#because you are a son and you are doomed to kill your father

[sacrifical-lamb-core]

Thrutidbdhfhdhd

OK PEOPLE ITS TIME FOR MY FAV CONCEPT::: PATRICIDE !!!

Ok ok ok so if you’ve been on my blog long enough you know that I have an unhinged obsession with the cycle of patricide and son killing father killing father killing father in Greek/roman myths. So like I think that Jason’s father was terrified, like terrified Jason. So he’d punish and sanction him (like this)

To make sure that never happened. To make sure there could never be a chance of Jason gaining an upper hand and continuing the cycle

can't stop thinking about that joke about Jason having to ask for every bolt of lightning he uses, but what if- what if that was true.

just imagine Jupiter giving a restricted amount of bolts he can use in a set time and not renewing them until the time limit has passed. just imagine Jason in battle counting off every lightning strike and trying to save them for later. just imagine that the only way to get more is begging to a father who does not care to listen. sometimes the count varies and he's in the middle of a fight and suddenly the lightning he's summoning puffs into smoke in his hands and he's left scrambling even though he's sure he hasn't run out. Jason learns to manipulate the winds, to fly, to fight and win without lightning ever sparking between his fingertips because there's always a chance that he may need it later, that a greater emergency could occur. He's fighting Krios, furious and fast when there's suddenly smoke where there should be lightning and he grits his teeth, raises his sword, and keeps going. He wins.

[lgbtlunaverse]

So I've said multipe times now (here and here) that thinking nmj is just so blinded by privilege he doesn't undertand that acting out of line gets people killed is, in my opinion, a misunderstanding of his character that ignores the part where he's, you know, actively dying the whole time and thinks that's a good thing. But that doesn't mean I don't think privilege plays no role at all in how he views the world.

Specifically, his view that death (at least premature or violent death) means something.

Death isn't always a tragedy to NMJ, but it is always meaningful. If you kill an evil dangerous person for your righteous cause, that death had meaning. There was evil in the world and now there is less of it. Similarly, if you die in the pursuit of your righteous cause, that death has meaning, because the sheer dedication you gave to it that you were willing to die for it will further that cause, and your bretheren will be invigorated by your sacrifice to fight even harder.

If a death isn't meaningful, that's an injustice and it is up to the living to give it meaning. That's what cuts so deep about his father's murder. There were no consequences, no changes, no meaning. Wen Ruohan was just going to get away with it! He fights and wins an entire war to make it mean something, to make it so that the unjust murder of Nie Mingjue's father is part of Wen Ruohan's downfall.

But this is a view he can only hold because he's the kind of person who's death will be meaningful. Most ordinary people's deaths are meaningless. Not ontologically, not inherently, but they are made meaningless because no one cares. For death to be meaningful you either have to be so powerful that anything you risk your life for will be impacted in some way. (Like, say, if you sacrifice a long life for immense martial power in a faustian bargain with a blade) Or if people with that kind of power care enough about you to do so for you. For most people, this isn't true. A starving street kid has no power to change the unfair world that put them there, even if they risk their life trying, and no one will do it for them once they die.

Nie Mingjue knows this in abstract, and of course rightfully believes it's wrong. But all that does is make it yet another righteous cause people should be willing to die for. Everyone's deaths should mean something, we'll make it so or die trying!

This is what the conflict between nieyao is about at its core. Because Jin Guangyao, fundamentally, cannot conceive of his own death as meaningful. Nie Mingjue grew up around powerful men who could change the world but refuse to do so because god forbid they risk a single hair on their perfect heads. Meng Yao, on the other hand, grew up in an environment where no one of importance would blink twice if you died. He was surrounded by meaningless death. Indeed his entire early life is defined by that lack of care.

Meng Shi dies and no one cares. Meng Yao gets thrown off a flight off stairs and no one cares. He has to be the one to do the caring, and once he's gone no one else will do it for him.

So he has to live.

Jin Guangyao eventually gets far enough that he actually does aquire the power to change some things... as long as he's alive. If he changes too much, holds on too tightly to his ideals, he'll die and it'll all be for nothing. He can't sacrifice himself for his goals because doing so would immediately render those goals unobtainable. No one will care about what he tried to do. He won't be a heroic sacrifice, he'll just be trash that finally cleaned itself up.

And well... Nie Mingjue dies, and someone makes it mean something. Makes it mean so much that the entire story of mdzs would not exist without it. Jin Guangyao dies and it doesn't mean anything. Most people are glad to be rid of him, and the few that are not don't do anything to change that.

[martyrbat]

grimm – batman: legends of the dark knight #149

[ID: a panel sequence of young Dick Grayson just two months after his parents' murders. He's sulking at the dining table in the grandiose Wayne Manor. The dinner is taking place in front of a lit fireplace that causes the entire room to have a soft, bronze glow to it. The table itself is long and decorated and Bruce Wayne is sitting on the opposite end of it. Alfred Pennyworth prompts, “More mashed potatoes, Master Dick—?” But Dick is too busy thinking about a young criminal he ran into when he snuck out earlier. He quietly mutters the taunt she told him, “‘Spoiled brat in a circus suit’—?” Alfred asks, “Was that a yes or a no?” The pouting child brusquely tells him, ”no,” which causes the butler to clear his throat. Dick begrudgingly corrects himself, “No thank you, Alfred.” Alfred responds, “As you wish, Master Dick.”

But Dick is already uttering another taunt under his breath, “‘Lap of luxury’!” Bruce leans forward slightly and asks if everything is okay but Dick dismisses his concern. He excuses, “I'm... I'm not very hungry, Bruce. Is it okay if I go to my room?” Despite his obvious qualms, Bruce awkwardly smiles and replies, “Uh... Of course. Certainly.” Dick gets up as Alfred tells him the food will be in the refrigerator if he gets hungry later but Dick just ‘uh-huh’s him as he walks away. With the child upstairs, Bruce immediately stands up and paces. He stops in front of the fireplace and stares into the blaze as he monologues his worries, “Maybe this was a mistake. What in the world made me think I could raise a boy? I don't know the first thing about it! I've always been a loner! I don't have the knowledge... or the disposition... to make this work.” Alfred wryly asks, “Are you addressing the fireplace, Sir—or me?” But Bruce stresses his demur without looking at him, “His parents are dead, Alfred! What gives me the temerity to believe I can replace them in his life?”

Alfred solemnly reassures, “I asked myself the same questions once. What in the world did a butler know about raising a young man who'd just lost the two people he loved most in the world? But strangely enough, Sir—I adapted. I learned. I learned because I wanted to... Because I cared. And... despite some difficulties along the way—I think the young man in question turned out splendidly. And I think Master Dick will too.” Bruce doesn't say anything but he his eyes closed in thought as Alfred talks before looking at him with a soft smile. He straightens his posture when Alfred finishes and puts his hand on his shoulder, silently grateful for the man's fatherly reassurance and support once again. END ID]

[atopvisenyashill]

not an f&b aegon ii fan, not a hotd aegon ii fan, but a secret third thing (a fan of the aegon ii that only exists in my mind)

[kittyfrisk9]

IdeaDpxDc—There are better ways to meet someone.

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Dead On Main. Soul mates.

---

"Exactly... what does this ring do?" The shining ring was still attached to his finger. This wouldn't worry him if it weren't for the fact that, with each passing minute, the ring emitted more light, and that can't be good.

The cult leader refused to speak. He wouldn't even look at him, seeming particularly attentive to the material the floor was made of. Very funny that now he was scared of him when, an hour ago, he was giving a very cliché speech about how humanity was doomed because it would summon the evil of evils.

It wasn't very smart of him to perform his summoning precisely in Gotham City, home of the Dark Knight.

Red Hood was getting impatient. He placed the hand without the ring on his weapon; if words didn't work, a real threat to his life would. And this didn't really break Bruce's 'no killing' rule because the gun was only loaded with rubber bullets. However, just as he was about to advance and shoot the guy, he saw Batman grab the leader's tunic collar and lift him up.

The man, of course, screamed in fear. "Speak, what does that ring do?" No jokes. Batman's voice was deeper than usual, showing that he was upset, no, rather angry.

Or worried, but Jason could never consider that possibility. For the moment, he was only surprised, although it didn't show through his helmet.

"I-I don't know," the leader replied. Poor guy, he seemed about to cry. Batman, not content, tightened his grip even more; he wasn't willing to tolerate a lie this time.

Red Robin raised an eyebrow. "You managed to gather a bunch of magical artifacts for your summoning and you don't know what they do?"

The man looked away. "No..." The rest of the cult members also looked away. Very brave and stupid of them to all agree to lie to the bats. Jason himself wanted to mock them, but the ring kept shining. He couldn't mock when the ring kept shining and he didn't know what it meant.

From the communications, Robin could be heard. "Tt, this wouldn't be happening if Hood hadn't put on the ring." Jason suppressed a growl.

"Kid, I didn't put on the ring. This thing stuck to me the moment I touched it." It was true. In the middle of the operation to stop the ritual, Jason had pulled the ring, which at that moment was a kind of necklace by the chain that ran through it, from a member who was wearing it. The ring in his hand began to glow and suddenly teleported to his ring finger, then stopped shining. It was when everything calmed down that the ring began to release a different, but constant light.

Approximately ten minutes have passed since then, he thought as he looked at the ring, ignoring all the magical stuff; it was actually a very simple ring. Suddenly, the ring began to blink.

Oh, no. That couldn't be good.

Batman, fed up with the leader's silence and his followers, threw the man meters ahead. "Oracle, call Zatanna now, we need more information about the ring," he ordered as he approached the man who was in pain from the fall. The guy, terrified by the violent aura of the Dark Knight, tried to retreat.

Finally, Nightwing stepped between the man and the brutal beating he would receive if he didn't speak.

"It's okay, B, calm down." With his hand on his father's shoulder, Dick tried to ease the atmosphere. "I understand your concern. We are all worried about what the ring might do to Hood. But we can't let fear and anger control us. Hood is important to all of us. He is our brother, your son. We can't lose our cool now. Let's call Wonder Woman. If no one wants to talk, she can help us with the lasso of truth."

Total silence. Jason didn't know what to say; he didn't think his family would react like this over a blinking ring. That is... he doesn't know. Suddenly, the ring's light began to blink faster.

Batman, after Nightwing's words and seeing the change in the ring, understood that he couldn't waste time with someone who wouldn't talk. "You're right, thank you Nightwing." Looking at the others, he said: "We need to act quickly, we don't know the effects the ring might have on Hood. We need to take him to the cave for a thorough analysis, no discussions." The last part he said looking at Jason. "Until then, don't try to take it off or use it."

Jason scoffed, as if he would.

"Oracle, you heard, call Diana. Red Robin and I will take care of the rest of the cult. Nightwing, take Red Hood to the cave." Batman began giving orders as he reached the leader and began dragging him towards the rest of his cult. The leader, in a failed attempt, tried to resist. "Agent A, please prepare a stretcher. Understood?"

Everyone nodded.

On the other hand, the touching speech and the strange family moment of the bats seemed to soften the heart of a girl from the cult, who in a whisper said: "The ring, nothing will happen to him." Although she spoke quietly, everyone present heard her.

The leader, panicking that the information would be revealed, exclaimed: "Catrina, shut up!" However, he was struck by Batman, who was already fed up with the guy.

"What do you have to say about the ring?" he asked.

The woman hesitated to speak. "We thought of using the ring to subdue the king of the dead and make him listen to our orders..." She paused, not knowing how to continue. "There is a real legend about the ring. A long time ago, a witch wanted to know who her soulmate was, so she created the ring. This allows one to be guided to their soulmate through the red thread. I think everyone already knows what the red thread is." Nervous, she looked around. Only Nightwing nodded, and that was enough for her to continue telling. "Well, the witch's red thread connected with a prince. Unfortunately for everyone, the prince was not happy that his soulmate was a witch. So he had her killed." The girl looked at her hands; that part of the story was sad. "The witch was angry, but still wanted her soulmate to accept her, so she rewrote the ring's original purpose. It was no longer something that united you with your soulmate, but now it was something that allowed you to subdue your soulmate... uh, this." She pointed to a book that was lying in a corner. "With another spell, in fact, it can be used to subdue anyone, even a king of the dead."

With the whole story already told, Red Robin asked: "So, what is the ring doing to Red Hood?"

"It's tracking his soulmate. I... didn't get to put the other spell on it. I could only activate the ring's primary function. Your brother will be fine."

That definitely changes things. Jason swore he could hear his heart beating. A soulmate, wow. He admits he's read many romance novels and maybe once dreamed of it, but for it to actually happen, wow.

Suddenly, the ring stopped blinking. Five seconds later, everyone saw a red thread shoot out from the ring's gem. It quickly moved in one direction, went through the wall, and kept going. The process was like a fishing rod when it catches a fish.

"Does this mean it already found its soulmate?" Red Robin asked. Astonished by the red thread, he tried to touch it but his hand went through it; apparently, the thread was intangible to anyone else.

"Yes," the cultist also seemed astonished.

Jason felt a look on him, turned, it was his brother. Oh no, not that look, he knew that smile; Dick would tease him so much in the coming days. For his part, Batman sighed in relief. Well, it wasn't such an extreme danger, but it was still dangerous. "Agent A, cancel the stretcher." He never imagined this would mean a soulmate case. "Oracle, don't cancel the call to Zatanna or Wonder Woman, we need to verify the information. We'll stay here until the police arrive."

How nice it would be if everything ended like that, right? With Dick joking with Jason, Tim analyzing the thread, Barbara laughing at the turn of events, Bruce relieved and Damian surprised. However, one must remember the story.

The witch changed the ring's original purpose. Unexpectedly, the thread began to retract, as if it had caught something. It did so so quickly that Jason grabbed his hand in pain. It was then that everyone had a bad feeling. The wall the thread had previously passed through suddenly exploded, the noise and dust alerting everyone, especially when once the chaos disappeared, something horrific could be seen.

An arm. A fucking arm. Apparently freshly torn from its owner. Oh, no. What did it do to his soulmate?

...

Somewhere else in the world, somewhere in the United States, Danny gasped in pain. What the hell? What was that? Ancients! Where is his arm?

---

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Edited on 06/21/2024 - Note two: Thanks to redflagshipwriter, who continued this idea below. And to Sakuravalelp who made me laugh with the complement.

[yanderes-galore]

What about a platonic yandere Aegon II with a daughter!reader after B+C?

Fell in love with this idea ON. SIGHT. Broke my own rules on this, my bad. I don't usually do young darlings, but for this it made the most sense. Don't expect stuff like this all the time... but I love the idea of Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond being platonic yanderes to Aegon's Daughter. Unfortunately no Daeron as he's not around during this period.

❗️SPOILERS FOR HOTD SEASON 2❗️

Yandere! Platonic! Aegon II with Daughter! Darling

(FT. Helaena + Aemond - Aftermath of Blood + Cheese)

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Child death/Murder, Blood, Manipulation, Fear of loss, Isolation, Mature language, Targcest (Aegon/Helaena), Medieval gender roles, Toxic family dynamics, Forced companionship.

First of all, let's talk about who you are.

In terms of being Aegon's daughter...

You could be one of his legitimate heirs with Helaena.

That or maybe you could be a bastard from one of his many flings. Perhaps one who later became a cupbearer for him?

Regardless of how... Aegon gets horrible after the death of Jaehaerys.

Before the assassination, Aegon isn't... very invested.

He's paying more attention to his first son, hyping Jaehaerys up as his heir.

He cares for you, but not as much as his first son.

He keeps an eye on you yet you're often with Helaena.

Helaena takes good care of you... even if your father is often busy.

You're well cared for, even as a bastard Helaena doesn't wish to leave you on your own.

Perhaps, as a dreamer/seer, she senses your fate beside Aegon and wants to aid you through it.

Your life is... decent within the Red Keep one way or another.

Things only really go downhill when the Blood + Cheese incident occurs.

Jaehaerys is murdered in the night due to assassins sent by Daemon.

The news is devastating.

Helaena spent the whole night with her mother, holding her remaining children and you in her arms.

You're older than the babe(s) when it all happens, perhaps a young kid (To make it make sense, you can probably age the characters up from canon)

In the morning... your father is furious.

Aegon's screaming at anyone he sees.

Maids, servants, the Small Council, his knights...

Anyone.

Aegon screams about Rhaenyra and her side killing his heir.

One would not think he is a man close to his children.

He only seemed to like Jaehaerys because he was a male heir.

That's what you thought, at least.

Until Aegon kept coming to your chambers.

You were often with Helaena before and after the death of your sibling.

So you were not expecting to see Aegon come in to pester you.

You are his by blood, you are his eldest daughter.

Aegon himself didn't realize how... affected he was.

He didn't know how grateful he was to have you until his son was murdered.

Aegon is a man doomed to lose all of his children in the end.

Perhaps even you.

Helaena knows this well and is worried when Aegon shows a sudden interest in you.

Aegon would get noticeably more... protective of you as his daughter.

He may have no eldest son now, but you're still one of his eldest.

He never lets you out of his sight after the death of Jaehaerys.

Helaena often asks he leaves you alone, but the king never does.

"Oh please, wife... let me see her. I won't cause her any harm."

Aegon drags you to Small Council meetings and shows you to Sunfyre.

He's paranoid yet proud of you, his eldest daughter.

He isn't affectionate at first.

But when Jaehaerys dies, he's suffocating.

The king, your father, holds you close.

During Small Council meetings, he has you right beside him or in his lap.

When his Council asks him to leave you with Helaena, Aegon blatantly refuses.

"Far as you're concerned, this is my daughter and she has the right to sit here."

Aegon would not allow betrothals.

That's one thing both he and Helaena can agree on when it comes to you.

You mean too much to him to be married off.

Even when you're of age he dismisses the thought.

Aemond is no doubt appointed as your bodyguard.

He doesn't trust Ser Criston Cole, said man did nothing when his son died.

Even if you are a woman, Aegon raises you like you're his next heir.

Maelor, his other son, is too young for now.

So, for now, you are his main heir.

If anything threatened you, Aegon is not waiting.

He will order Aemond hunt them down.

That is unless he can kill them himself.

You aren't even really allowed to play with Jaehaera or Maelor at times.

You miss your time with Helaena, your mother...

Now all you really see is your uncle Aemond or your father Aegon.

Sometimes you see your grandmother, Alicent, but Aegon isn't keen on it.

It's strange how Aegon goes from indifferent to obsessive about you.

He sits by you all the time, giving you books and often ordering Aemond to look after you.

Aemond would much rather patrol King's Landing with Vhagar... but he adores holding you in his arms so he can't complain.

Aemond may sneak swordsmanship in to teach you in private, even if you are a lady.

Aegon is irritated about it, but soon allows it.

You must be a strong queen... give Rhaenyra a run for her gold...

A way you could get Daeron involved in this is maybe you get to write him ravens while he's out being a squire.

I know this is primarily meant to be Aegon... but I feel at least most of the other Greens would be involved.

Aegon knows you should have a dragon... yet he hates the idea of something going wrong.

Sure, you get along with Sunfyre... he won't even let you near Vhagar... and Dreamfyre is rarely even with her rider...

You'd be fine with a hatchling of your own... but Aegon would be extra careful when giving you one.

He's already lost his first heir, you aren't dying too.

He's so nervous about losing you.

Even more so when he gets burned in battle.

While he's in pain on his bed, he doesn't stop asking about you once he's coherent.

You're left in Helaena and Aemond's care... but often are sent to visit the burned king.

Aemond doesn't see you as a threat to the throne.

In fact there's times he treats you like his own daughter, teaching you High Valyrian... a language Aegon isn't very proficient in.

Helaena is often showing you insects and singing to you as she holds you close.

When you visit Aegon he is adamant on you cuddling up to his good side, holding you close as he hisses in pain.

His body may be broken at this point... but he loves you dearly.

You are his little princess, his little future queen, he's sure of that.

Even in his bed, burned and helpless, he'll keep you safe...

Helaena and Aemond love you too, after all, not a soul will touch you with The Greens.

[bvidzsoo]

Cosmically divine

☆ Synopsis: Olympus, the place where Gods play pretend and do as they wish. Dion, the place where mere mortals suffer and do as the Gods wish. One might wonder, is life ever fair? ★ 

☆ Author: bvidzsoo ★ 

☆ Pairing: Ateez members x female reader ★ 

☆ Rating: nsfw, 18+ ★ 

☆ Genre: Greek mythology, dark romance, violence, smut, gore

☆ Status: on-going ★ 

☆ 1. Choi San x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Underwater ◖Ares x Naiad Nymph!au◗ 

Summary: You knew that your love would never be fulfilled as the man you loved belonged to another woman. But can you help your poor Naiad heart when San, the God of war himself, seeks you out again and again when he is most vulnerable?

☆ 2. Kang Yeosang x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Marionette ◖Aphrodite!au◗ 

Summary: Doomed from the beginning, your mother, Hera, only saw a weapon in you. If you had once thought she loved you, she proved you wrong the second she cast you away once you failed to kill her enemy's son. Yeosang, Aphrodite's dearest and most prized offspring.

☆ 3. Kim Hongjoong x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Color of love ◖Hermes x Iris!au◗ 

Summary: If there was a God everyone feared, perhaps it was Zeus. After the continuous abuse he's put you through, you never thought you'd get to live your eternal life peacefully. That is, until the messenger God shows up and whisks you away before Zeus can see and stop him.

☆ 4. Jung Wooyoung x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Kingdom come ◖Oread Nymph x Dryad Nymph!au◗ 

Summary: Nymphs were nothing but deities that preserved nature and allowed the Gods to love them in return for their blessings. And when Zeus lurks around, you are labelled as his, never to be touched by anyone in the whole cosmos. But can you help yourself when the man he claims is Wooyoung himself? The gorgeous and warm-hearted Oread that coincidentally returns your forbidden feelings for him?

☆ 5. Song Mingi x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Dead man running ◖Hades!au◗ 

Summary: You were cursed, at least that's what your family thought about you. After a while, you started believing it too, the shadows that whispered to you convincing you that you were either crazy or just...different. And maybe you were, after all, the God of death himself, wouldn't have just called you his little shadow without a reason, right?

☆ 6. Choi Jongho x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Nightmare ◖Phobos!au◗ 

Summary: Coming from a family that thrived under pressure and mayhem, it was only a matter of time until your father allowed you to join him on the battlefield. But perhaps what set you apart from other warrior families was the fact that each one of you worshiped a God of war. You just happened to make the mistake of offering yourself up to one in exchange for your dear sibling's life.

☆ 7. Jeong Yunho x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　One Kiss ◖Atë!au◗ 

Summary: Cast out of Olympus because Zeus has had enough of the mayhem and craze you created amongst men, living and meddling with mortals changed nothing. You thrived off of stupid men falling to their knees and begging you for attention, promising things no mortal could offer. But when a pure, untouched, and unassuming boy might just fall into your trap, you can't help yourself and entice him just to the point of madness.

☆ 8. Park Seonghwa x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Moonlight Melody ◖Poseidon!au◗ 

Summary: You always thought the man of your dreams never existed, would never come and whisk you away from this terrible terrible life that you lived. And perhaps when he starts showing up in your dreams, with promises that he'd soon come and see you, you find yourself hoping for a love that only the stars would bear witness to.

☆ A/N: Hello, my lovelies, I am here with a new story, can you believe it?! Because I can't lol, this wasn't supposed to exist but I thought...why not? Updates won't be too frequent, probably, as I have got quite a few others things to write, but I can't wait for you all to see what I have planned here! ^^ These stories won't be too dark, but I felt it necessary to mention dark romance as we're still dealing with some ambiguous topics. Taglist, as usual, is open and you are all very welcomed to comment on this post if you'd like to be added! Thank you for showing love, support, and interest in my works on here, they mean the world to me! <3 divider ★ 

↳Perm. taglist: @orshii @jjoongstar @tinyelfperson @thestarskiller @zuuhaa

@aaa-sia @gong-fourz @a-tinycarat @sooberryworld @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

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❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

[bhaalble]

Back on my Wyll script doctor because I was talking about it with a friend. Specifically imagining a version of Wyll's big Character Choice that felt like it had some actual teeth.

Imagine a world where instead of a cartoon evil hot lady Mizora and Wyll's relationship actually had some complexity to it and like. some genuine push and pull which gives him temptation to stay. I just keep thinking about this 17 year old who his whole life wanted more than anything to be a hero, who got his chance to do something heroic and selfless and save the city from certain doom, and his reward is getting kicked out because he did it the "wrong way".

Imagine if instead of forcing his silence, Mizora instead comforted him. How unbelievably cruel of your father! Well...since you've nowhere else to go, why not stick with me? We make a pretty good team, as it turns out, and I can get you a whole list of monsters who need killing. Plenty of devils and demons loose in your world targetting all sorts of innocents. Our interests can keep aligning, and you get a place to sleep when you need it.

Wyll makes his peace with it, because he has nothing and no one. And Mizora's not GOOD maybe, not by Ulder Ravengard's definition. But she's fun. She delights in his growth. And she does certainly keep direct him at greater evils, devils who really do need killing. And if she spies on his every waking moment, well, she worries. If she sends him after the occasional innocent, well, she had people who she has to answer to as well. She's a devil, how much can he fault her for her nature? She's always seemed like she knew where the line was...

Karlach (and the player) express their doubts, of course, but for act one at least he's defensive. Yes, she punished him and he hates it and its miserable but....he was in breach of contract! She's NEVER gone outside its bounds, she's always stuck very closely to their agreement. Wyll, who wants so badly to trust others and believe everyone has the chance for good, can't find it in him to believe the worst even of a devil.

And Mizora is FOND of Wyll, loves him even in her way. As a cherished pet, as a trusted tool, as a best-laid plan. Never enough to choose his own well-being over her own agenda, never enough to see him as his own person. He's her little project, the long shot noble brat she gambled on when Tiamat decided to get too big for her britches. And it paid off! Wyll always pays off, currying her all the favor from Zariel she so desperately craves. And who are you, or anyone, to come between them? She's treated him well. As she's quick to remind him, she wanted him when no one else did, aided him while the rest of his city slept snug in their beds. And if Ulder Ravengard didn't want a son with a whiff of infernal, then do you REALLY think he'd want you with lovely horns and Avernus in your blood?

You discover his father's been taken. Beyond igniting a lot of old feelings, it brings up a question of succession. Of course, Florrick isnt giving up on him, but if not...there aren't currently any likely candidates to take over the Flaming Fists. Not trustworthy ones. Florrick will take the position, but everyone knows in the back of his mind Ulder never really stopped planning for it to be Wyll. With the city in chaos and a cult army on the rise, they may need an answer sooner rather than later. Wyll feels the call of the Gate, but knows just as well that Mizora wouldn't want him to return in such an official capacity.

For the first time ever the leash starts to chafe in a way he can't keep pushing through.

Act 2 rolls around. Mizora sends up the Warlock signal. After potentially some encouragement from the player, Wyll (NOT THE PLAYER. I DONT KNOW WHY ITS THE PLAYER IN THE GAME ITS WEIRD) hesitantly proposes that maybe, if he does this....they can do a renegotiation of his contract. Not break it, he assures her quickly! Just....reopen the terms, take a looks at the agreement. Maybe discuss an exit ramp? After all....I mean, neither of us truly thought I'd be doing this forever, did we?

Based on Mizora's reaction. Yeah she did.

But fine. She agrees. And Wyll's not mad that it turns out you're rescuing her, not a nameless "operative" for Zariel. He would've done that on his own had she asked. Its the fact that she apparently didn't feel like being honest, that she let him fret and worry about potentially handing Zariel back some runaway for basically no reason. Its the fact that she came here to check in on the cult that abducted his FATHER just to see if Zariel could make any use of them. And its the fact that she seems surprised and annoyed that ANY of this bothers him.

All this builds, of course, to the final confrontation. The basic elements are the same. Mizora outside the coronation (this time needling at Wyll, "I'll be at camp if you're not too high and mighty to consort with the likes of me anymore"), Ulder tadpoled and fighting it. Mizora makes her offer. I can end the contract now, and you're free to go running after daddy (who won't want you btw! not like I do!). You'll lose all your powers, all my aid, all those juicy quests to chase down the greatest monsters in the hells. Take on your father's job and settle in for a life of misery and compromise and only doing as much good as the nobles will let you. Or: pledge yourself to me, eternally. I'll give you a boatload of new powers and eternal life to boot, so long as you serve as my sword and shield.

From there I think three endings branch out, and with it three classes for Wyll. If he stays with Mizora, accepts a relationship where he will never be an equal or a free agent in exchange for the affirmation he wants so badly from his father, he remains a Warlock, with some juiced stats and extra spell slots, along with shiny new gear. If he pledges to follow in his father's footsteps, he instead becomes an Oath of Devotion paladin, pledging himself in service to Tyr, if with a sense of doomed finality. The Blade of Frontiers is officially retired, and along with it any identity he has outside of being his father's son. Or the third path, break the contract without taking his father's role. He will look for his father, yes, but whether or not you find him he's going back to his roots, travelling around to do some good in the world (as the Blade of Frontiers) or kicking ass in the Hells with Karlach (as the Blade of Avernus). In this timeline he becomes a fighter, with a default preference for Eldritch Knight.

What's important: if he breaks his contract then Mizora is NOT hanging around camp. She will leave in a fury, accidentally bound by her own word to withdraw her influence completely if he breaks his contract. She may still approach the player some night to sleep with the player, framed for high approval/romanced players and her trying to take something back from Wyll. But Wyll will have to learn how to define himself without her breathing down his neck, without keeping her happy dominating his every thought. Its nervewracking, and even lonesome at times...but its freedom. And, perhaps, that's worth a little bit of lonesomeness.

[bitchfitch]

Idk man. You're doomed

you're five the first time a knife is put in your hands. A man who never bothered to give you a name tells you how to hide it. How to use it to defend another. How to use it to take your own life should you fail.

You're six, then seven. The other boys your age run in the streets playing games together. You've never spoken to any of them. Your go with the man who isn't your father to a funeral for a man who wasn't your brother. A woman gives your not-father a knife identical to the one you've now carried for years. Your not-father tells you today is a day of pride. Your not a brother fulfilled his purpose without his blade ever having to taste his own blood.

You see the body through the throne rooms doors. It looks like a marble statue. Bleach white and perfectly still where it lays at the foot of the King.

You're ten the day you meet your purpose. Another boy. The adopted son of the thing in the throne room. He's the prince. You will die for him. He looks at you with hate in his eyes the first time you're in the same room as him.

He tells you to run. He doesn't want you. He doesn't want to be the prince. He hates the King and misses the family he was taken from. He's scared. He doesn't want to kill you.

You don't run. You can't. You have nowhere to go and know nothing but your purpose. Protect him. Stand beside him. Grow up with him as his dearest friend.

He's not allowed to play with the other children either. He's not allowed to play.

All of his free time is eaten up by studying because every second he doesn't have his nose in a book he's on a pedestal with strangers knelt beneath him. Their hands cupped as they pray to him for his father's blessings. You see the prince spit blood when he leaves the room before the throne room. He chews the inside of his mouth raw to stop his fiery tongue. When you go to lay in your bed on the other side of the room from his he rants into the night about the nobleman beggars and their demands and how his father never stops talking.

You're twelve. You both notice that you've gotten a hair taller than the prince. He challenges you to a mock sword battle about it in the secrecy of the bedroom you share with him. His eyes alight and alive with all the fire he keeps covered through his days.

You're fourteen the first time you use your knife. A beggar grabbed the prince by the hem of his robes after the holy child failed to soothe his woes.

The guards were on the man in a split second, dragging him not to the dungeon, but to you where you stand at your purpose's side.

The prince doesn't watch. He stares over the crowd that always filled the hall before the throne room.

You kill for him. The beggar's pleads lost to deeply engrained training. His blood stains the hems of the prince's gowns.

He draws shut the curtain between your halves of the room that night. He asks you leave to take your breakfast elsewhere the next morning. When you meet him at his pedestal he sits with the hems of his robes wrapped tight around him.

He talks to you again weeks later. He sobs through the night when you fail to do as you're told when he once again demands you flee the only life you've ever been allowed to know.

You're seventeen. Your prince gains a brother, he's four. His parents beg he not be taken from them. Your prince can't look at them when he voices his and the child's new father's will.

Your not-father asks you take careful record of every moment of the child's life. You will have another not-brother soon and he must be a match for the new prince as you were for yours.

The boy cries from the room beside your's and your prince's for days until he turns the same stoney cold you're so used to seeing from your prince.

Your prince asks you if you hate him. You tell him no.

You're twenty-four and he's sick. Weak and stumbling over his words like he hasn't slept every hour his father wasn't using his voice these last weeks.

You've never so much as brushed the hair from your prince's face. He was holy, and you are not. To touch him would be to defile him.

You catch him when he faints on the walk between your shared chambers and the dreaded preyer hall.

You carry him to the medical ward surrounded by guards. The physicians can't touch the unconscious prince either. Not without for forfeiting their lives as you have. its decided that, as you have already sealed your own execution order, you would be permitted to continue touching him. Moving him. Helping the doctors examine him. Your foul hands against his skin that feels like cold stone. You help him eat, you hold him upright so that he may drink. He's barely aware of what is around him he still manages to protest every time you draw to far from him.

He orders the guards to leave. Spits that you are to not be touched. His limited energy wasted on pleading for your life.

For days you stay in that limbo with him. A condemned man and his ever weakening purpose.

The doctors have an idea that may save the prince but it's so profane they hesitate to offer it.

The solution to his sickness was obvious to them from the first few minutes of examination, but the clergy had had to argue it for days without the prince being able to tell them his father's will.

Ultimately, it was decided that it was the prince himself who should make the call.

He laid against you, his head tucked up under your chin with his hand over your heart as though his presence there would save you from the consequences of holding him.

The prince could be saved. All he needed was a blood transfusion to replenish his weak veins. But there was no donor holy enough. To take profane blood into his divine body would ruin his potential as host.

One side of the clergy pleaded with him to let you carry him to the throne room, pass the doors you only ever saw through once, to the foot of his father's divinity. There, all he would have to do was his slay his one human connection. His only friend, his only true family, and replace his father as host. His and your purposes fulfilled. Your execution given purpose beyond punishing you.

The prince's jaw worked in that subtle way that meant he was biting his cheek bloody again.

What was the purpose of his younger brother if not this? The prince would have the fouling transfusion, and he will be prince no more. His brother taking his place as mouthpiece and future body for their father.

The clergymen bickered in the room with you both. Your prince, weak and so sick as to not be able to stand, took your knife from your belt and ordered you hold out your hand for him.

He held you by the wrist as he sliced across the heal of your palm. The pain was made numb by your every thought melting at the sight of him pressing his lips to the wound to drink down your filth.

The transfusion was performed without further delay.

You were donor. He was able to walk back to your rooms with only an arm slung around your shoulders for support.

He was prince no more. Touching him was no longer a sin punishable by death. Your execution cancelled after he threatened to kill himself to take generations of holy secrets to his grave in vengeance.

He told you to call him Cadfael when you laid in your bed with him pressed close to you. His hand over your heart like he feared it would cease beating if he moved it. No one has spoken his name since he was stolen from his birth family.

You're 25, he's still so sick. Weak, cold to the touch, exhausted. You donate blood over and over until the doctors refuse to take more from you. Your symptoms aren't as severe as his, they go away when you have time to replenish your own supplies. He gets worse the longer he has to go between refillings.

He refuses to take from the people who once worshipped at his feet or the prisoners in the dungeons or the good samaritans who simply want to help a sick man. He's so scared of earning a reputation of literally stealing others blood for his own benefit. He only takes yours because you threaten to bleed yourself to death for his sake if he doesn't. He knows you aren't bluffing. It's always been your purpose to die for him.

The new prince can't hear his father's will. The boy, only twelve, sits on his brother's pedestal as beggars talk past him to the profane man knelt behind him. Cadfael whispers their fathers will into his young ears so he can be the mouthpiece he was supposed to be.

The clergy fear what it means for the fate of their country if the king rejects his younger son. The elder has been ruined, surely the King wouldn't see him as fit host? Why won't he accept the boy he had ordered stolen from his profane blooded family those years ago?

Cadfael whispers the answer to you the first time you ask. His words kept safe in the darkness between your bodies where you lay under the covers of your bed.

You are his only bond to his humanity. The only thing he cares about. the only thing he would morn losing. You're purpose is to die for him, his is to live for you. You were never seen as profane by the king who had slaughtered its bondee over and over again. Every time it took a new host, their loved's blood is what nurtured the transition. You were never something profane to it.

Cadfael is still holy and pure.

It scares him. He refuses to let the clergy know. He's had so much more freedom. You have had so much more freedom. You both saw the city streets for the first time after he got sick. Talked to people other than the clergy and eachother. Were he not ill, you would have run away together to be normal men. He talks about a house on a beach with a dog. He'd spend his days transcribing texts as all he knew to do was repeat other's words, you would work something simple and physical. A blacksmith or a farm hand pulling shellfish from the sand.

His father is still talking about the day Cadfael would enter the throne room and kill you.

You're twenty-six. He's been getting sicker and sicker. His weakness growing, your blood doing less and less to heal him. He breaks down sobbing in front of the beggars. All his father would say was that the time for Cadfael to ascend to the throne drew near.

Cadfael would die soon. The line of succession would be broken, their god left without a host when it's current body finished rotting away. For his people's sake he had to fulfill his and your's purposes.

He crawls, he can't stand, to his brother's feet. His hands cupped in preyer to their father as he begs to just be healed. It has healed so many others. Why can't it just heal him? Why does he have to die young without having ever gotten to live a life as anything but a mouthpiece for the monster behind the throne room doors?

his father answers him, and he cries how unfair it all is.

He refuses. He demands you take him to your shared room. You carry him, he hasn't walked on his own in months.

You're twenty-seven. He can't sit up anymore. He looks like a corpse in your bed as he rambles for you to transcribe his sacrilegious plan. His father's words slip out between his sentences. It begs you with his mouth to bring him to ignore his desires. To carry him to the throne room and fulfill your purpose. Save it. Save it. Save it. Its son's plan will be its slow death.

The plan is completed, the recipe is engrained in your mind.

You carry him to the throne room. He feels like air in your arms. His skin stretched tight against his bones. His hair thin and stringy. his eyes glazed. The blankets you wrapped around him in a desperate attempt to keep him warm must weigh more than him.

The doors open for you both. You see the king for the first time. Your not-brother still lays at its feet. He didn't have a name either. You place your purpose beside the throne. his father turns its rotten head to watch you as you clear away your not-brother's bones. The dry flesh that still stuck them flaked like snow as you piled them amongst the bones of countless kings and queens and their beloved bonds.

Cadfael speaks for the first time in days. It's his father wasting his limited energy to beg you spare it. Cadfael is just one man, as are you. To do as he asks would lead to the deaths of countless others. This world needs it more than it needs either of you. Its blessings. Its protection.

You draw your knife, identical to the ones that had been used within this room countless times. And fulfilled your purpose.

You killed for your prince. Cutting the king open to spill its milk white blood, its entrails pulled from it like it were a simple animal being cleaned for consumption. its heart pulled from its chest. It beat in your hand. a tangled knot of bright light.

you took the bag of prepared components from where they were tucked against your purpose's chest. He only needed a sliver off the king's heart. He swore that once they were done it could be returned to the king without a single soul having to suffer for this misdeed.

You carved off what he needed, placed it within the bag, and returned the heart to its host. Within seconds its innards engulfed it and pulled it back through the gash in its abdomen. Your prince was right. he almost always was.

When you return to him he fights to hold out his bone thin arms to you. The cure needed blood. He is so weak and frail and blinded by his sickness that all you have to do is run the dull side of your blade against his wrists to trick him into believing he's been cut. You hold his hand as you slash your own arm open. You've already devoted so much of your blood to him, what's a little more? You couldn't bare the idea of bleeding him.

He intones the spell, his voice weak.

when it is done the bag glows with his cure. Your hands shake, the constant stream of your life pouring over the bag had drained you of so much energy. You bring the cure to his lips and he takes it from you like he had taken the countless tiny pieces of food you had managed to feed him these last few years.

You wipe your blood from his face as he goes still.

You tend your own wound before picking him up and carrying him from that place. The clergy shriek at you for what you've done. Not a single one will dare draw near you and your prince.

He sleeps for weeks. Your wound scabs, then scars.

When he wakes his eyes are clear. He smiles at you. He tells you his father is furious with you both with a grin so giddy that you can't stop yourself kissing it from his lips. He's still so weak. but his sickness is gone.

He learns to walk again, though he can never go more than a few steps. He eats his fill. He gains his weight back. Every night you hold him through he feels like a different man. His bones covered once more, his skin holds warmth his smile bright and alive and him.

You're twenty-nine when he demands time away from you for the first time since you killed a man for him.

He locks himself in the spare room that has become his study. Leaving only when he was requested in the preyer hall to speak for the father that still needed him.

Days pass, and when he comes to you again he demands to know if you trust him. Of course you do.

He feeds you the second dose of his remedy. Your blood feels on fire. when you wake from what felt like the pits of hell he told you you would never die. Never age. Never grow ill. It was your reward, he says, for all your years of service to him. He tells you to flee, or to stay beside him for the rest of the unnatural lives you have carved off of God for yourselves. You tell him to stop wasting his breath on asking you leave his side.

You're thirty when word spreads of what you and he have done. The beggar's in the prayer hall plead not with the king, or the younger prince but with the traitor behind him. Their god would leave them to die- Cadfael can save them. Cadfael can heal the sickest of the sick. Cure all disease.

The man who once dreaded that he would be hated by his people for accepting their blood as a cure to his ailment bled himself near to death as he made panacea after panacea. Each one using a tiny sliver of his father's heart. Each one promising a lifetime of health.

The healed sleep fitfully for weeks in the palace infirmary. Their skin darkening with burns as they whimper and scream in their sleep, before turning to flaking white ash in the hours before they woke up shrieking their agony. Smoke poured from them as they burned alive.

Their screams never ceasing. They can't die. They just keep burning.

Cadfael doesn't know what he's done wrong- The fires spread. He's never used his father's gifted magic. Never dared to invite that parasite further into his body. In that moment it fails him completely.

Instead it's something unholy and rotting, his cure still buried I'm his gut, that makes the room flood with water.

The burnt still writhe. He orders the halls cleared. The dungeon emptied. He can do nothing with his workspace flooded. The burning need to be kept doused and drowned while he fixes what he's done.

He doesn't know what went wrong. He spends weeks going over every step. He interrogates you. Your blood burns, but the flames never engulf You- Why? Why why why?

He tries fix after fix. Prisoners are brought in and used as guinea pigs. He has to fix what he's done. The fires grow, the dungeon has turned into an endlessly boiling cave lake. The burned scream. He swears he can hear them from the other side of the castle.

He stops eating again. He doesn't have time. He has to fix what he's done. You watch him regress. The fire that was Cadfael turns from that of a hearth to that of an inferno. He loses himself in his studies. Piece by piece as the obsession consumes him like the tides steal sinking ships.

He doesn't burn. Why doesn't he burn? It's cold water that fills him. It has nothing to do with his place as prince- All the ingredients were the same. Why was he spared? Why were you? His father refuses to answer his questions.

This is what the king warned them would happen. Two lives saved and countless others ruined.

You watch him change. His obsession makes him ruthless. A few more test subjects- that's all it'll take and then they will all be saved.

The beggars stop coming to pray to him. Fear spreads. The prince has gone mad.

You watch him lose all he weight he managed to game back. He becomes weak as hes too engrossed in his studies to eat. You try to discourage him, to bring him back. He banishes you from his study and doesn't emerge for days.

He smells like rot when he does. Wild eyed and barely able to stand as exhaustion finally drives him to crawl back to your shared room. He sleeps in your bed. He hasn't slept in his own in years. Even now it doesn't occur to you to take his instead of laying beside him.

You're thirty-two when the rebellions begin.

Thirty three when you join as an Informant. Cadfael is so busy with his fruitless searching that you can come and go without notice.

Thirty-four when the palace is stormed.

You knew the plans of the rebellion ahead of time. Your work with them being what would be your purpose's salvation.

He never wanted to be prince.

In the fear and panic you break away from the plan. You take him by his hand and lead him down the paths you never told the rebels of. Deep beneath the castle, in the cisterns that had been drained to flood the lowest floors in an attempt to contain the ever growing number of burned. Your exit is close. You'll go somewhere on the coast. Strangers in a new town who fled to escape the turmoil in the city. No one will know it's the mad prince who walks with you.

Cadfael follows. You tell him your plan and he kisses you. It's perfect. On a coast he would have an entire ocean at his disposal to continue his work with.

The burned kept safe until he could fix what he's done. His research conducted in secret.

His research continued.

You were five years old when you were given a knife and told your purpose. Protect and serve and love the holy prince.

Cadfael, the boy, the man, the prince, the brilliant, is dead. You realize that he has been for a very long time.

The monster before you killed him and wears his skin.

He's facing away from you, that head of bright red hair bleached white, the skin across the sliver of exposed neck the color of fine marble instead of warm pallor.

You were never supposed to see him consumed by the King like this.

His blood is cold when it pours over your hand. Your blade piercing the thin muscle just below his shoulder blade and delving between the ribs you used to count while you held him.

He gasps. you burry you face in the crook of his neck. He smells like rot and ashes. He feels like your prince long dead as you hold him through those final moments.

You're lauded as a hero when the resistance fighters find you still holding him in the bowels of the place always meant to be your mausoleum.

They pull you from him, and his spell finally breaks. His rotten body disovels into a flood like his experiments always turned to flame.

[gay-dorito-dust]

okay so if jace and aemond are both in love with reader how do you think they would react if reader was on the other side of the war and they had to fight them on dragon back???

Jace felt his heart break upon realising that he has to fight you. He doesn’t wish to be the reason you are brought to harm that he had once promised to keep you away from, he doesn’t think his heart would be able to handle it, but the realm was being plunged into war and you were unfortunately on the opposite side thanks to your father for pledging your house for Aegon.

Jace had tried to offer you his hand in marriage but your father wasn’t having it, proclaiming that you were already betrothed to someone else. Your father was aware of Jace’s feelings for you but wasn’t about to let his child marry the bastard son of Rhaenyra.

So without any options for him to take to secure your safety, Jace had come to terms with the reality that he had to kill you in order to help his mother sit the throne she was promised, would this war away at him for the rest of his days? Absolutely. You were his heart, his light, his breath of fresh air but now you were the thorn in his side that he couldn’t remove for he didn’t want to forget the delicious pain you brought him by making him love you.

He didn’t want to do this but his family had lost too much to the greens, so seeing you take their side without so much of a fight has to be the greatest betrayal he’s ever experienced, his heart hurt with the notion that he hasn’t once crossed your mind when you had been nothing but all consuming in his. Jace could only hope that the next life would be more merciful for the both of you as you both lunged for the other.

Aemond valued duty above all else for he didn’t have anything else, he was a kinslayer, the worst thing that you could possibly hope to be in Westeros. He had doomed himself from the start by claiming Vhagar that night on driftmark but he didn’t care because for the first time he felt like someone and felt useful for his family.

I wish I could say that he’d wouldn’t dare engage with you in combat but I’d be lying, if anyone before him opposes his family, then they are as good as dead regardless of how he felt in the past. However apart of him was certain you have come to hate him with a rage as blistering as dragonfire for what he had done to Lucaerys at Storm’s End.

He had ruined any and all hopes of your future together for good that day and drove you into siding with his half sister, the true heir to the throne, as you screamed with your whole chest upon Cannibal. Your mind has been made up as had his along time ago, his family needed him to win the war, he was there biggest asset and you were team black’s greatest asset they had at their disposal; your clash was an inevitable one.

Aemond know his heart might always belong to you but you were never his to claim, it wasn’t fate as you were promised to the likes of Benjicot Blackwood. Aemond had caught you both exchanging pleasantries beforehand once but didn’t think much of it until war finally broke across the realm, only then did it started to make sense. You were never his when your heart belonged to another and he wasn’t fully yours either when his heart was set on brining victory to his family over the love that could’ve been.

[meaninglessness]

In fact, sometimes i think about how Neil’s detachment from Nathan makes his life easier, if it can even be called that, just like Andrew’s detachment from Tilda.

Because otherwise, they might have been doomed to always seek their approval, to become convenient for them, the way Riko tried to be for his father and brother, the way Aaron tried to be for Tilda.

Mary doesn’t make this list because she truly cared, even if in her own way, even if messily, blinded by their running and protecting Neil.

Just imagine needing a mother who didn’t care, a father who cut you, who broke you, who made you kill.

In real life, children are terrified of their parents for many reasons, and yet a strange sense of attachment lingers in some children, because they are hungry and because their brain, for some reason, needs their biological parents more than someone who stepped into the role of parent and does it well.

For Andrew, that attachment was to Cass. She wasn’t like Mary. If she were, despite her love for her son, who grew into a rapist, she would have locked him away - out of love, out of care.

You know, feelings are an uncontrollable thing :\

And Andrew’s love for Cass was destructive, just like Aaron’s love for Tilda.

But did Andrew ever wonder what could have been if their biological parents weren’t like that? If one wasn’t a ghost of a person, and the other wasn’t heartless, drowning in her own problems, likely having had equally horrid parents, given how their children turned out?

Did he ever think he was a monster created by Tilda and his unnamed father, and what could have been?

Did Aaron ever think about it? About a family where he didn’t even need a father, just Tilda, him, and Andrew — but normal, like a happy family.

Did Neil ever think about it? About a life with a mother and father, where he wasn’t a copy of his father and hated it, but was proud of it, loved it? Where he slept with his mom because he watched a scary movie and was too scared to sleep alone, not because he knew what fear and horror meant in real life, where it wasn’t fantasy but his reality?

Did he think about playing with Kevin and Riko, with his father just there to watch, just to support, not to stab someone in front of him and the kids he might have wanted to call friends?

Perhaps the bitterness of how things are had always been there. And that unspoken "what could have been" — even in their thoughts — was never something they wanted to dwell on.

Because you’re either someone with a realistic view of life and work with what you’ve got, or a child stuck in a phase of dreaming about how, in your childhood, you could have at least had the chance to dream about fairy tales.

It’s some kind of grace that they didn’t grow up like those children who forgive their parents for beating them, forgive insults, chasing some justification for the people who gave birth to them, clinging to an unexplainable childlike love.

It’s grace that Neil hated his father. It’s grace that Andrew let go of the hypocritical Cass and held no hope for Tilda.

Andrew killed Tilda. If Neil believed in it and had the chance, he would’ve killed Nathan himself.

But not because they loved them and were hurt by what could have been, and sought revenge.

They don’t love them. And if they didn’t harm others, they wouldn’t wish to harm them.

But Andrew sees how the boy Tilda left behind becomes a victim. And there’s no way someone so dependent on Tilda could break free from her without being under her destructive influence.

He’s a teenager, and he’s ready to die and kill, all for the brother he just found. And he thinks, maybe he can do it. Then he accepts the burden of being a monster for his own brother. But the main thing is to save him. The main thing is to save him.

And this is the pattern Neil follows. The difference is that Tilda isn’t a butcher. The difference is that in Aaron’s place stands Kevin. Maybe Kevin can live the life he deserves.

He’s a teenager, and he’s ready to die and kill, all for the people he found. And he thinks, maybe they can make it. Then he accepts being a monster when the truth about him is revealed. The butcher’s son. But the main thing is their safety. The deal undone, because Andrew’s safety is the main thing.

I don’t know. They’re just… It’s insane how they fit together, like matching puzzle pieces.

[asmalltooth]

thinking about Paul's agency a lot and. this scene got to me.

if you only look at the first book in the series, it's a tragedy in the classic sense. it's Paul fighting his future and his past with a futility that's heartbreaking. trying not to become the thing he fears and then becoming it.

because book Paul can't win.

not against the grandfather whose hunger for leadership he inherited, not against his mother who raised him for power. not against his father who clearly lays out Paul's path on Arrakis in a few desperate words to his son: become the lisan al gaib, guerilla-warfare your way back to ruling. the only love Paul knows speaks the language of power and control.

Paul inherits what he will become.

and then there is the spice that opens his mind but what he sees isn't enough to guide him. and his quasi-mentat powers can't help him because they are disconnected from his heart and soul. and the Fremen culture he eventually becomes part of, well. putting the tribe above everything else, killing your way to leadership, constant war and violence... his fight with Jamis, his initiation into Fremen life, is itself an act of violence. and heavily manipulated by Jessica who watches the fighting machine she helped create kill a man she helped weaken for the kill.

the Villeneuve films take a different approach overall, not just with the Jamis fight. Paul is less of a 'machine' and 'product' in the films and especially Leto a much more loving influence.

Film Paul has more of a fighting chance. His agency is painted in a different light.

but I can't unread Dune and I can't unsee book Paul's doomed attempts to escape his past and future. I watch the films and root for him and I feel he never had a chance.

[myocsfanfictions]

Under the Devil’s Eye

MASTERLIST

Selethryth, a young lady with strange eyes and prophetic dreams, is both feared and revered in King Ecbert's court. Though he sees her as a powerful tool for his ambitions, it is Ivar, the brutal and unpredictable son of Ragnar, who is drawn to her. As their fates collide, Selethryth finds herself entangled in a dangerous game where her gifts may lead her into the arms of darkness.

《 Previous - Next 》

Chapter 2

Selethryth felt utterly exhausted, as if her body had been forged from lead. Ever since the night she dreamt of the raven, sleep had become her enemy. Every time she closed her eyes, the nightmare returned—always the same. The vision of the bird, flying alone in the darkened sky, tired and abandoned. Then the serpent, coiling around the raven and swallowing it whole, its death slow and inevitable. And after, the earth trembling beneath her, decaying and foul, while a dark figure appeared in the shadows, familiar blue eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. The sea—the sea that devoured men and castles alike. And always, always, she was powerless, a silent witness the doom around her.

Each dream left her heart heavy, suffocated, as if a dark force had wrapped around her chest and was ready to crush her at any moment.

The King had grown restless after hearing about the raven, and since then, he summoned her every morning to ask what she had dreamt the night before. It was the only topic of conversation between them these days.

"Why do you keep pushing her to speak of this curse?" Her mother's voice broke the silence one night, trembling and low, as if she feared being overheard.

"The king has asked," her father replied quietly but tensely. "Who am I to deny him?"

"That man is a sinner. A dangerous, mad man," Lady Oswyth retorted, bitterness heavy in her voice, but also fear.

"Don't speak like that!" Lord Godric's voice was sharp, almost a whisper, but there was an unmistakable fear in it. "If the king hears—"

"If the king hears, it makes no difference," her mother whispered back. "We're already lost." She paused, her tone breaking. "But he doesn't see what I see. He doesn't understand the sign in her eyes... what she is."

"And the king doesn't want us to intervene. There will be no exorcism for her," her father said, trying to end the conversation, though his frustration was clear.

Oswyth sighed, her voice cracking. "You are condemning your daughter's soul for your own ambitions, Godric."

"Her soul has been lost since the day she was born!" Her father's words were harsh, like an old wound reopened. The anger was raw. "We knew it! She nearly killed you when you gave birth to her! And after her, you couldn't give me another child. We've always known, Oswyth!" His voice trembled with bitterness. "I thought we were cursed because of her. But the king... the king sees something else. And we've risen, like my father never could. I won't let anything ruin that."

Selethryth remained silent, hidden behind the ajar wooden door, shrouded in the darkness of her chamber. Her eyes lowered, and her heart ached as the cruel words pierced her. She had always known the truth of her birth—that she was the reason her mother had been unable to bear more children. The moment they had seen her eyes, they had known it was her fault. And now, hearing her father speak of it so openly, the weight of her existence pressed down on her, heavier than ever.

She slid down onto the cold floor, drawing her knees close to her chest, struggling to keep the sobs trapped within her. She could not allow herself to be heard, not even a sigh, as silent tears welled in her eyes. She didn't understand what she had done to deserve this. What had she done wrong? How had she offended the Lord, for Him to bring so much pain and dishonor to her family?

Selethryth had always tried to be a good Christian—going to church, learning everything that a noble lady was supposed to know—but none of it mattered. To them, she would always be a sinner. Always to blame. And there was nothing she could do to change their minds. To everyone, she would forever be a witch.

This pained her heart gravely.

"You're so quiet, child." Judith's voice broke through the silence, making Selethryth look up from her book. The lady was painting with careful hands, recreating a scene from the sacred scriptures. It was something Judith loved to do, though it was considered inappropriate for a lady—an indulgence that, by her position as the King's mistress, she was free to pursue. Women of her standing had the freedom to do things that others could not, like drawing or reading.

"Forgive me for not being good company, my lady," Selethryth apologized, her voice barely above a whisper. But Judith turned to her with softness in her eyes—eyes that no one else ever showed her. She was the only one who ever looked at her like that.

Selethryth still remembered when Judith had first feared her, when she had been labeled a witch—an accusation that had followed her like a shadow. But it didn't take long for Judith to grow fond of her, to see beyond the rumors and the fear. For Selethryth's mother, this was fitting. Judith, after all, was a woman with many flaws, living openly in her sins. To Oswyth, it made sense that she would not have ill thoughts about her daughter.

"Nonsense, Selethryth. You're always good company," Judith said gently, her gaze soft as she observed the young lady, who, after a long pause, found the strength to smile. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" she asked again, her brush never faltering as she continued painting.

Selethryth hesitated. She wanted to confide in Judith; she felt that the woman was the only one who might truly understand her. Judith had been the one to push her to read and study, to learn things she was never supposed to. And whenever someone spoke ill of her, it was Judith who had defended her without hesitation. But Judith was too close to the King for Selethryth to be completely honest with her. She could never speak of what had been said in her family's chamber, nor could she risk the royal family thinking her ungrateful. So, with a quiet breath, she decided to change the subject.

"I was reading about the Vikings," Selethryth said, her gaze dropping to the book in her hands.

"Vikings?" Judith asked with a curious tilt of her head. "What made them so interesting to you?"

"Magnus says he's the son of Ragnar Lothbrok," Selethryth replied, her voice soft.

Magnus, the son of the late Queen Kwenthrith, had been fathered by Ragnar Lothbrok during the war for Mercia. The very fact of his parentage had been the only reason Ecbert had agreed to raise him as his own.

"You've met him, haven't you?" Selethryth asked, her curiosity piqued. She saw Judith's expression shift to one of quiet nostalgia, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"You know I have," Judith replied, her voice tinged with something unreadable, though her smile was warm.

Selethryth, worried she had overstepped, realized the question had likely seemed unnecessary, considering Alfred's father had been one of Ragnar's most trusted companions.

"Was he truly as impressive as the stories say?" Selethryth asked, her voice full of wonder. She had read so much about the Vikings—their fierceness, their legends—and yet it was hard to believe such men existed outside of myth.

Judith nodded slowly, her eyes distant for a moment. "All of it is true," she said, her voice low and reverent. "He was an impressive warrior... with an even more impressive mind."

Then something on the page caught Selethryth's attention. She leaned in closer, her fingers tracing the edge of an illustration—a man, with a raven on his chest. She frowned, the image feeling oddly familiar. She turned the page back, her fingers trembling slightly, and found the same drawing, the same raven.

"Why a raven?" she muttered under her breath, unable to tear her eyes away from the image.

Judith, having noticed Selethryth's intense focus, hummed in curiosity and leaned in to see the drawing.

"You're looking at Ragnar," Judith said softly, almost as if speaking of an old friend. "The raven was his sigil."

Selethryth's breath caught in her throat as her gaze moved from Judith back to the drawing.

A raven...

She kept repeating to herself, It's just a drawing. There was no reason to think of it as anything more than what it was. She had dreamt of a bird dying. Nothing more. But she couldn't shake that strange feeling—like the image made sense. As if she were meant to look at it. But why would that be true?

She had never cared about Ragnar Lothbrok, why did she feel such a strong connection to that figure now?

She had never believed Ecbert's words. She had never believed that she had been blessed with prophetic dreams. They were just dreams, read by others, their meaning always coming later. Like with the first dream she had told him.

She had dreamt of a woman with black hair and a crown on her head, but suddenly the crown turned to ashes and the ground beneath her crawled away, as if it wanted to escape from her. But then, the same earth formed a bridge that led to King Ecbert, wearing an even bigger crown than the one he already wore. Both the people around him and those on the other side of the bridge bowed to him.

It held no meaning to her. There was no way she could have ever truly believed that the King would interpret this dream as a sign of his kingdom growing. But he did. And it happened again, and again. Every dream she shared seemed to follow a chance for Ecbert to expand his lands. And now, he ruled over the largest kingdom in England.

She had never wanted to believe that she had prophetic dreams. And she didn't want to believe it now. If she did, then the Devil really was her lover, and she didn't have a soul.

That thought terrified her. Was her destiny to be a dark creature? An empty one, causing pain and despair? Did she really have no soul? What would become of her when death came? Was she condemned to Hell?

But I have done nothing, she kept repeating to herself. She always did what her family expected of her, what the Lord had taught them to learn. She had done nothing to be hated like this.

And yet, that raven... that raven had scared her. The feeling it left behind terrified her even more.

"Why are you looking so pensive?" Eadgifu's voice made her look up from her needlework. Her sister was having her new dress fixed by the hands of Hilda. It was a gown of pale pink that matched perfectly with her sister's skin. On Eadgifu's face there was an excited smile as she observed herself in the mirror. "Are you worried about the feast of tomorrow night?"

Selethryth found herself smiling bitterly. She really wished that her mind could fix on those things, pretty dresses and feasts to meet suitors, but her mind kept coming back to the raven. The sadness that she felt in her dream, and the fear she had felt during the entire day.

"There's no reason to," Selethryth answered, meeting her sister's gaze through the glass, "You, however, must be excited."

Eadgifu's smile grew larger, "Mother said I'm ready to wed." She said with a dreamy expression. Marriage had always been her sister's greatest dream as they grew up.

"I'm sure you'll find an honorable man," Selethryth's words were enough to make Hilda look at her with unspoken fear. But Eadgifu didn't notice, as she giggled again.

"And handsome as well, I hope," she said before turning to Selethryth. "You could meet someone as well," Eadgifu insisted, but Selethryth looked down at her needlework again, with a little shake of her head.

"Only the Lord knows what plans He has for me," she said, folding the needle between her fingers. "For now, I must wait until He speaks through Father's mouth."

Eadgifu regarded her with a sad look, "Father knows that you'll have to wed, it is a woman's duty." Selethryth would have liked to ask her if it was the Witch of Wessex's duty as well. But she decided against it. Smiling at her sister to keep on with her needlework.

She was in the right age to marry, to be looking for a husband at least. But it was never the time. Lord Godric loved his high position at King Ecbert's court, but his presence was required because Selethryth was there. If she was to marry and leave for her husband's lands, what would become of Lord Godric? He would have to return to his own dark castle, and the king's attentions would be long forgotten. That, of course, if she would ever find a man daring enough to not be scared of superstitions. But Selethryth wasn't sure of it.

That night, her sleep had a form again, vivid as if she were awake.

Selethryth found herself standing at the edge of a vast and frozen lake, its surface smooth as glass, reflecting a stormy sky above. The wind howled through the barren trees at the lake's edge, their branches reaching toward the sky like skeletal hands, clawing at the air. The whole landscape felt dead, as if the world itself were holding its breath. The cold bit deep into her skin, and she shivered, but there was no warmth, no shelter to be found.

In the distance, two figures appeared, walking toward her across the frozen expanse. One was tall, shrouded in shadow, his form hidden beneath a dark cloak, but a raven flew beside him—its wings cutting through the air with a steady, rhythmic beat. The raven's presence felt both ominous and powerful, like a harbinger of change. The figure walked with a slow, deliberate pace, as if burdened by the weight of years, yet still possessing a quiet strength. He was the older figure, the one who had lived through much, but was now nearing the end of his journey.

The second figure was on the ground, but he radiated intensity. He slithered on the floor fast and urgent, almost as though he were driven by an unseen force. He seemed to move with a fury that contrasted sharply with the calmness of the first figure. His eyes, burning like blue fire, glinted with a sharpness that cut through the dim light. There was something in his gaze that was both haunting and intense, as though he had been touched by something beyond this world. His path was not one of peace, but of revenge.

As the figures drew closer, the sky above began to darken. The raven circling the older figure let out a sharp cry, and in an instant, a bolt of lightning struck down from the heavens, splitting the sky in two. The older figure stumbled, his cloak billowing around him, and fell to the ground. A cloud of shadow seemed to rise from the earth, swirling around him, until he was lost within it. The raven disappeared into the night, and the storm that had raged above seemed to swallow him whole.

But then, the second figure—the one with the burning blue eyes—stood tall, his face drawn in a fierce expression of grief and anger. He lifted his arms to the sky, and a great thunderclap followed, shaking the earth beneath her feet. He called out, his voice full of pain and rage, but also a powerful resolve. The sky above him seemed to tremble, as though the very heavens themselves were answering his cry. The storm intensified, lightning flashing with increasing frequency, each strike illuminating his face, now set in a mask of vengeance.

The power of the storm—the grief in his eyes—struck something deep within her, even if she could not quite understand the reason. She wanted to reach out, but the storm raged too fiercely, and the dream began to fade, pulling her back into the dark void. Her eyes shot open, and she realized she had been crying.

******

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[mellowwillowy]

Oh my goodness, I love the yan lawyer husband so much like ARGH, that man bro

If you don't mind me asking, how would yan lawyer react if darling dies during pregnancy? What if the darling gives birth to a girl/boy who looks A LOT like darling? Would Yulian get mad at the kid or dote on the kid a lot?

I'm just so in love with that man <33

Hehehehe, more people loving bby Yulian... Nonnie, I think you should lower your expectation on this piece of a trash called father. (Really... there are 2 trashy yan father, him and Eleanor). That's my warning ya'll.

In one of the many lives Yulian had lived before he reached the Utopia...

Darling died from delivering their first son...

And he went mad again. My guy threw the baby into the ground and it was indeed a miracle the baby had no serious injury (really, the dice enjoys torturing him to madness). In the end, he did take care of the child, materially and not affectionally.

He was so close to end everything by massacring the entire people in the hospital including him and the child but he had no choice but to play along until his time was up.

Killed all the doctors that were responsible for your delivery, his son and himself before transmigrating himself into another tales.

In another time, where Darling survived and they got a son and a daughter.

Don't get him wrong, he still dislikes children. One wrong roll of the dice and they would take your life. But the daughter does resemble you more than himself unlike his son, so he was more lenient toward the second born (still not as affectionate as what a father should be unless you are around him)

Yes, he acted like he loved them both dearly whenever you were around and the first born was just as smart as his father. He knew they were doomed should you ever be gone.

Yes, the boy was jealous of his sister, receiving a bit of real affection from their father just because she resembles her mother more than him. And somehow, this would become a problem in the dystopia later, troubling Yulian from reaching the utopia.

Ehe, darling died.

What now? He had no responsibilities to keep up with his farce anymore. It's back to what happened in the first time. Except that he still favored the second born a bit more than the first born without him realizing it. He saw you in her and he was conflicted about it.

Perhaps she would be a perfect vessel for you when she matured? Should he take good care of her before he shot everyone to death again?

And yes, he took great care of her and it sparked envy in the first born. Great, he shouldn't have played favorite ^^ Now he has to take care of this piece of shit for holding him back from his utopia.

--Log

'A man who killed his own blood and flesh, what different did he make from his Father?'

'If only utopia existed then he wouldn't have to fall into madness. Traveling in <Time>, yearning for a <Finale>.'

'Just to resurrect his wife, my child, you have disappointed her. Did you not promise to never upset her?'

'The first born was there, with the second born in his hand by the Gate of the Graveyard. He wouldn't let him pass. He wouldn't let him take his sister. He wouldn't let him have things in his way. Because he loathed him.'

"Children like you are nothing but decorations to me. It affects me in no sense at all, but if she wants you two to exist then I have no choice but to force my way through with you two."

"Hey Father, you know... are we even human? The reason why Mother died when she birthed me, it was because we were all artificial! Alpha, is truly a wonder. And then, Mother survived in another life, with me and my sister. Kekeke... you killed Mother and reformed her into a human right?"

[dangermousie]

This is the most glorious insanity. And it would doom him because killing your own father, whatever the reason, is the ultimate sin. He would HAVE to rebel to even survive.

My God, you vile vile vile man!

I was wondering why he collapsed because while this is a horrific thing for him to hear, he's given up on his monster of a father long ago...

And then. FUCKKKKKK the first life really is repeating.

And the thing is, that is nothing DZ could have protected him from because she never knew how and why and when he got poisoned, and she had no idea the grey hair was connected (she just thought it was from trauma and grief.) But also - that is the WORST drama father outside of something like Royal Nirvana because who the fuck views that beating as a warning and then goes ooooh my son got poisoned this is awesome.

But does that mean if he stays chill and not angry he can live long? Or maybe pls pls get detoxed? Fuuuuuck.

This man is not a father. Yikes.

[elswing]

i hate posting discourse it's pointless and doesn't do anything for me except prolong my annoyance but i'm Tired™ and feel like shouting into the void. apologies to my beautiful feanorian mutuals please look away i love u

i neeeeeeed everyone to stop claiming they like elwing if their characterisation of her is completely made-up biased bullshit that paints her as an immature and disdained ruler (?????) who couldn't balance her responsibilities with the husband she married too young (at 22. practically a child bride honestly) and the children she never wanted (where. where does it say this). she's clearly such a bad mother that she abandoned them at first opportunity (she knew the feanorians were more than capable of killing a pair of twin boys because they literally already did that. that's very much a thing that already happened. to her brothers) and it was her selfish nature that made her soooo eager to flee (she had no reason to think ulmo would save her it was literally a suicide attempt. she wanted to make sure the deaths of her people and presumed deaths of her sons weren't in vain by ensuring they never obtained the silmaril)

like i'm gonna touch your hand as i say this. it's okay if you hate her! just don't pretend that you weren't thriving in the 2016 era of silm fandom where everyone pushed all their male fave's negative traits onto any other woman in a 5 mile radius to grab Poor Little Meow Meow status for war criminal #1 #2 and #3 to then turn around and spout the exact same (factually untrue) sexist rhetoric concealed under seven layers of buzzwords just because it's the year of "unlikable and complicated female characters" like buddy who are we talking about here. have you perhaps considered making an oc?

and i'm NOT saying i want the whole fandom to mimic my exact opinions and thoughts about elwing i realise that one of the best parts of the silm is how divisive it is and how you have so much wiggle room to come to your own interpretations because of how VAGUE the source material is but i'm genuinely convinced everyone's just parroting shit they saw in ao3 fanfics where maglor is secretly lindir and the premise is elrond sneaking him into valinor and elwing yells at him for slaughtering her people. TWICE. and this is framed as a category 5 Woman Moment so elrond disowns her and calls maglor his real dad

(eärendil misses this entire ordeal because he went on a voyage to save the world that one time and no one's let him live it down since because the whole fandom as a collective decided he did this because he's a terrible dad and not because the whole continent was at war and about to be wiped out and maybe he came to the unfortunate but reasonable conclusion that leaving is the best thing he could do for his family if it meant there was a chance his sons could grow up safe in a world that wasn't ruled by Fucking Satan so now his whole Beloved Sacrificial Lion: The Thin Line Between Doomed and Prophesized Hero™ shtick is tossed out in favour of.... *checks notes* Guy Who Forgot To Pay Child Support? oh and they're a lot louder about this because he's a man so no one can call it misogyny that's why no one ever goes the #girlflop #ILoveMyBlorbosNastyAndComplicated route with him and he gets dubbed as that one asshole who just wanted fame and glory even though that goes against the general themes for tolkien's hero characters. and tolkien loved that dude to bits that was his specialist little guy so you can't seriously tell me you think that's what he was trying to portray???????? is that seriously what you think he was trying to portray????????? babe????????????

also there's a BIG difference when it's a character that's only named in one draft and doesn't exist in the rest or gil-galad who has like three and a half possible fathers but ELWING??????? the only possible way you could be coming to these conclusions is if you read the damn book with your eyes closed. FUCK.