increasingly crazy ass machines to fuck with them. Also they're all A/B/O coded.

- Zombie Life

Everyone has to run from Cleo who gets massive w's and can kill them all with a stick. They actually start a cult or church for her, ran by Scar, Bdubs and Etho. Grian too bc he's always into that shit. And Gem and Pearl, because I'd like that. Cleo wins again because the others all kill themselves. Also she accidentally kills Bdubs at the start of the season after he says Yuri time for the fifth time she hangs out with the Girrlss.

-One Life for Life

the one who survives the longest has gotta then live through the season like an hardcore world, alone. It sounds sad, but actually all the dead are haunting them. Weait, oh yeah that's sad. Anyways, they win a jackpot of one million netherite scarps and nothing else. So they can say they're rich.

- Grian Life

they all look like Grian, there's two squads of either fish and bird, but they all look like him. Absolutely useless information that changes nothing.

Tagnames are not shown, theyre all numbered Grian1 through Grian17. Grian isn't even number Grian1.

They have one life. The point isn't even surviving because actually you can respawn. It's kinda like Among Us. There's an impostor and that'll be mumbo. He still loses.

- Dumb ways to die-Life

completely breaks the way it's been titled for years and they all gotta find the stupidest fucking ways to die. If you die to a creeper or fall damage you gain a life. You start with three. Goofiest ass wins this season. Fuck lore-heads.

-Run for your Life

they give /op to one player. They all don't know who. It changes each session, three times. The goal is for the all powerful god to die at least one time, but it has to be at someone else's hand, since they can't naturally die, it's a new mechanic. They can absolutely fuck with people but cannot directly kill them.

- Fuck Life

they all um. no. Well they say "fuuuck life!!!" And immediately try to die faster than anyone else to have the saddest ending. First to die is Jimmy. Poor Jimmy. Somehow he's brought back to life. He still dies right after.

That's just my thoughts after having woken up at 4 pm and going to bed at 5 am. Yeuh

...

So what do you think it'll be? What are your ideas for the next season?

#life series #trafficblr #traffic smp #third life #last life #double life #limited life #secret life #im so hypedds #i actually wanna know what you think it'll be #rare rambling

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blackroseguzzi · 2 years ago

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Otherworldly : Part 1

Series based off Honey Kisses 🍯💋

Summery: Winter brings home a friend from college. Kai finds her intoxicating, and the feeling seems to be mutual. Pre-cult Kai Anderson.

Warnings: Intercourse, body parts..all the other warnings that SMUT might have haha

I really hope you guys like part 1! It’s my first time ever really attempting smut.

@evan4ever enjoy!

Kai sat down in his basement, trolling the internet. His mind couldn’t let go of the image of you in the shower.

Did you always shower at your friends houses with the door open? The way the hot water ran down the curves of your body was something he was going to dream about tonight. He would probably jerk off to the same though in the morning…or every morning for a month. He scrolled aimlessly around the internet, attacking some feminist page and insulting woman who were commenting about the harm of gendered bathrooms.

Then he heard footsteps coming down the basement.

“Winter, I told you to knock before you come down here.” Kai hissed.

“She’s asleep.”

Kai’s head shot up at the sound of a female voice that was not his sisters. It was YOU.

“Does she always fall asleep this early?” Your voice was as smooth as butter. Kai ran his hands through his dark brown hair and then moved the laptop from his lap to the coffee table in front of him. Adderall was the only reason he was awake at this hour.

He watched as you slowly made your way over to the couch, sitting in close to him. He could smell the familiar scent of the Dove shampoo he used. A flash of your naked body flooded his mind.

“Yeah, she’s not much of a party animal,” Kai responded, curious to know the reason for her decent down into his headquarters. He wondered if she was going to bring up the fact that he had watched her in the shower.

“Well, I guess not everyone is as feral as I am,” She giggled. The sound shooting through Kai’s body like heart shaped bullets.

“I’m Kai, Winter’s brother,” He debated on holding out his hand, but that felt too formal coming from someone who had just seem this girls pussy.

“I know. Winter talks a lot about you.”

“All good things I hope?” Kai stared into her eyes, feeling that soul sucking connection again.

“Well, she says you're protective, manipulative, and a little….crazy,” She smiled devilishly at him “and in my world I’d say that’s all good things.”

Kai could feel his blood pumping straight to his dick. She snuck in closer, and peaked over at his computer screen, your eyes wandering around the open tab, gathering information on what exactly Kai had been doing before she had come down to his dungeon.

“Ohhh another keyboard crusader.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him “I like to send Crash Safari links to members of pro-life Facebook pages,” She giggled. Oh. He wasn’t expecting that. She was a little bit vile, and that surprised Kai from her sweet girl next door appearance.

She had on a baby blue oversized sweater that dropped down at one shoulder, and he could make out a Lacey white bra strap somewhere beneath her long y/h/c. She had the most perfectly pink lips, and he imagined what the chubbier bottom one felt like in between his teeth.

“You’re a bit different than the friends my sister usually brings home,” Kai leaned back on the couch and studied her face.

“I like Winter. She has something special about her, but I can’t put my finger on it yet..I think she likes me because I write all her Political Methodology papers. Now the teacher looks at her like she’s the Prime Minister of his dick.” You both laughed lightly the air between you getting heavier.

“I still don’t know your name,” Kai stated.

“Y/N, but YOU, Mr. Anderson, can call me whatever you want.”

“Is that so?” Kai raised his eyebrow.

“What was the name you gave me in your mind when you were imagining yourself fucking me in the shower?”

She leaned in so that their faces were barely an inch apart. Kai could hear his heart beating, lustfully. This girl was exhilarating. Where had she been his whole life?

His body moved before his mind and his lips crashed into hers. She moved slower than him, making the urgency in their makeup session wind down to a sensual pace. She wanted him to savor this.

Her lips tasted like honey, and they were just as soft. He snuck is hands under her blue sweater and he cupped her breasts as she snaked her tongue into his mouth to let him know that she was enjoying whatever he was doing.

“I want you to show me what you were thinking about as you watched me,” Her voice was low in his ear. She moved with ease and straddled his waist, grinding her body against his extremely hard dick.

“Well, I can’t do that until you’re completely naked,” Kai responded, squeezing her breasts and she let out a small moan. She lifted her arms, and Kai removed her shirt. Was he dreaming? He had to be dreaming.

She reached behind her back with one hand and with a single motion her bra was now in Kai’s lap between them.

She grabbed his face and continued grinding him while she kissed him. Their tongues intertwined in a perfect simultaneous dance.

“Get up,”She whispered against his lips. She removed herself from his lap and slowly slid down her tight yoga pants. She wasn’t even wearing any underwear. Kai undressed himself far messier then she had. He stumbled a bit at as he wiggled out of his pants. She was looking right at his penis when he finished pulling off his socks. She licked her teeth and Kai’s knees weakened as she knelt before his throbbing cock. Where the fuck had she learned to do that with her mouth? Kai moaned and threw his head back in ecstasy. She kept going faster, grabbing his hands and placing them on her head. This girl wanted him to pull her hair while she was chocking on his dick.

He obliged, happily.

He peaked down at her, and her eyes were staring right back at him. That sent him to another world. He yanked her up by her hair and he smashed his face onto hers again. They finally made it to the bed.

“What do you want from me,” She said breathlessly.

“I want you to ride me until I cum,” Kai plummeted on the bed, watching as she crawled her way on top of him. Her skin was so smooth. She wasn’t the skinniest girl he had ever seen, she had curves in all the right places. He like it though- A man wanted to feel and hold a woman’s body, not bones. She grabbed his dick and guided it inside her, starting off slow and increasing the pace exactly how Kai liked it.

“You like that?” She ran her hands through her hair, arching her back as she did.

Kai could stare at her all day. She looked like a renaissance painting. God, her naked body should be worshipped. She stuck one of his fingers in her mouth and started sucking it.

“I’m going to cum,” Kai chocked out, before releasing himself inside of her. She road it out for a moment and leaned forward, her face inches from his. They didn’t kiss, she just kept moving slowing on top of him. They stared into each other’s eyes like they had when she was in the shower that evening. That soul connecting electric intimacy.

“Did I live up to your expectation, Kai?”She smirked down at him, her face flushed and beads of sweat sprinkled her forehead.

“You exceeded my expectation,” He said in a complete state of pleasure.

He watched as she took in a breath and let out the sexiest moan he had ever heard.

Holy fucking shit. She had just gotten off by hearing how much she had pleased him. He felt her body on top of him release and liberate her orgasm. It was possibly the most tantalizing thing he had ever witnessed.

She finally rolled off of Kai and lay next to him on the bed, both of them staring at the basement ceiling.

“That was..” “otherworldly,” Kai finished for her. He moved surveyed her delicate side profile as she lay still, and he wondered what she was thinking.  “You know,” she twisted her head towards him. Looking his facial features over like she was trying to remember every single detail of it down the the small beauty mark on the tip of his nose. She really liked that particular attribute. “You would look so amazing with blue hair.” She got up quickly, Kai stayed naked and propped himself up on his elbows as he watched her make her way over to her clothes left in a heap on the floor. She bent down, and Kai made a mental note that if they ever fucked again he was going to make sure that was the view he was fucking her in. I mean…Wow.

“Blue? You’re lying,” He let out a huff. He never did much with his hair, especially now that he was always too depressed and drugged up to even comb it.

She finished getting dressed, pushing her feet back into her cute bunny slippers.

“I would never lie to you.” There was that devilish grin again.

She played with her Lacey bra in her hands for a moment before dropping it on his laptop and making her way quietly back up the stairs.

He had a gut feeling you were going to have him wrapped around your finger.

#evan peters fanfic #evan peters imagine #kai anderson messiah #kai anderson #kai anderson imagine #kai anderson smut #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson ahs #ahs cult #evan peters x y/n #kai anderson x you #pre cult kai anderson

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bitethedevil · 5 months ago

Text

More Than Our Fathers (Raphael x Demigod!Reader): Chapter 2

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five

Read this on AO3

Summary: The relationship between you and Raphael has blossomed. While you are in isolation, Raphael informs you that your father has been freed from his imprisonment in the Scepter of Savras and that the scepter is lost once again.

Hundreds of years later, the Cult of the Absolute is on the rise in Faerûn and Raphael has a plan for how the both of you can get what you want. What you are not too excited about, however, is the fact that his little plan includes the two of you getting married.

Word count: 4,711

(Notes: I am making up Infernal laws and you'll probably see a lot of that in this fic since there is not a lot of material to go off when it comes to that. I am also posting this chapter rather quickly after the first one, but I got some real life stuff the next couple of weeks, so I wanted to get the second chapter posted before that. Now that the first two chapters are out of the way, the scene is set and we won't be "time-travelling" so much. Phew!)

“We will see each other again, Sibylla,” he had said.

And that you did. Raphael often seemed to have business wherever you did. How much of it was coincidence and how much of it was intentional, you did not know. All you knew was that you kept running into him throughout the years. Sometimes quite often, while other times there would go decades between you seeing each other.

You saw him as a pestilence in the beginning. Plenty of threats were thrown his way in those first meetings. It did not sway him to stay away, but it never got physical between you. Though Raphael was self-assured that he would win in a fight between the two of you, he was not eager to test if his theory was right.

You did eventually start to soften up to him. You even began to feel flattered by his growing obsession with you over the years. Your powers intrigued him immensely. His compliments and light-hearted flirting did not fall on deaf ears either, though you knew his intentions. His interest was purely out of the fact that it would be an accomplishment for him to seduce a creature of the divine, and for that reason you held his flirtations at an arm’s length.

Eventually the two of you started meeting outside of work as well, though because of the stubbornness of the both of you, you always found excuses for it. The idea that you might just have been enjoying each other’s company was unspeakable, especially to you.

You were not friends. People like the two of you did not have friends. You were a constant in each other’s life, and for immortals that is really all one can ask for. Raphael was the only other immortal in your life, and while Raphael was frequently surrounded by the many immortals of the Hells, he seemed to have a special fondness for your company.

Although neither of you were confused about the reality of your relationship: you would gladly stab the other in the back or shamelessly use the other person, if that was more beneficiary than keeping the peace between you.

It was hundreds of years after you and Raphael had met in Barth’s office. You had taken a few years away from your usual work around Faerûn. You had bought a comfortable house out on the countryside to live in solitude for a while. You had managed to anger quite a lot of important people, which meant that it was time to go into hiding for a decade or two, which was something you had done successfully a few times before.

Your wish for isolation was, of course, not honored by Raphael. You had seen him coming in a vision before he arrived, which is why it did not come as a shock when you heard the familiar poof behind you as you were doing garden work.

“Business or pleasure?” you asked without even turning around. “If it’s the former, I’m currently not interested.”

You were hunched over a flower patch with your hands in the dirt and your behind in the air.

“It’s always a pleasure when it’s with you, my dear,” Raphael purred from behind you. “I must say, you look lovely from this angle.”

You sighed and got up to face him. You were sweaty. A bit of your face was dirtied, from when you had dried the sweat off your brow. Raphael wrinkled his nose.

“Though considerably less so from this one…” he commented while looking at your dirtied and annoyed-looking face. “You look disgusting. Why not use magic for such a trivial task?”

“Because I’m trying to use my time on something productive and I am bored,” you answered and cleaned your dirty hands off on your pants.

You reached out for Raphael’s hands. It was often much easier to just touch him to find out what he wanted through your visions, instead of having to listen to all his theatrics as he explained.

“Don’t you dare,” he said and stepped back from your dirty hand, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Besides I want to see your face when I tell you this, so I will not allow you to peek this time.”

“Fine,” you sighed. “Why are you here?”

“Please, get cleaned and try to look presentable first,” he said and walked into your house as if he owned it.

You washed off and changed into clean and comfortable clothing before joining him in your living room. He was sitting in a chair with his legs crossed, waiting for you. He looked at your clothes and sighed.

“It will have to do, I suppose,” he said at your choice of clothing, that consisted of a simple lose dress and a belt, which is what you always wore when you were just at home.

You raised an eyebrow at his comment. He got up from the chair and snapped his fingers.

“No—"

Once you saw that you were suddenly somewhere else, you sighed deeply and fought the urge to slap him.

“I am in isolation for a reason,” you hissed at him and looked around at the people passing you in the street.

“We are on the Moonshae Isles,” he said casually. “I know for a fact that you rarely ever leave the mainland. No one will recognize you here.”

“Where exactly?”

“Caer Callidyrr,” he answered casually and walked towards the entrance to a tavern.

“A city that trades with both Amn and Calisham, which are both places that currently want my head,” you said in a low voice before you cast a glamour spell on yourself that made your recognizable silver hair and pale eyes into another color.

Raphael threw a glance at your change of appearance and chuckled.

“A bit overly paranoid, aren’t you?” Raphael said with a smile and held the door open for you. “I see the isolation is already starting to get to you.”

The tavern was fancy, which was to no surprise to you, knowing Raphael.

“Why are we even here?” you asked. “We could have done this at my house.”

He led you to a table in a secluded corner of the tavern.

“Because you went insane the last time you hid yourself away from the world, and you are of little use to anyone in that state. You need to get out every now and again,” he said calmly. “I also have news for you that calls for a celebration, and I am certain you will agree once you hear it.”

“I did not go insane,” you mumbled stubbornly. “And I am not going insane either.”

You remembered exactly the incident he was talking about. You had gone away for two decades, and when Raphael had finally visited you, he found you in a cottage far away from civilization with a small army of stray cats, along with at least a decade's supply of home-brewed potions of Animal Speaking. He had teased you with it ever since.

“Tell it to the cats, dear,” he said with a mocking smile and waved over a barmaid.

Shortly after a bottle of expensive of wine was brought to your table.

“Alright, why am I here?” you asked. “What is it that you seem so excited about telling me?”

He rested his elbows on the table between you and leaned forward.

“I merely wanted to inform you that while you have been doing garden work in the middle of nowhere, Savras has been freed from his imprisonment…” he said in a lowered voice with a smile.

You raised an eyebrow. Your father had been freed?

“How? By whom?” you asked.

“The very same who imprisoned him all those years ago,” he said.

“Azuth?” You asked. When Raphael confirmed with a nod, a look of annoyance washed over your face. “Which means that he is no doubt forced to bow down to both Mystra and Azuth now…I can’t say I’m surprised he went along with it. Gods, how embarrassing …”

It angered you to hear. Your father had truly been reduced to nothing. It had almost been better if he had simply stayed lost in the scepter.

“How did Azuth even find the scepter?” you asked.

Raphael’s smile widened.

“It had fallen into the hands of a woman called Syluné Silverhand, who used the scepter and your father’s powers for her own gains for some years before handing it over to Azuth. She is one of Mystra’s whelps,” he explained. “I’m sure you have heard of her…”

Your anger grew. Silverhand was the eldest of the Seven Sisters, who were all the daughters and chosen of Mystra. You had never liked Mystra for the way she had idly stood by as Azuth took your father’s place, but your dislike for her only grew at that piece of information.

“That bitch knew…” you said through gritted teeth. “Mystra knew exactly where my father was, and she did nothing. She let her daughter use her former servant as a pet.”

“Idleness is the way of the gods, dear. Surely that cannot come as a surprise to you,” Raphael said. “Although…there is a silver lining to all of this…”

“What?” you asked.

Raphael casually topped off your glass of wine as he explained:

“Azuth freed Savras, but the majority of his divinity and powers stayed in the scepter, if the rumors are to be believed. The scepter mysteriously disappeared once again, as it had done all those years ago, before your dear father could reclaim that lost part of himself. They say that only a chosen of Savras or someone of the divine can wield its powers…someone like yourself…”

He took a sip of wine as he waited for your reaction.

You could reclaim what your father had lost, and perhaps even absorb his powers for yourself. You could become what your father once was, but without making all the idiotic mistakes that he had. You could essentially ascend to godhood with powers like that in your hands.

Your anger had calmed as the spark of ambition was slowly being lit inside you instead. You narrowed your eyes at Raphael in suspicion.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” you asked.

Raphael sighed.

“Was there even a small chance that I could claim the scepter myself, I would not have told you,” he said. “As that is not the case, I am telling you this in the hopes that you will remember my generosity should I ever need a favor from you…”

“Hm…” you hummed. A slight smile tugged on your lips as you thought of all the possibilities if you should ever get your hands on it.

“Is that a smile I see?” Raphael asked. “How rare coming from you these days.”

“I still have to find the damn thing, though…” you said and sipped your wine.

“All good things come to those who wait,” he said with a hand gesture. “With a little determination and some patience, I am certain that you will stumble upon it eventually.”

“Hm,” you hummed again. “I’m not convinced that you don’t have some ulterior motive for telling me, but…thank you…”

“You know I always do,” Raphael said with a smirk. “And you are very welcome…”

You emptied your wine glass and put it on the table. Soon after, the barmaid came to take your empty glasses. You put some pieces of gold on the table for the barmaid.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” the barmaid said with a bright smile and gestured towards Raphael. “Your father has already paid for the wine.”

Raphael’s eyes darted to the barmaid at the comment, with a look in them that said that he was seriously considering reducing her to ash on the spot. You made a small snorting sound and had to bite your cheek to not start laughing. You managed to nod to the barmaid.

You had always teased Raphael relentlessly with his ‘age’. While you still looked like you were in your twenties, Raphael had insisted that people took him more seriously with his permanent glamour that made him look at least twenty years older than you.

The second the barmaid had left your table, you started quietly laughing and Raphael’s eyes darted to yours.

“Oh, that’s amusing to you, is it?” he asked. Despite his pointed tone, you could see that he liked seeing you laugh again.

You nodded.

“Not only do you look like a child, but you also act like one,” Raphael said with a sigh.

“I really needed that,” you said and tried to stop giggling, before getting up from the table. “Take me home, old man.”

The year was now 1492 DR, and it was the year that would change your life forever. You were just shy of 1600 years old. It was over a hundred years after Raphael told you about the second disappearance of the Scepter of Savras, and you were unfortunately no closer to finding it.

Raphael must have been busy, for you did not see him for three decades straight. You had received visions of him coming to visit you, though he never did. It meant that he had certainly had the intention to seek you out, but he had for some reason changed his mind.

When he finally did seek you out, you were in Waterdeep which was the place you had called home for the last century. You were quietly reading in your study when you suddenly heard the familiar poof of Raphael appearing. You smiled when you heard him appear, but you quickly hid it and did not look up from your book.

“Took you long enough,” you said in a slightly offended tone.

“I have been so terribly busy, my dear,” Raphael said.

“Mmhm,” you said. “So terribly busy that you could not even pay me a single visit, and now, because you most likely want something from me, you have the time.”

“Oh, how you know me so well,” Raphael purred and walked behind you to place his hands on your shoulders before he gave you a brief kiss on the cheek.

You could have taken a peek when he touched you to see his intentions and where he had been for the last many years by peering into his past, but you had made an agreement that you would not do so unless he asked.

You looked up at him.

“What do you want?” you asked.

Raphael smiled as he looked down at you.

“So many things,” he said. “But most importantly, I have something that you want.”

He snapped his fingers, and you were suddenly in the House of Hope. You had visited his home a couple of times before. What surprised you was that he had taken you directly to his archive instead of the large main area or the foyer where he had taken you all the other times.

“Come,” he said and beckoned you to follow him. He opened a hidden entrance and led you down a set of stairs that went under the archive.

There were artifacts from all over the realms lining the walls and placed on pedestals around the large area.

“Did you bring me here to show off?” you asked.

Raphael smiled and gently grabbed your shoulders. He turned you around to look at a particular artifact that was placed in the center of the room. Your jaw fell and your eyes widened.

A scepter. It was made from duskwood with nine star-sapphires along its length. There was one diamond at its base and one at its end. The one at the base bore your father’s symbol, while the one at its end bore Azuth’s. The scepter was extended in the air, vibrating violently against the confines of the magic that was keeping it in place.

“Is that…?” you asked breathlessly.

You felt as though you might start crying. You had been looking for it for so long, and there it was.

“It is,” Raphael said. “Quite a lot of trouble it was to get my hands on it too. It was even more difficult to make it stay in one place. I will be happy to get rid of it…eventually.”

You looked at him. You were speechless. Or at least you were until the awe had settled for a moment.

“How long have you had it for? Why didn’t you tell me immediately?” you asked with frustration in your voice.

“Because I need you to do something for me before I am willing to hand it over to you. Something that I know you would not be fond of helping me with unless the reward was big enough…” he said. “I have not had it for long. Once my plan was starting to come together, I promised a rather large sum for anyone who could find it and bring it to me. You have no idea how much this has cost me in gold, souls, and whatever else you can think of.”

You looked at the scepter again. You could almost not believe it was right in front of you.

“Where was it?” you asked.

“In the Hells, if you can believe it,” Raphael explained, looking at the scepter too. “It makes all the sense in the world when one thinks of it. What is left of your father in there is not eager to be claimed, and when only a pious chosen or someone with a touch of the divine can wield it, then what better place to hide than in the Hells where such people are a rarity?”

You were quiet. You had been looking in all the wrong places from the beginning, but now it was here. You would do whatever it took to get your hands on it.

“So, what is it that you want?” you asked.

Raphael smiled and led you away and out of the archive.

He brought you to one of his many balconies. He poured some wine for you and began to explain everything. You had of course heard whispers about the Absolute and you had also received some worrying visions every now and again the last couple of months. What you had not expected was the Absolute’s connection to the Crown of Karsus. The very thing that made Raphael cross paths with you in the first place.

“Not this old song again, Raph,” you sighed. “Why are you so eager to follow in the footsteps of Karsus?”

“Karsus was merely a mortal,” Raphael said with a sneer. “I am not. The Crown has endless potential and where Karsus failed, I will succeed.”

“And take over the Nine Hells, yes, yes, I know,” you said with anger at his stubbornness. “And yet you seem to fall into the very same trap that Karsus did. Karsus failed because of arrogance, and you would do well to remember that. He thought himself a god though he was only a man, and it ripped him apart and destroyed Netheril. It will do the same to you.”

“It will not, and even if it will, that is why I have you to warn me beforehand,” he said hurriedly, his frustration was clear in his voice. “I will have it, with your help or without it.”

You sighed deeply. You had heard it all before of course, but you never thought that he would even get close to the Crown, so you had simply brushed it off.

“If it was so powerful, why wouldn’t Mephistopheles had used it to get rid of Asmodeus ages ago? Why would he let it stay in his vault untouched?” you asked.

“Because he would have little control over its powers as he lacks the rest of Karsus’s artifacts,” Raphael explained. “My father is many things, but he is not a stupid man. Karsus created two other artifacts along with the Crown. To properly wield the powers of the Crown, you need the other two.”

You looked at him for a moment.

“Which you have in your possession…” you said, beginning to understand.

“Correct,” Raphael said and smiled. “There is the Scepter of Karsus, the Orb, and, of course, the Crown. I only need the Crown. If you ensure that it falls into my hands after the defeat of the Absolute, the Scepter of Savras is yours. You would become a god, Sibyl. We would both become gods…”

There was a fire in his eyes as he spoke. You were quiet for a moment. It was so tempting. You had been waiting for this for years, and yet you felt a knot in your stomach at the thought. You remembered Melesmer, the wizard who had raised you. How he used to tell you about the pure carnage and destruction that the Crown brought to Netheril and its people.

“This is such a bad idea…” you said quietly.

Raphael knew you were considering it, despite your words.

“The group of adventurers that is crucial to my plan has a former chosen of Mystra in their midst,” Raphael said. “A complicated relationship, to be sure, but still, it is there. Do you think that he would deny her if she asked him to bring the Crown to her? Mystra has all the reason in the world for wanting the Crown. One can only wonder what she would do with it and what kind of chaos it could create in the Heavens.”

It annoyed you how well Raphael knew which of your buttons to push to make you say yes. He knew that you hated Mystra for what she had done, or rather not done, for your father and that you truly thought the worst of her.

“Fine…”

Raphael’s eyes lit up.

“But,” you said sharply. “You will listen to me. If I see a slight chance that all of this goes wrong, in any capacity, we stop. You stop. We drop it and we move on as if nothing happened, and if you do not heed my warnings, I will not hesitate to lead you astray. I don’t care if we are…” you were about to say friends. “…whatever it is we are. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my dear,” he said and reached for your hand to place a kiss on it. “Thank you.”

You sighed deeply and took a big sip of wine as you looked out over Avernus.

“How do I know that you will actually deliver the scepter to me?” you asked after a moment of silence. “Since I won’t be signing any contracts, how can you ensure me that you will not go back on your word?”

“All these years and you still do not trust me?” Raphael said and put a hand on his chest in a gesture of feigned hurt.

“Not with this,” you said with a serious expression.

“I have already thought of a solution to that little problem…” Raphael said, and you noticed that he had an odd expression on his face.

It looked like hesitancy, and that was not something you had ever experienced with him. Raphael was many things, but shy was definitely not one of them. It made your eyes narrow at him.

“What?” you asked.

He looked at you briefly before moving his eyes back to the landscape in front of you.

“As you are well aware, if you were to ascend to godhood, the gods would likely have something to say on the matter,” Raphael said carefully. “It could take a few centuries before you have fully adjusted to your newfound powers. It could take even longer for them to grow to their full potential. You would not stand a chance against the gods if you were to stay in the Material Plane. Which is why I would be willing to offer you refuge in the Hells until you are better prepared…”

“A nice offer…” you said, and your eyes narrowed even more in suspicion. “Buuut…?”

“But” Raphael said and began fiddling with the arm of the chair he was sitting in, in what almost looked like a nervous gesture. “It would no doubt look odd that the coming Archdevil Supreme should be granting refuge to a non-fiend, and especially someone of the divine, simply out of generosity.”

“So…?” you asked impatiently. “Raphael…Are you going to arrive to your point anytime soon? What does any of this have to do with my question?”

“You see…there is a way to make verbal agreements legally binding. It is a longer and slightly atypical court procedure to ensure the validity of these claims, but it does work. Meaning that you would never have to sign anything, but my promises to you would still bind me in an Infernal court. There would be no additional terms aside from the ones we have already discussed, of course...In its essence, it would be a promise that I am forced to keep.”

You nodded.

“That sounds…fine,” you said with a shrug. “How do we do that?”

Raphael took a deep breath.

He mumbled something to himself that you did not quite catch. Something about ‘that you should have talked on the Material Plane in case you were about to kill him’ or something to that extent.

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked.

He cleared his throat.

“Archdevils are expected to have consorts,” he said and let the words linger in the air for a moment. “And verbal agreements are considered legally binding if the two parties are…married…”

He smiled, trying to take the blow off what he had just said. You stared quietly at him with an unreadable expression for a moment. Then you tapped your nail on the wine glass in your hand.

Raphael barely dodged it when you threw the wine at him.

“Have you lost your mind?!” you yelled.

“Calm down, dear,” he said calmly and held a hand up defensively. “Let me—”

“Don’t you ‘dear’ me, you slippery fuck!” you yelled. “I will not calm down when you are suggesting that I essentially sell myself to you like a common whore just so you can parade me in front of the Nine Hells and brag that you conquered a goddess!”

“I was suggesting nothing of the sort!” he said in a louder voice to match your volume, though he still remained calm in the face of your anger. “It is a political alliance, that will benefit the both of us. We do not have to act married behind closed doors unless you wish it.”

“Unless I wish it?” you repeated in a dangerous tone.

“A poor choice of words,” Raphael immediately backtracked. “I am simply stating that it would solve a myriad of problems for the both of us. You would live comfortably, never want for anything, and be treated like the goddess you will become, without the interference of the Heavens. I will not have to take my chances with some Infernal consort who might betray me or serve someone else behind my back, and I would have your sage council by my side as I rule.”

You were still fuming but you were being quiet.

“Consider it, Sibyl…” he said. “I understand that it is something you need to mull over and do take the time you need. However, if you refuse, the only sense of security I can grant you will be through a written contract, and I will not be able to grant you refuge…”

“You don’t speak to me for thirty years, and when you finally do you present me with all of…this…and ask if I will marry you…” you mumbled to yourself. “You are fucking unbelievable…”

Raphael smiled at you. You might have still been angry, but he could see that you seemed to be calming down at least a little bit.

“It is a lot to take in, I’m sure,” he said. “I would have taken the time to ease you into it, but time is a luxury we currently do not have with the way everything is progressing.”

You sighed deeply.

“Take me home,” you said. “I’ll think about it but do not get your hopes up. I am tempted to refuse you immediately.”

He gave you a short nod and snapped his fingers to send you back to Waterdeep.

#raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #raphael x reader #raphael fanfic #raphael bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction

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rowanraven08 · 5 months ago

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So I just need to fucking rant about my boys being stuck in the ‘puters. CAUSE MAN DO I HAVE THOUGHTS. Have probably said some of this before, but not all.

So I’m thoroughly convinced that they’ve been properly coded in, Sergey Ushanka style, and also based off that statement, there’s no doubt in my mind that it hurts for them. I know this is a different universe, but unless computer folks are a common thing here, why would the plot give them anything less than more trauma? But I’m actually kinda concerned about how they’ll be once/if they get out?? Like aside from the trauma of it even, Tessa Winters said you can’t code people in the way people really are, and I’m kinda worried that through the whole thing that they might be different, or have lost a little bit of themself, the way that if you put something through google translate to many times it comes out all messed up, mostly with the same meaning, but words have still changed.

Other than that even, how the hell is Jon gonna cope/currently coping with not being omniscient?? I imagine going from knowing almost everything to having to seek out the information yourself again would be a huge hurdle. Even if now he has the equivalent of what Elias could do, seeing out of any eye, but instead just seeing out of any camera, that would be so disorienting. Never mind the fact they’re in an alternate universe.

The whole thing just makes me so sad, they can’t communicate clearly, are clearly trying tooth and nail to help and to get the OIAR gang to understand, stuck in this nonexistence that is probably excruciating, and no one except probably Colin and Celia even knows they exist. (I’m operating under the assumption Celia knows what’s up, she’s a smart girl she knows this isn’t a coincidence) But Colin clearly fucking hates them, Sam is only just starting to realize the computers are listening, and Celia doesn’t actually seem to be trying to help them, the only thing we know about her research is that she was looking into alternate universes and time travel sort of stuff, and that now she’s looking into alchemy. My boys are SCREAMING to be heard and no one will listen.

Like what will they even do? Worst case scenario, they’re stuck like that forever. Best case scenario, they get out, and somehow manage to get home (unlikely in my opinion) only to be met with a world still rebuilding, where everyone hates them. Last scene in TMA? Literally Melanie, Georgie, and Basira talking about how it’s better off they can’t find Jon, and they’re right,

“I mean, I just don’t think people would exactly be understanding. You remember what happened when they found Simon Fairchild?”

“And he’s not just some powerless left-behind avatar, you know? We’re talking about ‘The Archivist’.”

People would absolutely kill Jon if he came back, and they knew who he was, and I think being able to fly under the radar isn’t an option seeing as he literally haunted people’s dreams for a while. Who’s to say he could even stay alive in a world without the fears? Death might finally catch up to him, the exhaustion, everything. I don’t think going back is an option for them.

Maybe for Celia, if it’s even possible. But I think at this point she’d be happier in Protocol universe than Archives. She couldn’t even remember her original name in late s5, and didn’t remember Martin, she seemed to have lost at least a good portion of her memory if not all. If that didn’t come back after the apocalypse, she has more actual connection to Protocol, the cult being her only real connection to Archives. Maybe she’s trying to get back just because of principle, she’s not considering if that’s really what she wants because it’s the clear next step. But I don’t think she’d be able to leave Jack behind. I don’t even think she really is his proper mother, I’m guessing she somehow took other Celia’s (Lynne’s) identity, and just took over caring for Jack. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love him.

I really do hope Jon and Martin get out of the computer, it’ll be so hard for them to deal with everything, but maybe if they stayed in Protocol they could still build a life together.

Some other random stuff:

So I went through, and found (I think) all the times we hear the jmj. error.

Ep 3 we get an error, which actually starts working when Colin threatens it, and it starts up with a statement from our buddy Norris, and I actually find it kinda amusing to imagine Martin being scared into reading the statement by the frustrated IT guy.

We also get an error in ep 5, after Gwen asks about the German IT guy before Colin. Which a.) why is she asking about him, b.) if I’m right about the errors being an attempt at communication, why do they think the guy’s important? C.) I had thought before that the German bit of code could be Jonah or something since he may have known German? But pretty sure that was too speculative, it makes more sense for it to have just been the German IT guy. D.) he’s mentioned as having a bunch of tattoos, which so far has not meant good things.

Ep 17 which I talked about in a different post, where the error lasted long enough for Gwen and Alice to nearly talk about stuff, only starting up again once they end that bit of the conversation without actually talking about it

And then ofc in 19 when Alice won’t listen to Sam about the computers listening.

I don’t think I missed any, but I might have? So if anyone notices one I missed lemme know please

Also only just realized a few days ago that jmj. isn’t an ACTUAL error, I know Colin says ep 3 it doesn’t mean anything, but I had actually taken that as Colin just being frustrated, and hadn’t read into. Jmj doesn’t even fucking exist, my guess is that it stands for Jon Martin Jonah?

Also what’s everyone’s thoughts on Teddy? Because that man is getting kinda suspicious. Why does he keep showing up? He works into this somehow. Also why doesn’t he actually want to talk to Alice? She’s high energy and not very serious, but it sounds like the guy properly ghosted her, keeps lying about how they’ll hang out more, or how he’ll text her back, could just be him being a bit of a dick, or maybe she did something to kinda deserve it, but it’s could be he’s trying to keep her at a distance to keep her safe? Especially if he is already wrapped up in this crap.

#the magnus protocol #tmagp #alice dyer #samama khalid #colin becher #gwen bouchard #celia ripley #tmagp celia #chester tmagp #norris tmagp #augustus tmagp #tmagp speculation #tmagp rant #tmagp spoilers

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herearedragons · 1 month ago

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happy storyteller saturday! v specific lol but tell me about watcher selene! I keep seeing the tag in my notifs and now im curious 👀

yes hello hi I would love to tell you about Selene! also I'm making this the "Selene for people who don't know Pillars of Eternity" post, if you don't know the videogame but want to understand who the blue girl is. this is the place

the basics are that she's my Pillars of Eternity (videogame) OC, she's touched by Ondra (goddess of the moon, sea and oblivion) from birth which made her blue and glowy with horns (rather than a normal elf like her parents), and she's psychic! she reads minds! she hears everyone's thoughts, especially the painful ones, and she can't make it stop!!

(also she's kind of my main guy (gender neutral) right now and I love her)

more points of interest about her that might explain why I tag the posts I do with her name:

(cw for religious cults, abuse and suicidal ideation)

raised in a cult of Ondra, grew up in a temple. never knew her parents. it was just assumed that since she was marked by The Goddess obviously she was meant to be a priestess. and the thing you need to know about Ondrite worship is that one of its main things is the tradition of Giftbearers, people who collect mementos of traumatic events from people who want to forget said trauma and throw those mementos into the sea. because all forgotten things belong to Ondra and all that belongs to Ondra is forgotten. the idea is that once the reminder of the pain is gone you are free to move on

when Selene was like 12, her psychic powers manifested and she discovered that she can literally erase painful memories from people's minds. which was assumed to be a gift from The Goddess and she was immediately was hailed as some kind of super-Giftbearer. from this point on, people would come to the temple specifically to see her and to have their bad memories taken away. one problem with that: everything Selene erases from someone else's mind, she gets to remember instead of them. after a few decades (pillars of eternity elves live for hundreds of years btw) of doing that, she kind of ran out of room in her brain, and the memories started to overwhelm her

eventually Selene realized she can't do this anymore and that she wants to stop. at which point she was informed that she should ritually drown herself to "complete the cycle" and release the memories into oblivion. Selene refused, on account of she wanted to live, at which point the same priests that raised her attempted to drown her by force and she had to use her psychic powers to kill for the first time to save herself. after killing them she fled her community and spent the next couple of decades living in the wilderness before eventually deciding to try civilization once again, at which point the events of the actual game Pillars Of Eternity find her (which is where the 'watcher' part comes into play. a Watcher is someone who can see soulsa and the game is about you becoming a Watcher. even more voices in Selene's brain)

falls in love with a guy who is a farmer and a war vet and going through his own crisis of faith related to the god of the sun and second chances he used to worship and then kind of helped kill. hey what if we were both temple kids and my god wanted me dead because I have served my purpose of absorbing other people's pain and there's no use for me anymore and your country wanted you dead because you fought in a war to protect it but at the end of the war you had to help kill your god. and what if you had no purpose and my only purpose was Survive and you needed someone to follow and ended up following me. what about it

Ondra tries to kill the farmer war vet guy at one point because she hates to see Selene happy and THAT'S how Selene realizes she loves him in the first place. because Ondra decided to go after him specifically

Selene then proceeds to silently pine for like three years because she doesn't want to find out what Ondra does if she confesses

the farmer guy confesses to her first and Selene goes "well I can't NOT do this"

this is them btw (thank you @layalu I am cherishing this art forever)

also. after the events of the game she joins the country' Psychic Secret Service and becomes a cool telepath spymaster detective kind of deal. also deeply important to me

#herearedragons speaks #oc: watcher selene #edérene tag #edér is the farmer guy #he's a canon companion in the game and I write him A Lot #also co-protagonist of the hanged man #the hanged man is basically 'hey what if someone else was The Protagonist of poe and Edér wasn't pulled into the plot #but Selene still found him because they find each other in every universe'#storyteller saturday #thank you for giving me an excuse to selenepost #people should keep sending me 'tell me about This OC' asks so I finally do info summaries for all of them /jk

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sasusc · 2 months ago

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More spoilers for Book of Carol because I need to get it off my chest. lol. Also, I've only watched it once so far...secretively without my hubby. 🤫 I'm sure there's things I missed or things I need to take another deep look at.

First: ahhhhh! Not much really happened but I felt like they were setting up things.

Losang… first season, there was just something off about him. This first episode really showcases that. Sinister vibes. Anyone else? I don't think he's really trying to get Daryl home. He wants him for something…needs him for something. Really think he's hoping to convert Daryl into his cult. “Everyone needs a place…hope you find yours here.” And Daryl’s place isn't to train Laurent to be a fighter apparently. Laurent can't be violent…he needs to stay this naive and innocent boy. WTF. They don't live in a world where he doesn't need to fight to survive. What does Losang want with Laurent?

And what the fuck about this ceremony? What's it for? What does it mean? Losang told the woman that they weren't ready yet. Ready for what? And was he trying to get Daryl and Isabel on his side to go through with this ceremony? Something he knows they might be resistant too? Something he knows Daryl won't like and might try to stop? I haven't really seen anyone talk about this little scene. As I'm writing this, it dawns on me that the trailer/tease for the next episode involves Laurent being missing. Could Losang or the woman he was talking to “kidnap” him for this ceremony? Because kidnapping him might be the only way to do the ceremony without Daryl or Isabel's consent. I don't feel like this ceremony will be a good thing for Laurent, Daryl, or Isabel.

And I love Genet's line about “Angels always send their most vicious demon to do their dirty work.” Daryl and Isabel was already talking about Daryl doing the dirty work earlier in the episode. It just reminded me of TWD S2 where Daryl went into the barn to beat up Randal for information because Rick couldn't do it. When Isabel mentioned that Losang probably needed him for something, this is where I went back to…a leader letting (not demanding or asking, but implies in some way) that Daryl is needed for an unpleasant task “for the greater good”. Ugg. I really hope this line comes back around and we see what she's thinking and why she thinks this. Also, Daryl’s slowly loading that gun while looking at Genet? 🥵

I already mentioned in a previous post about my thoughts of Carol and Ash and where I think it's headed with Carol's lie about Sophia in France.

I just need to know about this ceremony! Anyone else have any thoughts? It was just a quick little scene between the action happening to both Daryl and Carol. They slipped it in there for a reason while we all were distracted about our duo’s survival. It seems like Losang is trying to buy a little more time to convince Daryl (And possibly Isabel) to his beliefs/ideology and this ceremony would be more successful if they were with him.

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead: daryl dixon #the book of carol #spoilers #losang #laurent

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morimakesfanart · 7 months ago

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Sindria's Prophet #38

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [24] [Intermission] [25] [26] [27] [28] [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] [36] [37]

[AO3] [wattpad]

*CW -cults+ mentioned; child abuse mentioned; suicide attempts implied

~POV Mori~

While I was sick, the magicians developing alchemy magic were able to make a wider range of materials by doing something closer to assisted chemistry; they started transmuting rubber from the milky saps of some plants -like the rubber gloves from my medical scrolls. It was inspiring! With the power of success and dopamine I finalized my printing press schematics in only 2 days.

These accomplishments were later brought up at the morning Assembly, not by the people making them, but by Ja'far and the accountants of the White Capricorn Tower. "Even before becoming the official Prophet of Sindria, Mori has help our magicians, engineers and doctors make leaps and bounds of progress in their fields. Many countries of the Alliance have agreed to help fund these projects and have already preordered scrolls of the information. *However,*" he held up a document, "due to all of the extra people and resources needed we are already over budget for the year! And so we request that the Prophet not invent anything new for the rest of this quarter and the next. This way we will have time to start finalizing what we already have for production and can start receiving a return on these investments."

Yamuraiha jumped to my defense. "The work Mori has been doing in the Black Libra Tower has been revolutionary! How can you say you don't have a budget for life changing-"

"I am not denying their contributions! We simply can't afford this rate of advancements!"

I raised a hand to get their attention. "If there's no budget, then there's no budget. However, I can't just sit around and do nothing for 5 months."

There was a bit of a back and forth, and eventually it was agreed that I would continue helping in the Black Libra Tower, but any future schematics would be placed on hold and judged for priority by the researchers and accountants. And so I went to working as an encyclopedia in the mornings, and would work on Fate scrolls after lunch.

---

The Great Bell rang, and thanks to the power of hyperfixation, none of us could tell what time it was. Not long after, I noticed a familiar shift in the waves that gave me the answer. Knowing who was coming gave me another boost to get a little more done.

Menachem greeted him when he arrived. "Ah- good morning, your Majesty."

Sinbad's laugh made my heart race. "Yes. Good morning." For the past week, King Sinbad had came in person every other day for updates even though it would be covered in the next morning's Assembly. The violet haired man walked over to where I was sitting, while showing me the world's most charming smile. "Mori. How are you doing?"

'Excited. Happy. Nervous. Embarrassed. Confused. Self-conscious.' He hadn't said anything directly flirty since I was sick. And yet, it was noticeably harder to refute the Magicians' claims. Sinbad had said at the Announcement that he didn't want to play at flirting with me, and wanted to become someone I could trust. He certainly didn't trigger my lactose intolerance anymore. 'He said he wanted to move me to the Purple Leo Tower.'

I fought back the urge to hide. "I'm fine." The room definitely felt hotter than it did a minute ago. I re-explained what I had gone over with the magicians. Sinbad nodded along and asked questions at all the right times. He also remembered the things I had said previous days. He made me feel validated and respected every time he stopped by. It was becoming increasingly bad for my heart.

There was a suspicious amount of people meandering nearby. Most were watching us out of the corners of their eyes. At least the magicians didn't comment as much as the first time they saw the pink Rukh around us. Although, it was getting easier to judge when they were looking at the Rukh even without those comments.

The King smiled, and I cursed his ability to charm me without flirting. He used a hand to point at the scroll from over my shoulder. He was much closer than I realized; I would only need to lean over a little to make contact. Just like how he had stopped overtly flirting, he hadn't touched me either. He knew I needed space, and I was grateful for that, but it also illustrated for me just how used to his skinship I had become.

I couldn't do this anymore. It hurt too much. I was projecting my past onto someone who might actually reciprocate my feelings. What I was feeling might not have anything to do with the present or him as a person. I could just be recognizing my past in him and repeating those patterns while hoping for a different ending. But the patterns include the endings, and if I wasn't self-aware enough I'd force those endings out of fear of being caught unaware. Even if Sinbad actually liked me now, the attention he showed me would dry up eventually, right? I require closed relationships so eventually he'll come to resent me for limiting his options. We aren't compatible. The waves rose slightly and I couldn't ignore the thought that this was fanfiction, so anything was possible.

"Excuse me, Mx. Prophet?" A voice called for me from the entrance to the library.

'OH THANK GOD' I was saved! "Yes??" I looked in the direction of the voice and called back. "Do you need something?" My face was finally starting to cool down. At least now I could stop thinking about how easy it would be to touch Sinbad. 'Remember who he is in 5 years.'

The worker appeared from around a line of bookshelves. He froze at the site of the man next to me for a moment before giving the message. "There's a- There's a blacksmith looking for you."

'A blacksmith?' "THE SCISSORS!" I was out of my seat in a flash. My brain shifted gears quickly after passing through the doorway into the hall.

The blacksmith that made the scissors during my first week in Sindria understood how important of a development this was and came to talk to the designer, me, shortly after seeing who I was at the Announcement. If he was here to see me again, he must have finished some prototypes for different types of scissors! The thing that made the evolution from shears to scissors so important was the addition of the hinge to the tool. There was no time to worry about Sinbad right now! There was history happening!

---

~POV Sinbad~

Sinbad had figured out that Mori wasn't the type to leave in the middle of work, even when she was putty in his hands. So, what was so important that she was willing to leave while in the middle of talking with her King about said work? They wouldn't have been interrupted if Mori had her own office. Sinbad crossed his arms as he watched them leave. At least she looked excited for whatever this was about.

Menachem came back over, as if he hadn't just been enjoying the show from behind a potted plant. "You know, your Majesty, I didn't think it was the case at first, but now I'd be willing to bet money that the Lady Prophet has blue Rukh." He stroked his beard as he talked. "You're going to have to be more direct if you want her attention." The old man laughed.

Sinbad sighed a laugh back and shook his head, but didn't answer.

There was a superstition that you could tell a lot about a person's personality from what type of Rukh they had. People with Type 2-Blue Rukh were said to get lost in their personal interests, and struggle to recognize romantic advances. That first part definitely sounded like his Beautiful Prophet, but Sinbad wasn't sure about the second. Mori was ignoring his signals on purpose. It would take a while to convince them he was worth the risk.

((In one of the Magi extras Yunan describes these Rukh based personality types with canon characters as examples. It's not stated as common knowledge. I wanted to add it because it reminded me of the way people talk about astrology signs sometimes :3 Btw, according to the manga's personality quiz, I normally get Rukh type 7 -the same a Sin. Sometimes I get Type-2, 8, or. 4))

When Sinbad turned the corner, Mori was already out of sight. Not a problem; the waves would lead him. The King found them on the first floor talking with a burly old man that was a known blacksmith.

Mori had two fingers in rings with blades attached. "This pair is really close to the ones I first commissioned. Thanks again for those. I've been able to cut my bangs without worrying about accidently shaving my eyebrows with a knife."

Sinbad walked up to them. "How would someone even do that?"

Mori turned to him with a knowing smile. Her cheeks turned a little pink when they made eye contact. "I didn't think it was possible until I saw it happen in one of my visions. He had to go without sleep for several days, and often cuts the left side of his bangs too short." Sinbad unconsciously brushed his bangs at the mention of a habit he knew he had. "He was lucky that he knew a magician that was able to regrow it." She wasn't talking about him, right?

"Hello, your Majesty," the blacksmith greeted King Sinbad before explaining: he had originally wanted to make a deal with the designer to make and sell scissors, but after finding out that person was the Prophet he wasn't sure if that was acceptable -the information from the Prophet's visions were the property of the King. The two had been working on a pitch together which Mori immediately got into since Sinbad was clearly available.

The King examined one of the pairs of scissors during the explanation. He could see how this allowed a higher level of finesse then shears or a knife for certain tasks. This would be a profitable and widespread product even if Mori's visions weren't right. Still, those eyes full of expectations just made him want to tease her. "You know Mori, I remember you agreeing to withhold on inventing things for the time being."

"Ah- Well..." Her surprise was cute. "I actually reinvented scissors before I made that agreement!"

He smiled down at her. "I'm not sure if that will be enough to convince Ja'far and the others."

Mori froze as she calculated her next strategy. The waves did not give Sinbad enough warning before she made her way over to him and placed her hands on his forearm. "You'll help me then," her fingers made his skin tingle, "right? My King?" Sinbad couldn't look away from the eyes glittering up at him.

How long had he been holding back only for Mori to touch him first? He'd relent even if she hadn't invented them beforehand; the production wasn't coming from the Palace budget anyway. "Of course." Sinbad smiled down at his Beautiful Prophet. He sheathed the scissors he was holding and turned to the blacksmith. "I brought Mori to Sindria so they could help all of my citizens thrive."

The conversation wrapped up quickly after that. And through the whole thing, the King couldn't stop thinking about the hands holding onto him so affectionately. Without looking, Sinbad put his free hand over one of Mori's to keep it on his arm a little longer. But it didn't stop her from pulling away after the blacksmith left.

The person pulling at his heart started to head back towards the stairs to return to the library. He wasn't ready to part ways yet, but there was also no reason he could think of to follow them back. "Mori. Would you tell me more over lunch?" He had been trying to keep their time together to a minimum for Mori's benefit, but if they were reaching out to him then it should be fine to take the next step, right?

The waves moved between them, and Mori looked back his way. "Oh. Um..."

"These inventions from your visions are so interesting. And we could discuss some potential future inventions."

Their smile was nervous but not forced. "Yeah. Okay."

Sinbad offered his arm to them like he did in the past when they walked together, but Mori declined even though she had just been clinging onto him so sweetly. They walked side by side, but the distance between them felt larger than before. She made his heart race and then dropped it when she got her way. It made him think of their first dinner together. She claimed she was seducing him just like he seduced others to get his way. He really had no idea how it felt to be on the receiving end until now.

---

~POV Mori~

Multiple scrolls laid out on the table in my room drying. I had reached the slave arc in copying down Fate. After drawing the first pic of Sinbad fighting little Masrur in the Coliseum, I couldn't bring myself to draw again until I reached Ja'far punching Sinbad when he was freed. I laid on the floor between the pools of light from the windows to cool down my ruminating.

Seeing Sinbad go through it and directly acknowledge how horrible it is and eventually go numb... There was an eerie beauty in it -like a memento mori. 'I'm disgusting.'

((CW until marked))

The Slave Arc is my favorite arc in the Adventures manga -not because of what happens, but because of how it affected me. When my mom was hospitalized, and then died, she could no longer stop me from seeking therapy. When I explained my home life and childhood to my personal therapist, I was told that it sounded like the stories of children raised in cults and manipulated to become slaves for the leaders. Even though it was a comparison I made when I was young, I thought it had to be inflated hyperbole until I read how Maader indoctrinated Sinbad and the slave children. I was never put in a collar, but I related way too much. It got me to look up actual cults and victim stories. The abuse I grew up in was the same level of high control.

My mom almost died having my sibling and it changed her. By the time I turned 10 I couldn't deny there was something wrong with how my parents treated us. The one thing saving us from complete brain washing was that they couldn't afford to home school us. I tried to ask outside adults for help, but my mom was too well known in the community and I didn't emote properly. So when I read the scene where Sinbad convinces the children to rebel, I cried. I didn't care that he was manipulating them from his perspective; he validated the pain they were hiding, and gave them agency long before I got it. Yes, many of the slave children died in the rebellion, but many also lived to finally be free. When the cruel refuse to stop nothing can change until someone dies. Many have risked their lives for that reason.

Just like them, I knew nothing would change in my life unless someone died. The conversation Sinbad has with himself after he remembers his life's purpose was very similar to the one I had with myself from 12-14 years old -especially after how my parents normalized suicide. I realized it wasn't worth the risk to fight back , but also I chose to stay living anyway at the last second so I could continue to protect Lyly from our parents; and when they were a little older, Lyly chose to live to support me too. 'You can't protect anyone if you're dead.' No one was coming to save us so we had to learn to survive and protect ourselves. ((Yes, the thing Mori said to Alibaba in ch6 was this mantra I made for myself))

Our mother was already working herself to an early grave when I was child. She was rapidly aging from stress. I knew we had a strong chance of outliving her as long as we were able to hold on. Still, I wish she would have changed before she was on her deathbed. Her last words were an apology to Lyly. Things greatly improved after our mom died in 2016. Knowing how things were going for the other me, gave me peace of mind. Both versions were healing. I didn't feel as guilty for wanting to stay in this world anymore.

((End of CW))

I needed breaks because, just like being reminded of my own past, Sinbad wasn't just a character to me anymore. It felt wrong to draw any scene where he was shackled. Even if I never showed him this scroll, I didn't want to immortalize it. There were a few panels I had always wanted to redraw because they helped me process my own experience, but now that I was in this world I couldn't do it. If I ever drew them for the catharsis, I'd have to burn them afterwards. Each time I reached the plot points for one of those panels I had to step away and go through the same cycle of thoughts before I returned to the table and continued writing without drawing again.

"Ugh~" Who would have guessed that writing would help me process and get the ruminating out of my system? Me, actually, because this is always how I process things. I had separate scrolls for my ruminations so they wouldn't get in the way of the Fate scrolls, and because I kept writing in a circle. At least each time the rants got shorter. I'd already written this or that, and continuing to write the same thing gets frustrating to the point that I am forced to move forward. Like all types of mourning, it will always be there, but it can't hold me down forever unless I let it.

I couldn't stop the waves of disgust I had for myself. When I had originally read this arc, it carved Sinbad into my heart. It made me think, 'This person would understand me.' But I wasn't projecting my experience onto a character anymore; I was projecting it onto a real person who went through far worse than I ever did. I pressed my palms into my eyes. Ruminating was far easier than addressing this. I had to strip away all of my projections so I could see him clearly. And not just the Sinbad I read about, but the one who talked to me regularly and called me '(his) Beautiful Prophet.' Sinbad said he wanted to find a new path, but what would it even look like? What would it take for me to recognize it?

((I forgot to draw the curtains again...I really don't want to fix it though, so please pretend there are curtains framing the window.))

The sound of fluttering drew my attention. I had left my windows open on purpose in case Sinbird decided to stop by, but I also didn't think I would cycle this hard. I removed my hands from my eyes and looked up to see the possessed bird in one of the windows watching me.

"Hi, Sin. I'm okay. Just doing a big think, and that's easier from the floor."

The bird flew from the window to perch on one of the chairs at the table.

"I've been working on Fate scrolls. I want to get a few more done before I pass them off to you. I know this room probably isn't the most secure-"

'The vent scroll!' I sat up with a jolt and stumbled my way to the table after getting up too quickly. Sinbird flapped his wings in surprise when I yanked the vent scroll off the table. "This one is personal." I started rolling it up. "I don't mind talking about my past or feelings if you ask, but I'd rather you didn't read my unfiltered thoughts."

The bird watched me. I wished I knew what he was thinking.

I walked across the room, and put the tied scroll within the growing pile filling one of my bedside dressers. "It would be nice if I had somewhere to store these. This room isn't exactly designed for me to be using it as an office."

Wings flapped behind me and the bird landed on my shoulder as I turned to see what he was up to. He gave a small trill and I had the feeling he was proud of himself for something.

"We're both lucky that bird doesn't have talons, you know?" I was definitely going to need perches for him, and to start wearing a shoulder cloth that I wouldn't have to worry about getting pulls. As the bird watched me innocently another thought struck me, 'I probably shouldn't ask for a cat if I'm going to be visited by a bird frequently.'

((Hey, so you know how I said I was all better when I posted the last chapter? Apparently I was in the incubation period of COVID. It's out of my system now, but brain fog from long covid is kicking my ass. I had a bad fall last month because of it and got scraped up a bunch (including a little road rash). It's been 3 weeks and there's just the faintest remains of a scab left :D Just in time for my birthday (today) too! Here's hoping that my bad luck era is over!

Also, I am in a Magi server on discord. https://discord.gg/R5yzce4e I'm there all the time (and an admin). We talk about Magi, OCs, and fanfiction a lot))

#magi prophet fanfic #magi sinbad #sinbad x oc #magi fanart #sinbadxoc #sinbad magi #king sinbad #magi fanfiction

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