#along with his own pride and fear of rejection

[nosyp]

A Favor to the Devil

A/N = Errmm... I tried decorating it.... let me know what y'all think (i personally think it's kinda weird😭) Anyway, this story was way darker then I envisioned it so I'll probably make a lesser dark version later on. But momentarily, deal with whatever this is. 🙏 This is for @sakisakichacoreakin (sorry it was so late).

Warnings = smut🔞, debts, favors, manipulation, dark themes, dubious consent, toxic relationships, power imbalance, marking, p in v sex, threats, spit play, choking, aftercare

Pairings = William James Moriarty x fem! reader x Louis James Moriarty

Summary = Drawn into the Moriarty brothers' dangerous world, you're trapped in their dark, obsessive game with no escape.

Word count = 3.4k

Read story below 👇 (Please read warnings before reading)

The rain was pouring outside, drops of rain slamming onto the ground with a loud thud, dispersing particles in every direction around it. The steady rhythm of the water droplets created an almost hypnotic beat, the sound reverberating against the walls and filling the air with a damp, heavy scent. The precipitation put a thick coat of water along the roads.  It was as though the world had been submerged in water, each droplet joining the others in a relentless, natural rhythm. The air was humid, moist. That’s how you knew something was coming. 

You didn’t mean to come in contact with the dangerous William James Moriarty, nor his brother. But alas, the fate was sealed, and now you were heading to their residence, the very home where they stayed, hung and spent time in. There was nothing friendly or welcoming about it, as expected from the blonde Moriarty duo– William James Moriarty and Louis James Moriarty. 

You stood outside, in the cold rain, hesitating and rethinking your decision. The door felt so close… so alarming... You could feel the presence of the two brothers from the outside, despite being across the street from the building. Swallowing your pride, you clutched the handles of your umbrella, and walked towards the other side of the road, vehicles stopping at the sight of you.

The umbrella somehow started to get increasingly heavy, not from the rain, but from the pressure mounting on you. The temperature outside was freezing cold—the rain unrelenting, pouring down for hours with no sign of stopping. You could feel the weight of the moisture, the quiet anticipation hanging in the air as the distance between you and the door decreased. Each splash from the droplets felt like a cold, sharp sting against your skin, but it was the tension in the air that really weighed you down, making it harder to breathe.

You hadn’t intended to cross paths with the family at all. After listening to all those stories and rumours going around the town, you feared —no, terrified— of them. Every detail, thing, or story you’ve ever heard about them was cruel. 

At first, they’d lure you in with promises of an end, a solution to all your problems, wrapped in the guise of salvation. They offered it so easily, like a gift you couldn’t refuse. But if you even dared to reject it, they’d hang that offer over your head, a constant reminder of what you could’ve had, taunting you until the end of your life. It became your burden, a silent threat that weighed on your every decision.

Then, once you’d finally break, they’d start to take advantage of you. They’d use you and use you til you were soaked dry of all your dignity, independence, and worth. And that was the exact cycle you fell into.

You had a dirty little secret, a secret nobody would or should know. That secret was something you’d wanted to take to the grave with you. Never let it out of your own space. But somehow it reached the pair of brothers.

—

Flashback

“Y/N, I believe you have… a problem.” a blonde says, crimson red eyes piercing right through you.

Hearing that voice, you turned around, only to be met with your future tormentor. It was midnight, almost pitch-black outside, the street light flickering serving as your only source of light. You couldn’t see him clearly at all, but you could see his silhouette and that was enough for you to confirm his identity. 

“H-huh…?” you said, stammering. Surely, giving him a great first impression of you.

He wasn’t alone. No, he never was. He always had his brother, Louis, or one of his lackeys following him around. You didn’t doubt his strength, nor his power in any way, shape or form. But you know anything that had to do with him wasn’t any good.

“Well I have an---------” he says, voice ringing in your ear… before your memory started to blank out.

—

The devil couldn’t reach you, so he sent William James Moriarty. 

Your heart was pounding as you extended your hand towards the door knob. The entrance to their house was dark… terrifying. You’d much prefer to be anywhere else than here, even drowning in a sea of piranhas is better than whatever bullshit he put you through. 

Trembling, your cold fingers wrapped around the door knob… before turning it and pushing it.

Click.

The door revealed nothing but a pitch-black void, a suffocating darkness that seemed to stretch infinitely. The air was thick, pressing against your chest and making it harder to breathe. You could feel it, even before you saw them. It was as if they were already inside, their eyes trained on you from the shadows, waiting.

Your hand shook as it lingered on the door handle, the cold metal burning against your skin. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to turn around, to run, to go back. But you couldn’t. The moment you’d stepped into their world, was the moment your whole life would change. And there was no escape from it.

The door creaked as you pushed it open, the sound sharp in the silence. A low murmur stirred from the darkness, the sound of a presence moving toward you. The faintest silhouette of William appeared, his pale blonde hair catching the dim light, his crimson eyes gleaming with something dark… something cruel.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice smooth, almost too calm, as if everything was under his control. You could feel the venom in his words, the subtle threat dripping with every syllable that spilled out of his mouth.

Louis followed, his steps echoing softly behind you. The younger Moriarty’s gaze flicked over to you, piercing through your clothes, through your skin, straight into your soul. There was something predatory in his stare, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“You didn’t think you could come here and leave unscathed, did you?” Louis’s voice was a low, guttural whisper, a promise of suffering that hung in the air like a fog.

You didn’t answer. There was nothing left to say.

You were already too deep.

The door slammed shut behind you, the sound reverberating through your bones, sealing you in. You were trapped in their world now, a world where every decision you made was controlled, every move calculated, every breath you took was theirs to command. You could feel the weight of their gaze on you, their presence wrapping around you like a noose, tightening with every passing second.

William stepped closer, his footsteps slow, deliberate. “I wonder… How long will it take before you beg?” His fingers brushed your cheek, the touch cold but searing, sending an electric jolt down your spine.

Louis moved behind you, his breath hot against your neck. “Begging might be a bit too soon,” he mused, his fingers tracing along your shoulder with the precision of someone who had done this too many times to count. “But we’ll get there. In time.”

Your body was betraying you. The fear, the terror, the humiliation… it was all there, but so was the unbearable pull toward them. You knew they had you. You knew it before you even walked in the door.

And you hated yourself for it. But there was nothing you could do now. 

You felt a shiver run down your spine as William’s presence loomed closer, his form now towering over you. His fingers trailed down your throat, a whisper of pressure, delicate yet firm. His eyes held a knowing gleam, a predator toying with its prey, and it sent a surge of heat rushing through you. You hated that you felt it.

"Do you feel it?" William’s voice was barely a whisper, a dark and sultry invitation. “The pull... toward us?”

You couldn’t speak. You didn’t know how to answer him, because deep down, you were starting to wonder if you even wanted to fight it anymore. The weight of everything—the fear, the disgust, the inevitability of it all—sat heavy in your chest. And yet, there was a strange allure, something magnetic, pulling you toward them like a moth to a flame.

Louis stepped forward, his hand sliding along your waist with casual ease, his breath fanning over your ear. “You’ve been running from us, haven’t you?” His voice was a soft purr, his tone dripping with amusement. “But now, here you are. Finally giving in.”

You tried to step back, but the movement felt like a joke. There was no space. No room to breathe. Louis was there, right behind you, a breath away from trapping you. And William… William was in front of you, his gaze predatory and intense, watching every subtle shift of your body as if he could read every thought you were trying to suppress.

"You don't get to decide, little bird." William’s fingers tightened, the grip around your throat firm yet not painful, just enough to make you feel the weight of his control over you. His other hand reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch unbearably gentle for someone who had already shown you the darkness of his world.

And you hated that, in that moment, you wanted more of it.

Louis’s hand slid lower, a playful caress along your side, before he leaned in, his lips brushing your neck as he whispered, “Tell me, Y/N... Do you want us? Or are you still pretending that you don’t?” The warmth of his breath against your skin was enough to make your pulse quicken, an ache settling deep within you.

You wanted to push them away, to scream at them to let you go, but your body betrayed you. The warmth in your veins, the strange heat that was blooming under their touch, made it impossible to think straight.

“You’re going to give in,” William murmured, his thumb brushing over your pulse. “Whether you like it or not.”

Louis chuckled softly from behind you, his voice low and dark, “And it’ll be beautiful, Y/N. You’ll see. You’re not leaving here the same.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as the reality of it all hit you. You were trapped. Completely, utterly trapped. And there was no escape from the Moriarty brothers. Not anymore.

William’s grip on your throat loosened, just slightly, but his eyes never left yours. “I hope you’ve been prepared for what’s coming, little bird. Because once you’re ours, you’ll never be able to escape.”

And that sealed your fate. Now you were their property.

—

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself trapped beneath William, his body pressing down on yours as his hands planted firmly beside your head on the bed. The bedsheets underneath you were soft, brushing your skin so gently with every movement. You didn’t doubt that it was made of the most-expensive silk ever found. 

“Are you ready Y/N?” he asks darkly, but you knew it wasn’t even a question. More of a warning of what’s to come.

William lifts one of his hands to unbutton your sweater, while the other leans on the bed, the mattress visibly dipping to the side under his weight. He expertly uses one hand to undo the buttons, one by one. His body heat was radiating to you, providing you with a faint warmth.

That was until his demeanour changed. Before you could even react to the shift in his expression, he grabbed your chin with a forceful grip, tilting your head up to make you look into his eyes. His hand forced you to open your mouth and his eyes gleamed with something dark, something unnerving. Without a word, he let a thick stream of spit fall into your mouth. The action was sudden, almost cruel, leaving you frozen in place as a twisted smile tugged at his lips.

Then you felt Louis's hand grip the edge of your pants, giving them a firm tug. His hands then tugged a bit more, and he pulled them off with one swift motion. It revealed your underwear, it was a lacy, pink victoria secret underwear that you didn’t mean to wear. It was only your last pair, so you were practically forced to. But you probably wouldn’t can’t blame them for thinking it was for them.

“Oh… What is this?” William says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

His long fingers land on your panties, tracing the lace pattern. “Was… this perhaps for us?” he asks.

Fuck no. But that’s not what you say of course.

“Y-yes…” you mutter underneath your breath, gaze looking in any other direction but his eyes.

Following that, he ripped your panties apart with just his arms. The sound of the fabric tearing was horrifyingly loud. He tore at your shirt after that, the fabric giving way under his hands like it was nothing.

Soon enough, your whole body was revealed to the two brothers. They had been ogling at you since you first met them, and you knew this was just going to make it worse.

In a flash of a second, William was tapping his tip onto you… it was dripping with precum and was a flushed red. He pushed it in slowly, letting you adjust to his girth before starting to thrust in and out of you.

Thwap Thwap Thwap

The sound of his skin slapping onto yours echoed around the room, repeating repeatedly in and out of your ears. The heat inside you grew the more he went on. “Mh- Mhh!” your moans silenced by your unwillingness to let him win.

Louis's hand closed around yours, pulling it up with a deliberate motion. He moved your hand to wrap around his cock, making you stroke him while William was still thrusting deep inside you.

The pleasure began to build relentlessly, an electric current racing through your veins, each pulse sending waves of overwhelming dopamine flooding your senses. It was almost too much, but you couldn’t pull away… couldn’t stop.

“M-mmh!! Wi-William!” a moan escaped from your mouth, voice filled with plead. Plead for… more…? Or for less…? 

Your mind spun, thoughts colliding in a chaotic whirlwind. It was like trying to catch fragments of your sanity in the storm, each one slipping through your fingers just as quickly as you could hold onto it. Which was… for a fleeting moment. Like a flash.

The room was dark and it felt like the walls were closing in on you despite you not being able to see them. Everything leading up to this moment was… destiny.

A destiny you could not escape. Them.

Louis’s hands guided yours to help you pump his cock, your hand matching his pace. While William’s rough thrusts hit your cervix over and over again, sending you into a spiral.

“F-Fuck!” you let out.

It felt like your high was coming, a slow burn that built with every touch, every pulse of pleasure. The world around you faded, everything but the electric buzz coursing through you … becoming distant and unimportant. Your breath quickened as the overwhelming sensation crept closer, the tension tightening in your chest.

That was until… William suddenly stopped and his face started huddling in your neck. His lips pressed onto your neck and started nibbling on the spots, leaving behind dark marks, staying as a reminder of who owns you. 

His assault on your neck didn’t last too long for it to become unbearable but enough for it to feel traumatizing. He slowly lifted his face from your neck, his breath still warm against your skin. For a moment, he was unnervingly quiet, and the silence only made you more uneasy. You could feel his gaze lingering on you, calculating, as though you were a puzzle he had yet to solve.

Then, without warning, a cold sensation dripped onto your skin. The suddenness of it made you freeze in place, your breath catching in your throat. He had spat on you. The shock of it, combined with the lingering heat of his presence, made your mind spin, unsure of how to react.

“Louis, your turn.” William says in an authoritative tone.

Louis' eyes widened for just a split second, a flash of something unpredictable flickering within them before his expression returned to its usual calm composure. His lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile as he leaned in closer, his face hovering just inches from yours.

"You like that, don't you?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, making the tension in the room feel suffocating.

The proximity of his face, the almost imperceptible warmth of his breath brushing against your skin, it was like he was daring you to do something, to react in any way, to surprise him. But you were frozen, unsure whether to fight, flee, or give in.

Louis’ gaze never left yours, the tension between you both thickening as he leaned closer. His breath was slow and deliberate, each exhale warm against your skin. You felt his lips hovering dangerously near, but it wasn’t his kiss you had to fear. It was far from that.

Then, without a word, he tilted his head, and his eyes locked onto yours, full of knowing intent. The air around you both seemed to still as you watched him, his lips curling slightly. And then, slowly, a droplet of his saliva escaped, slowly oozing from his mouth as it landed against your lips, a cold and unexpected touch.

The sensation was jarring, different from anything you’d expected, and it made your heart race. For a moment, the world seemed to pause as you processed what had just happened, feeling the weight of his gaze, the unspoken power behind his actions.

"You think you're in control?" His voice was a low growl, each word dripping with something darker. His hand reached up to gently put back his spit into your mouth, fingers light against your skin.

"You belong to us now, little bird," he added, the words like a sharp whisper in your ear. "And you’re going to learn just how much you do."

Then, William started drilling into you again, cock pulsing in and out of you in an endless cycle. Your walls tightened around him, pulling him in more, eager to reach your high, your climax. 

And it finally came, you came. All over them. Leaving a huge giant mess of your fluids and theirs. The bed was soaked with all your cum and sweat, cum still oozing out of your wet pussy.

When everything slowed and the storm of sensations faded, Louis and William remained close, their hands soft against your skin, grounding you. Louis's touch was gentle as he cupped your face, his fingers brushing away the sweat that clung to your forehead.

“You did so well,” he murmured, his voice laced with tenderness.

William finally pulled out, leaving you feeling empty but more relaxed. And he, ever the silent guy, placed a warm hand on your lower back, rubbing soothing soft circles as if to remind you of the safety and care in this moment. “Breathe,” he whispered, his tone steady and calm.

The overwhelming tension began to ease as they helped you to sit up, one of them handing you a glass of water. You drank greedily, still catching your breath, and felt yourself starting to come back to earth.

Louis pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. “How do you feel?”

Safe. Protected. But those words seemed too vulnerable, so you simply nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re alright,” William said, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “We’re not going anywhere.”

They stayed with you, no longer in the dominant roles they'd just held, but as calm anchors, ensuring you had everything you needed to feel grounded once more. The storm was over, but the connection remained, deep and unspoken.

[maykitty]

One piece character’s reaction to you being infertile

Warning: mention infertility, misdirected blaming, slavery, murder, and rejection.

Characters: Monster trio, Law, Doflamingo, Kidd, and Katakuri

Luffy

He will not care, the dude loves you no matter what.

He is the first to be okay with the idea of adopting a kid.

Pretty obvious with his childhood living with DanDan, Ace, and Sabo.

If you do adopt prepare to deal with two kids along with large dinners.

Zoro

Like Luffy, he doesn't care too.

Zoro is okay with adoption since he was taken in by his Sensei.

Once you guys adopt he will teach his kid how to use a sword.

Plus he is more likely to get lost than your child would on a day out.

Sanji

He was a little sad as his dream is to have a kid that you guys made together.

But he is a little relieved as there is still some trauma due to his own life with Judge and how his mother died trying to stop Judge from changing his DNA.

Just like the others in the monster trio, he had a found father in Zeff so adoption is still an option.

But Sanji would prefer if you two adopt a girl as he always wanted a daughter.

You and your child will have some great meals.

Law

As a doctor, he understands what causes infertility and he doesn't blame you.

He is sort of happy as he never really planned for a kid due to his goals and the fear of the amber-lead disease being passed down.

He is okay with adoption and if you do want to risk having kids then he suggests doing IVF.

When you do have kids he wants to get them into Sora and teach some medical materials as well.

Doflamingo

He blames you for not being able to give him any kids.

He still has his Celestial Dragon pride to pass down his genes.

Among the Celestial Dragons, if a member is infertile they can take a slave’s child as their own or buy a child.

But if a slave is infertile they are either thrown out or killed as they're seen as useless if they're brought to have kids.

You are seen as no use to him.

Kidd

He doesn't care, he lives on an Island where kids are usually abandoned or orphans.

Plus, he has kids on his crew so starting a family isn't something he wants or needs.

He still loves you as long as you are fine with your life now.

Katakuri

He leaves you, one of the things big mom want her children to do is get married to gain power and have children.

You are not what Big Mom wants so Katakuri has to reject your love to marry someone Big Mom approves of who can provide resources and give him children.

As it doesn't matter how much he loves you back his role in the Big Mom Pirates comes first.

[shini--chan]

How would yandere deal with a 21st century time traveler who also happened to be a top engineer at NASA?

This would be interesting. I've decided to go with Rome as a yandere since that would be the most interesting

Yandere Rome - Ye Olden Days

Trigger warnings: misogyny for the plot, imperialism, breakdowns, isolation

Rome would at first be suspicious of this strange woman that would have been dumped onto his lap. Though since clearly otherworldly powers were involved, he'd convince himself that you're a gift from the gods and not to look a gift horse in the mouth. After all, the gods are as cruel as they are generous and fickle to the core, so he would decide to embrace your presence and welcome you to his home. 

It would entail a lot of questioning and inspecting you, and taking your clothing apart and criticising you for your choices. Julius would jealously guard you and thus also restrict your freedoms. It would be here that his yandere tendencies would start to emerge. I see you being transported back to the times of the Roman Republic. During that time, his power wouldn't be that great and he would have to contend with scores of enemies. With the future not being certain for him, you'd be viewed as a favour granted to him by the gods. Thus he wouldn’t be inclined to share you, and his controlling behaviours would have their roots in self-preservation and fear. 

It was a fine day when you decided that you wanted to venture out of the mansion that Julius was hosting you in. After weeks of seeing the same walls and mosaics and the same faces, you were becoming stir crazy. Best cap the ill growth off before it could become something terrifying. 

After a good half an hour of invading various rooms, you discovered him by a fountain, eating a meagre breakfast of bread dipped in olive oil and vinegar. It wasn’t the lavish meals that you had expected when you first came here, but in retrospect, you shouldn’t have been surprised. You had been transported back to the time of the Republic and not the late Empire of Pax Romana. 

Clearing your voice as you approached, you were pleased to note how he immediately whipped his head around and gave you a slight smile. 

“Lost in thought on this good morning?” you inquired carefully. Experience had taught you he responded best to politeness and attentiveness; at least from you. 

“Yes, a lot has been weighing on my mind recently. Especially with recent events…” he told you and then trailed off. His eyes traveled to your hips and waist, like he was reminding yourself that you were a woman. It didn’t help that the belt that fastened your stola accentuated your womanly features. 

It was a loathsome habit of his and you swore to yourself that you would one day rid him of it. Your pride demanded it. 

The silence that ensued was awkward, yet you weren’t going to take any blame for it. He broke the flow of conversation so he should fix it. You stared at him expectantly, silently prompting him to continue. Thankfully, he took the cue, even if he went down a different avenue. 

“You came here to see me?” 

Straight to the chase, it was. While you preferred it, it did diminish your chances of having your wish fulfilled. However, it would be very awkward now to beat around the bush when he had offered you an opening. 

“I wish to venture outside the mansion and into the city. May I?”

“Absolutely not.”

The rejection had always been a likely possibility, one that you had made yourself well aware of. It still stung. Dozens of counterarguments cropped up, along with schemes of heading out on your own. You weren’t some Roman damsel and you had asserted yourself in more difficult circumstances. Crafty as you were, you could slip out without them stopping you. Better ask for forgiveness instead of permission, eh?

“Here, you are now what a stranger in a strange land and so I would recommend that you heed what I say” he sternly admonished you. 

The unintended literary reference nearly made you want to giggle, yet it was tempered by the frustration of being so transparent to him. You were indeed a stranger in a strange land, and that fact did nothing to soothe your frazzled nerves. While he was on edge, so were you. Couldn’t he be decent enough to offer you an olive branch? 

“Why are you so against the notion? If you fear that I would attract too much attention, I can assure you that I can blend in a crowd just fine.”

Julius pushed himself off the lip of the fountain and stared at you a few moments. One eyebrow raised up and his mouth was pressed to a line. You didn’t buckle, for this was a test of strength. When you didn’t yield, he still argued: 

“Are you really sure about that? You are so soft compared to the people of this day and era. It would be like trying to disguise a fine ceramic as granite. The way you carry yourself, how you treat people and how you speak, they would all establish you as a foreigner of the most exotic stock. And I would rather not have to rescue you from slavery due to your foolishness. So the answer is no and remains no.”

Due to you being a woman, he would write you off as being unknowledgable about things of import. Surely you would know of them, but the devil is always in the details. You wouldn't know the components of the fabious inventions that you'd describe, nor would you know how the parts of the foreign systems you would be so familiar with would interact with each other. Imagine his shock when he'd find out that you'd actually have the technical knowledge, to a certain extent. His logical conclusion would be that Etrucia would one day stamp him into the dust and become the dominant world power. It would come with a lot of fretting …

The cold water to his face did little to clear his mind or stood his hands from shaking. Having managed to effect patrician calm in front of you and the rest of the household, that stoicism had melted away when he was alone. Only in the solitude of his chamber did he allow himself to contemplate the implications of the discovery. 

Mathematics came naturally to you, even if you insisted on using those strange numerals. Julius decidedly shied away from considering this “zero” any further, lest it make the spiraling worse. No, he had enough on his plate. 

He shaked stray droplets from his hands, and hastily dried his face. The sun was setting - it offered a cruelly magnificent sight. As lost as he was in his thoughts, he couldn’t bring himself to appreciate it. 

You were a woman, smart and prideful and driven. Not bad traits. You were good with numbers, had a deft hand when it came to drawing and you were quick on the uptake when he explained something to you. Good features to have as a woman. The problem lay in the extent you had all of them, and how you utilised them. 

In the beginning, you had told him that you worked in an institution of your people that aimed at researching worlds other than these. And that it was also working at bringing people to some of those other worlds. It had sounded fantastical, yet the gods could work wonders and over two millennia was enough time to alter the face of the world completely. So he had accepted your tale and assumed you played a minor supporting role.

He had been proved wrong today, very wrong. 

There were the hundreds of opportunities your actual skillset opened up for him, yet all he could think about was that you were a woman and that you shouldn’t be working in such a field. You were too much like Etruscia, now that he thought about it. 

She carried herself with the same energy as you. The other personification was all ambition and passion and the continuous drive forward. The older country had built herself a golden altar with all her wealth, to cement her place in history. Wealthy to the point that it was obscene, and ever so inclined to revel in the freedom she and her women enjoyed. It was wrong and perverted and now all he could think about was Veilia’s sharp features and sharper wit. 

Did this mean that he would be relegated to the ash heap of history, while she soared high and folded the future like clay. She had been stronger than him for the longest time and when he was younger, he had looked up to her. Veilia had taught him how to honour the gods through gladiator games and how to read the future through the flight of birds and the path of lighning strikes. She had helped him establish himself, aided him in writing his laws and making his own script. That didn’t mean that she was totally selfless and wouldn’t seek to annialate him should he grow too powerful. It didn’t mean that he didn’t yearn to superceed him. 

It didn’t mean that she didn’t have her own failings, with her perversions and disregard to the natural order. And now you had conveyed to him that he would fail. It was the stuff of his nightmares.  

It would take a lot to get him to calm down and not immediately march off to war. It would soothe him to see you use a Latin script and have some values aligning with his. Though he would rightly suspect some of your arguments and calming words. That being said, he wouldn't have the means to verify your claims, so he would seek the council of the gods and fortune tellers. 

Eventually, he would pry for ever more knowledge. Should you attempt to use your knowledge as a bargaining tool, then he would do the same and look you in a room. Food and water would be traded for schematics and diagrams and calculations. You would have to earn your upkeep, so to say. Should one of the plans or explanations he'd give you fall flat, then you'd be punished. Still, you would be a treasure he would safekeep and protect at all costs. And just like this a treasure, he would strongly regulate who you would interact with. 

Of course, he would also inquire on history, societal changes, politics and philosophy. Finally, he would determine that future society would be morally bankrupt. While your practical knowledge would be invaluable and your theoretical knowledge noteworthy, everything outside information that can actually deliver tangible results would be taken with a wagon load of salt. In between everything, he would convince himself that future human civilization would be up the creek without a paddle and that it would be his mission to avert such an outcome. Julius would start with turning you into an upstanding citizen and somebody of impeccable morality. While he would try a diplomatic approach often enough, he wouldn’t take any resistance well.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Steven Beschloss at America, America:

I love my country. I believe in democracy and treasure fundamental values such as justice, equality, diversity, decency and truth. That’s why—as Trump and his fascist regime aggressively pursue the dismantling of American institutions and the destruction of traditional alliances to align with dictators and other authoritarians—I cheer for his opponents. These assaults have caused me to reflect on the meaning of patriotism. I fully realized my emotional and intellectual shift when I heard Canadian hockey fans boo last week during the singing of our national anthem in Montreal. Rather than laugh it off or feel aggrieved, I understood how upset many Canadians are about Trump threatening to turn their country into the 51st American state. Honestly, I was uplifted by the booing because it told me that there are plenty of people there who refuse to humor Trump and his imperial ambitions. I was already aware of the role that our democratic allies can play in pushing back against the hostile interventions of this Trump regime. That was on full display during the Munich Security Conference when Vice President and Trump henchman JD Vance hypocritically attacked Germans for their lack of free speech and democratic commitments by refusing to embrace their far-right, neo-Nazi Alternative for Germany party.

But in spite of Vance’s arrogance—his remarks came just nine days before Germany’s election—I was buoyed by the pushback of Germany’s president Olaf Schulz and Defense Minister Boris Pistorius. Schulz posted on X to “emphatically reject” Vance’s remarks, underlining his nation’s dark history and lessons learned. “We reject any idea working together with the extreme right and it’s not on others to give us advices to do so,” he firmly retorted. And, “Out of the experiences of Nazism, the democratic parties in Germany have a joint consensus—that is the firewall against extreme right-wing parties.” Added Pistorius: “Democracy must be able to defend itself against the extremists who want to destroy it.” Yes, yes and yes again. We are clearly going to experience more support for human values from Germany’s top leadership than from America’s current leaders who could not care less that their country has long served as a global beacon of democracy. [...] Of course, there are plenty of committed opponents here. On Wednesday, Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker gave his State of the State address, in which he provided a powerful voice of opposition. “There are people—some in my own Party—who think that if you just give Donald Trump everything he wants, he’ll make an exception and spare you some of the harm.” The governor then described an instance during the pandemic when he “swallowed his pride” and tried to work with Trump to get his state the equipment it needed. “We made a deal. And it turns out his promises were as broken as the BIPAP machines he sent us instead of ventilators,” Pritzker recounted. “Going along to get along does not work. Just ask the Trump-fearing red state Governors who are dealing with the same cuts that we are. I won’t be fooled twice.” Pritzker talked about the time back in 1978 when Nazis planned to march through Skokie, Illinois. Permit me to share his reflection on that threat in a town that had “one of the largest populations of Holocaust survivors anywhere in the world.” 

Steven Beschloss wrote in his America, America Substack column that rooting against the dark and twisted vision of Trump’s America is inspiring.

[apricitycanvas]

Ashtamahishi

Sri Draupadi

O Vaidarbhi, Bhadra and Jambavati, O Kausala, Satyabhama and Kalindi, O Saibya, Rohini, Lakshmana & other wives of Lord Krishna, please tell me how the Supreme Lord Acyuta, imitating the ways of this world by His mystic power, came to marry each of you

Sri Rukmini

When all the kings held their bows at the ready to assure that I would be presented to Śiśupāla, He who puts the dust of His feet on the heads of invincible warriors took me from their midst, as a lion forcibly takes his prey from the midst of goats and sheep. May I always be allowed to worship those feet of Lord Kṛṣṇa, the abode of Goddess Śrī.

Śrī Satyabhāmā

My father, his heart tormented by his brother’s death, accused Kṛṣṇa of killing him. To remove the stain on His reputation, the Lord defeated the king of the bears and took back the Syamantaka jewel, which He then returned to my father. Fearing the consequences of his offense, my father offered me to the Lord, even though I had already been promised to others.

Śrī Jāmbavatī

Unaware that Lord Kṛṣṇa was none other than his own master and worshipable Deity, the husband of Goddess Sita, my father fought with Him for twenty-seven days. When my father finally came to his senses and recognized the Lord, he took hold of His feet and presented Him with both me and the Syamantaka jewel as tokens of his reverence. I am simply the Lord’s maidservant.

Śrī Kālindī

The Lord knew I was performing severe austerities and penances with the hope of one day touching His lotus feet. So He came to me in the company of His friend and took my hand in marriage.

Śrī Mitravindā

At my svayaṁvara ceremony He came forward, defeated all the kings present — including my brothers, who dared insult Him — and took me away just as a lion removes his prey from amidst a pack of dogs. Thus Lord Krishna, the shelter of the goddess of fortune, brought me to His capital city. May I be allowed to serve Him by washing His feet, life after life.

Śrī Satyā

My father arranged for seven extremely powerful and vigorous bulls with deadly sharp horns to test the prowess of the kings who desired my hand in marriage. Although these bulls destroyed the false pride of many heroes, Lord Krishna subdued them effortlessly, tying them up in the same way that children playfully tie up a goat’s kids. He thus purchased me with His valor. Then He took me away with my maidservants and a full army of four divisions, defeating all the kings who opposed Him along the road. May I be granted the privilege of serving that Lord

Śrī Bhadrā

My dear Draupadī, of his own free will my father invited his nephew Kṛṣṇa, to whom I had already dedicated my heart, and offered me to Him as His bride. My father presented me to the Lord with an akṣauhiṇi military guard and a retinue of my female companions. My ultimate perfection is this: to always be allowed to touch Lord Kṛṣṇa’s lotus feet as I wander from life to life, bound by my karma.

Śrī Lakṣmaṇā

O Queen, I repeatedly heard Nārada Muni glorify the appearances and activities of Acyuta, and thus my heart also became attached to that Lord, Mukunda. Indeed, even Goddess Padmahastā chose Him as her husband after careful consideration, rejecting the great demigods who rule various planets. My father, Bṛhatsena, was by nature compassionate to his daughter, and knowing how I felt, O saintly lady, he arranged to fulfill my desire. Just as a fish was used as a target in your svayaṁvara ceremony, O Queen, to assure that you would obtain Arjuna as your husband, so a fish was also used in my ceremony. In my case, however, it was concealed on all sides, and only its reflection could be seen in a pot of water below. A few heroes — namely Jarāsandha, Śiśupāla, Bhīma, Duryodhana, Karṇa and the King of Ambaṣṭha — succeeded in stringing the bow, but none of them could find the target. Then Arjuna looked at the reflection of the fish in the water and determined its position. When he carefully shot his arrow at it, however, he did not pierce the target but merely grazed it. After all the arrogant kings had given up, their pride broken, the Supreme Personality of Godhead picked up the bow, easily strung it and then fixed His arrow upon it. As the sun stood in the constellation Abhijit, He looked at the fish in the water only once and then pierced it with the arrow, knocking it to the ground. Just then I walked onto the ceremonial ground, the ankle bells on my feet gently tinkling. I was wearing new garments of the finest silk, tied with a belt, and I carried a brilliant necklace fashioned of gold and jewels. There was a shy smile on my face and a wreath of flowers in my hair. The Lord then placed me on His chariot, drawn by four most excellent horses. Donning His armor and readying His bow Śārṅga, He stood on the chariot, and there on the battleground He manifested His four arms. Dāruka drove the Lord’s gold-trimmed chariot as the kings looked on, O Queen, like small animals helplessly watching a lion. These warriors were deluged by arrows shot from the Lord’s bow, Śārṅga. Some of the kings fell on the battlefield with severed arms, legs and necks; the rest gave up the fight and fled.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

How feral is lucky in the asl2 au? Omg also would you be willing to talk about her relationship with garp?? Like is there some blatant favoritism?

At first, she isn't that feral. She was raised in a modern society under strict parents, so she starts off as the most behaved child by a country mile. But, as time goes on, she starts to slip.

She doesn't understand what happened or how she got to Dawn Island, so she also doesn't understand why her parents are seemingly not even trying to look for her. She starts to act out a lot, simultaneously pushing people away out of fear of being abandoned again, only to break down if they actually do withdraw. Her hypersensitivity to rejection leads to her and Ace having an extremely rocky start to their relationship because his cold and dismissive demeanor completely puts her off from him. Luffy is largely to thank for her not completely self isolating and going off the deep end.

Lucky does not care for Garp at first. Being around him makes her miss her own grandfather more, and she's lowkey jealous of the asl trio for having their grandpa around even if he is a little rough around the edges.

Garp brings her along when he's spending "quality time" with the boys in hopes that if she's sees him disciplining them, it'll dissuade her from following in their footsteps and wanting to also be a pirate. Lucky doesn't care for this because despite being brought along, she still feels excluded due to the fact that Garp just kinda drops her onto a rock and then doesn't really pay her any mind while he's dealing with the boys. To her, it's just rubbing her newfound orphan status in her face even more.

It doesn't start to improve until Garp finally interacts with her one on one after the boys retreated away from him to regroup and plot how to counter him. He glances over at her and finally sees how painfully lonely she looks. He attempts to strike up a conversation with her, but she's completely stonewalling him because she's still feeling angsty about being ignored so much and assumes he'll go right back to doing so once his real grandchildren come back.

Seeing that talking isn't working, he takes a different approach. He holds up an open hand and tells Lucky to punch him. She flatly refuses at first, believing that this is some sort of trick, but he goads her on until she finally caves and punches his palm. It doesn't even budge, and Garp can't help but laugh at the attempt. Before Lucky can storm off, he gives her some pointers on how to throw a real punch and encourages her to try it again. She takes another swing, and this time his hand moves just a little bit, but it's enough to give Lucky the tiniest little spark of pride.

She didn't really punch him hard enough to make his hand move, he just moved it to keep her from getting discouraged and closing off even more. After that, he offers to teach her how to fight one on one, promising that it'll be just their thing. This marks a turning point in her attitude because she finally has an outlet for her anger, and Garp's presence helps to fill the family sized hole in her heart.

[hearseofangels]

Brokeback Mountain: The Actor and the Lover [Analysis]

Part 1 - The Actor: Ennis Del Mar (You're here!) Part 2 - The Lover: Jack Twist (Coming soon...)

Hi!!! So this is just going to be a tiny analysis of Ennis' character. My sources will come from the movie because I haven't yet read the book, but I might revise when I end up doing that. The Actor archetype is a title I've come up with on my own, but I'm sure it overlaps with other people's previous findings, so I'll take little credit, lol. Happy pride month! TW/CW: Homophobia, Brokeback Mountain Spoilers, Abuse, Violence

Section 1: Let's Talk "Masculinity"

Pre-Stonewall era America was a very different landscape for queer people than it is now. The riots didn't solve discrimination or violence against our community, but it was a defining moment in how people viewed homosexuals and how much they knew about them beyond the propaganda and visuals that seldom presented them in a kind light.

Homosexuality is seen as being far from Masculinity. It's why so many of the insults for gay men include jabs at femininity, like pansy and fairy. Even in internal queer culture, it's encouraged for men, cis or not, to explore femininity with things like drag and crossdressing. Even for masculine presenting men such as Ennis, being queer would mean emasculating himself.

When people talk about toxic masculinity, they usually refer to this overwhelming need by many men to be macho, above their peers, "alpha," a leader; to the point where this intense identity makes those around them uncomfortable and reveals their deep set insecurity: that they are not a real man.

In the short time Ennis had his parents, he was presented to by his father what a "real man" wasn't: someone who lives along with another man in isolation. Ennis was forced to look at the corpse of the nameless character who we are not even sure was queer. He simply committed the crime of not fitting the perfect image for a middle aged man in America (married, with children).

It's a frightening sight. And with fear comes violence.

Section notes: I really like how Annie Proulx flips the negative stereotype that being close with your father can "turn you" gay. His father inflicts fear rather than "reasoning."

Section 2: With Fear Comes Violence

Seeing discussion about BBM online, a lot of people point to the scene where Alma calls out Ennis for his infidelity as a defining moment for his violent behavior, which is true, but its also only one of the many.

From the first half hour we can see how Ennis is pretty closed off and prefers to be estranged from friendship and conversation (Hence Jack saying: "Friend, that's more words than you've spoke in the past two weeks.") Ennis falls in love with Jack while simultaneously fearing him. His openness is a threat to Ennis' protective layer, and that's why when Jack attempts to playfully fight Ennis, Ennis reacts in a way that is so much more personal than what Jack was intending in the scene. When Jack accidentally knees Ennis in the nose, he asks if Ennis is alright. Both forms of affection terrify Ennis.

Besides his most aggressive moments coming out during moments of fear, there are also the times where he pursues a chance to "prove" his masculinity. Ex: His conflict with the bikers, attempt to jump some guy in his truck after arguing with Alma...

Speaking of that! I'm gonna call symbolism for the sake of our next section.

Section notes: it's really impressive how you can tell when Ennis grows more aggressive during he and Jack's wrestle. It starts out playful and then escalates before your eyes. Really impressive acting.

Section 3: Ennis Del Mar Sucks At (Traditional) Masculinity

And that loss with that truck driver was a sign. Ennis made an active effort to beat him up and lost just as he makes an active effort to masculinize his image and reject queerness, and loses.

I don't think Ennis is new to his homosexuality—Not only because he was introduced to it and taught to fear it at a young age, but also because of his breakdown when he departs with Jack for the first time.

The end of their time on the mountain was like catharsis and the brutal shock that comes afterwards.

I think Ennis is gay, as in exclusively attracted to men. When he told Jack that he was going to marry Alma, it sounded more like the obligatory kind of relationship a man and a woman would be pressured into in the time period. He also showed an inability to connect with her past the basics of a fun, fleeting relationship, one that you're not really going to take seriously. Once he was in the marriage, those affections visually became less frequent. (I hope everyone noticed that lack of a farewell kiss when Alma told him he forgot something.) He also indulged in the heternormative expectation for women to bear as many children as wanted. Alma's response is really what confirms Ennis' neglect: "We can [have children], if you would support them."

Fathers were expecting to lead the household. Ennis is not a good leader.

In his relationship with Jack, he takes a more submissive role, almost in complete contrast to the mask he puts on out of bed. I'm not a big fan of sexual scenes, but it's critical to watch to understanding the difference between these two sides of Ennis.

Ennis being needy as hell.

Ennis is an actor. What he fears the most, more than Alma's discovery, more than Jack's temptation, more than the possible punishment is himself and what he is capable of; what he yearns for the most. Under the layers of masculinity and self-preservation is the raw truth that he is a coward, in almost all shapes and forms.

Brokeback Mountain is about cycles. Homophobia traumatized Ennis, forced his "self" into hiding and destroyed two of his relationships. The thing he suppressed out of protection ended up being the very thing that tore him apart.

And still, in all his masculine glory, you can notice that he can't bring himself to speak negatively on his sexulity.

Even when discussing the nature of his relationship with Jack, he doesn't acknowledge the nameless man from with childhood with any disdain for his lifestyle or confusion as to why he would choose it. He simply says "it is how it is." Normalization births fear, births violence.

Section notes: woo-wee... bit of a heavy movie, no?

Section 4: Queerness and Self Isolation

I'm not going to get personal, but I'm sure a lot of us reading this can relate to the pressured and self-enforced isolation of their queer identity. In a more obvious fashion, this presents as a fear of coming out or being outed, but in a more subtle sense, it can also be as simple as not wanting to acknowledge that you as an existing person have your own definition of sexuality at all.

Shame is one hell of a drug. Ennis didn't just separate himself by queerness, but also from an open social life as well. Denying a part of yourself isn't as clean cut as slicing the rainbow section of a cake. His ideals, his beliefs, and his personality were shoved behind a wall of agreeable actions in order for him to survive in a world completely against his truth.

Ennis Del Mar is an actor, as many of us have become, so if there's any lesson you can take from my corny essay, it's that shame is the most suffocating thing of them all. So like, don't force yourself to deny yourself!!! Or else the shame will get ingrained for like years on end and you have to have therapy...

Section notes: I suck at analysis.

Thank you for reading! Happy pride month everyone! Do me a favor and support my friend Bahaa, who isn't getting many donations:::

[inhurtandincomfort]

I'm not posting my entire Jowan file bc it's incomplete anyway but here's some things I think are most interesting 👀

Strengths and weaknesses: He is resourceful, and manages to remain positive despite everything. This can make him seem a little naïve or even childish as he overcompensates trying to be the opposite of his father. He is a genius with a gift for science allowing him to achieve great things, but he still feels trapped despite his fathers death years ago. He is eager to please and a bit of a pushover.

Flaws: Hubristic, ignorant. He has unwavering pride and confidence in his own abilities. He remains blissfully -or purposefully- unaware of the harm he's causing and the terrible person he is.

Fears, phobias, or prejudices: He is afraid of rejection, and holds the belief that the lowest of society lack intelligence, and that it's no big deal to lose them.

What they dislike about themselves: He hates how empty he is inside. He hates that he always feels like he's wearing a mask, or is a machine himself, merely playing at being human.

What they admire in others: He admires people with a positive outlook on life. Generosity and compassion are traits he looks up to along with resilience.

Upbringing or parenting style: Dr. Bell was strict and cold with no time for frivolities. For the first few years of life Jowan was raised by a nanny, but the moment Jowan was independent enough -perhaps as young as 4 or 5 years old- she was fired and he was left to fend for himself. He attended a local school from ages 5-12, when he was pulled out to assist his father full time. Jowan's life consisted of constant study, writing notes and shadowing his father, speaking only when spoken to and facing severe punishment for any mishap. Jowan was an obedient child and rarely misbehaved, but Dr. Bell saw only flaws in his son and strives to model him into his perfect copy.

Education: Jowan excelled in school and frankly found it boring. He may have gone to a specialist secondary school for gifted children had he not been pulled out. He favoured chemistry and biology, but also did well in maths. He was interested in geography, and found history dull. Still, he exceeded in all subjects. He would be punished for anything less than top marks.

Major life events: Although Jowan never had any friends, being pulled out of school cut off any connection he had with the outside world. He saw his father, he saw his fathers patients but he wasn't allowed to talk to them. He occasionally saw his fathers guests or attended conferences but again was there to listen and learn about science and medicine, that's all. Never talking. He was effectively fully isolated from this point.

What happens if they do/don't succeed?: Failure is not an option. He will keep trying until he succeeds. He doesn't even know if this current project is possible but still he must keep going.

If he does succeed, he'll find something else to strive for.

Internal conflicts: He wonders if he's doing the right thing. If this is worth it. Will it ever be enough?

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Sorry, I just have to complain about something.

I have a casual acquaintance with this guy from NC, and I think he's pretty cool. He's more than ten years younger than me, but we have a lot of similar interests and viewpoints, and he strikes me as a genuinely kind person who's very easy to get along with. I always avoid politics with him because I assume most of Gen Z is left leaning, as per the usual with the youth of our culture, and I never wanted to find out about his political views and consequently lose respect for him.

I ran into him today, having not seen him since before Christmas, and I was eager to catch up a bit, but unfortunately, the first words out of his mouth were about how he's been distracted by the inauguration, alarmed specifically that Elon Musk gave a proper Nazi salute during his speech, and that he's afraid for the future of our country.

I am so put out with the TDS. I have been a libertarian and a middlest for a long time, and I used to pride myself on my ability to find common ground with most folks. But more and more, over the last ten years, I have come to feel like I have to close myself off from people, and often young people in particular, because they are constantly revealing their inability to think for themselves and their utter lack of tolerance towards what are, in my opinion, perfectly valid viewpoints and concerns.

Long of it short, I would rather not automatically assume that young people, in spite of how intelligent and reasonable they may seem when first met, are not worth getting to know, but I am genuinely bothered by their penchant to assume that everyone thinks the way they do, and that anyone who doesn't is evil.

I think often about something you're fond of saying, which is that if a person can't accept me for who I am, they are not a true friend. There are still people I love and am hurt to think of losing whom I believe would want nothing to do with me if we honestly discussed politics, but as the culture wars drag on and intensify, I also notice how much resentment towards them has blossomed in my heart.

I am looking forward to four years of Trump and truly hoping that, in time, America can heal.

It is sad, I agree. But there are signs of hope. Young men are trending conservative, and Trump won the young male vote. He won gains in every demographic, some of those gains being historic numbers in groups that haven't gone right in nearly 50 years. There's growing backlash to far right policies in deep blue states like California and deep blue cities like Chicago. Divisive, evil ideologies like DEI and wokeism are on the decline. The media is rapidly losing what little influence, and viewership, it has left. For the first time since the early 90s, everything is trending in the right direction in the US. And not just the US, either. Right wing populism is on the rise all across Europe, too.

This isn't to say that you should live and die by political trends. It's just to show that things are changing. Your friend is going to wake up one day and find that his circle has shrunken to just himself and a few miserable people who see Nazis and death squads around every corner. It will be up to him to decide if he wants to cling to irrational fear that everyone else has long since thrown off, or keep wallowing in that misery because it's comfortable and familiar. And no one can make that choice for him. Just like no one can make any of the screeching pearl clutchers on the left see reality as it actually exists. That's a journey they need to make, or reject, on their own.

Your choice is a more difficult one. You can observe the world through eyes that aren't covered with ideological blinders. You can see all the good parts of your friend, as well as the bad. And you need to decide if holding onto that friendship, if betting that those good parts will win out in the end, is worth dealing with all the bad and hiding a part of yourself from your friend. If the enjoyment you get from being his friend outweighs always needing to be on your toes in case he finds out you hold an opinion he can't handle. That's a choice only you can make.

But while you're thinking about that, consider this. This young man considers you a friend. That seems to mean he thinks you agree with him on everything, and that anyone who disagrees with him is evil in some fundamental, visible way. If you talk to him about your beliefs, that may force him to come to terms with the fact that someone he likes can also have "evil" beliefs. It may ruin the friendship, but it also might be something he desperately needs to find out. A black man named Daryl Davis once dissolved an entire KKK chapter just by making friends with its members and showing them that their beliefs about black people were wrong. I'm not saying you, or anyone else, needs to be Daryl Davis for young leftists, but personal relationships can be a powerful tool for change.

Just something to think about.

[pinkestlittlebutterfly]

Servamps are immortal, and lead lives that span far back into what we consider the fogs of history today. Every now and then, however, they leave tracks along the paths they walk, whispers of their presence that can be traced through the centuries, leaving an imprint on the world to this day. 

Sometimes this is intentional. Hugh was always conscious of images, and took great care to construct the picture painted of him and his kin in fables and stories and whispers on the street. To be a vampire is to be noble and elegant and a little bit prideful; it’s black velvet capes and charming, fanged smiles and hunting for virgin blood at night, for a dash of purposeful fear to keep away unwanted attention. He’s quite proud of how far his legacy carried. 

Sometimes the traces left are accidental. Kuro would never know, but there is a little patch of land in England, a cluster no bigger than a few, tiny villages, where old, weathered grandmothers still tell the young children the bedtime stories of their youth, of a cat and a wolf that walked together at night. The tales have warped over time, embellished with charming detail of the adventures they would have had together, but if Kuro were to listen in, he’d remember those walks with bittersweet fondness. 

Sometimes remnants of a Servamp’s life are plentiful, proof of their presence brought into tangible form, to be found and locked away centuries later in the dimly lit cellar of a mansion shrouded in secrets. 

Lily spent his immortal life among the noble and eccentric; men with money and time to invest in the beautiful things in life. He mingled with poets and painters, had his fair skin and gold hair woven into songs and sonnets still read to this day, and captured on canvas whenever he did not quite manage to escape another artist looking for a new model. He has been Adonis and Antinuous and Troilus; and once an artist whose advances he rejected named his painting Narcissus. Lily still gets annoyed whenever he lays eyes on it – it was not him who spent hours staring at his face; and he has never had much love for his own beauty.

[neofeliis]

You Cannot Have Her

Astarion/Tiefling!Tav

Notes: Durge Spoilers. Remember when we straight up stop living in front of Astarion and the game thought "how twee" was an appropriate way to react? Yeah. I needed to fix that. Enjoy.

-----

This wasn’t his place to step in. Like she had given him the grace, the push, to face Cazador now was the time for her to face her abomination of a father. Which thus far, she had been doing beautifully. All despite his own anxiety on the matter, watching her face off with Orin brought a swelling of pride in his chest. He knew she could do it, he had seen her do far more wondrous things. What was one more bloodthirsty monster amongst all the rest?

That wasn’t to say his stomach didn’t lurch with nausea every time the Slayer landed a hit. All the logic in the world, all the knowing she had this, was not enough to stave off the fear. And maybe it was just the aura of murder that surrounded them, but he was clenching his fists so tight he felt himself draw blood. The blade hilt in his right hand shook, clattering quietly at his side. Duel be damned, if she downed, he was going in for her.

Astarion would tear down the world for the tiefling thrice over if he needed to. He had been prepared to do it if it ever came down to it; he had decided that sometime along their way.

What Astarion had not been prepared for, in the wake of his swelling pride at her rebuking Bhaal, was for the god to be spiteful. Wasn’t that just the cruelest joke of all? For his bitterness to have been so thoroughly rewritten by her hope for the future, that he would forget the most fundamental truth of all. A truth he had buried deep in his heart.

The gods were nothing but spiteful, and would never take scorn in stride. How ironic, how cruel that the gods would choose now to answer. To intervene. To show their faces. All those years screaming into the void and this was the one that answered a call.

“You refuse me?”

He should have known, gods damnit he should have listened to the chill that crept up the back of his neck. The unholy terror that something was wrong. Everything slowed around him, the edges of his vision blurred and darkened, seeing only Tav and the animated corpse that spoke to her.

“Accept your inheritance, or I will reclaim it.”

Astarion opened his mouth to speak a warning at her back. Where she stood so tall, so confident, but he knew her so thoroughly by now. He saw how she twirled the ring on her finger, so subtly at her side. Her biggest tell that fear gnawed at her heart. Of course she was afraid. Standing before the god of murder? Refusing him?

But she was not afraid enough for what he felt coming. Something he couldn’t articulate as words failed him. His throat dry, his mind so chaotic he couldn’t find purchase on a full sentence if he tried. Something is wrong, something is wrong!

Reclaim it? Reclaim what? She was Bhaalspawn, everything that she physically was, was his. It was by his design, his will, that she existed at all. He made her to be an abomination, a feral creature devoted to bloodshed, and she had spent the greater part of their adventure resisting every bit of that fate. The most wondrous creature he had ever known in his days, lived and breathed by the grace of the murder god.

The realization hit him so hard he saw stars, and a wave of vertigo made the room tilt.

Despite his panic, Tav stood firm. There was a split second, where she seemed as though she might look back to her companions, to say something, but she stopped herself.

She refused Bhaal, and her birthright, a second time.

“You reject my blood, and so I will reclaim it.”

That’s when they all felt it. A shift in the cold, damp air. Heaviness dropped like a hammer as the tiefling doubled over, clutching at her chest, mouth open in a choked cry that died on her lips. In a final act of desperation, she hurled a glance over her shoulder at her companions, wild eyes flitting between each of them before finally landing on Astarion’s panicked face. The look in her eyes, the fearful resignation there shot Astarion through like an icy spear.

She knew. She knew this was a possibility. Tav knew the God of Murder would be cruel enough to take back his power, but if it was to keep the world–keep him–safe from her Urge, she refuted him anyway.

A bloody aura surrounded her, dripped from her in sinister rivulets, moving as a living thing that crawled out of the crevices of her armor. It dripped from her fingertips, it ran over her cheeks, it coursed down her neck. Every bit of it that hit the cold stones raced back to the growing pool in which Bhaal himself called to it.

Everything in Astarion raged, raged against any possibility in which she would suffer like this. But his body felt unnaturally heavy as he lurched forward, trudging against an invisible mire to reach her. “Fight, this!” Speaking was a labor, even, his throat burning at the effort. His hands hit an invisible barrier that met him and thrust him backwards hard enough that he almost lost his footing. She was cut off from him, as her body lifted off the ground and arched backwards limply, the warmth fading from her face, he couldn’t reach her. The fucking bastard had cut him off from her such that none should interfere with the inevitable. Because who the hell was Astarion to a god?

The familiar feeling of inferiority caressed his mind like an old friend. Astarion was powerless, and in his desperation, he turned a pleading, disgustingly pitiful look to their other two companions. The man couldn’t know what he looked like in that moment, but if the desolate look on their faces was any indication, it wasn’t his finest.

They could do nothing, and the other two had seemed to acknowledge that much sooner than Astarion, accepting it even. No, useless! He grit his teeth and let out a feral snarl that he had not known in what felt like an age, and turned back to the scene before them. He would try once more to reach her, to the same result as before, but somewhere he found the strength to hold himself against the barrier now that he knew it was there. A pained scream, bereft of all restraint, tore from him now. Now he found his voice? What good was it now?

She still hung suspended, hung there for a near eternity, until the blood finally stopped and her eyes glazed over. The last drop against the slick stones, and then a beat of silence. The air stilled as an unnatural quiet fell over Bhaal’s temple, and the barrier flitted out of existence at the same moment that her body dropped to the floor. Discarded.

Astarion tumbled forward and dropped gracelessly to his hands and knees in the blood. For a moment, the cooling liquid he suddenly found himself in held all his attention. Was he distracted? Or was he afraid to lift his gaze?

Afraid to look up, slowly, painfully, agonizingly to the lifeless body that laid just a few feet from him. Her chest was still, her face blank. Something brutally honest scratched at the back of his mind.

A broken sound fell from his lips and he crawled the rest of the way to her, pulling her limp form into his lap. They had fallen in battle before, this wasn’t the first time by any means. Their well-stocked spellcasters were always ready and available to turn it back. To keep death at bay.

So why, then, did Shadowheart look so ghostly pale? So lost?

“What in the hells are you waiting for? Use your spell! She’s going cold!” Astarion snapped, his red eyes blazing with a desperate fury.

The cleric flinched, and gave an imperceptible shake of her head. She looked like she was trying to wrap her own mind around something he could not see. Refused to see. “There’s…” she started, her voice cracking, “Astarion, there’s nothing there. There’s nothing to call back.”

Fear rattled through him so hard he felt it in his teeth. “What, do you mean, nothing?” He paused on every word, either trying to restrain himself from wringing her neck until she figured it out or just hold himself together at rapidly fraying seams.

“To revive someone, there has to be a soul to call to. I can’t, I can’t find it. I can’t even sense her anymore,” Shadowheart replied gravely.

Red filled his vision. “Then look harder!” he roared, his voice bouncing off the walls of the dead temple. “You bring her back, Shadowheart! You bring her back to me or this was all for nothing!” Pain cracked his otherwise terrifying visage, and though the cleric flinched at his outburst, she stood firm where she was. Stood there, as her own grief started to manifest on her face.

No, no! You do not get to mourn her, because she is not gone! His mind raged, and he looked everywhere around them, for any solution in this empty space. His gaze landed on the stone skull that had glowed with Bhaal’s presence. Where else was he to direct his fury? “You give her back, you abomination! She was never yours to take; give her back or I swear on my miserable life that I will dedicate everything in my power to making your existence hell! And you best believe I am a professional on the topic!”

Silence.

Try again. “I will hunt you down, I will raze your temples, I will ruin you! Two hundred years of misery I will rain down upon your head!” The malice, the power in his voice cracked. A choking sob betraying the facade he was haphazardly throwing together. Threatening a god? In his own temple? For her, absolutely. “You cannot have her!

His echo faded, drifting off into dark nothingness, and silence fell once more. Nothing but his ragged breaths and the quiet crying of their companions behind them. Emptiness pawed at the door of his heart, knowing the way home. Knowing where it belonged. Eager to make itself at home again as the body chilled in his arms.

Something shifted as another presence entered the space. Instinctively, Astarion whirled on his knees with a snarl, clutching her body to his chest and hunching himself over her.

“Thou hast defied Bhaal, thy liege and father, and in doing so hast earned a place among champions and heroes,” the creeping, ancient voice filled the temple, as none other than their ghostly companion, Withers, strode over to them, as though he had been there from the beginning. “But alas, thy courage was in opposition to the divine cosmology that bound thee to the Lord of Murder. Thou art now faithless, godless, and doomed to wander the Fugue Plane for eternity.”

Another snarl rumbled in Astarion’s chest, lacking the power it had before. “If you have come to just prattle on your cryptic, dusty monologues you will learn very quickly how much restraint I’ve shown to your presence thus far, ghoul.”

Withers ignored the seething vampire entirely. All of his attention was on the body that lolled in Astarion’s grip. He prowled around them in a wide circle, assessing he tiefling. “I will not permit that,” he started again, and the vampire tensed thinking that it was a response, “though all the powers of life and death dictate that it should be so.”

Astarion deflated then, his grip loosening ever so slightly. …What?

Withers stopped then, close, and raised his hand. “I, too, still hold some power, and I invest a portion of it in thee, who hath challenged the gods and now liveth to tell of it,” Something ancient and overwhelming crept into the room now, creeping along the stones like a morning fog. Cool and gentle. “Thy fight is not over, and it is thy fight, for one who can look upon Bhaal and oppose him can survive any crisis,” he clenched his hand into a fist and raised it as an old, powerful magic surrounded it. “So rise, Challenger of Gods, and prepare for battle once more. Death will not claim thee whilst I endure.”

Tav’s body lurched nearly out of Astarion’s hold, surrounded by the glow of Withers’ revival, arching backwards as the power coursed through her. Then, her eyes snapped open, and the most beautiful sound of a gasping breath echoed through Astarion, perhaps echoing through the entirety of Bhaal’s empty temple. The cold desolation in his chest melted all at once, and as she fought for air, his free hand cupped the side of her face and turned her wild eyes to his. “Breathe love, calmly, you’re alright. You’re safe,” he nearly whispered to her, his soul reaching for hers to soothe it into the quiet joy of being alive. It was comical, him trying to calm her when he himself was an absolute whiplashed wreck. But, she was alive.

She was alive.

He would repeat that to himself as many times as was necessary. A daily prayer, to the singular being in this terrible world he believed in.

Tav’s disoriented gaze found him at last, taking several slow blinks to clear away the delirium. “I was,” she croaked, feeling the world swim at just trying to articulate that much.

“Shh, you’re not, and that’s all that matters,” Astarion placed a shaky kiss into her damp hair, feeling her warmth returning to her. Everyone else around them, including the ghostly savior standing there looking like he likely had something important to say, all but disappeared. That could all wait. Here, now, this moment as long as he could greedily drink from it, she was with him. She was alive. “You won’t,” swallow, “leave me that easily.” The waver in his voice betrayed just how much he was afraid to believe that, how he didn’t just a few agonizing minutes ago. The possibility that he would have to live another thousand years knowing this was how it ended was enough to nearly cripple him.

As she curled a weak arm around his bowed neck, pulling as though she could somehow get closer, she seemed to answer his reeling thoughts. “I’m here. Don’t you dare let go.”

[galemancer]

the dekarios folly

MAJOR BALDUR'S GATE 3 END GAME SPOILERS.

[ short monologue. — first person from gale's pov. — past and present tensing. — angst.]

In the pursuit of greatness, he lost who he was.

Godhood... is lonely.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50362192

---——-

Victory isn’t the first word that comes to mind at the mention of Baldur’s Gate.

We defeated the Netherbrain, but somehow victory is not the word I associate with it. There is no happiness, only temporary respite. There is no celebration. There is only defeat, because those memories are plagued by the loss of you.

I thought that you would be proud of me.

I thought that claiming this crown would prove worthy enough, man or god alike.

And yet, it seems I have fallen short...

Was I to forgo the opportunity to ascend to greatness? While I stand on the precipice of power, relinquish it? The gods refused to aid us no matter how often we cried, prayed, begged. A mortal with the power of a god to help mortal kind… I could have prevented the pain the Absolute wrought while the gods cowered.

‘Your hubris was your downfall once, Gale.’

Your voice resonates clearly despite all these years past, laden with hurt and fear. I can still see your face, stark as you attempted to keep me grounded. I couldn’t accept your inability to see the potential for good, and I wasn’t to be held back any longer.

I left you distraught, stunned on the docks as I departed. I remember the crease in your brow and the hurt in your eyes, the sparkle I’d fallen so deeply in love with dwindling. I remember my heart pulled back by your pleas, and I almost acquiesced. The restraint of your grip on my hand as I pulled away, silently begging me not to go.

But you let me.

And by the gods, I wish you hadn’t.

For some time after, I sought you in your adventures along the Sword Coast, Tara in tow. “Mr. Dekarios, is that you?” She’d call out, ears perked up in anticipation, saddened eyes turned hopeful as they followed the trails of my magic. She wished to talk to me, to scold me likely, and deservedly so.

In my absence she’d found a new companion, and there was no choice better than you. You were good for each other — two kind hearts to look after each other amidst the aftermath of it all.

She brought you to Waterdeep where you spent time with my mother. I could feel the hesitation in your voice as you spoke upon meeting her, the too familiar features sending you back to the dock. You told Morena the tragedy of her son whose hubris consumed him, under the guise of an ambitious wizard reaching his full potential. Even in my most grave mistakes you spoke of the good you saw in me.

I visited you in dreams, visions, every possible sign besides the blatant, and they remained unanswered. Could you see the glimmer of magic calling out to you by name? Was my existence in your life as this divine being one you wished to reject?

In your deafening silence, I found time to reflect on every decision leading here. The prodigal Wizard of Waterdeep spurned by Mystra herself. He who managed to piece together the Karsus Crown and in turn control the Karsite Weave, at the cost of losing the only real love he’s ever known.

It is sure enough to say that the realization of my own folly proved devastating.

Now every waking moment, I wait patiently for you to summon me, call me out by name so that I may appear in front of you. Waiting in an endless timescape is excruciatingly painful, and yet I continue to subject myself to its punishment. I remain hopeful that some day you would willingly be by my side again as my Chosen, and better yet, lover.

It’s... quiet without you. The pain of your noticeable absence never fails to astound me, and wracks my heart with immeasurable regret. I miss you quite terribly, and yet there is no one else to fault besides myself. Of all the things learnt in our time together, of all the things conquered… the only thing I failed to overcome was my own pride.

And now I’ve damned myself to an eternity without you.

[aphicelend]

Misaki Shirayama

26 y.o | 1.52 cm | Japanese | April 4th | Aries

(APH) Human | City Ver. | Colorful AU | BOX AU

Tags: #Art/HC tag | #Posts related to her | #MisAme

Wanted to do a profile for her here 💦 Misaki has been one of my fave oc's since 2012 and i'm having fun drawing her a lot again, and I love to put her in my other oc's stories 💃 so here's info of her hetalia AU(?

i wrote everything in spanish and im lazy to translate it properly so, google translator yay

| Personality

Introverted | Temperamental | Stubborn | Agressive | Kind | Caring

Misaki is a young woman with a fiery personality, she has little patience for stupidity. She is a hard worker, and likes to put effort into what she likes. She is also stubborn when it comes to opinions if it is not her way she will not do it, she tends to violence when someone bothers her. Her pride is something precious to her.

Despite this, when she gets upset she needs her time to calm down and then apologize. Even so, Misaki is a girl who cares about others, her way of showing her appreciation is through actions, especially cooking.

Socially inept, having lived surrounded by “nations” Misaki behaves awkwardly with other humans, for some reason she always feels distant and finds it difficult to understand them.

Having grown up with nations, Misaki did not develop “parental affection” or someone to consult her problems with, because she considered that Japan would not fully understand her.

He usually feels a constant feeling of loneliness, his heart is a hard shell that makes it difficult for him to let in emotions like love.

| BACKGROUND (Hetalia AU)

Strip about her background

In this AU, Misaki was raised by Japan who took care over her as she was abandonated. Her childhood was kinda chaotic, surrounded by nations of course she didn't grow like other kids, she felt distanced.

Japan tried his best to give her a normal life, of course he wasn't used to raise a kid. Misaki always wondered why did he took her? He felt lonely? She would never know.

She always had a sense of loneliness, a feeling of she doesn't belong where she is. Mother? Father? What's that, she only had "weird uncles"

Misaki was very problematic at school, her classmates teased her a lot and she answered back with violence.

Through her adolescence, she kinda developed a crush on Yao, and she was rejected, of course, the man only saw her as a little sister.

More about it here.

Time heals, she tried to moved on. On Uni, she meet a guy named Kazuo, they clicked and became a couple, Misaki thought that finally had someone who cared for her deeply, but no. The guy cheated on her. That was the point that made her close herself.

-> She lives alone in an old traditional house that Japan left for her, she works as botanic in a national park in Kyoto.

| Interests and facts

She LOVES gardering and plants. She has a traditional garden on her house and it's her first priority.

She's very good at cooking, Japan and China taught her very well.

Also Romano as shared with her some italian recipes so she could "learn something good"

Her way to show love is giving you food.

Her dream is to open her own restaurant.

One of her interests are kimonos, she likes to make her own

Favorite station is autumn, she loves when trees go orange.

Loves cats, and bunnies, loves cute things.

She likes minimalist clothing, plain clothes or stripped patterns

Her face may look annoyed but she's kind, and gets along better with girls.

She has been mistaken for a minor

Does she feel something for Alfred?? who knows.

She's just afraid to someone break into her heart and get too attatched.

| RELATIONSHIPS

I made this chart

| Music

Mostly vocaloid because i'm a weeb

Balsam / Misaki - About her loneliness

The Beast / Misaki - Her fear to open her heart

I'm glad you're evil too / Misaki - Her wish to find someone

Girl Pilot / MisAme - Their dynamic, Alfred trying to reach her but he can't

I can't stop the loneliness / Misaki - the song says it all lol, maybe her fear that its too late?

Hammer Song And The Tower Of Pain / Misaki - Pushing everyone away it's the best

MAD HEAD LOVE / MisAme - Their dynamic, they're idiots.

----

If you got this far here's some old misaki drawings, old hetalia? ocs? she used to have friends and now she's DEPRESSED.

2012 | 2014

[bl-beater]

Hihi! I was thinking about my own OC’s backstory in the JJK lore and I was wondering how Ryuu fits in! What’s his opinion of the Inumaki clan and how does he get along with other sorcerers? :0

Hello!

Deemed too dangerous to abandon yet unworthy of belonging, the clan cast him off to Jujutsu High.

When Ryuu graduated, he joined Nanami who was currently working as Salesman. Ryuu didn't leave the sorcerer live behind and worked as an independent sorcerer. Until they both came back to Jujutsu High in 2014.

---

He resents the Inumaki clan, seeing them as hypocrites who only acknowledged him when they needed his power. Treated as both a stain on their legacy and a tool they couldn’t discard. He has no loyalty to their traditions or pride, if the clan fell, he wouldn’t mourn it. To him, family is about bonds, not blood, and the Inumakis severed that connection long ago.

---

Geto: Ryuu and Geto share a quiet understanding, but Ryuu rejects Geto’s growing extremism. Their bond frays over time, with Ryuu refusing to follow his path.

Shoko: They get along effortlessly, bonding over sarcasm and cigarettes. Shoko never pries, and Ryuu appreciates her laid-back nature.

Gojo: Initially annoyed by Gojo’s loud personality, Ryuu eventually warms up to his persistence. Despite his complaints, he values Gojo’s unwavering confidence and friendship.

Haibara: Ryuu admires Yu’s optimism but finds it naive, fearing it will lead to heartbreak. Still, Yu’s kindness wears him down.

Nanami: Their bond starts with mutual respect, slowly deepening into love. Nanami’s stability gives Ryuu the sense of belonging he never had, while Ryuu helps Nanami loosen up.

[nukitan]

Happy Pride everyone!

This year, I decided to write some unnecessarily long essays about some of the canon, semi-canon, and headcanon LGBT characters in various media that influenced me throughout the years and helped me come into my own in a way.

This is hopefully the first of many mini essays I'll write this month and is centered around Kanji Tatsumi from Persona 4!

Essay below the cut!

Kanji Tatsumi- Persona 4: Bi, Semi-canon

Kanji, not to get too mushy but, is one of the most important fictional characters to me and my coming to understand and love myself as a queer person.

I grew up in a less than accepting home situation that made me hate myself for being queer and want to over compensate for my more stereotypically gay-coded mannerisms and hobbies by acting more masculine and 'het' then I wanted to.

And Kanji came along, mirroring my experience to a degree. He loved plushies and cute things, acted tough to hide his softer more emotional side, and... seemingly liked boys.

His shadow was a stereotypical depiction of a gay man. Lispy, fem, and flirty. Kanji hated that and feared that if he gave into his hobbies and to terms with his own desires, that's how he would end up, so he initially rejected it.

But then, after defeating his shadow, he came to understand that while this is a part of him, it isn't all of him and that he, more than anything, wanted someone to see him for who he really is and not just for his sexual orientation.

As he gets more comfortable with the investigation team, he decides to be more open with his hobbies and interests, and while the investigation team made him the butt of the joke or acted extremely hurtful and homophobic toward him on more then one occasion (also a very relatable experience unfortunately), he grew as person more and more and by the end of his social link decides to be open about who he is.

I like that throughout the game, Kanji expresses attraction to both men and women, and he doesn't just suddenly become straight after dealing with his shadow.

Even though it's kind of annoying when Chud, homophobic people in the fandom disregard his bisexuality because he never says he's bi for an absolute 100% fact, I like that the game doesn't make it feel like he has to. Kanji is unarguably queer and doesn't need to prove himself to anyone. Kanji is just Kanji.

I can't understate how much this character helped me at the time in my life I played Persona 4. Even though he isn't the most perfect representation, he still helped me make a change for the better in my life and take a step toward being my true self. He helped me feel not so alone and helped give me confidence. After Persona 4, while not fully coming out or sheding my problematic ways of thinking, Kanji made the first crack in that wall and I stopped putting on so much of an act to myself and others and started just being me.

Sorry if this cringe, but also, cringe is dead. I killed it with my bare hands.

[snappydragon14]

Part One

Next page~

Previous chapter~

Mictlan stared at Soar, his mind a turbulent sea of questions he didn't want to face. But they pressed against him, refusing to be ignored. His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough, as if the words were dragged out of him against his will.

"Why?" he asked, his tone sharp, almost accusatory. "Why do you stay? You should have ran when you first met me. Any sane being would have fled. So why didn't you?"

Soar's eyes softened, but she didn't flinch under his gaze. She knew this was coming; she had felt the tension in him, the questions boiling beneath the surface. Her hands remained on his shoulders, grounding him, even as she prepared to give him an answer he might not want to hear.

"Because I see something in you, Mictlan," she replied, her voice steady but gentle. "Something beyond the rage, beyond the war. I see someone who's been fighting for so long that he's forgotten why he started. Someone who's lost in a battle with himself."

Mictlan's jaw tightened. He didn't want to hear this. He wanted her to say something he could easily dismiss, something that would let him shove her away, along with the vulnerability that her words were stirring in him. "You don't know me," he snapped. "You can't possibly understand."

"Maybe not completely," Soar conceded, her voice unyielding but compassionate. "But I understand enough to see that you're more than the god of war you've made yourself out to be. You don't have to be defined by the battles you fight, Mictlan. There's more to you than just the destruction you cause."

Her words struck something deep within him, a place he had buried long ago under layers of anger and pride. His fists clenched as he tried to fight against the emotions rising within him, emotions he didn't want to acknowledge. "You think you know what I am? I am war. I am battle. I don't need your pity or your understanding."

"I'm not offering pity," Soar said firmly. "And I'm not claiming to know everything about you. But I see someone who's hurting, someone who's trapped in a cycle they can't break out of. And I'm not going to turn my back on you just because you're scared to face that."

"Scared?" Mictlan's voice was a low growl, his pride bristling at the word. "I fear nothing. Least of all you."

Mictlan felt his breath hitch again, the anger inside him colliding with a deeper, more painful truth. He didn't want to admit it, but her words cut through his defenses, exposing the cracks in the armor he had worn for so long. "Why does it matter to you?" he asked, his voice rough with frustration and confusion. "Why do you care what happens to me?"

Soar's expression softened further, and she took a small step closer, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "Because I've been where you are, Mictlan. Lost, angry, drowning in my own pain. I know what it's like to feel like you have to fight alone, to push everyone away because you think you don't deserve their help. But I also know what it's like to have someone reach out, to remind you that you don't have to go through it alone."

Her words struck a chord within Mictlan, a chord he didn't want to acknowledge but couldn't ignore. He stared at her, his mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to lash out, to reject her words and the vulnerability they demanded from him. But another part, a part that had been buried deep beneath his anger and pride, wanted to reach out-to take the hand she was offering and let himself believe that he wasn't as alone as he had always thought.

But could he really do that? Could he let down the walls he had built so high and allow someone to see the parts of him he had hidden away for so long?

"I don't need your help," he said, but the words lacked the force they had held before. There was doubt now, uncertainty that he couldn't quite shake.

"Maybe not," Soar replied softly. "But that doesn't mean you don't deserve it."

Mictlan's gaze dropped to the ground, his mind a storm of thoughts and emotions he couldn't control. He didn't know what to say, didn't know how to respond to the compassion in her voice, the sincerity in her eyes. For the first time in centuries, he felt lost-truly lost-and the only thing anchoring him was the presence of this fallen angel who refused to leave his side.

Slowly, he looked back up at her, searching her mask for any sign of deceit, any indication that this was some kind of trick. But all he saw was a steady, unwavering determination-a determination to help him, no matter how much he tried to push her away.

his voice barely more than a whisper. "Why do you even bother?"

Soar's expression softened into something almost tender, and she gently squeezed his shoulders, offering him the only answer she could. "Because everyone deserves a chance to be more than what they've been told they have to be. Even you, Mictlan."

Mictlan stared at Soar, the weight of her words pressing down on him. For so long, he had believed that his path was set, that his identity was fixed in stone-he was the God of War, the bringer of destruction. That was his purpose, his destiny. But now, with Soar standing before him, unflinching in her conviction, he felt something stir within him, something he hadn't felt in ages: doubt.

He clenched his fists, his body tense as if he were preparing for battle. But this battle wasn't with Soar-it was with himself. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken emotions, until Mictlan turned away from her, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for an escape from the storm of emotions building inside him. He didn't want to believe her-didn't want to believe that he was capable of anything more than the endless cycle of violence he had known for so long. But her words echoed in his mind, refusing to be silenced.

"I'm not like you," he muttered, his voice thick with frustration. "I don't possess the very strength you have..."

Soar's eye's widened slightly, "You think I'm strong? Mictlan, I've fallen more times than I can count. I've been broken, shattered into pieces I never thought I could put back together. But here I am, standing before you. Not because I'm strong, but because I chose to get back up. Strength isn't about never falling-it's about rising after every fall."

Mictlan's chest tightened as her words struck deeper than he wanted them to. Rising after every fall. Could he really do that? Could he rise from the ashes of the destruction he had caused, from the ruins of the battles he had fought?

He glanced back at Soar, his eyes narrowing. "And what if I don't want to rise? What if I've fallen too far?"

Soar took a step closer, her wings folding behind her as she reached out, gently placing a hand over his heart. "Then let me help you. You don't have to do it all yourself."

Mictlan flinched at her touch, his instinct to pull away warring with a deeper, more desperate need to hold on to the connection she was offering. He had never known this kind of compassion, this kind of understanding. It terrified him. But it also called to something inside him that he had long thought dead.

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Mictlan felt something break inside him, something he had been holding onto for centuries-an armor forged from pain, anger, and pride. And as it shattered, he felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn't been in eons.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Mictlan didn't push the vulnerability away. He didn't run from it, didn't hide behind his walls. Instead, he let himself feel it, let himself stand in the raw, painful truth of his own brokenness.

And in that moment, he realized that maybe, just maybe....-

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Mictlan looked back at Soar, his eyes reflecting the storm of emotions raging inside him. He didn't have the words to express what he was feeling-he wasn't even sure he understood it himself. But as he sat there, staring into the eyes of the one being who refused to give up and run from him, he knew one thing for certain:

He wasn't ready to give up either.