#anti day of fallen night

[evangelineartemiasamos]

People really like Esbar? Because I for sure despise her after treating her own daughter and the daughter’s boyfriend like that.

Can’t believe “Mother” Cleolind ever agreed with or even demanded that lovers born outside the priory should be killed! Or that no one born in the priory should have the choice not to live in service to the priory.

My poor Siyu - not sure I should be glad she’s away from that place for now yet only at the cost of separation from her baby.

[moonstruckme]

hi mae!! please can i request doctor!remus with reader who has just started anti-depressants and is having mood swings/anxiety about it? totally okay if not!

thank u :)) (your dr remus is the loml <3)

Thank you angel (he's the loml too) <3

cw: insomnia, anxiety, mention of past depressive episodes, reader is trying out anti-depressants for the first time so there's some mixed feelings about that

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 855 words

You can feel your heart pounding in your teeth. It reverberates all through your mouth, down to your cheek where it’s pressed against your pillow. You feel hot and restless. 

Your brain is a maze and you can’t get out. 

You thought Remus had fallen asleep, but he hasn’t, his arm slipping under sheets and over your waist to pull you closer. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks, more doting than concern in his tone; he already knows. 

Tears prick your eyes, but you hold them in. “I don’t like this.” 

“You’re alright, dove. Take a deep breath.” 

You do. Count all the way in, go as far as you can, and still. It doesn’t feel like it should.

“I can’t do it all the way,” you say, voice fracturing. 

“Shh, you can.” Remus’ voice is a murmur, his sureness a balm to your sensitive nerves. He brings his hand to your breastbone, pressing down until you’re certain the force of your heartbeat must be shaking him. “We’ll do it together, yeah? Feel.” 

With his chest pressed to you from behind, you feel the way his lungs inflate with the great breath he takes. You do the same, and his thumb rubs over your bare skin encouragingly. 

“There we are. Just like that, sweetheart.” 

You do a few more before Remus must deem your heartbeat normal enough to stop. You feel more normal, though your skin is still too tight and your mind seems like it was never yours. 

“Well done.” Remus kisses your shoulder. “What brought that on, hm? Can’t sleep?” 

You appreciate that he keeps asking, even though the answer has been the same for the past several nights. Yes, you can’t sleep. You can’t sleep, and instead your brain runs and runs. It takes you places you don’t recognize, and then you get scared that the meds you’ve been taking are turning you into someone else entirely, and you begin to wonder what your mental wellbeing is really worth to you, and by the time you tune back into your own body your breaths are loud and you’re damp with sweat underneath the covers. 

“I don’t know if I want to do this anymore,” you mumble. It’s easier to voice when you’re not looking at him. The darkness in front of you is shapeless and unjudging. 

Remus is quiet. His thumb strokes underneath your breast, a silent request for you to say more. 

“I’m tired” —your voice catches again, but you get it under control— “of feeling like this. I just want it to be over. I don’t care if I have to go back to—to the way things were for that to happen. I’m so tired of this.” 

Remus’ lips come down on your shoulder again, gently. His breath tickles your skin. “I know you are, lovely. I’m sorry.” 

“I think I should stop with the meds. Right?” 

You don’t mean to seek his approval until you do. That’s a doomed venture; Remus has told you why he thinks you’re doing the right thing every day and night since you’ve felt like this, usually more than once between sunrises. 

“If you want to stop, you can,” he says carefully. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you; I know the side effects forwards and backwards, but really, I can’t imagine how it feels. I do know that it’s putting you through a lot, sweetheart. But I still think it’s worth seeing how you feel when your hormones balance out.” 

You nearly cry with frustration. Remus feels the harsh exhale leave your chest and moves closer, turning you over so your face is in his chest. 

“Shh, it’s alright. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, my love.” 

But you’re upset with yourself, because you want it too. You want to know what it’s like on the other side of all this, where you might get through an entire year without melancholy sinking its claws into you. You want to discover what that version of yourself might be like. 

“It’s already been a week,” you plead. 

Remus’ voice is soft and lulling. Assured. “It’s normal to have anxiety like this in the second week. Insomnia, too. I know it’s awful, but it’s not because anything is going wrong. It’s expected.” 

“It sucks.” 

“Yeah. It does.” 

After a while, you start mimicking his breaths again. You think Remus knows, because his chest starts rising and falling more dramatically, each pull deep and long. You can hear his heart beating steadily under your ear. 

Remus’ hand rests on your mid-back, his fingertips just between your shoulder blades. Not rubbing, not patting. Just holding you there. Against him, where you need to be. 

You think he’s fallen asleep, but you’re proven wrong again when he asks softly, “Are you feeling better?” 

You let out a sigh. “Yeah.” 

It’s reluctant, but honest. You don’t know how you’ll find your way to sleep, or when you’ll get there, but the possibility of wakefulness feels a lot less stifling when you remember Remus is here with you. You hold onto him and close your eyes.

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 9.

viktorxfemale!reader explict! (we got there)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 7,2K!

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: spoiler: In the timeline of my writing, this is the first sex scene I've ever written on my own. So, what can I say? This is an imperfect story about imperfect people, but I can assure you it has an eventual happy ending.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

The absolute chaos of Christmas looming spread across the campus like an infectious frenzy. The corridors were decked with the most absurd ornaments the students could scavenge—Santa Claus figurines strung up and dangling upside down from the ceiling of the canteen, Christmas trees adorned with laboratory glassware and angel hair, and a mockery of carols blaring on repeat from the school radio. It was a bizarre fusion of science and art, a perfect encapsulation of the university’s peculiar spirit.

Every student seemed to be racing against time, scrambling to finish their projects and papers before the holidays, determined to return prepared for the looming finals. The labs and library remained open around the clock for anyone desperate enough to study or practise at odd hours.

You and Sue spent every spare moment in the lab classroom, tinkering with projects that needed to be submitted by the semester’s end. Meanwhile, Jayce and Viktor made themselves available to assist and guide anyone who might need their expertise, and the group crossed paths periodically, exchanging polite gestures and jokes to keep up the holiday spirit. Viktor had made a few attempts to talk to you after his mortifying text message, but you did your best to ignore him.

Which made your current situation, to say the least, far from ideal. Sue was rushing you to jot down all the points before she had to dash off and tend to a project for another class. The two of you huffed at each other, frustration starting to take its toll, until you sighed and said, “Sue, how about I finish this, and you go do your thing? I really don’t mind.” You offered your friend a reassuring smile.

Sue hesitated, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sick of me or something?”

“I’m never sick of you,” you said, placing your hand on Sue’s knee and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “I just think this needs a bit more work, and I can see you’re in a hurry. Honestly, I really don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Okay, I admit my mind is elsewhere. Fine,” Sue sighed in mock defeat. “I’ll do something for you in return, I promise.” She started packing up her things and leaned over to place a hand on your shoulder.

“Just get me a cookie or something,” you replied with a tired smile, gently brushing Sue’s hand away. You figured you’d probably finish the work faster on your own, and you were running out of time anyway. The lab was already emptying, darkness had fallen outside, your eyes burned from staring at the chemicals for so long, and you’d had more than enough for one day.

After Sue left, you resumed your work, determined to finish everything in one evening. The promise of rest and the satisfaction of completion fuelled you. You were so focused on jotting down your thoughts that you didn’t notice when Viktor sat beside you and leaned over your notes.

“Do you... need help?” His voice was unsure, as if he were asking about something else as well.

You hesitated. Help would certainly be welcome, but Viktor’s presence would also make it harder for you to focus. The final equation seemed to balance out the odds. You looked at him—he looked tired yet sharp. He wore the same green jumper he’d had on that night, with a crisp white shirt collar peeking out from underneath it. His scent was fresh and comforting, and his eyes, full of quiet anticipation, were fixed on you as you calculated your decision. You sighed. Yes, you needed help.

“Alright. Shoot me.”

For a split second, Viktor’s face lit up before he leaned in closer. “You’re pretty far along,” he said, his expression thoughtful, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You can dictate, and I’ll translate it into Heimerdinger’s language?”

“That would honestly be perfect,” you admitted, letting out a huff of relief as you turned your attention back to the chaotic scrawl of notes Sue had left behind. Terrible handwriting.

The two of you worked together in near silence, the hum of the lab equipment and the faint scratching of Viktor’s pen the only sounds between you. You found yourself occasionally distracted by the way Viktor’s long fingers moved as he pointed to your results, his low voice guiding you through adjustments. You tried to stay focused, but every now and then, you’d catch yourself glancing at him, his concentration a tether pulling your attention away from your notes.

Viktor, for his part, couldn’t help but steal glances at you. The faint scent of your perfume mixed with the sterile air of the lab, and it made something in his chest feel warm, almost achingly so. He bit his lip nervously whenever he realised he’d been staring too long, forcing his attention back to writing.

It took the two of you longer than either of you had expected, but when you finally wrapped up, the lab was completely empty. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a soft groan of relief.

“That’s it, then,” you said, your voice tired but satisfied. “Thank you, Viktor. Honestly, I’d still be drowning in that mess if you hadn’t—”

“It’s nothing,” he cut you off gently, placing the pen down and leaning back slightly. He watched as you began gathering your things, clearly ready to leave. But before you could stand, he cleared his throat, his voice softer now. “Hey.”

You paused, looking at him.

“Did you…” He hesitated, the words suddenly harder to push out. He fidgeted with the edge of his notebook. “Did you get my text message?”

Of course, you did. You’d seen his stupid, childish message. The ‘I like you,’ had screamed at you from your phone screen for two weeks now, and you’d both loved it and hated it. Who writes ‘I like you’ like a five-year-old? And not only that, who needs to down an entire bottle of whisky to muster the courage to write ‘I like you’?

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You hadn’t expected this. You shifted awkwardly in your chair, avoiding his gaze. “I did,” you said finally, your voice measured, careful.

Viktor’s expression remained unreadable, but his hands tightened around the notebook in front of him. “And?”

You let out a breath, your lips pressing into a thin line. “And… if I’m to rely on you saying or doing something from the heart only when you get yourself blind drunk, that wouldn’t be the best choice for your health, Viktor,” your voice was quiet, your eyes fixed on the workbench in front of you. “And I don’t want to be bad for your health.” You offered him a faint smile and looked down again. “If it was from the heart, in the first place.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded, his gaze dropping to the table. “It was.” It was. And it shamed him deeply that, indeed, he’d needed liquid courage to admit it. Only now did it strike him how awful it must have made you feel. “But I have a… rabbit heart.”

“Am I so terrifying?” you felt mockery twisting itself inside you with anger. Why were you so angry, though? You also had a rabbit heart. You often caught yourself knowing exactly what Viktor was going to say because you used the same words in your history of backing out. Was this the universe having a go at you?

“Yes, you scare the living shit out of me,” he huffed out a shaky laugh, lowering his voice. It was probably the biggest truth he’d told you in all this time.

“Well, this can’t be good for your health either, then, no?” Deflect, deflect, deflect, hide yourself behind that joke. Very well done, you.

“I—” Viktor paused, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “Look, I lied. I’m not good with any setup—casual or not. I—” He stopped himself, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before looking away again. He was torn, visibly at war with his own feelings.

You didn’t want to hear him stumble over words again. “Viktor, I get it. It’s fine. We can still be friends?” You tried to search your mind for what you’d want to hear all those times when you told someone politely the relationship wasn’t working for you.

You thought this was it—an offer of friendship. Most people got hurt or annoyed with you, and it made you feel guilty. So, you tried to say something that wouldn’t make him feel guilty. As soon as you said it, you realised that what you actually wanted was for someone not to let you retreat—but it was too late for that.

Viktor took in a shaky breath, his gaze returning to yours, but he still looked uncertain. “I can’t do that,” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. “I can’t be just your friend.” His hands clenched into fists on the table. “I... I’ve tried to be fine with it, but I’m not. I can’t pretend.”

“But I don’t know how to be anything else,” he added after a beat, his mind flicking back to all the times he’d snuck out of someone’s bedroom or when he found himself alone in the morning, in his own cold, sweaty bed. After some time, it became a habit, a quiet indulgence that carried no consequences, and it aligned very well with his main goal: to make his life more than it was meant to be. No distractions, only his goal. Some distractions, but not too many. Only friendships, and here as well, only the stimulating ones. To keep his brain fed, so his soul could starve.

“I have worked… so hard,” he brushed his hand through his hair. “To get where I am. I was meant to fail, and I haven’t failed once. I haven’t failed a single time, aside from some tiny, insignificant stumbles that eventually lead me to answers anyway. So many times I haven’t failed that I don’t think I know how to,” his voice was quiet, as if admitting something shameful. He said it as though any slip-up could cost him everything he’s worked for.

“I… understand,” you said slowly, piecing together the crumbs of information. Viktor didn’t come from a place of love, like you did. He didn’t come from a place of opportunity. He probably had to claw his way through pompous academics who didn’t take him seriously. You understood that part. But what was your part in turning it all to dust—that eluded you. So you didn’t understand, not entirely.

“Do you?” he looked at you longingly, expectantly, and it made your heart ache. What was it that you were supposed to give him now? A promise you would never hurt him? That you would never distract him or drag his mind away from what’s important?

“Viktor, this shouldn’t be so hard, I’m not some mythical creature,” you said, trying to inject a touch of humour into your voice, but it came out thin, brittle.

Viktor’s gaze softened, but the intensity in his eyes remained. He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and steady. “No, you’re not,” he murmured, as if trying to reconcile something inside himself. “But you’re not like anyone else either.”

Your chest tightened at the words, but you quickly pushed it aside, unwilling to let yourself feel vulnerable. You folded your arms across your chest, as if protecting yourself from something you couldn’t name. “I don’t want to be a puzzle for you to solve, Viktor. I don’t want to be some challenge you feel like you need to conquer. That’s not what I’m here for.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing as he processed your words. He wanted to argue, to convince you that it wasn’t about conquest, that it was about something deeper, but he could tell it wasn’t the right time. Not yet. “I don’t… I don’t think of you like that,” he said, his voice almost too soft, as if afraid to break the fragile moment between you. “I think of you as someone I want to understand, someone who...” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence, the words feeling too heavy in the air.

You shifted in your seat, your eyes narrowing slightly as you considered his words. There was a vulnerability in his voice, a quiet sincerity that you weren’t used to hearing. You almost wanted to reach out, to ease the tension that hung between you, but you held yourself back.

There was a long, aching pause between you before Viktor cleared his throat and leaned back, trying to break the silence. “So,” he said, the words coming out in a lighter tone, “how many do-overs do you think we can have?”

You rolled your eyes at him, a small, rueful smile tugging at your lips. “I find myself hoping that each one is the last one,” you replied dryly, though your heart wasn’t fully in the jest. “Thank you for all the help.”

Viktor smiled, a faint, almost self-deprecating chuckle escaping him. “Oh, no worries. I’ll see you at the Christmas party?” he asked, his voice a little uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d respond.

You nodded, your expression softening just slightly. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” you said, your tone neutral, but not dismissive. “Take care, Viktor.”

With that, you parted ways, the lingering tension still hanging between you, neither fully satisfied with the conversation, but both with the understanding that you were somehow still connected—however uncertain that connection was.

You found an unbearable thought gnawing at you—that in this state, the only ‘do-over’ you could count on was friendship, and Viktor couldn’t afford that. Inevitably, it would end with nothing.

***

It wasn’t exactly a party, but the pub was completely packed with people—students, assistants, and random individuals who wandered around campus, their roles in it a complete mystery. Everything was bathed in the warm glow of Christmas decorations, making the space feel even more cramped.

You sat at a small round table with Sue, some familiar faces scattered around, including Jayce and Viktor, who had joined after their TA duties. Sue was mid-sentence when you leaned back in your chair, your eyes wandering. You weren’t in the mood for all the noise tonight. The words blurred around you as you half-listened, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of your glass—a quiet distraction. Viktor was talking to Jayce, his sharp voice cutting through the noise every now and then. His dry wit was always on full display, the kind that kept people around him in that odd mix of awe and wariness.

“You okay?” Sue’s voice brought you back. You blinked, nodding slowly.

“Yeah, just... tired, I guess,” you said, forcing a polite smile as you took a sip of your drink.

The room was hazy with cigarette smoke, the heat becoming unbearable. The whole scene was so unbearably sweet and cozy that it made you flinch. Your eyes kept glancing over to Viktor, who would immediately look away as soon as your gazes met. You kept thinking about what another do-over could look like and felt yourself growing more and more frustrated with the space between you, even though you were sitting so close to each other. You could feel Sue's eyes on you but couldn’t quite explain why you felt this way.

Sue raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Well, if you need to bail early, I totally get it.”

You hesitated, then gave a half shrug. “I think I’ll head out. Just... not feeling it, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Sue replied, offering a quick nod. “See you later?”

“Yeah.” You stood, grabbing your coat from the back of your chair. As you made your way through the maze of tables, you could hear Viktor's voice in the background—just enough to make you pause. You could feel his gaze on you, but you ignored it, focusing instead on the exit.

Viktor watched as you stood and walked away, a wave of frustration rising within him, forming itself into a long sigh. He had tried, hadn’t he? He had said things—things he never said to anyone—but now you were leaving, retreating like always. His jaw tightened, and he felt his fingers curl into fists on the table. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not after everything. He should’ve known better, but still, your departure stung.

He couldn’t place why, but it felt like you were slipping away just as he was beginning to reach out. You were both so fucking terrible at talking, at letting yourselves feel anything real. Why did it have to be so difficult?

The cold air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, and for a moment, it felt like a relief. The street was quiet, the only sound the crunch of snow beneath your boots. You slid your headphones on and started walking toward the dorms, matching your steps to the rhythm of the song.

You awaited rest and home and being far away from here with utter impatience. Just one more evening of this. Just one more evening of thinking and biting at your own lips, glancing at your phone, and then it would only be your parents, and Hale, and the quiet evenings at Sheffield, for a week.

Against reason, Viktor followed you, his footsteps soft but steady as he stepped out of the pub moments later. His eyes caught sight of your retreating figure, and a small, amused smile played at the corner of his lips. He’d almost not been surprised—almost expected it.

He called out your name, his voice lost to the wind and muffled by the sounds of the night. But you didn’t hear him. Quickening his pace, his breath misted in the cold air. He called again, louder this time, but still, you didn’t turn.

A small part of him considered letting you go, letting you stew in your thoughts, just leaving it for after the break. But the rest of him felt pulled, like a dog on a leash in front of a vet’s door.

You were nearing the entrance to the dorms when you finally paused, taking a deep breath, and tugging your headphones off with a slight wince. The moment you heard your name, you froze, your heart skipping in your chest.

“Hey you!” Viktor’s voice was closer now, cutting through the night. When you turned, you saw him standing at the edge of the walkway, just outside the dorm. His breath came in visible puffs, his chest heaving as if he’d run after you.

“You walk... so fucking fast,” he said, still catching his breath. “I never figured you for the type to run off so bluntly. But I suppose that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” Yes, just laugh it out. Viktor took a few steps forward, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Are you fucking drunk again?” you blinked, your mind racing. You had to admit to yourself that Viktor drunkenly following you from the bar was a coin toss you wouldn’t have bet on. Especially after your last talk. Funny.

“Are you not?” he countered, his words smoother than you expected.

“No. Go back to your pub, Viktor.” Your voice was flat now, each word carefully measured. You exhaled sharply, your shoulders sinking as if the weight of the evening had finally caught up with you. You were so tired of this.

Viktor tilted his head, his smile barely visible in the shadows as he took a step closer. “Eh, make me,” he said softly, though it wasn’t a challenge—not really.

Another step.

“I am so not in the mood for you now,” you muttered, your hands dropping limply by your sides as you turned away, dragging yourself down the corridor toward the elevators. Your voice lacked its usual bite, tinged instead with exhaustion.

“Alright, alright, I’m not drunk, just had one pint. Oh, come on,” Viktor mock-pleaded, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as he quickened his pace to catch up with you. “You won’t see me the entire holiday break.”

“And I will savour every single day of this glorious relief from your constant nagging, poking, your sweet side and your dick side, and having fun at my expense,” you snapped, jabbing the elevator button with increasing impatience, your words punctuated by each press.

You were expecting another joke, but Viktor’s hands gripped your waist firmly, twisting you around. Your breath caught as he pulled you flush against him, the heat of his body sharp against the cold you’d carried in from outside.

“Shut up,” he breathed, his voice raw and ragged as his lips found yours. The kiss was unsteady, heated, and messy, tasting faintly of sweet beer and a frustration that mirrored your own. He panted into your mouth, his lips parting just enough to nip at yours.

“Just… shut up, for once,” he murmured, crowding you against the elevator door. It slid open behind you with a soft chime, and you stumbled inside, Viktor’s cane clattering to the floor as he steadied you against the wall. He pulled your turtleneck down to lick your neck greedily over the bite mark he had left there. His hands quickly found their way under your sweater, and he gasped, bemused by your lack of underwear. “No bra?” Again. A low chuckle rumbled against your skin. “Is that your idea of a Christmas present?”

“Fuck off,” you scoffed, your voice still sharp with lingering anger. Your hands pressed against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but the lack of real force and your hands still gripping his coat tightly betrayed you.

“Are you sure?” Viktor smirked, his grip firm as he tilted your chin up, pressing a lingering, deceptively sweet kiss to your lips. “This is your floor,” he said, his voice agonizingly calm as he stepped back, gesturing toward the elevator doors sliding open.

“Or…” His tone shifted, almost teasing, as he pressed the button to close the doors and send them up to his floor instead. “You could come with me. For real, this time.”

You pulled him wordlessly toward you, offering no resistance—nothing more, nothing less. Words had failed you, but your actions were clear. It was enough. Viktor wanted to say, That’s what I thought, the words teasing the edge of his tongue, but he held them back. Instead, he captured your lips again, kissing frantically. He explored your mouth, swallowing the small sounds you made, the elevator a blur as it carried you upward.

By the time you reached his room, Viktor managed to open the door without breaking the kiss, his cane hanging hooked over his arm. You stumbled inside together, the heat between you growing unbearable, and he pressed you firmly against the door, his hands bracing your hips as his lips moved over yours with unrelenting zeal. You pulled him closer, your breath catching as you managed to rasp, “Bed?”

Viktor chuckled softly against your lips; his tone laced with teasing. “Impatient, are we?” But there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze, the way his hands tightened on your hips as he broke the kiss just long enough to guide you further into the room.

“Fuck you,” you muttered, your voice raw as your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him with you.

“Yes. Please, fuck me,” Viktor murmured, sweeping you into another fervent kiss as you stumbled toward the bed. “I’m so tired of you not fucking me.”

You scoffed into his mouth. And who is to blame for that? You sunk into the mattress, pulling Viktor with you by his belt, the cane poking your leg.

“Why are you wearing so many clothes?” he whined, his voice laced with frustration as his clumsy hands fumbled with your coat. His hasty movements betrayed him, and in the rush, his knee accidentally pressed against your arm.

“Ow!” you winced, your sharp tone softening as you glanced at his face. The irritation melted away when you saw the unabashed eagerness in his expression, the way his brow furrowed in determination despite his lack of grace. “Is this going to be painful?” you asked, your lips quirking in a faint, teasing smile, though your voice still held a trace of genuine concern.

Viktor froze, blinking down at you like a scolded child. “Only if you want it to be,” he muttered, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back to regroup. His fingers moved more carefully now, peeling the coat off from underneath you with exaggerated precision. “Better?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Viktor granted you a low chuckle, his lips quirking in that familiar, lopsided smirk. “Ridiculous, perhaps, but effective,” he murmured as he continued with his careful work, peeling away the layers of your clothing like unwrapping a particularly stubborn present.

His own clothes, however, didn’t receive the same treatment. He shed them with reckless abandon, tossing each piece into an ever-growing messy pile near the bed, his leg brace a crown on top of it. His cane clattered softly to the floor as he leaned back for balance, the faintest flush spreading across his cheeks.

Once you were both were bare, he ran his palms gently along your sides and pressed his face to your hip, your belly, your neck, inhaling your skin. “God, you are so infuriating,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your body.

He glued himself to you, his hands roaming wherever they could reach, as if this were the moment he’d been waiting to happen for the longest time. And it was, of course. The decision to toss everything aside and just jump in might have been reckless, but he had no capacity to decide otherwise.

“Infuriating?” you laughed, feigning offense. “Is that the way you treat all of your conquests? Make them follow you around by the nose for months, until your resolve finally breaks after one pint?”

“No, only you,” he replied smoothly, his lips brushing against your collarbone. He added with a sly smirk, “It’s my love language with you.”

“Love?” you repeated, voice laced with teasing incredulity, but the hesitation in your tone betrayed how the word caught you off guard.

“Shut up,” Viktor muttered, his hand gliding up your side as he kissed you, silencing your laughter before you could push further. “Attraction,” he murmured against your neck, his lips pressing a lingering kiss there. “Want,” he added, his teeth grazing your breast, earning a sharp gasp from your mouth. “Admiration,” he said, coming back up to meet your eyes and give you a slow, steady kiss. He took your fingers into his mouth and watched your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting.

His voice dipped lower, teasing, and dangerous. “Anyway, is that not what we have been doing?” His hands explored the meat of your ass with a firm grip, his touch both intoxicating and commanding as he pressed himself flush against your core. He shifted against you with a kind of intimacy that had your breath hitching.

“Have you not been loving me all this time?” His words, soft and taunting, carried a heat that matched the tension thrumming between you. His hand moved down between your thighs to scoop your wetness and lick it off his fingers, as he made sure you were watching. “Ah, it seems,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, “you’ve been loving me back all along.”

You trembled under him, your breath catching as your hands gripped his shoulders. A quiet plea escaped your lips, barely audible but filled with vulnerability. “Don’t be mean, Viktor.”

For a moment, he stilled, his expression softening as he pulled back to look at you. His golden eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, held a flicker of something warmer, deeper. “Mean?” he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “No. Not with you.”

The teasing edge in his voice melted away as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, slow and deliberate, as though trying to convey what words couldn’t. He was so bad at talking if you thought he was being mean. His hands cradled your face, and his next words came as a low promise against your skin. “I could never be mean to you.”

You huffed softly, a half-laugh escaping you as memories of all the times he’d actually been mean flitted through your mind. “Liar,” you muttered against his lips, though there was no venom in your tone. Instead, you kissed him back longingly, your fingers threading into his hair as your thighs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer.

Viktor exhaled a shaky breath, his control fraying under your touch. “Perhaps,” he admitted with a faint, self-deprecating smile, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. “But you give as good as you get, don’t you?” he said playfully, reaching over to pull a condom out of his bedside drawer and put it on swiftly. Then, he grabbed a spare pillow to prop his leg. His belly was tied into a knot, teetering on the edge between pain and pleasure, as he placed one hand between where your bodies were going to meet to align himself at the entrance.

He studied your face, as if to check if there was any resistance left. But you only looked at him with wide eyes, your hands fisting the bed sheet. He swept through his body in a final calculation of what could go wrong—he wasn’t drunk, that was a good start. His leg, eh, not perfect, but he should be able to pull this off. Did he want to love you or tease you? He had forgotten which one it was. A shuddery breath escaped him when your bodies finally connected—he entered you slowly, holding back to lay on top of you.

The first thrust was so deliberate, so slow, so overwhelming that you both moaned into each other's mouths. Your brows tied themselves together, your palms stiff in hesitation over his shoulders, as the feeling of relief surged through you. A relief of finally not being empty.

The only movement Viktor allowed himself was the roll of his hips as he sunk inside you, beat after beat. His arms caged you in, one of his hands gripping your shoulder, the other cradling the base of your skull, as he kept your faces close so he could study you, watch you. He stared at you obscenely, taking in your expressions, disbelief wrenching breath out of his lungs. You really wanted him. You were holding him in a vacuous trap, making it hard to pull out and push back in.

And this wasn’t new. People wanted him, he knew that. They wanted him for this—for a fun fuck—and when they continued to want him afterward, it felt like a fluke. So he shut it down. And it made him feel powerful. No, it made him feel weak. It made his weakness powerful. It gave him the power to disappear from it, from himself, to not be present.

The fact that he was present now, attentive, was rather new for him. Not entirely—he’d had a glimpse of what it could be that night when you were high together, but he hadn’t dared breach the boundary of clothing then. This, though, was entirely different. He watched you so carefully, studying every reaction to his touch. He pushed where you gasped and retreated where you winced. Your kisses were as hungry as his, and it made him feel so full. The fuck was more than fun. It made him feel powerful in a way that didn’t make him feel weak.

He tightened his grip, his forehead resting on yours as he buried himself deep inside, thrust after thrust. His mouth open against you, breathing in every gasp, every whimper you were willing to give him. His pace was even, unwavering, as he murmured against your lips, “You’ve been giving me so much grief.”

He locked eyes with you, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze as he added, “But it really feels like you’ve been loving me back. Haven’t you?” His voice was soft, as though waiting for you to answer not just with words, but with the quiet truth in your eyes.

You slid your fingers into his hair, pulling him in for another desperate kiss, and Viktor caught a faint, barely audible ‘yes,’ offered to drown deep in his throat, traveling straight to his heart, as if you were offering him a secret you hadn’t meant to give away. The sound stirred something deep within him, and as you arched against him, your breath catching, he deepened the kiss and quickened his pace. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, murmuring quiet praises, each word filled with reverence as you moved together toward completion.

He slid one hand to the nape of your neck, another snaked itself between your bodies, his fingers parting you as he whispered softly, “Oh, my girl.” Your eyes fluttered shut, arms wrapping around his shoulders and you muffled your own moan against his mouth, lips and noses brushing against each other. He rubbed lazy circles on your clit, a smile blooming on his face when he felt your back arching beneath him, hips pressing upward to meet his, your cunt clenching around his cock in a tight, needy hug.

He felt your thighs squeezing his hips, your walls fluttering, pulling him deeper inside you, with you. You dug your nails into his shoulders, lips parted pressed against his, foreheads pressed together mingling droplets of sweat into one.

You felt a sudden urge to say, “Thank you,” distorted by a loud moan as you came on his cock, on his fingers, your body tensing up and bending to the sound of his name falling from her lips. It took a long time, and you thought it would never stop, your climax blinding, contorting your body around him with a force to bend and crush.

Viktor’s mind got invaded by a thought of how great it felt to make a girl such as yourself lose control over her own muscles. How it had made him grow taller and bigger, his heart swollen with your grace, his lips bruised from your teeth. Slowly, he worked you through each spasm, and when you were ready, he retreated his hand to wrap both arms around you and buried his face in your neck. His breathing jagged, teeth sinking into your shoulder to not say too much at the sudden tightness around his cock.

His rhythm began to stutter, movements growing urgent by the minute as he buried himself within you up to the hilt. His breath was uneven, his muscles flexing and twisting. He felt your core hugging his cock so tight, he couldn’t hold back his own panting, as if he were a teenager all over again. He moved his face to brush against yours, whispered your name again, voice trembling, and he came with one thick, everlasting pang, whimpering weakly into your mouth.

His body melted into yours with a long, contented sigh, his arms wrapped tightly around you, stomachs and chests pressed, rising and falling together. You stayed like that in silence for a few moments, not moving, just touching, just breathing, just being.

Finally, Viktor rolled you both to the side, his leg hooked over your hip, fingers threading through your hair, and gave you an almost solemn look.

“What is this face?” you asked softly, cupping his cheek and brushing your thumb across his lip.

He sucked on it slowly, not breaking eye contact. “I never thought you would be so…” His voice trailed off for a moment, and just as you braced yourself for another joke, he finished, “wonderful.”

You managed only to whisper a quiet “Viktor—,” your grip tightening around him as the weight of this little praise crushed you. As his eyes crushed you, his warmth crushed you, as you crushed yourself with everything you wanted to say but couldn’t.

Viktor pulled back just a few inches, his gaze searching yours. “Are you going away for Christmas tomorrow?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tentative. Normal.

You nodded slowly, your fingers still tangled in his hair as you answered, “Yeah.”

“Will you stay?” Please, stay. Please don’t have me wake up alone tomorrow. A weakness crept back in.

You nodded against his neck. A quiet breath escaped Viktor’s lips as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, pulling you back against him. He sighed softly, the sound almost like a weight lifting. He didn’t speak for a few moments, just holding you as if afraid you might disappear if he let go.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice quieter now. “I have no idea how I’m going to explain my absence to Sue though.”

Viktor’s lips curled into a playful smirk, and he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, his voice teasing. “I’ll just tell her you got really into the holiday spirit and had to spend the night with your favourite TA.”

You chuckled softly, the tension between you easing just a little. “I’m sure she’ll believe that,” you replied, though the words felt lighter now, softer.

Viktor’s expression shifted to one of mock seriousness as he pulled you a little closer. “But tomorrow, when the morning comes,” he said, his voice lowering slightly, “I’ll have to call it in. You caught me drunk, used me for your advantage,” he paused, his eyes glinting with mischief, “and I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”

You let out a small laugh, your face flushing slightly at the absurdity of the situation. “Selling me out already, I see how this will go,” you said, teasing him back. “I’m sure you won’t mind telling them how you practically begged me to stay the night and cuddle you.”

Viktor smiled, but his eyes softened. “I won’t,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple again, holding you in the quiet aftermath. The moment felt almost unreal—so intimate, so fragile—and yet, there you were. He wouldn’t dare break it by asking for more. And even though Viktor’s chest was still swollen with fear, his mind drifted to sleep in your arms.

Your own mind, however, was restless. As the high of your connection faded, you woke up early, your thoughts gnawing at you. Viktor was fast asleep, his expression so peaceful that you couldn’t believe he had a bad bone in his body. Yet, you had been stabbed so many times. It wasn’t real, was it? It couldn’t be over, just like that. What if he was right, and you weren’t meant to share the awkwardness of the morning? What if he tried to shrug it off once he woke up? Would you survive if he did?

No. You wouldn’t.

Cursing yourself, you slid out of bed, put your clothes back on, and gave Viktor, who was sleeping soundly, one last glance that tore through your soul. And left.

***

The morning light crept through the gaps in the blinds, painting pale stripes across the sheets. Viktor stirred, his body heavy and warm, though there was an odd hollowness in the bed. He reached out instinctively, the fog of sleep not yet cleared, his fingers brushing against nothing but the cold fabric of the mattress. His eyes blinked open.

The room was silent.

He sat up slowly, scanning the space, the sense of emptiness clawing at him as the realisation began to take shape. You were gone.

The sheets beside him were rumpled, but the space was cold, long abandoned. For a moment, he stared at the spot you’d occupied, trying to convince himself you might still be here. Perhaps you were in the bathroom, or in his tiny kitchen searching for tea—but no sound of movement met his ears.

A chill crept through his chest, spreading outwards, a tight knot forming in his stomach. You left.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his movements clumsy, hurried, his leg straining without the brace. There had to be something—a note, a message, anything that might explain. The bedside table was empty. The dresser? Nothing. Viktor opened a drawer, then another, rifling through with increasing desperation, though he knew even as he searched how ridiculous it was. You wouldn’t leave a note in a drawer.

His gaze snapped to his phone. He lunged for it, unlocking the screen with trembling fingers. Nothing. No missed calls. No texts.

He stood there in the middle of the room, staring at the empty screen. His chest tightened, his breaths coming faster, each one shallower than the last. Of course.

What had he been thinking? That after all his fumbling, after all his glaring flaws, you would stay? That someone like you, bright and untamed, would want someone like him—a man who could barely navigate his own feelings without tripping over them?

Right. His fingers clenched around the phone, the pressure digging into his palm. How stupid. How painfully, pathetically stupid. How weak.

He sank back onto the bed, his head in his hands. The weight of the silence pressed down on him. Every echo in the room seemed to mock him. The bed felt too big now, the walls closing in too fast. His mind replayed your smile, your laugh, the warmth in your eyes last night, and it made his chest ache. How could you think you’d earned something like this?

And yet, beneath the sinking despair, anger simmered. At himself. At you. At the cruel absurdity of it all. You’d kissed him, held him, and for a brief moment, he’d thought you were standing on equal ground. But the truth was stark now, laid bare in her absence: you’d left. Or maybe that was an equal ground, after all. Now, you were truly even.

A sharp knock at the door jolted him from his spiralling thoughts. He didn’t answer immediately, hoping whoever it was would go away, but the knock came again, louder this time.

“Viktor?” Jayce’s familiar voice called from the other side. “You ready? We’ve got to leave in half an hour, mate.”

Viktor swallowed hard; his throat dry. His hands slowly dropped from his face as he stared at the door. Jayce’s voice was too cheerful, too ordinary, too far removed from the storm brewing inside him. He wanted to shout at him, to tell him to go away, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I’ll be ready,” he croaked after a pause, his voice hoarse and thin.

There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment, then the sound of Jayce’s footsteps retreating down the hall. Viktor exhaled shakily, his gaze drifting back to the rumpled sheets beside him. Forcing himself to move, he stood and began to gather his things. Each motion felt mechanical, hollow. The knot in his chest didn’t loosen, but he pushed it down, swallowing it whole. It was almost Christmas. He had to pretend. At least for a little while longer.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hihi, love your writing. Just sending over a request for a male reader (could be ftm if you'd life) with Hobie Brown? So basically the reader is apart of the organisation too and is a spiderman (could be possibly like a rock and/or punk based spiderman, or something completely opposite it's up to you) and it's how he had met Hobie and how they got close? I can send more details over if you'd like, thanks!

Hobie Brown x Male reader

Headcanons

I couldnt find any gifs of hobie yet, so just have this one.

Spoilers for Across the Spiderverse I guess? Reader is a Juggalo because I like ICP lmao.

You were one of the Spidermen that stood out somewhat amongst every other spiderperson around. You suit was white and black and had Juggalo features painted on the face. You wore a baggy ICP t-shirt and black shorts, maybe even a jacket or battle vest covered in patches. You wore a pair of heavy boots as well, perfect for kicking ass.

Along with that you didn’t respect the machine, aka the people in charge, as much as everyone else. You liked fighting and busting fascist and racist heads, you didn’t get involved with cops, and you were stubborn like a mule. This resulted in Miguel hating you because you were so difficult, but you were one of the best, so he kept you around.

You really liked fighting, which could be seen in the claws you added to your gloves, the brass knuckles worked into your suit, or the hard covering on your knees perfect for kneeing people in the chin. Those were only the visible ones, but you had many other hidden gizmos. This made you a bit of an outcast amongst the spiderpeople, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care about anyone’s approval but your own.

When Hobie joined the organization, it had been for Gwen’s sake in the beginning, since he himself doesn’t care much for large organizations with one leader who makes all the decisions. He puts up with it though, since its his duty to be spiderman.

Color him intrigued when one day he, Gwen and Jessica are called to Miguel’s area. When they arrive, they first see Miguel pacing back and forth rubbing his temples in clear annoyance, and second, they see a spiderman perched on the wall with little respect in his posture, roasting Miguel from head to toe.

Hobie already liked you from just that, but when you jump down to introduce yourself and he sees the anti-capitalism and anti-cop patches on your jacket? He might have fallen in love.

You, Gwen and Hobie were sent on a mission together, and you and Hobie got along like a house on fire. Gwen joked about being a third wheel the entire time, but she was just entertained about how well you two got along.

Outside of missions Hobie and you hang out most of the time, jumping into each other’s dimensions and just spending time at the others place. Hobies place is as punk rock as you can imagine, with all his instruments and an organized mess going on.

Your place is more what you’d imagine from someone who listens to rap, hiphop and ICP. You got a lot of music, casettes, cds, anything you can imagine. Lotsa posters or homemade merch stapled to the wall, etc.

When Hobie and Gwen make their band, you are invited of course, you are the singer. You can rap up a storm and speak so fast its hard for them to keep up some days. Hobie won’t admit it for a while, but hearing you spit bars makes his heart flutter.

Gwen would tease the both of you for having a crush on the other, which you both deny, because you are both cool and having crushes isn’t cool.

Gwen jokes about you two being boyfriends after you accidentally wear each other’s vest after spending the night at Hobies’ place. You both just roll your eyes at her and roast her with no actual heat, just doing it how friends would do it.

You both start dating at some point, neither of you can pinpoint when. One day you two just find yourselves cuddling on your rundown patched up couch without your masks on, cuddling and kissing.

Neither of you ever actually ask if you are boyfriends now or not, because you both know you are. It takes a while for Gwen and Pavitr a while to realize you two are together, since you don’t actually act any different.

Its only when they see you pull up his mask and your own to kiss him before going on a mission that it clicks for the both of them. They both whine that neither of you actually told them you were together.

When the movie happens you peace out the same moment as Hobie, having stolen your own tech so you two can keep visiting each other even if you aren’t part of the organization anymore.

Neither of you were ever big parts of being part of it anyways and only stayed for each other and for your friends, but seeing how Miguel deals with the whole Miles situation, you agree you need to leave.

You work together to make the watch for Gwen so she can save Miles. You two might join her too if needed, especially you, because you will take any chance to knock Miguel on his ass, maybe knock out those cheesy fangs of his.

Like I said, you hate authority. And since Miguel is authority, you hate him. Hobie follows after you because hes whipped and loves you deeply, plus he knows you can get kinda careless at times, so he has to pull you outta trouble if he needs.

You are both so grossly whipped for each other, it makes Gwen and Pavitr gag, though its fake gagging. You share clothes, instruments. You do his eyeliner and paint his nails, he does your Juggalo face paint. He always makes sure to give you a big kiss, which just wipes the paint onto his lips too.

[lovebunnie]

Viktor did not know the first time he wanted to kiss Jayce.

It was hard to keep track of all the moments because of just how many there were. Jayce was a very easy person to want to kiss, with his handsome looks and incredible mind, paired with a strong work ethic and kind heart. Viktor suspected almost everyone Jayce met in his life had wanted to kiss him atleast once.

Jayce did not seem too interested in this fact, based on the amount of time he spent in the lab right next to Viktor. Their partnership did not allow for many relationships outside of a scientific purpose; it just so happened that Viktor really liked Jayce not only as a partner but also in general, just as a person.

So really, there were far too many times to count where he felt compelled to grasp his face in his hands and press their lips together. Some nights, Viktor would imagine Jayce running into the lab with great news of a secured deal or more grant money and just plant one right on his lips without thinking, before dashing to his desk while still chirping and leaving Viktor gasping.

He thought of a scenario where he found himself in the forge one night, just the two of them in the entire building, and like something out of a trashy novel, a shirtless and sweaty Jayce would pull him in by his hips and kiss him slowly and sensually before the rest of the daydream turned into something... else.

Once Viktor and Jayce were in the midst of a heated argument about how to conduct an experiment with or without proper precautions in place, and Jayce stood up and walked towards Viktor. He thought in that moment that Jayce was going to find a less conventional way of shutting him up and before he could articulate if that would've worked or pissed him off even further, Jayce had walked out the door. The next day he came back with an apology and they moved on stronger than before.

Viktor was almost embarrassed by how badly he wanted to kiss Jayce. He thought of how much he wanted to know just how Jayce would kiss, he wanted to see that side of Jayce and keep it all to himself. Viktor had Jayce in the lab but he wanted more.

When it happened, VIktor and Jayce were on long night number six. Days had passed since either of them had left the lab longer than it took to take a shower and brush their teeth. They could feel the edges of discovery brushing their fingertips, so close to a revelation.

"Only Piltovians would get bored of the ability for humans to fly," Viktor murmured as he adjusted a screw on the bottom of their anti-gravity contraption. "Why they needed something portable is beyond me."

"Now is kind of a bad time to start complaining, V," Jayce replied as he worked on finalizing the welding components. "This is going to work this time, it has to work-"

"It will work," Viktor emphasized. "And if it doesn't, we try again."

"If it doesn't I'm cracking open that bottle of wine I know you keep-"

Suddenly, the room was flooded with vibrant blue that had the both of them scrambling backwards. While before, the hexcrystals made the entire room weightless, now everything remained as it was with only Viktor's wrench floating in the middle, suspended in mid air. It was flying. It worked.

Jayce picked himself off the ground where he has fallen back and pushed his goggle up to his forehead. "Holy shit, V, it worked!"

Viktor removed his goggles as well, mesmerized by the suspension of an object isolated within their own chamber. The blue of the hexcrystal had died down and left the room in a cool glow, and Viktor felt a smile tug at his lips. "This is.. incredible."

"Oh my god, it actually finally worked. I need to write down everything we did, what kind of screws did you use? What is the temperature of the room, what runes did we use?"

As Jayce rambled on, Viktor stood up and took in his frantic energy. His hands were moving quickly and his eyes were searching for his notebook while he paced the room like he couldn't sit down. His hair was disheveled from the times he ran his hand through it in frustration and his eye bags were getting more and more pronounced. His face was leaner and exhaustion draped over him like a blanket. Objectively, Jayce looked kind of like shit.

Viktor felt a spark in his chest, he couldn't look away.

When Jayce made his way back in front of Viktor, he smiled warmly. "This is such a huge relief, I was really starting to get concerned that we were going to have to completely start over, but now we can start with trials and-"

As Jayce spoke, the spark grew and grew until Viktor could ignore it no longer. He pulled Jayce down mid sentence and pressed his lips to his, locking them together.

Viktor's hands cradled the sides of Jayce's face, keeping him in place while Viktor pressed his lips harder and tilted his head ever so slightly. It felt right, for the first time in a long time. Viktor was used to not feeling included but in this moment it felt like it was meant to happen. Their kiss was always going to happen in the wake of discovery, how could it not?

A few seconds passed before Viktor gently pushed Jayce back, their breaths shared in the close space. Jayce was silent, and Viktor began to quietly worry that maybe Jayce did not feel like this moment was perfect to him. The thought devastated him; there would be nothing crueler than losing Jayce as a friend.

Viktor took a step back as he looked away. "I'll get started on those trials, we can start with the screws to see if-"

In that moment, Jayce reached out and pulled Viktor back towards him, connecting their lips again in a kiss. One hand made its way to the nape of Viktor's neck while the other held his jaw gently. This second kiss was dynamic and Viktor found himself getting lost in the motions. In all the day dreams he had, he never thought to imagine that Jayce would want to kiss him back this badly, this fervent need to claim his mouth. Their partnership truly knew no bounds.

Before things could get more heated, they broke apart once more and Jayce pressed his forehead to Viktor's with a gentle laugh. "I've been wanting to do that for so long."

"What a coincidence," Viktor purred as he tugged Jayce in again. "So have I."

[the-mortuary-witch]

SATAN

WHO IS HE?

In the Middle Ages, Satan played a minimal role in christian theology and was used as a comic relief figure in mystery plays. During the early modern period, Satan's significance greatly increased as beliefs such as demonic possession and witchcraft became more prevalent. 

Although Satan is generally viewed as evil, some groups have very different beliefs. In theistic Satanism, Satan is considered a deity who is either worshipped or revered. In atheistic Satanism, Satan is a symbol of virtuous characteristics and liberty. 

BASIC INFO: 

Appearance: Satan's appearance is never described in the bible, but, since the ninth century, he has often been shown in christian art with horns, cloven hooves, unusually hairy legs, and a tail, often naked and holding a pitchfork. These are an amalgam of traits derived from various pagan deities, including Pan, Poseidon, and Bes. 

Personality: he is known to be cunning, straight forward, and strict. He is not seen as a malevolent force, but rather as an entity who challenges individuals to  overcome challenges and fears.

Symbols: pentagram, wings, fire, goat’s head, and upside down cross

Entity of: temptation, hell, misfortune, and hard ship

Culture: Demonic

Plants and trees: deadly nightshade, wolfsbane, holly, pothos, datura, blackberry, nettle, briar rose, apple tree, thistle, and poisonous plants in general 

Crystals: ruby, black obsidian, red jasper, black tourmaline, smoky quartz, and amethyst

Animals: black animals in general, serpent, bats, dragon, goat, black cats, ravens, crows, spiders, wolves, and vultures

Incense: dragon’s blood, apple, copal, and myrrh

Practices: shadow work, passion and desire magick, protection, setting boundaries, and death magick

Colours: red and black

Numbers: 6 and 1

Zodiacs: Taurus and Libra

Tarot: The Devil

Planet: Venus

Days: Friday, Devil’s Night, and Lupercalia

Parent: N/A

Siblings: N/A

Partner: Lilith (not confirmed)

Children: N/A

MISC:

Goats: the association between Satan and goats has deep roots in mythology and religious symbolism. The image of a goat-like being with horns and hooves has been used for millennia to represent power, sexuality, and the wild or untamed aspects of nature.

Pentagram: in Western occult and mystical traditions, the pentagram can be associated with Satan due to its connection with the material and the earthly, as well as its association with the forces of darkness and chaos. In some traditions, the downward-pointing pentagram – also known as the "upside-down" or "inverted" pentagram – has been used as a symbol of anti-religious or Satanic beliefs. It's important to note, however, that interpretations of the pentagram's meaning can vary and there is no one definitive "Satanic" interpretation of this symbol.

Wings: Satan is often depicted as a fallen angel who was cast out of heaven for his rebellion against god. In many depictions, Satan is represented with wings as a symbol of his former status as an angel, or alternatively a mark of his fall from grace. Satan's portrayal with wings can be seen as a visual representation of his freedom, his ability to soar above the constraints of mortal life, and his role as a symbol of rebellion and opposition to religious authority.

Fire: in the context of Satan, fire is often associated with destruction, chaos, and the dark side of human nature. The image of Satan as a being surrounded by flames or depicted as a fiery being can symbolize both his destructive potential and his role as a symbol of defiance and rebellion.

Serpent: the association of Satan with the serpent comes from the story of the Garden of Eden in the book of Genesis. In this story, the serpent tempts Eve to eat the forbidden fruit, leading to Adam and Eve's fall from grace and god's subsequent expulsion from the garden. The serpent in this story is often identified as Satan, or a representative of Satan, and the serpent has become a powerful symbol of temptation, cunning, and deception. It represents Satan's power of temptation and his role as a tempter of humanity.

FACTS ABOUT SATAN:

Many theistic Satanist’s view Lord Satan as a fatherly figure or brotherly figure.

Satan represents pride, liberty, and individualism.

He is often depicted as the embodiment of rebellion, defiance, and opposition to authority.

In some traditions, Satan is associated with the concept of the carnal or sensuous, representing the earthly pleasures of the body and the physical realm.

Satan is sometimes portrayed as a figure of chaos and destruction, but also seen as a liberator and a symbol of individual freedom.

He is often associated with the number 666.

HOW TO INVOKE SATAN:

Invoking Satan or any deity or spirit is a personal and often private spiritual practice. There is no one "right" way to invoke Satan, but here is a basic method you can begin by cleansing and consecrating a sacred space. You can do this using sage, salt, or other purifying methods. Set up an altar for the invocation, and place symbols of Satan on it. This could include black candles, pentagrams, serpent imagery, etc.

Prepare an invocation or prayer that you can use to call upon Satan. You can find examples online or create your own. Light the black candles and the incense and begin to recite the invocation.

PRAYER FOR SATAN:

Hail Lord Satan, Lord of the Underworld, I call upon thee in this hour.

Please come to me and be present in this place.

I honour your strength, power, and wisdom.

Guide me on the path of knowledge and darkness.

Grant me your blessings and protection, and help me achieve my goals.

Hail Lord Satan, Lord of darkness and light, ruler of the night.

I welcome you into this space, and I am forever your disciple. Hail Lord Satan.

SIGNS THAT SATAN IS CALLING YOU:

A sudden increase in synchronicities or unusual coincidences related to occult or dark themes

Repeated dreams or visions involving Satanic symbols or figures

Being drawn to occult, pagan, or Satanic practices and beliefs

Feeling of power or energy coursing through your body that seems to come from an external source

An urge to explore forbidden or taboo subjects

A sense of being "chosen" or "special" and having a unique spiritual path.

Feeling a connection to nature, animals, and the natural world, as well as a distaste for artificiality or mainstream culture.

Having a deep interest in the darker aspects of life, such as death, suffering, and the mysteries of the universe.

Experiencing a powerful attraction to dark, gothic, or rebellious aesthetics

Observing sudden changes in behaviour, such as increased energy and confidence.

OFFERINGS:

Chocolate.

Red wine.

Whiskey.

Animal bones.

Poetry.

Black roses.

Incense.

Black tea.

Music.

Drawings and painting of him.

Imagery of animals he is associated with: goats, serpents, dragons, etc.

Cinnamon.

Blackberries.

Grapes.

Coffee beans.

Pentagrams.

Liquor.

Black or red candles.

DEVOTIONAL ACTS:

Taking time for yourself, such as self care.

Meditating on his energy.

Practicing yoga or other physical disciplines to cultivate focus and strength.

Reading or studying texts related to Satanism or the occult.

Listening to dark or heavy music to invoke a certain atmosphere.

Keeping a spiritual journal to document experiences and insights.

Practicing solitary rituals or ceremonies to strengthen your connection with him.

Creating and maintaining a private altar for Satan, with appropriate symbols and offerings.

Performing candle magick or other spells to invoke Satan's presence and influence.

Participating in online communities or in-person groups of Satanists or occult practitioners.

Visiting places of dark or forbidden beauty, like graveyards, forests, or caves.

Exploring symbolism associated with Satan, such as the pentagram, the black goat, or the serpent.

Practicing divination techniques, such as tarot or scrying, to gain insight from Satan.

Studying the writings or teachings of influential Satanists such as Anton Szandor LaVey.

[rebelliousstories]

Love Me Cancerously

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Dark Themes, Mentions of Killing, Death, and Poison

Word Count: 1,449

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Part One: Love Me Dead

Summary: According to FBI statistics, the chances of two serial killers meeting is just about, in all intents and purposes, impossible. No reason that has been brought up.

Ever since that fateful night in New Orleans, Remy LeBeau was a bit embarrassed to admit that he was absolutely star struck by the woman he had met. That was not an easy thing to do either. He had been around, met hundreds of men and women. And yet, none managed to capture his attention like her.

Every night he was prowling the streets for his next victim, he was thinking about her. Every body he dropped, all he could think of was where she wanted to go for their dinner date the next evening. Gambit snagged a ring off of the body of some woman that was a proud anti-mutant activist, watching as it glittered in the light. She would like this. It matched her style.

“Remy!” Her cheerful tone broke him from his thoughts. Pushing off of the wall that he had been resting on, the man caught her with sturdy arms that picked her up and spun her around. Gambit was rewarded with her smile and laughter before he set her down.

“My, my, my, chere. You look even more beautiful each and every day. Da Gambit don’ know how he got so lucky,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her awaiting lips. Cherry flavoring transferred to his lips as they parted, that he happily licked off of his lips.

“You’re partial, Remy. Now, where are we going tonight? You promised good food and dancing.” The couple took off down the road towards Bourbon Street. It was a cheesy place to go, but they still had some of the best nightlife anywhere in the world.

“You jus’ gon’ have t’ wait ‘n see, petite.” His finger booped her nose before slinging that arm around her waist as they walked.

The small talk they made along the way was passing the time, but making it very difficult for Remy to focus on getting them to their destination. All he wanted to do was to take her to the nearest alleyway and kiss her senseless. But he did promise a fun night. His appetite could wait for a little while.

Although, when they finally got to the lounge, his mood drastically shifted. A man that he had his eyes on was with a lady near the entrance. This lady, girl really, looked too young to be there in that part of town at that time of night. She held her face and spine straight, but there was an inklings of fear hidden underneath her mask. Just when he wanted to enjoy his night out with his lady, of course, something had to come along and ruin it.

Gambit kept his eyes sharp the entire time they were inside. When he got their drinks, his hand rested on her lower back, but his gaze followed the man he had already deemed his next target. If she noticed, she did not call attention to it. Frankly, Remy did not whether or not this made him upset. Did she just not care enough to notice his distant nature? Or is she just being kind and hoping he pulls himself out of the funk he had found himself in?

Either way, Remy still found himself taking his moment of solitude to slip away. He would be back in time so that she did not think he had ditched her. But he needed to get this man off of the streets while he could. So while his date was in the bathroom, Gambit made his way to the exit door nearby to step back out into the shadows he played so well with. However, what he saw out there was not what he had expected.

His lady was pressed against a wall with that anti-mutant piece of-

Did that body just fall?

Now, Remy was confused far more than he was angry about seeing her in a passionate lip lock with the man. As he looked towards the fallen sack of bones, his feet carried him closer to the scene. She squeaked when footsteps tore her from her stupor.

“Remy,” came a breathy plea. What she was pleading for, no one quite knew exactly. “Please, it’s not what it looks like. I promise.”

But he said nothing. Once he was over the body, he saw the protruding veins of his former target extending from his lips. Bloodshot eyes and a sickly pallor overcame him in his still, eternal rest.

“Chere, you are somethin’ else.” Gambit stood once more, and locked upon the woman who was terrified as to what was going to happen now. “Oh, how I have longed for someone like you all my life.”

It was her turn to be confused. A cute tilt to her head enhanced the doe eyed gaze on her face. Her lips, no longer coated in that cherry lipgloss that he loved, were being worked between her teeth anxiously. She was so dumbfounded by his reaction to her actions, that she only could muster a quiet, “huh?”

“Mon petite, you have just made me a very happy man.” His hands rested on her hips once Remy had stepped over the body. When he tried to kiss her though, she gently pushed him away as she turned her head.

“I have to clean my lips before you can kiss me.”

“Well, dat is definitely somethin’ da Gambit can help with,” he said with a smirk.

“No, no. Not because of that. The tropane alkaloids I produce will kill you if I kiss you. Please, just… trust me.” Her explanation caused Remy to pause long enough that she could at least wipe her lips with a napkin from her pocket. The couple stood there once more, this time, in silence. But she was still looking towards the entrance of the alleyway, almost like she was wanting to escape the situation.

“Will you tell me somethin’, chere,” her eyes peered into his from beneath her lashes, “why’d ya kill him?”

There was a full couple of minutes before she decided to speak. And when she did, it was a nearly unintelligible whisper.

“I was afraid to go to school when I was young because of people like him. Never knew which normal person was going to be okay with me, or who was going to make my life a living hell. Besides, that girl he had was just fifteen. She’s on her way back home in a cop car right now.”

“I really wanna kiss ya right now, mon amour.” His smile was so broad, she feared it was going to break him in half.

“You and I are far more alike than we think,” and his hand pulled a card from his pocket. Sending it up into the sky, the magenta charged playing card exploded into a beautiful display of lights and paper. Her startled squeal escaped into the air as Gambit held her close. Turning back, the mutant saw his lover’s eyes sparkle in the dim light.

“You’re like me.” Her words were full of admiration.

“Yeah. Ya know, I was gonna wait t’ give ya this. But Imma just give it to ya now.”

Remy fumbled just a bit as he tried to retrieve his present from his pocket. A small drawstring bag now rested in his hands. He opened it and fished out the small gold-banded ring that was kept safe from the bag.

“Oh, Gambit! That is so gorgeous.” She gushed as she held out her hand in acceptance of this ring. Neither did she ask him, nor did she even think about where he had gotten it. It did not matter. It was now hers.

“A beautiful jewel, for my most precious bijou.” Without getting anywhere near her lips, Remy’s hands cupped her face and pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead.

“Now, would ya like to finish our night here, or continue on t’ somethin’ else t’ do together?” The man teased, trailing a finger just over the surface of her lips without getting any poison on himself. She looked down at the dead body below, looked up at her fellow mutant boyfriend, and smirked just like him.

“I’m gonna go clean my lips and then we’ll see how much fun we can get into tonight, Gambit.”

The way that she said his name, while trailing her hand down his body to his belt, and back up his chest, before leaving to go back inside; it drove Remy LeBeau absolutely insane. Following after her, he realized just how involved he was with her now. She was going to be his partner in crime. His ride or die. They would go out together, and no one was going to take her from him.

[stealingyourbones]

Question! I have been getting into DC comics cuz of dpxdc, and I saw your tags on frank Miller on a recent post. One of my irl friends told me to read the dark knight returns and while it was occasionally hard to follow I assumed that was a result of when it was written rather than who wrote it? But I did overall enjoy it.

I guess what I'm asking is why you say frank Miller is a bad writer when it seems like the dark knight returns was so acclaimed?

(I saw the nazi thing too but that's something I can google so while it's news to me it's not my main question)

ok so. A lot of this is my personal opinion and I'm not too equipped to say shit about this because I'm not very political but I'm going to give it my best shot. Put under a cut so folks who don't want to hear about comic ranting can simply scroll past

I’m just gonna write a quick thing for the Nazi stuff, He isn't exactly a Nazi but boy oh boY does he set off many warning flags. Frank Miller is also the writer of the comic 300, if that sounds familiar that's because the movie you're probably thinking of is indeed based off these comics. The Spartan's ideology helped create the baselines of Fascism. Fascism is a pretty leading cause of commentary in Frank Millers work. In Batman: The Dark Knight he is a fascist. In Hard Boiled there's swastikas in the background every so often. (I even went back to reread it just to make sure and yep. they definitely were there) In 300 there's a shitton of Fascism... I could go on but still. His comics are incredibly gorey, have a discussion about a world gone wrong that can only be changed using force and weaponry (the whole Dark Knight "I am a surgeon" monologue for example), and the fact that he has Fascism as the main point of nearly all of the comics he's written... it doesn't sit right with me and it's a consistent pattern.

Now, onto the bad writing. I must firstly preface that these are my own opinions and that I didn't grow up reading Frank Miller's work. I think he was a good writer but isn't one anymore. His writing did incredible things for DC and you can see his influence in Batman even today. Works I've read and enjoyed of his are: Daredevil, Batman Year One, and Dark Knight. Nowadays you'll see many folks like myself talk about how Frank Miller has fallen off the deep end. A vast majority of Frank Miller's comics have reoccurring themes: politics, fascism, extreme violence, and so so much weaponry. Politics is in every comic book. There is no unpolitical comic, there ARE comics that are batshit wild with their politics and that's what I'm talking about. I'll get back to this later. He wrote many good comics, ones that first come to mind are Daredevil , Wolverine, Batman: Dark Knight, Batman: Year One, Sin City, Ronin, and 300. All of these comics are still credited by folks as amazing comics and hell, I recommend folks to read them go and check them out. Then 9/11 happened. That along with rampant alcoholism. Those reoccurring themes I mentioned? They become exponentially more blatant in his works. Especially on the political angle. You can see the difference between his works from pre and post 9/11. If you read Dark Knight and Dark Knight 2 back to back. It's night and day. He even made a comic during the post 9/11 panic called Holy Terror. The comic's title was originally pitched as Holy Terror, Batman! with the Gotham hero himself as the main character but it swiftly denied by DC, denied being published by DC, and changed to what it is now. The basic plot of this comic: A Vigilante named The Fixer fights Al-Qaeda after attacking Empire City. He doesn't even mention the word Al-Qaeda until 80 pages into a 150 page comic. The comic is some INCREDIBLY blatant post 9/11 propaganda that's ridiculously Islamophobic and anti-muslim. That isn't even my opinion, Frank Miller has said that's what this comic was. It is scattered with a ridiculous amount of hate speech written by a hate fueled man in 2007. Now onto comics that you'd more likely read. All Star Batman and Robin (2005). Oh boy. Let's compare shall we? Batman Dark Knight Returns (1986)

All Star Batman & Robin, The Boy Wonder #1 (2005)

mind you this is as Dick is being driven to GCPD for questioning RIGHT AFTER HIS PARENTS DIED. He gets kidnapped by Bruce out of the police car. Not calmed in his arms after the murder and brought to the manor. Kidnapped. All Star Batman & Robin, The Boy Wonder #2 (2005)

( a brief intermission of this sickass pose of a shirtless Alfred Pennyworth comforting Vicky Vale)

now back to the kidnapping:

[Skipping Bruce getting chased by the GCPD, Jumping the Batmobile ONTOP of a GCPD car, and laughing and talking to his car all the while Dick is absolutely terrified. They then use boosters that propel the Batmobile into the sky.]

Smashcut to #4 where they actually enter the Batcave.

I don't even think I need to explain myself. This is Spider-Man: One More Day levels of mischaracterization. Like seriously. Bruce kidnapping Dick after his parents were killed? Calling him a retard and hitting him during the aftermath (we can go on about how in 2005, the r slur was used commonly but this was just out of pocket), Leaving him in the cold batcave and told to eat rats? Frank Miller used to write some incredible works. Nowadays his writing is as decent as Rob Liefeld's art.

[todarknessitfalls]

"Do you really really really want to? I'm a psycho-psychopath!!"

Hiya!! I'm… well I go by a lot of names!!

Most commonly used ones are: - Antagonist/Antag (Mostly used online/amongst my general mutuals + followers!!) - Kris - N - Jack - Michael - Atsushi - Vic - Xavier - Any of my kin names!!

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My pronouns are it/void/gut/gore/rot/pop/he!! No They/Them or She/Her pretty please!!

I am taken x3!!! My Queerplatonic partner (and my everything) is @the-fallen-collective ( #meri jaan <3 on this blog!!) My partner is @theonlyrealdazaiosamusblog ( #my dear <3 on this blog!!)

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I fall under a bunch of alterhuman identities, ask me about them!!

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common tags used on this blog:

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My sideblog for roleplaying can be found at: @antag--roleplays

[traintrainingmontage]

Let There be Light

This is my piece for Sodor Lightshow this year! I decided to focus it on Hannukah, as I am Jewish myself (but please note that I am VERY much anti-IOF/Israeli settlers/the Israeli government) and wanted to lean into the theme of light in dark places. Please enjoy.

Summary: On Christmas Day of 1946, Skarloey is left behind as Rheneas works. However, he soon discovers that a miracle has, perhaps, still found him.

Characters: Skarloey, OC, the Thin Controller, Mr. Ivo Hugh, Rheneas

Rating: T

Word Count: ~2,800 words

(Also on Ao3!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christmas Day of 1946 saw the snow raining down in fat, heavy flakes, a far cry from the delicate snowfalls often depicted in the films and advertisements. It blanketed the rails in pristine, paper-white coverlets, soft yet deceptive in its pristine purity. Evening had fallen, the bleak blackness of the Sudrian winter all-encompassing, void-like in its reach. Not even the stars were out tonight, it seemed, the clouds too thick and quilt-like for such a delicate glow to pierce through. 

Despite the pervasive dim, however, there was still a certain brightness to be found, all across Sodor. As far as the eye could see, streetlights and lamps lit up the night, pushing back the darkness like a river of light, winding its way through Crovan’s Gate like an ephemeral twin to the Hawin Dooiey as, unimpeded by the winter weather, it continued its rush toward the sea. This picture postcard of a landscape was truly a sight to behold, especially as families dressed in their festive best made their way to church for the evening prayers, braving the snows to embrace the warmth of the soul’s salvation. It was a return to normalcy after many a difficult year, and the entirety of Crovan’s Gate—as well as the Skarloey Valley as a whole—was determined to do so.

For the Skarloey Railway’s No. 1 engine, however, a return to normalcy this was not.

“I’m sorry, Skarloey, but Rheneas will be solely responsible for pulling the Christmas train this year.” 

For a long moment, Skarloey thought that he’d misheard. He stared for several seconds at the Thin Controller, who was dressed in his best suit (an elegant navy blue) and overcoat, trying desperately to stand away from the blowing steam in his best attempt at preserving their color. Perhaps the longer Skarloey looked, the greater the possibility that the shrill creaking noise brought on by his hyperventilating might magically stop.

“Wha—what do you mean, sir?” Skarloey finally replied, trying desperately and failing miserably to keep his voice from warbling.

“I mean what I said, old boy. Ivo’s looked you over, and said that you should only be run in emergencies,” Mr. Peter Sam sighed, sharing a glance with Mr. Ivo Hugh, who was already standing at Rheneas’ footplate. The engineer looked on gravely, sorrow clouding his eyes even as his lips pressed shut in a firm, stern line. “The Christmas train is important, yes, but we can’t risk you damaging yourself in this snow.”

“But… I… Rheneas, please! Tell them that—”

But the protests died in Skarloey’s tubes at the sight of his brother, who was giving him the same sad expression as their engineer. “I’m sorry too, Skarloey, but our Controller is right. You’re already in dire condition; what if something happens to you? And if it did, what would we do about the passengers?”

“...”

Skarloey truly, deeply wished that he could come up with a retort, a rebuttal, or even a reply, but he had nothing. The resulting silence spoke for itself. 

“...Alright. I understand,” Skarloey managed at last, forcing himself to calm. “It’s for the best, really. With all this snow, it would just be an uphill climb, even downhill. Heh. I’ll just… wait here.”

“Thank you, Skarloey,” Mr. Peter Sam smiled gently, delivering a light pat to his bufferbeam. “Now, if you’re ready, Rheneas, we’d best be off. Let’s go!”

“...Right, sir,” the No. 2 engine replied somberly as Mr. Hugh eased off the brake and he began to inch forward, headlamp shining as he pushed his way forward into the storm. “I’ll be back soon, Skarloey! I promise,” Rheneas called, and his brother forced his lips to lift into a wan smile. 

“Please give everyone my best regards!” 

“I will!” With that last shout, Rheneas, bearing the last of the shed’s light with him, was soon out of sight, heading off to gather the coaches. The Thin Controller watched him go, then gave Skarloey one last pat. 

“You’re a good sport. Wait here, and we’ll be back soon. Merry Christmas.” Without another word, he quickly headed off, bustling toward the platform.

In his haste, he didn’t even hear Skarloey’s mechanical refrain.

~~~

Now alone in the shed, Skarloey had nothing to do but wait. More and more lights appeared, illusory stars dancing on the water until the ripples hurried them along. The warm golden lamplight, however, didn’t quite reach the shed, and so, the once-golden engine of the line had only the company of the long shadows carpeting the wooden walls. Outside, the storm had picked up in its intensity, howling in its triumph. Slowly, Skarloey allowed his eyelids to flutter shut, trying to push the tide of unrest at bay and perhaps indulge in a nap. 

Crunch crunch crunch. The sound of footsteps in the snow caused Skarloey’s eyes to snap open, darting all around as he struggled to pinpoint the source of the noise. Who in the world would be visiting now, at this time of night? Especially on Christmas, no less!

For a moment, his mind conjured the image of a burglar, coming to take advantage of the fact that the entire valley and a great majority of the town would be holed up in church. What could he do? He hadn’t the steam to whistle, and without his fire burning and air rushing through his tubes, his voice wouldn’t carry. His brake was securely set, meaning he had no hopes of moving anywhere either. Did he really have no recourse beyond bluffing his way through?

Steeling himself, Skarloey attempted to put on a brave face in the hopes that he might intimidate whoever was coming, but the sudden brightness of a lantern in his face caused him to flinch instead.

“Gah!” he winced, eyes reflexively closing in response, but at the thought of a possible burglary, forced them open once more, and tried to adopt the sort of voice that the Owner used when speaking with insolent Sodor Island Council members. “I don’t know who you are, but you are trespassing—”

“Easy! Easy, Skarloey! It’s me!”

The sharp lamplight finally freed Skarloey of its piercing glint as the visitor (likely no longer a vandal, in Skarloey’s estimation) set the lamp on the floor of the shed. As his vision cleared, the engine was left meeting the eyes of Jakob, one of the cleaners. Jakob was still in his work uniform and overcoat, despite the late hour, and his thick, bushy beard was rather unkempt, proof of a hard day’s work polishing both the engines and the coaches until they gleamed. “Oh, Jakob! I’m so sorry; I thought you were a burglar!”

The cleaner laughed, the sound light as it seemed to carry through the entire shed. “No harm done! I was planning on heading home a while ago, but this storm isn’t one I’d like to travel in.”

“Head home?” Skarloey questioned, eyes wide. “I’m shocked that you’re not at church already!”

“Ah, well,” Jakob chuckled, although this time, his laughter was slightly less bright. “I, uh, don’t actually celebrate Christmas. I was supposed to finish my work and be home by sundown, but given the weather, that wasn’t happening. I’ve already phoned my family, and I figured that while I wait for the storm to die down, I’ll just… wait here with you, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, yes! Of course!” Skarloey blurted out, looking around frantically for a chair or some other equivalent, until his eyes settled on a sturdy crate sitting in a corner of the shed. “Erm, there’s a crate over there that you can use. Please, you’re more than welcome to stay! For however long you’d like.”

The cleaner paused, then gave a quiet, grateful smile. He bent over, picked up his lantern, and hung it up on a hook halfway up one of the support beams, better illuminating the sheds before pulling over the crate to sit beside the old engine. “Well, thank you, Skarloey. Better to have company on a night like tonight than none at all, right?”

If Skarloey could nod, he would have. Instead, he did his best to channel the less-than-physical warmth sparking in his firebox into his smile. “I couldn’t agree more.” 

After a moment of comfortable silence, though, curiosity got the better of him. 

“So, Jakob, I will apologize in advance if this ends up being an awkward subject, but…” Skarloey took a quick breath, trying to think of how to word his thoughts. Beside him, the 40-something looked on, a slight tilt to his head as his eyes widened, waiting for the engine to continue. “If you don’t celebrate Christmas, then… do you celebrate anything at all? I mean, the Owner always talks about how the whole valley’s ‘Methodist,’ which I think is the same as ‘Christian,’ and I’ve also been told that ‘all good Christians go to church on Christmas.’ But you’re not going to church, so… I mean…” 

Skarloey decided that he really should have stopped talking a thought or two ago, so he let the words die off there. Jakob, however, didn’t look particularly offended, although he wasn’t quite in good humor, either; rather, his expression was one akin to thinking through how to explain something that people generally considered to be common knowledge. It was a face that Skarloey in particular was quite familiar with.

“Well, erm… I’m not a Methodist, or a Christian, for that matter. I’m Jewish, so my family and I celebrate Hannukah. Are you familiar with that at all?”

“Jewish… Jewish…” Skarloey chewed on the word a moment, trying to place it. He’d heard it recently, he was sure, but where? Suddenly, it dawned on him, and his eyes widened in grim horror as he stared at the cleaner, who was meeting his gaze with a guarded, yet resigned expression. “Oh, Jakob! The war! You… oh… I’m… so, so sorry. I—” 

“Hush! None of that now,” Jakob retorted sternly, cutting Skarloey off before he could say another word. The silence that followed was no longer companionable, but fragile, glassy. The lamplight loomed, the shadows lengthening.

Still, Jakob forced himself on. “It’s true that I lost family during the war. My parents came here when I was very young, and we left much of our family behind. But I still live. My daughters still live. We are here. And on this night, we are celebrating that fact the way my ancestors did during their war, by rebuilding and living and proving that life, and light, continue, even in the darkest of places.”

Skarloey wasn’t familiar with which historic war Jakob was speaking of, but he could hear the emotion thick in his voice, tears clogging his throat. The engine couldn’t possibly begin to relate to Jakob’s particular situation, but the desire to live, to celebrate living, all while mourning those who had passed—appreciating that he was still here, and still had family, amidst tragedy—that much he could empathize with. It made his own loneliness feel somewhat less overwhelming. “...I’m glad you’re here, Jakob,” the old engine murmured softly, and the cleaner, his shoulders shaking, gave Skarloey a wide smile as the lamplight glinted off the rivulets running down his cheeks. 

“Me too, Skarloey,” Jakob managed, reaching out a hand to pat Skarloey’s bufferbeam while wiping his face with the other. “Working on this railway is one of the best things to have ever happened to me.”

Once again, a breath of silence fell, not quite as easy as the first or fragile as the second, and Skarloey took the opportunity to change the subject, perhaps toward something a little happier. “Jakob, you mentioned that you celebrate something called Hannukah earlier. I don’t know much about it, but why don’t we… I don’t know, do something? To celebrate?” The engine’s eyes lifted to where the storm was still roaring away outside, seemingly unlikely to lift anytime soon.

With his tears finally stalling, the cleaner blinked the last of them away, his brow furrowing in thought. “That’s not a bad idea, but I’m not sure how.” Suddenly, Jakob gave a quick gasp and leapt to his feet, looking eagerly at Skarloey. “How about this? Let’s light some lights, hmmm?”

“Lights?” Skarloey echoed, a questioning lilt to his voice. “Whatever for?”

“Hannukah is also called the Festival of Lights,” Jakob answered, walking away from the crate and starting to search the shelves. “We’ll need nine of them for this, as tonight is, in fact, the last night of Hannukah!”

“Oh!” Skarloey exclaimed, his interest piqued as he watched Jakob bustle around.

With a triumphant grin, the cleaner finally found what he was looking for. The shed was well-stocked, and as part of its provisions, spare lanterns and a box of candles all stood ready, as if waiting for this very moment. “A-ha! Here they are! Although…” Jakob’s lips pinched together in frustration as he counted up the lanterns. “There’s only six of them here! And worse, we don’t even have a table to put these on!”

The cleaner’s disappointment was clear, and Skarloey felt a pang of anxiousness shoot through him. No! They were so close! The engine cast his gaze down, trying to think, when suddenly, the obvious solution presented itself. 

“Jakob!” Skarloey cried. “We can arrange them on my bufferbeam!”

Jakob’s head whipped around to stare askance at the engine, who was staring back at him with fiery determination. “Look! We can attach my headlamps alongside the ones you’ve found. That makes eight. And there’s also the one you brought in! That’s nine!” 

At the realization, Jakob’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “That’s brilliant! But… what if they topple over?”

“I couldn’t move a meter, even if I wanted to!” Skarloey replied, his voice brighter than it had been all day, his tongue almost tripping over his words in his excitement. “A-and, there’s no wind here! So long as you’re mindful of your elbows, I think we’ll be quite alright!”

Once again, Jakob’s lips lifted up into a blinding smile. “Well thought! Give me just a moment!” Quickly, the lamps were arranged on Skarloey’s bufferbeam, spaced as well as they could so that they’d all fit. Once that was done, Jakob took the lantern he’d initially brought off of its hook, bringing it over to the others as Skarloey watched on, absolutely entranced and, fortunately, quite unable to shiver with the anticipation he so keenly felt.

“I’ve never had the honor of seeing such a large menorah before. That’s what we call the candle holder that we use for Hannukah. But then again, I’ve never done anything like this before, so this is quite the honor either way!” A slight tremor had made its way into Jakob’s voice, nervousness warring with eagerness, but he forced himself to breathe. This too could not be rushed.

With all the solemnity of performing a rite, Jakob opened his lantern and pulled out the candle within. “This is our shammash,” the cleaner explained reverently. “It’s known as the attendant, and I’ll be using this to light the others, from the lantern representing the first day to the one representing the last.” His explanation concluded, Jakob then began to light the lanterns, from right to left. With each one lit, another flame sparking to life, the darkness fled a little farther until the entire shed was awash in light, brilliant and beautiful, just short of blinding.

Once he’d finished, Jakob returned the initial candle to its lantern, and set it in the middle of the beam, right in front of Skarloey’s face. Slowly, Jakob brought his hands to his own face, covering his eyes, and Skarloey closed his as well. 

“Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner Hanukkah.”

Skarloey didn’t know what the words meant, but he could hear the reverence, the gratitude, the sheer joy in Jakob’s voice. Skarloey knew that joy; it was the same joy that he could hear on church days when the parishioners sang loud enough that, as the pastor claimed, their very voices could reach Heaven. “My goodness,” Skarloey breathed. “What was that?”

“It’s a prayer of thanks,” Jakob replied simply. “A prayer of thanks for the miracle that is these lights.”

“Thanks for a miracle…” Skarloey mused, thinking that it was fitting indeed, given the events of tonight. “Is ‘amen’ used by Jewish people as well?”

“It is.” 

“Then… amen,” Skarloey replied, his voice delicate and reverent. Jakob simply smiled in response, both engine’s and cleaner’s expressions bright. 

The shadows would be back soon enough, of course; but by this small miracle, at least for tonight, their hearts were light, another flame on the river.

[humanconditionpoetry]

Recently Inaugurate:

T.W/Tags - This poem deals with the recent inauguration in US Politics 2025. If this is still a sensitive topic for you, please do not read. You have been warned! The poem also deals with some death themes(not overt), please also consider this warning!

Also it would be helpful if you guys let me know what you think of the poem as I just got feedback that this was bad poetry( I didn’t think it was that bad), but as you know not all writing is perfect. Thanks and have nice day or night wherever you are!

Recently Inaugurate:

Each day keeps getting worst

Each day feels like nightmare rehearsed

In November, it felt like there was still time

Time slips on by and now it is here with painful derives

Democracy has fallen…

But through the ashes, fires are starting to spring up like pollen

The government wants to remove humanity

But humanity will remain despite their calamity and vanity

They rhetoric screams Anti-Christ

Empathy and peace with anger becomes the entice

May mobs will come, civil war and revolution within sight

The rich dying with guns priced.

In the end, -

There will be a winner…

Many may not be there for the celebratory dinner

Through this ideology may forevermore plague…

History always finds a way.

People always find a say.

Once passed, people would no longer call it vague.

They will know who did it.

Who put us through it.

Not the president, but us.

It is one things to learn about it, another to experience it.

May this never come up again…

Hopefully two will be enough…

But who am I kidding, it will be many before the idea hits the dust.

Seal it in a coffin, learn about it through shifts, cracks and rocking.

Inaugurated - Donald J. Trump and JD Vance 2025, When American Politics took a Turn for the Worst.

Mark those words and watch as the history books unfurled.

[girlactionfigure]

🟧 AFTER YOM KIPPUR - Updates from Israel  

THANKS - special thanks to our valiant soldiers who spent their Yom Kippur keeping us safe instead of with their families or in synagogue.  Our prayers are in their merit.

⭕SUICIDE DRONES from HEZBOLLAH hit HERTZILYA on Yom Kippur night, hitting a NURSING HOME.  1 intercepted, 1 got through.  1 injury.

⭕HEAVY ROCKET BARRAGES across the north, hitting Haifa, Acco, Karmiel, Safed, Rosh Pina, and towns throughout the north over Yom Kippur.  3 people were slightly injured by a rocket falling in the Western Galilee and 12 were slightly injured on the way to a protected area.

⭕ROCKETS FROM GAZA on Yom Kippur, to southern Ashkelon.  No casualties, and the IDF continues a policy of forced evac of source areas of fire.

▪️YOM KIPPUR - medics treated 286 fainted, dehydrated or felt ill due to the fast, and took 146 women in labor to the hospitals, one who gave birth in the ambulance.

▪️A HERO SOLDIER HAS FALLEN.. in battle in Gaza before Yom Kippur.. Ittai Fogel, 22, from Yakir.  May his family be comforted among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem, and may G-d avenge his blood!

❗️On Yom Kippur the IDF had 1 serious injury in battle in Gaza, no others casualties.

♦️IDF airstrikes on 280 targets throughout the holiday, in Lebanon and Gaza.

♦️IDF forces eliminated 50 terrorists in face-to-face encounters and directed air force strikes, and destroyed more than 200 Hezbollah terrorist targets from the air and with artillery.

♦️IDF created a small border buffer into SYRIA, in the Alonei Habashan - Kwdana area.

🔹The Christian sectors in Lebanon are in talks to form a political alliance against the Hezbollah.

🔹Yemeni defense minister says an operation against the Houthi Rebels is "imminent”.

🔹Jordan’s Foreign Minister Ayman Safadi calls for Chapter VII of the UN Charter to be invoked to “force Israel to comply with international law and immediately end all its illegal wars” in Gaza, the occupied West Bank and Lebanon.  This framework allows the UN Security Council to impose sanctions or in extreme cases even military force to guard against threats to peace.

▪️Nicaragua announced the severance of relations with Israel "due to the attacks on the Palestinian lands".

▪️Speaker of the Iranian parliament arrived in Beirut and toured the area, leaving later in the day to Turkey.  This is the 2nd Iranian commercial-diplomatic flight to break the Israeli air ban.

Part 2

⚠️ CHANGES IN DEFENSIVE GUIDELINES, MILITARY ZONES DECLARED IN NORTHERN ISRAEL

⚠️ Following a situational assessment, starting today at 20:00, changes will be made to the Home Front Command’s defensive guidelines. In southern and northern Golan, except for certain communities in the Emek HaYarden Regional Council, the activity scale will move from Limited Activity to Partial Activity, allowing educational activities subject to Northern Command's guidelines. In Daliyat al-Karmel and Isfiya in the Carmel area, the activity scale will shift from Partial Activity to Full Activity, with restrictions on gatherings of over 2,000 people. The rest of the country's guidelines remain unchanged. It is crucial to follow official Home Front Command channels and check updates on the National Emergency Portal and Home Front Command app.

🟥 As of 20:00 today, Zar'it, Shomera, Shtula, Netu'a, and Even Menachem in northern Israel will be declared a closed military zone. Entry to this area will be prohibited for security reasons.

🔷 For the first time in the Middle East war, the US intends to deploy its THAAD (Terminal High Altitude Area Defense) anti-ballistic air defense system in Israel to prepare for a potential Iranian attack. This system is designed to intercept and destroy ballistic missiles, providing a high level of protection.

◾The US has also announced new sanctions on Iran's oil sector in response to Tehran’s missile attack on Israel.

[mikobeautifulheart]

4 Depression - Nanami

TW: Mentions of death, depression, suicide, starvation, attempted suicide and over dose. ('lill bitta angst)

Nanami sat silently in the empty train cart, head hung low and hands clasped tightly together. Today was another tough overtime mission. He wanted nothing more then to go home and see you, just hold you for hours on end.

The only thing left on his mind was how distant you had become. Last night you had fallen asleep, nothing in the fridge, nothing on the stove. It was like an empty apartment. He was going to talk to you about it but he had to leave early that morning so he resorted to talking to you that night.

The train stops and he walks out into the empty station. It was strange how everything was deserted. An oddly quiet day.

He continued to walk home exhausted and finaly turned the door knob into your apartment.

He breathed a sigh of relief until he noticed you on the dinning room floor, chest shallowly moving.

He rushes over to your side, propping you up on his knee. He gently pushes you hair out of your face before looking at your eyes with worry.

"Y/n what happened? What did you do?" He said

You slowly and shakily put your arm up, pointing to the empty yellow bottle of anti-depressants on the table.

"I want to wake up Kento, this dream is to lonely now." Your hand dropped to the ground causing a thud.

"Y/n, this isn't isn't dream! You need help." He reaches into his pocket to get his phone and call the emergency number.

"I want to die Ken, save me." You whispered as your eyelids got heavier.

"Hello? Hello? Why is no one picking up!?" He frustratedly throws the phone to the ground as you grasp onto his shirt collar.

"Kento I want to see you again." You finally mumble.

"Then you need to live Y/N I'll drive you to the hospital just hold on-"

"no" You whispered, breath slipping out your lips.

"No don't do this y/n, I need you, you can't leave me."

"I'll see you soon. After all i'm sure you've been waiting for me." You said before gasping at a sudden sharpness in your chest.

"Y/N! WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?" He said trying to wipe his tears with his shirt sleve.

"Kento you left me. You left me in Shibuya alone. Did you mean it?"

"Y/n what are you talking about, wha-" He looks at his right hand, the skin is red and peeled. Burnt.

He goes to run his hand through his hair, none on the right side. What?

Oh. That's right. The last thing he saw was Yuji, standing there helplessly. He could remember feeling everything at once, not even blinking twice.

"Itadori, tell my wife I'll wait for her and...you got it from here."

Then the sounds of the train going over the rails. It was strange now, he dosen't remember his last mission, how he got on the train, how he left the house this morning.

"Can you- see me right now" he paused and looked down at you.

You weren't responding anymore.

He felt sick to his stomach, what had he done. He buried his face in your neck overwhelmed with...sadness.

"Don't cry anynore Kento, we're finally together again!" You said.

He felt hands gently press on his shoulders urging him to look behind him. But he didn't.

"I-i killed you y/n. Your dead because of me...I'm sorry" He let out a shakey breath.

"Why would you kill yourself because of me? What about every one you leave behind?" He said still holding your corpse.

"You didn't kill me Ken, I was all the time without you. As for everyone else, there's a few letters on the table explaining my death, will and wishes. All I want is to be here with you" you said wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, loke you didn't just kill yourself.

"No."

"No?" You said confused and the sudden change in deminour.

"Yoh don't die here, not yet. Listen to me y/n no matter how lonley you are or how bad you feel you cant do this...not to yourself or anyone." He sighed hugging your body closer to his.

"What are you talking about Ken, whats done is done. I told you at your funeral I'll never love again. My world has ended, this is the happiness I was looking for."

"I love you y/n, now live to the fullest teach those kids something and...don't die yet."

You woke up on the floor again. Tears filling your eyes. God damn it, you were so close.

"I miss you Kento." You slung your arm over your face.

"I miss you to, but until then." He said before walking off on the beach shore sighing in relife.

THANK YOU FOR READING ♡

AUTHOURS NOTE: This is appart of my 5 stages of greife series, part 4 obvi. Only one more part to go (acceptance with Yuji) and then this will all be over. Thanks for reading and have a good whatever time.

(Edit: If you wanted a happier ending you should have read this fic)

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hi! This request was easier to search for, so I see you’ve recommended Hearts of Wulin and Ten Thousand Days for the Sword. Do you have any other wuxia or xianxia game recs?

Have a good day!

THEME: Wuxia Games.

Hello friend, I'm certainly not an expert, but after reaching out to some more knowledgeable folks, I think I have a few!

Jiangshi: Blood in the Banquet Hall, by Wet Ink Games.

This is a collaborative, storytelling RPG about a Chinese family making their living by running a restaurant in one of America’s Chinatowns, circa 1920. Despite societal backlash and anti-Chinese laws, they have turned a profit and their quality of life has recently improved.

Night, however, brings a new terror.

Players take on the roles of members of the Chinese family (mostly from Guangdong province), spanning three generations, who face threats of jiangshi (hopping vampires) at night and racism by day. It has players balancing the responsibility of maintaining their family business with protecting themselves and their community from the dreaded Jiangshi. This is primarily a game about storytelling. Combat is limited, but horror, drama and sometimes comedy are the primary vehicles for driving the game forward.

This game draws quite a bit from boardgaming elements, so I think this one is best played around a physical table, especially since it requires a custom deck of cards. You’ll use these cards to represent the demands of running a restaurant in the day, as well as fighting of a vampire at night. This game is probably on the borders of what I think is considered wuxia, but if you have a horror lover in your group, this might be worth checking out.

Exalted, by Onyx Path Games.

This is the tale of a forgotten age before the seas were bent, when the world was flat and floated atop a sea of chaos. This is the tale of a decadent empire raised up on the bones of the fallen Golden Age, whose splendor it faintly echoed but could not match. This is a tale of primal frontiers, of the restless dead, of jeweled cities ruled openly by spirits in defiance of Heaven’s law. This is a tale of glorious heroes blessed by the gods, and of their passions and the wars they waged in the final era of legends.

Exalted has a number of different sources, only one of which feels close to wuxia, but the stories are certainly expected to give you long, sweeping epics and larger-than-life characters. There are many different kinds of Exalted, including Solars, Lunars, and Dragon-Blooded. Since I’m not a wuxia connoisseur myself, I’m not entirely sure how close Exalted comes to hitting the mark - I’m mostly recommending it because it came up connected to some other wuxia fantasy games when I was doing some searching.

Jiang Hu, by wum1ng.

Jiang Hu is a role-playing game for the wuxia genre. Drawing inspiration from wuxia novels written by luminaries such as Jin Yong and Gu Long, the Feng Yun comics from Ma Rong Chen and the multitude of wuxia movies and television series, this game brings the world of dashing swordsmen, warrior monks, brawling beggars and high-flying stunts to your tabletop. 

Players take on the role of Martial Artists fighting against various threats to the lands of Jiang Hu, ranging from evil sect leaders who have mastered forbidden secret martial arts techniques to megalomaniacs seeking to take over the Imperial Throne by force and the blood of countless innocents.

The Worlds Without Number series by Kevin Crawford has its praises sung by many people, especially folks in the OSR scene, and that is the bones that this game is built on. Your character is built from quite a list of skills, which are differentiated between Combat and Non-Combat. You also have a number of secondary attributes, for things such as Armour Class, Evasion, and Luck, as well as a dedicated space on your character sheet for weapons and martial arts. Expect combat to to take up a bulk of your time!

When you roll for your character background, you also get a significant life event that is expected to shape your character’s past, such as having a loved one murdered, or falling into serious debt. Out of all of the games listed here, I think this game is the closest to D&D, what with the “packages” of skills, items and abilities attached to each background.

The Oath, by brushmen.

"We seek not to be born on the same day, but hope to die on the same day." And with such an oath, Yong, Li, and Ming swore loyalty to each other.

When earthly desires tempt them, and devotions threaten to tear them apart, with or without a hand from uncaring fate…

will their oath endure?

The Oath is a collaborative storytelling game for one Game Moderator and three players.

This is meant to be a one-shot, which borrows the Entanglements system from Hearts of Wulin and the character Keys and Tags from Lady Blackbird. Since this game comes with characters already pre-written, it would probably be very good for groups who have very little time, or who want an easy on-ramp to games or the wuxia genre. I like the fact that the Keys give you prompts and directions for your character’s behaviour; it’s strong statement on how the author interprets the genre, but it still gives you, the player, a choice on what elements of your character will be emphasized, and what elements will take up the background.

brushmen also has another wuxia Lady Blackbird hack called The Escort, about recovering from a violent robbery, this one for four players and one GM.

Four Swords, by ehronlime.

This is a tabletop roleplaying game about being young heroes in a wuxia story, made for the #AsianMartialArtsJam.

You start with your First Sword, which you use to challenge other heroes and villains and strive for mastery.

You will then gain three more Swords: the Second a sword of great pride and regret, the Third a sword of mastery and expression, and the Fourth a sword which is no sword.

You will also struggle between the obligations put upon your by others and what you truly desire from the life of a wandering hero.

Four Swords really zeroes in on the combat mastery part of wuxia fantasy. Your characters will grow into mastery, and battle with rigid codes and rules that structure the world you live in. The game is very descriptive, leaving you with only 4 abilities that are meant to broadly encompass what you are able to do. The game encourages characters to interfere with each-other using a mechanic called Vows, and levelling up gives you access to different techniques, which reinforce the competence of your characters as well as the rigid guidelines by which they might improve.

This game was made for the Asian Martial Arts by Asian Creators Game Jam, so you might find some more wuxi-themed games there!

Blades of the Immortals, by Jagganoth.

Blades of the Immortals is a tabletop roleplaying game inspired by xiānxiá. It uses the Forged in the Dark rules engine developed by John Harper, as seen in games like Blades in the Dark and Beam Saber.

In Blades of the Immortals, you will take on the roles of cultivators, striving for your own ambitions, for the glory of your sect, and for the ultimate prize —  immortality. You'll viciously struggle for scarce resources, compete for the patronage of powerful and influential teachers, gather allies to your banner, and scheme against your enemies. Your cultivators will wield mystical treasures and supernatural spell-arts, mastering the very laws of the cosmos as their weapons, as they become entangled in centuries-long vendettas between deathless wizard-kings.

This game is solidly focused on supernatural abilities and grand increases in strength. You choose from one of 9 different playbooks, and collaboratively create a faction that binds you all together. The sources listed as inspirations for this game include (but are not limited to) Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Forge of Destiny, Aspiring to the Immortal Path, and Journey to the West.

Compared to other Blades hacks, this game reduces the standard number of action ratings, ties character growth to a change in your character’s beliefs, and separates your gear from your playbook. Characters can also level up through Realms, which increases your effectiveness and upgrades your inventory.

Mist-Robed Gate, by Shreyas & Elizabeth Sampat.

There are some things that we value more than life.

There are things we're willing to scheme and cry and fight and die for.

That's what wuxia cinema is about— fighting and dying for the things we care about. That's what Mist-Robed Gate is about.

Mist-Robed Gate comes with a full list of movie recommendations, but includes Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and House of Flying Daggers as key influences. I really like the fact that a key mechanic of this game includes stabbing your character sheet with a knife.

Players create factions first, and then take turns creating characters that represent those factions, with elements that represent the hero’s distinctive personality and style. Players also create the different locations that will serve as the stage for your scenes. Play happens over a series of scenes, as their characters push and pull against each-other, sometimes even making terrible demands (which is where the Knife comes in). If you want a game that has a lot of politics in the terms of actions having large ramifications over big groups of people, and if you want a game that is extremely dramatic, you might want to check out Mist-Robed Gate.

[daenyzz]

The Dragon Girls: Breaker of Chains and Flame of Freedom

Summary — Lyria, Daenerys's younger bastard sister, accompanies her sister throughout her journey and anti-slavery campaign on behalf of Essos, while Lyria must find which path she should follow, she only knows one thing, which has nothing to do with the Iron Throne.

Warning — Mourning briefly described.

Word Count — 1.269

In the gloom of the night, under a sky full of stars that seemed more distant than ever, Daenerys Targaryen stood on the edge of a large funeral pyre. The flames danced as if they were alive, illuminating her face marked by pain and loss. Beside her, Lyria, her younger bastard sister, watched silently, feeling the weight of grief that hung in the air. Both were too young to bear such sadness, but life had taught them to face pain with bravery.

Lyria was only fourteen days younger than Daenerys, but she already bore the scars of a dark past. Bastard daughter of Aerys II and a Valyrian-looking Lyseni harlot, the young woman had wavy silver hair and amethyst eyes that reflected an inhuman and at the same time tragic beauty. The death of her half-brother Viserys did not bring much pain, but that of the son he implanted in her womb... had left an indelible mark on her heart, one that will never be erased.

The pyre burned with intense flames as Daenerys murmured parting words to Drogo. Lyria felt a deep connection with her sister; Both had lost a lot, and loneliness united them in an unbreakable bond. “We must be strong,” Lyria said quietly, her voice almost lost in the crackling flames. “They wouldn’t want us to let ourselves get down.”

Daenerys turned to her, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I don’t know if I can be strong, Lyria. The world seems so dark right now.”

“Then let us light a light together,” Lyria replied determinedly. “Let this fire be a symbol of our ongoing struggle.”

From that moment on, the two sisters decided that they would not just survive; they would fight for something greater. Lyria’s influence over Daenerys grew as they traveled across Essos, freeing slaves and confronting tyrants. With each city they conquered, Lyria’s determination grew stronger; she did not want the Iron Throne or the power it represented—she wanted freedom for all the oppressed.

During their journeys, they met many people: men and women who had suffered under the yoke of slavery and oppression. With each tale of pain and suffering, Lyria felt her own inner flame ignite. It was as if there was something inside her crying out for justice.

One night, as they watched the starry sky beneath a shroud of silence in the city of Astapor, Lyria met the High Priestess of R’hllor. The woman was shrouded in mystery and power; her eyes seemed to see beyond the present.

“You are the Flame of Freedom,” the priestess said in a deep, echoing voice. “The stars have fallen, the heavens have roared, and darkness gathers in the hearts of humanity, you are born again amidst fire and ash.”

Lyria froze at the priestess’s words. “Me? A Flame? I don’t understand.”

“The Flame of Freedom lived in the Dawn Age,” the priestess continued. “She freed the oppressed from the oppressors and protected the poor from the rich. You have that same flame within you.”

The words echoed in Lyria’s mind like a distant echo. She glanced at Daenerys, who was lost in her own thoughts about her destiny as Dragon Queen.

“But I am not a queen,” Lyria said finally. “I do not want to be like the Targaryens who came before us.”

“You do not need to be a queen,” the priestess replied. “True leadership comes from the heart and courage.”

The days passed as the sisters continued their anti-slavery campaign across Essos. In Meereen, they faced immense challenges: bloodthirsty pirates, cruel warlords, and even political intrigue among the freedmen who wanted to rule rather than be free.

Lyria became a central figure in the movement for freedom; Her inspiring words echoed among the freed slaves as Daenerys led battles against her oppressors. Amidst the chaos of war and the darkness of human betrayal, the bond between the sisters grew even deeper.

One night in Meereen, after a significant victory against one of the local warlords, Lyria climbed to the roof of the palace with Daenerys to gaze at the stars.

“Have you ever thought about what this all means?” Lyria asked as she looked up at the night sky.

“What do you mean?” Daenerys replied curiously.

“Freeing people is wonderful,” Lyria began, “but I sense there’s something deeper here—something to do with our blood heritage.” She hesitated before continuing, “Do you truly believe we’re different from our ancestors?”

Daenerys frowned as she considered this. “I want to be different. I want to bring justice, to be justice.”

“What if we can do this together?” Lyria suggested excitedly. “If we can use our dragons not just to conquer lands, but to protect those in need?”

The words resonated deeply within Daenerys; she knew there was a greater power in her hands—not just dragons or the Iron Throne—but the ability to change lives.

That night, they decided to name their newborn dragons: the scarlet-black dragon they named Anogar, which means “blood” in High Valyrian, to represent the blood spilled by those they loved; the white dragon adorned with violets they named Valyria, to show the world that Valyrian glory had returned, but not as it had been before, but as an anti-slavery dragon. When Daenerys first released Anogar into the night sky, she felt an instant connection with the dragon; it was as if he understood her mission.

As time passed, Lyria realized that, just as her sister had felt with Anogar, she had a special bond with Valyria—a magical connection that seemed to transcend human understanding. After liberating Slaver’s Bay and Dany had made it back to Meereen from Vaes Dothraki, the dragons were now large enough to be ridden, and so they did. They rode dragons across Essos during the anti-slavery campaign, and she felt freedom pulse through her like never before.

But it wasn’t all sunshine and roses; the challenges grew more intense as they conquered cities and made powerful enemies along the way. One fateful night in Yunkai brought unexpected betrayals; allies turned against them, and even some of the freedmen began to question their intentions.

“Why are we fighting for them?” asked a disillusioned advisor after a failed attack on the city. “They should be fighting for themselves!”

Lyria quickly intervened: “Because that is how we build a better future! We cannot be driven by hatred or revenge! We must show the world who we are!”

Daenerys looked at her younger sister with growing admiration; she now saw the strength within her—an indomitable spirit akin to the fire of dragons themselves.

The final battle against the warlords was drawing near when rumors began to circulate of a new threat: those who sought to overthrow Daenerys and take her dragons for themselves were planning to strike during the next full moon./Amidst the preparations for this epic battle, Lyria had a vivid dream about the meaning of the flames—her connection to Valyria seemed to intensify as she delved deeper into the Targaryen legacy.

On the day of the final battle at Yunkai, as the enemy forces advanced beneath a heavy, ominous sky, Lyria climbed onto Valyria’s back while Daenerys rode Anogar beside her. The roar of dragons echoed across the field as they soared above the enemy ranks.

And so began their epic journey as sisters bound by destiny—fighting for justice through fire and ash—never forgetting who they were or where they wanted to go: not the Iron Throne or absolute power, but true freedom for all whose voices were still silenced by fear.

[tinytalkingtina]

Illusory Courage

Written for the @steddiemicrofic July challenge prompt #2, using the word "one" and 1,111 words.

In the same universe/same characters as my other DnD microfic, but intended as a standalone story showing how they met, no prior reading required.

1,111 words | Rating: T

CW: Dead Chrissy Cunnigham, brief description of a Vecna'd body

Tags: Fantasy DnD AU, Tiefling Steve Harrington, Anti-Tiefling racism, Steve Harrington has bad parents, Half-elf Eddie munson, pre-Steddie, past Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson, first meetings

Ao3 link

Stephen Harrington, heir to the barony of Loch Nora, left Lord Carver’s manor scowling. This fief was the same as the previous one. A dead body, found with the eyes gouged out and limbs twisted into unnatural angles. Except unlike the previous poor peasant boy, this time a noble had fallen victim to some sort of dark magic. It was certainly unusual for a Lord’s wife to vanish during the night, only to be discovered amidst the cows come morning. Unfortunately, Lord Carver had precious little to give them, beyond claiming the Lady Christine had been acting “distracted” as of late.   “Why are you so upset Steve? We were a full day’s travel out. It’s a tragedy for sure, but it’s not like you could have foreseen this happening.” Dustin urged his pony forward as fast as the old girl could go, laden down as she was with all of his contraptions. “Dustin, it’s Lord Harrington when we’re in public. You’re my official squire, we have to keep up appearances. And it’s not entirely that the Lady died, it’s how Lord Carver spoke about her, like she was some sort of trophy. He barely knew her. Now come on, I want to see the field she was found in before it gets too dark.”  Steve indulged in a ruffle to his squire’s hair. He reflexively pushed down the twinge of guilt; no one could possibly notice his horns hidden inside the matching decorations on his helm, or feel his claws when he kept them filed short and blunt. His tail remained tucked out of sight beneath layers of chain mail and plate. Even so, the thought of detection sent a trickle of fear down his spine. He needed a chance to perform penance for his family’s misdeeds. If he could snuff out enough evil, perhaps he could outweigh their crimes that proclaimed themselves for all to see on his body. And maybe, just maybe, his mother might look at him with something other than bitterness and disgust when he forewent his illusory magical mask at home.

Shoving his feelings aside, he herded Dustin towards the pasture as the last rays of light touched the tree tops. “Just as a precaution, you should set up an alarm spell. Don’t want to be caught unawares by anyone—or thing.”  Dustin nodded and scrambled off to set up a perimeter. Steve had sat through an explanation how the spell-infused gadget used stones attuned to the correct magical frequency before, but the engineering went over his head. He trusted his squire to do a good job though, and thanks to Dustin’s contraptions, he had an easier time swinging his weapons at monsters. Steve made his way to the center of the field, stopping short when his ears picked up someone singing. The tune, full of grief and longing, was nothing short of enchanting. He spied the singer, crumpled onto the ground next to the scorched crater marking where the Lady had been found. Steve approached slowly, one hand on his sword. But the clanking of armor alerted the singer, and he startled. Oh, the singer was beautiful. Even dimmed by tears, those big dark eyes were just as expressive as his voice. Steve caught sight of an ear that gently tapered to a small point poking out from the riot of curls atop his head. Oh, an elf. That certainly explained the features. Summoning upon long-ago tutoring, Steve managed to offer an only slightly clumsy greeting in Elvish. But the elf just blinked those wide eyes at him in confusion. “I don’t understand whatever it is you just said, but you should leave, stranger. There was a death here last night, the Lady of the manor, she—” His voice cracked. “She’s dead.” “Yes, we have been advised of the situation, my good elf. We were the ones sent to investigate.” “Of course he thinks I’m an elf,” the singer muttered to himself as he ran a hand through his hair.

As he did, a glint of metal caught Steve’s eye. Looking closer, he spied a thick silver band inlaid with a dark stone. One that looked suspiciously like the ring Lord Carver had raged about losing to petty thievery when they recovered Lady Christine’s body. “And it appears we have something to investigate. Care to explain how the late Lady’s ring ended up on your hand?” The would-be thief’s pretty face hardened as he took a challenging step forward. Steve stepped back in equal measure, a practiced look of haughty disinterest on his face. Any discomfort perfectly hidden away beneath the mask. His father’s voice echoed in his ear: Keep your distance Stephen. Despite your…affliction, you’re still of noble birth. “I know it’s hard for you nobles to consider this, mi’lord”, the thief said, spitting the word out as if swearing. “But whatever you’ve been told, not all us common folk are out to steal whatever our grubby little hands touch. Chrissy—the Lady, gave this to me. She engraved my name on it, even.” He brandished the ring, and sure enough, in delicate handwriting, an “Edward” was scratched onto the inside. “Fine then, my apologies. If you were truly close to the Lady, perhaps you can assist me in questioning the Lord further.” This Edward lifted his chin defiantly. “Don’t think I’m going to help you give that hollow bitter man any closure. Or did the noble sitting in his fine manor not tell you? He officially banished me from these lands a full month ago for ‘enticing his sweet Lady’ to wickedness. Wasn’t supposed to stick around much longer, but it seems that freaks like myself don’t get happy endings with those we love, do we. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Edward began to retreat without looking. Before Steve could warn him, he stepped directly into the crater. As soon as he crossed the boundary, a chill wind circled, carrying with it distorted bell chimes and chittering. Steve’s sword glowed: some sort of necromancy was afoot, and now this half-elf was its target. Steve gritted his teeth. “I’m not about to turn you in. But unfortunately for you Edward the Banished, you’ve just been marked by something evil, and I can’t permit that evil the opportunity to hurt you or any others. But I promise, by my oath, I’ll do everything I can to protect you and try to avenge your Lady.” Edward blinked those large eyes at him, his expression full of fear and anger. Steve sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy, adding an unwilling soul to his party. Hopefully, this man would continue to keep his distance until the evil was dispatched.

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