#but he has the same ''divine savior'' thing going on

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

As a Czech it will never stop being funny that the Brits and Americans have a Christmas carol about a guy who is the patron saint and divine protector of my people

[mossyvil]

dorm leader confessions!

riddle- he confesses

listen- it definitely takes him a good while to be able to do it, but with encouragement from trey and cater and teasing from ace and deuce he does it! he invites you to go play with the hedgehogs with him before they’re put in their pen for the night, and when he sees you having so much fun with them he thinks you’re so gorgeous and he really likes you and- oh he said it out loud. fucking MORTIFIED LMAO but it’s ok because as soon as you tell him you like him too he’s too happy to be embarrassed. you take the lead on asking him if he wants to go on a date, and you get a rare riddle smile as he agrees, and proposes having a tea party- just the two of you. the other students actually cheer when you guys walk into the dorms holding hands because they were all making bets as to when you’d get together

leona- you confess

he has no issues with continuing to watch you struggle to tell him about your feelings. he absolutely already knows you like him, but he just wants to keep you sweating asshole so he’s patient enough until you build the courage. when you do feel brave enough to give him a handwritten letter telling him you like him, he does relent on the teasing for once and tells you he feels the same. he has his usual teasing smirk on his face when he says he’ll take you on a date if you want and secretly is really happy when you agree to it. but don’t think he’s gonna let you go now, once you agree to the date he pulls you down to nap with him in his spot in the greenhouse, and he isn’t willing to let you go no matter how much you complain so you better just accept your fate as his pillow

azul- you confess

the tweels are relentless in making fun of azul for how in love with you he is, even in front of you!! thankfully for his sanity you never hear them doing it, but it still is really embarrassing for him. there’s no way azul will ever get the nerve to confess without some divine intervention, so it’s on you to do it. you make sure to do it when it’s just the two of you, to keep it a personal matter, but also so azul doesn’t die of embarrassment because he’s blushing so hard is he okay-

once azul gets his overheating under control, he somehow manages to get out that he feels the same! you ask if he would want to go on a date later that week, and he says he would love to, all while covering his face because he really just wants to go back into his octopot

kalim- he confesses

he actually wanted to confess practically the moment he realized he had feelings for you, but ever the savior, jamil manages to convince him to plan it out a little before hand. the problem is he gets a little to excited and ends up asking you on a date before telling you about his feelings, but it still all works out in the end. he takes you on an unusually calm ride on his magic carpet under the stars, and when you’re distracted looking at the night sky he tells you that he really likes you!!! and wants to date you!!! pls date him!!! gives you his trademark sunshine smile when you return his feelings. congratulations, now you have to get married in his mind

vil- he confesses

similar to leona, he knows you like him and likes seeing you try to hide it. it’s not so much a sadistic thing but more of a ‘you’re so cute when you’re pining’ way. but alas, his want to be in a formal relationship with you outweighs his love of seeing you trip over your feet around him. he confesses very traditionally, bringing you a bouquet of red roses and telling you that he has romantic feelings for you, and wants to take you on a date if you agree to it. when you do, he gives you a kiss on the cheek and tells you to meet him in his dorms kitchen tomorrow night because you’re going to have dinner together, and bids you a goodnight with a last squeeze of your hand. later you notice that his kiss left a perfect lipstick mark on your cheek (he totally didn’t wear that specific lipstick because he knew it would transfer what are you talking about)

idia- you confess

um. well. first you have to actually be able to talk to him in person, which is a feat in of itself. once you do, he’s already filled with anxiety- his crush is talking to him, he can just barely function. once you tell him you have a crush on him, it all goes downhill. his entire body freezes up and you’d be worried he would pass out on the floor if it wasn’t for him already sitting down. his face and hair turn bright red, but he doesn’t notice because he’s too busy trying to calm down before he actually explodes. maybe it would be best to just come back later…? as you leave ortho tells you that idia feels the same for you, but it might take him a while to process what just happened 😭

malleus- he confesses

practically love at first sight, and he does not hide his feelings from anyone lmao. lilia tries to give him traditional fae courting advice but once he gets to the more strange courting gift ideas is when silver and sebek step in and ban lilia from giving dating advice. they tell him that he should just be straight up with you, maybe on one of your nightly walks he could tell you how he feels, and give you a flower that he picked himself. he does exactly that, telling you that he finds himself enamored with you and wants to be able to court you properly. when you agree he hands you the most beautiful flower you’ve ever seen. it glows dimly in your hand, and he tells you he’s enchanted it so it will never wilt. the next day you find a shiny gem on your window sill with a very cute note from him asking for your permission to take you on a date later that day

[buckrecs]

could you rec some protective Bucky fics/oneshots?

Protective Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

Purgatory by @wkemeup

While on a mission, Bucky becomes dissociated into the Winter Soldier. But instead of becoming a threat, his instinct is to protect.

Behind the Storm by @wkemeup

On a mission, you're hit with a spell that takes away your ability to see. Bucky does what he can to make you feel safe.

stairs by @lovelybarnes

overprotective!bucky at its finest.

Savior by @buckysgoldenheart

Basically, Bucky saves you and then stalks you.

vodka on rocks by @kinanabinks

when you find out that someone you slept with secretly took photos and videos of you during sex, you feel betrayed - but bucky won't stand by and let that happen to his best friend.

more than safe by @witchywithwhiskey

when you're injured on a mission in sokovia, bucky barnes comes to help—and you share a soft moment together.

Dark Divine by @sebbytrash

Bucky and you are in a relationship and when you get hurt during a mission, he seeks comfort the only way he knows how. Revenge.

seeing red by @buckysfaveplum

bucky can’t just sit and watch as a man makes you uncomfortable in a bar.

Divine Retribution by @pellucid-constellations

Nobody touches Bucky’s girl. He was going to make that very clear.

Counting by @pellucid-constellations

Time heals all wounds. Bucky’d been holding onto that proverb ever since blip. But time had never been particularly kind to him, so he opted to keep track of the sweet girl’s in his apartment building instead, the one that made him banana bread and took him to diners at two in the morning. Sometimes, you didn’t keep the same schedule. That made Bucky panic.

Expectations by @softlyspector

Bucky is overprotective of the reader, who is pregnant with his baby.

Gentle by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Y/N has never seen Bucky be anything but gentle and loving. It’s hard for her to believe her boyfriend was ever the world’s deadliest and most lethal assassin.

Safe by @coffeecatsandcandles

You become a stripper during the blip. When Bucky comes back, he has a lot of thoughts about it.

How’s Your Head by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

A run in with a less than kind stranger on the Subway send a knight in shining armor your way.

What Could Go Wrong? by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

A SWORD function at the compound has Bucky feeling uneasy. He can’t seem to stop himself from checking up on you, but you swear to him that you’re not in danger- you’re wrong.

Nothing Fucks With My Baby by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Bucky shows up late to a Shield party and finds out that a new agent made you uncomfortable. He takes care of it.

False Reality by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Running into an unpleasant person from your past sends you into a shame spiral. Bucky gets you home and takes care of you- reminding you of your worth.

knight in shining armor by @b6cky

when a valentines date from hell makes y/n rethink all her life choices, a knight in shining armour is there to save her. or a knight with a shining metal arm.

Imagine | 2 by @im-an-octopus

40s!Protective Bucky + protective Bucky post Winter Soldier

The Protective Soldier by @dabblinginmarvel

Bucky met the Avengers and is atracted to the reader and protective over her.

protective by @onceuponastory

Bucky gets protective over Y/N during a mission.

Her by @avecra

When Bucky's anger gets the best of him during a debriefing meeting, your touch is the one thing that can ground him.

[reverieblondie]

What if Gale fell on top of Tav after he got pulled out of the portal? How would he react to realizing he just accidentally got a face full of his savior's- *gets jumped by the horny police*

No! Not the horny police! So I went a bit fluffy for this prompt but I loved this ask for just a cute little something for Gale. Hope you like it! If you want something Smutty for Gale in the future just ask, I'm all ears....

Portal Mishaps

Gale x Fem!Tav

Words- 1,014

First, trapped on the nautiloid, receiving a new tenant in the old cranium was not exactly what Gale had in mind. Then, when the wretched ship started bursting into fire, he thought his luck was finally changing; Gale was finally going to receive a win after what felt like nothing but losses. Then he ended up…in a rock…

All his previous decisions had led to this, and honestly, it was humiliating… He's an archmage of Waterdeep, well versed in the weave, Mystras chosen! Well, Once chosen. Now, here he is in the cold abyss in between tunnels. Could things get worse?  Maybe he shouldn't think that… The fates seem determined to have everything go wrong for him now, so it is best not to make it worse. Maybe it's for the best, a strange divine intervention. Gale knows his time is short, especially since he cannot clench his hunger. So perhaps he can save a lot of people the trouble and erupt within a rock.

So Gale puts his hands to the side and stays in the cold dark, letting it surround him. Letting the thoughts in his mind drift away. Just accepting this…but as he sits, something in him sparks. Gale is not one to take this fate lying down. No, it's not in his nature not to try; even till his last breath, he will fight. So, using what's remaining of his drained magic, he opens a wobbly portal. It's not the prettiest and relatively narrow, but he tries to free himself, pushing his arm through the tingling sparks of magic. He reaches out, trying to grab onto anything to pull him out of these dark depths, but nothing.

Gale continues to search; he just needs something or someone to help pull him free. Then, echoing through the dark, he hears a voice resonating through the portal. This is his chance to get its attention. Quickly, he reaches his hand out, desperately grabbing through the air. 

"A hand? Anyone?!"

Muttering, then that same sweet voice ringing through…

"Just hang on! I will get you out!" 

Soft hands warm him as they grab onto him and start to pull. Whoever his savior is, he vows to thank them endlessly as they never quit trying to pull him out. Their soft voice continues to encourage him that they will not give up and will save him. It's so full of promise and conviction that he feels like he could cry. Please just let him get through this, let him see his savor, let him thank them! Let him live!

With another powerful pull, Gale's body rushes forward; bright light blinds him as he tumbles out. The light is piercing, but he's never been so happy to see the white light; the smell of smoke and nature hits his nose in an overwhelming welcome. Gale has never liked the smell of smoke, but today, it is a welcomed scent he will probably now have a greater appreciation for. Gale falls onto very soft ground, like really soft ground? And it's taking everything in him not to rub his face in it and kiss the dirt benthe him. As Gale goes to inhale the sweet scent of the ground, he pauses,…perfume? And musk?  

Gale's eyes start to refocus, and that's when he sees what he's landed on. When the realization smacks him like a ton of bricks, what he thought could be soft mounds of ground, he sees he's landed right on…breast! 

Quickly, he scrambles to get off you, and apologies fly from his lips. Gale goes to help you up, his cheeks red as his eyes flicker from your breast to your eyes, trying so hard to get past the awkward situation he's found himself in. Gale is trying to explain what happened to you and your two companions, your eyes much more understanding than those of the other two sets, who are suspiciously narrowed at him. Gale introduces himself as he's trying to piece together what's happened. He can't fight how his thoughts are scrambling with how soft you felt, how good you smell, and what if he would have fallen…somewhere else…

Gale mentally chastises himself for his perverted thoughts; gods he's touched starved, isn't he? Two sets of breasts to the face, and he's spiral. The worst part is you are completely pleasant, even apologizing to him about where he landed as if it was somehow your fault. Maybe his luck has changed? He did manage to fall on a very kind stranger who happens to also be in his predicament…

After a brief discussion about your situation and impending doom, Gale offers you two to join up. Judging from the two mysterious tags along with you, he figures you could use a wizard and a cook in your camp. Your face lights up in an excited smile, immediately going to say yes, but the dark-haired girl quickly puts her hand over your mouth, and she and the pale guy pull you two to the side for a huddled conversation. Gale tries to seem like he's not eavesdropping, though he is happy you're saying you all could use a wizard's talents, and you think he's nice? Awe. 

"Seems like a chatty type," the half-elf says;- shit, he is chatty…

"Don't forget he did cop a feel darling…perverted if you ask me…" -Perverted!? It was an accident! 

"Oh, Astarion, hush. You pulled a knife on me. You're no judge of character, and Shadowheart, if you don't want to talk to him, just send him my way." You look over your shoulder and smile at Gale, making his heart skip. I enjoy a good conversation…" 

Coming back over, you accept him in your group, introduce everyone, and start your adventure to look for a healer. Gale will try not to have any more mishaps regarding you, but he is only a man… as he walks beside you, trying to make a conversation, Gale feels someone staring at him. Turning his head, he sees Astarion walking behind him and Tav with a wide, knowing smirk…  

[createdbytragedy]

LOVE

Pairing: Lee Minho x reader Warning: A few curse words, mostly in Minho's pov , Genre: Fluff Synopsis: Minho hasn't found the right word to explain his feeling to you yet, so in the meantime love will have to do.

"I love you." For him, meeting you was like listening to a song for the first time and realizing instantly that it will become his favorite. You came into Minho's life like a fucking savior in your white dress and halo. You looked at him like there was anything in him worth looking at. You made him feel so many things he can't explain.

You understood his feelings when he didn't understand his own. That's why you were the one to confess to him under the moonlight that day. "I love you, you know," you said so casually while looking at him with a smile on your face. Like it didn't make his heart thump so loud and fast he swore you could hear it, like it wasn't what he was longing to hear all those years. When Minho just stared at you with eyes you couldn't actually read just this time, you smiled. Taking his hand. "You don't have to say it back. I didn't tell you that to hear it back. I only said it so you know. That I'm always here for you. " If only you knew what goes through his mind that night. The look you couldn't read in his eyes were because no one has ever looked at you with so much love and adoration. It was love, different than the rest. Minho didn't love you. Oh, no. He feels things for you much beyond what love can explain. So, he stayed quiet that night. It was the same night he laid in bed, tossing and turning with nothing but you on his mind. Your eyes, where he sees all the stars shining together . Your hair that blows along with the wind the day he first met you. You had a smile worth dying for but, oh, when you laughed. Minho remembers reaching under his pillow for his phone that night, staring at your contact before gaining the courage to click it. The brightness on his phone illuminate the dark room and the call echoed through the quiet room. His heartbeat paced up and he feels this immense feeling he never felt before. "Hello?" your voice made his brain go fuzzy, he sprang up, feet touching the cold floor as he sit on his bed, holding the phone to his ear as he struggled to control his heavy breathing. "(y/n)," he called, your name sounding so divine and celestial on his tongue. He heard you shift. You were probably in bed. Obviously it's 3:00 in the morning. Only an idiot in love would be up at this hour. "Minho?" your voice sounded groggy and a little bit concerned, " what's wrong, min?"

Minho tried. He tried to find a word stronger than love that could explain his feelings. A word that could enlighten you the things you do to him and how much he loves it. A word that could capture the beauty he sees in you or at least come close to it. But, he found none. So, he guess, love, is the word this world has to offer to such a divine and ethereal beauty like you. "I love you, too......" he breathed out. His heart was beating so fast and loud it almost hurt. You went silent for a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't say it back earlier but I -" "Don't tell me that through a phone, you coward," you had said half laughingly. He could feel the joy in your voice and it made a smile crept on his face," Meet me at the bridge and tell me that right at my face." Minho has never gotten to his feet as fast as he did now. A full on smile gleaming on his face as he did so. "On my way, my love. " he heard you laughing through the phone, probably getting ready too. The most beautiful sound in the world.

With that he threw a jacket over his white tee and dashed to the door. For once, he didn't stop to pet his cats as he wore his shoes and slammed the door shut.

That night, he ran. He ran for love. He ran for you. He ran to you. The bridge wasn't far and the chilly winds of October hit his senses. It seemed like all his days spent at the gym was for this moment. To run to you. He feels himself breathing heavily but he didn't stop. The fast beating of his heart was from either the tiring race he was running right now or the fact that he was racing to you. Both seemed like a valid reason. His feet come to a halt when he sees you already standing there. You smiled at at, looking at him, panting and hair disheveled from the wind. And he looked at you, standing under the moonlight once again like a fucking angel in your grey sweatshirt and plaid pyjama pants. He feet took slow steps towards you, breathing returning to normal but his heart was full of a catastrophic whirlwind of emotions – overwhelming love that may be unbearable. With each step, the growing pain in his heart started to intensify.

Before he knew it, you opened your arms and he fell into them like the snowfalls in December.

It felt warm. You felt warm and it felt like home, right between your two arms. The blowing wind and the occasional passing of vehicles filled the short silence of the night as Minho bathed in your warmth. You were there and that was all he needed for the rest of his life. Hesitantly, he pulled away to look at your gorgeous face, adorned with the smile he'd die for. He couldn't help but return it. And now he knew why there were no stars in the sky that night because they were all inside your eyes, shining at him. And he knew why the moon always looked so beautiful, it was because the moon is just a reflection of your beauty. "I love you," Minho tells you while looking into your eyes, just the way you tell him to and he didn't need you to say it back. Your eyes already told him so, that's why his arms pulled you closer and attached your lips with his. He kissed you. Without warning, without permission. Without even deciding to do it but simply because he couldn't have done anything else to make up for the lack of love his words needed. He closed his eyes and so did you. His left hand held your face with tender hands and his other hand held your palm to his chest. Right where his heart was located. And you can feel it beating trough your palms, telling you all the things words can't say. And he held your waist as you snaked your arms around his neck and said," I love you too." He smiled. Contently. Happily and purely.

Then, you stood at the bridge, looking at the moon while he was looking at you.

[chuubian]

solace and secrecy

Tags Fyodor x fem reader, angst, religious imagery, religious guilt, alcohol consumption, abuse, blasphemy?? kinda?

Summary Fyodor is determined to live as a righteous, holy man. Dedication to his god is all he has ever known and he would never stray away from it, but he starts to view his faith differently when he met you.

Intricate architecture and stained glass windows were familiar views to Fyodor. Spending all his free time as a child in the church, working on his faith. Terrified of what could happen if he were to ever give up his religion. His dedication bordered on obsession. When the time came to make his career choice, he chose something that would be worthy of going to heaven.

Becoming a priest involved things like teaching the congregation, performing sacraments, and counseling. Fyodor did all this with love and passion in his heart. It was familiar. There was no place he would rather be.

Fyodor is sitting in his office, offering counseling to his brothers and sisters is a welcome break from standing and preaching for hours at a time. Most problems people come to him with are not too serious. Family disputes and disobedient children, occasionally infidelity and thievery. Though… those are few and far in between.

Fyodor is cleaning up his desk while waiting for his next meeting. Stacking his books and arranging his vase of flowers to be just right. He opens his door and invites in the next person he’s supposed to meet with. Gesturing for you to sit down.

“Please, have a seat”

He takes a seat across from you, the golden light from the sun casting a heavenly glow. Fyodor looks angelic. It's hard to not immediately start begging for mercy. Suddenly feeling like you are unworthy of being in the presence of his divinity. Fyodor starts off.

“What can I help you with?”

You hesitate to speak, unsure if this is even something you could ever admit or speak out loud.

“Father… I’ve been having some strange thoughts and feelings.”

Fyodor hums softly, thinking. His voice is soft and reassuring, representative of his care for your wellbeing.

“Strange in what way?”

You hesitate. Can you really say this? Would he report you? While you’re taking your time considering what to say, Fyodor interrupts.

“I notice you are being awfully quiet. This is a confidential conversation, nothing you could say would make me think of you as unworthy or strange. I am a servant of God, sworn to secrecy. Everything said in this room is between you, myself, and our lord and savior.”

With that reassurance, you take a deep breath. Fyodor is looking at you with such kind eyes. It’s hard to not to get distracted. How do you even word this? What can you really say?

“Father… I’ve been having thoughts about murdering my mother.”

Fyodor's face remains unchanged. He almost doesn’t look shocked. He sits up straight and speaks in the same soft reassuring tone. It’s eerie.

“I see… Why is that?”

Old painful memories flood your mind. Your mother choosing her new repulsive boyfriend over you. Your mother isolating you from friends and family. Making you kneel on rice for hours at a time. Inventing new barbaric punishments just for you. She had never put as much love and care into anything, as she did torturing you. Being an adult now, you wrongfully believed that she would let you live your life. But that is not the kind of person she is.

"She's cruel and vindictive, I hate her. She's never cared for me in my entire life and I can't leave. She takes my money, traps me, beats me when she’s angry and drunk. I have nowhere to go. I've given up on my life, but if I can make her suffer one last time I think I could die happily."

Fyodor remains abnormally calm. It feels like the calm before the storm. You should've kept your mouth shut. What the fuck were you even thinking? Obviously that's not okay to say, why are you even here? For him to talk you down? Your legs are shaking. Although Fyodor is gazing at you tenderly, it's like he's looking right through you. Like he can read you.

"And you believe that this is the solution?"

You feel trapped. Breath hitching, your eyes start watering. You try to speak up but your voice is shakier than you expected. Why is it so shaky?

"I don't know what to do, Father."

He slowly stands up, making his way around the desk. You take a deep breath, readying yourself for what he might do. Maybe he'll restrain you and report you. But before you can let your thoughts go wild, he reaches out for your hand. His skin is cold, but it curiously makes you feel warm. It's like a shock to your system.

"I'm sorry that happened to you"

At those six simple words, you break down. No one in your entire disgraceful, miserable life had ever given you an ounce of genuine kindness. He gently wiped the tears from your eyes. You didn't even realize you had started crying, your throat and eyes were burning. There was a big lump in your throat.

"Do you not think that instead of doing something so horrible, so sinful, maybe you should turn to god?"

You pause at those words. Is that even a real choice at this point? This is a cry for help, you aren't looking for a god to follow. What use is he to you? God is the reason that you've had such a dreadful life.

"I have never seen you come to mass before, so why are you here? Is it because deep down you are hoping for god to save you?"

Taking a deep breath you try to calm down.

"I'm not a follower, I would never do that. God is the reason my life is so awful."

His eyes narrow. Fyodor's gaze is piercing and chilling. He takes offense to you talking about his deity in such a blasphemous way.

"I know you may feel that this is our lord and savior's fault, but that could not be further from the truth. This is the work of the devil, and the devil alone."

Shaking your head, you refuse to accept it. Is God not supposed to fix this? Is he not supposed to be all knowing? How could he allow this to happen in the first place? What did you even do to deserve this? Fyodor notices that you're deep in thought.

"I am sorry to be the first to tell you this, but you are not as innocent as you think you are."

His voice is much colder than it was before. It makes you shiver and tense up.

"All human beings are sinful. Do you not think it is better to acknowledge that and ask for forgiveness from our Father? What happened to you was unacceptable, but is the solution really to victimize yourself and act so foolishly?"

You were stunned. Looking up at Fyodor, who towers over you. He's so tall and imposing, it makes you feel small. He's so cruel. You had done nothing and now he was trying to make you feel guilty? Who does he think he is? You stand up angrily, deciding you don't have to take this.

"I'm leaving."

Fyodor raises an eyebrow.

"Please, sit back down. I understand that this seems harsh but violence is not the answer. Why are you even here?"

"I'm not sure."

Fyodor hums softly. Sitting back down he reaches over to his vase, taking a hold of a white rose, looking deep in thought. He gently runs his slender fingers over the petals and then holds the rose out for you.

"This is my offering to you."

You furrow your eyebrows, confused.

"What? A rose?"

Fyodor chuckles softly.

"Yes, a rose. But I am not only offering this rose, I am also offering you a chance to start over. So that you do not have to go back and see your mother."

You stay silent, completely bewildered.

"Why?"

He tilts his head, he looks almost baffled that you would question him.

"I am a servant of God. It is my job to help those in need, but in exchange I would like for you to start coming to church. I would like for you to at least try and follow the word of God."

You sit back down, considering the offer. Could he be telling the truth? This seems too good to be true. Fyodor notices your hesitance to take him up on this.

"I will provide you with a place to sleep and help you find employment. I am a well known priest around here, I promise this is a genuine offer."

He holds out the rose for you again. You finally accept it, nodding.

"All right then. I’ll take you up on it."

He smiles at you softly. As your fingers gently close over the stem of the rose, one of the thorns pricks you, drawing blood. You gasp softly, letting go of the rose as it falls to the ground.

"Are you okay?"

Fyodor looks concerned, taking your hand in his gently and inspecting the punctured finger.

"It is only a small cut, I could fix you up easily."

You look up at his face, noticing the kind look in his eyes. He's so ethereal. Delicately, he pulls your hand closer, cleaning the blood up and bandaging your finger.

After this, Fyodor shows you around your new living quarters and helps you get a job. He requires you to come to mass at least three times a week and have talks about how things are going afterwards.

Getting away from your mother wasn't easy. She was always watching you, looking for mistakes or something that may be off about you. Eventually, you finally saw a chance when you could leave without her noticing.

Since that fateful day, your days have been spent surrounded by ornate golden walls. The high cieling of the church make you feel like a small bug, crushed under the weight of God's will.

Fyodor has helped you see the mistakes in your thinking patiently. At first, you didn't even want to admit it but it was true that you're a sinner. However, God could cure you. He could forgive.

At this point you hardly ever spent any time outside of the church. Right after work you went inside that large, lavish building, repenting for your sins and working on your relationship with your lord and savior. Fyodor had even started planning for your baptism soon after you made the deal with him.

Spending so much time around that mysterious man, made you feel even more captivated with him. What is his story? Was he always like this? His eyes are so kind but so empty, there's something so off about him. Despite the bad feeling in your gut, you couldn't help but like him more. Whenever you would walk into his office, it was always beautifully decorated with white roses, fresh, blooming and shining in the sunlight. The bookshelves along the walls are always full of vintage books, smelling like parchment and wine. His demeanor is always serene. He would just sit there and listen to you, never once trying to interrupt you.

You came to appreciate his advice, he seemed to be on a higher plane of existence than you. In a way, he was your savior. Whenever he looked at you now, you could feel your cheeks warm and your hands get clammy. Disappointing him would be devastating.

It's night time now, about six months after you first met Fyodor. The church was completely empty at this time. Soft glowing moonlight is sparkling and radiating off the gold and stained glass decorations inside. Fyodor decided to sit on one of the pews at the front, admiring the large crucifix behind the altar. It fills him with a sense of pride. Pride to be one of the Lord's soldiers.

As you walk in, you feel uneasy. This is a building you love, with a man you care about inside, but it feels so cold… so isolated. No one else is here. It's just a big empty building. You can't help but notice how exquisitely it's decorated, compared to your cheap clothing. It doesn’t look like you should ever even step foot in here.

Sitting down next to Fyodor, he smiles at you softly.

"I haven't seen you in a while, Fedya."

"It has only been a few days."

Shrugging, you take in his appearance. He's still wearing his white baptismal robe, contrasting with his dark shiny hair. He looks so pure, so divine, it's hard not to be completely enchanted.

"A few days is too long. You're my only friend, you know?"

He hums softly.

“Do you need anyone else anyways?”

You go quiet for a few seconds, thinking.

“I guess not, I like spending my time at the church with you anyways.”

He slowly stands, walking up the stairs to the altar. You stay sitting.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, standing in front of the crucifix, facing you. He pulls a chalice out of the communion table, filled with red wine.

“Come here, we may as well enjoy ourselves while you are here right?”

Your eyebrows furrow, letting out a little chuckle.

“Are we even allowed to drink from it under these circumstances?”

Fyodor tilts his head, almost offended that you would question him.

“Does it matter? Do not tell me youre scared.”

He pauses, sighing softly, noticing your hesitance.

“It is fine, you will not get in trouble for it.”

With that reassurance, you walk up the steps of the altar and stand next to him. He holds the chalice up to your face, intending to feed you the wine himself. Your cheeks flush, feeling babied and embarrassed.

“Can’t I drink it myself?”

He shrugs.

“Just drink, it is not a big deal.”

You nod, leaning closer and taking a sip. The metal of the chalice feels cold on your lips, while the wine makes your throat and stomach feel warm. Fyodor tilts the container up to help you drink more. Once you drink about half of the wine, you lean back, cringing at the disgusting taste of alcohol.

“Wine is always so bitter.”

He chuckles at your reaction.

“You are such a baby, it is not that bad.”

Without hesitation, he gulps down all the wine that was left over. His pale cheeks grow pink from the alcohol, and of course, you can’t help but point it out.

“You’re blushing, you know that?”

“So what? At least I can handle my alcohol.”

Suddenly, it’s not so funny anymore.

“Hey, I can handle it just fine!”

He chuckles quietly, gazing into your eyes. His stare is so intense that you grow silent and still. The effects of the wine are now messing with your head. Your eyesight grows fuzzy and your muscles feel heavier.

You can’t help but stare at him, he’s so handsome it’s unreal. The tension in the room thickens. Fyodor reaches up to gently brush your hair behind your ear. You gasp. His touch is electrifying. It feels like your skin is on fire where his fingers brushed against the shell of your ear.

“Is something wrong, dear?”

Your eyes widen at the pet name. Were you really close enough to be this affectionate? It felt too intimate, it felt wrong. You look around the empty room, suddenly feeling guilty. What are you even doing here? You’re not supposed to be here, you don’t belong. You’ve never belonged anywhere. Not at home with your mother, and especially not in a place so sacred.

Fyodor places a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch.

“What is wrong?”

Shaking your head, you sigh softly.

“Nothing… I just…”

You pause for a few seconds, trying to articulate your thoughts. Fighting against the haze of the alcohol, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, making you slur your words.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

When you finally look back at Fyodor, he looks concerned. There’s something so angelic about him that it’s hard to not immediately lean in and kiss him. He looks genuinely confused, as if its unheard of for you to be undeserving.

“Why is that?”

You hide your face with your hands, sheepish and uncomfortable.

“I’m not a good follower of god… I… I don't belong here.”

Fyodor takes a step forward, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. It feels too close, but instead of shaking it off and backing away, you let him.

“Come on, let us sit down.”

He leads you over to sit on the stairs in the altar.

“Dear… Why do you not think you belong?”

You pause. Can you even admit this? This is wrong. You have thought worse things and he knows it, but this is different. This time it involves him.

“I’m a sinner…”

He looks at you like you’re stupid.

“So is everyone.”

This is so frustrating. He doesn’t understand.

“Fyodor… Do you ever think we’re too close?”

“Why would I think that?”

Your hands clench, grabbing onto the skirt of your dress.

“You’re a priest… you should act like it.”

At that, Fyodor's eyes narrow. He takes offense to the suggestion that he isn’t acting in a godly manner.

“Explain yourself.”

His tone is sharp, he’s clearly unhappy because of you. You grow nervous at his anger, fidgeting with the sleeve of your jacket.

“I just mean… I don’t mean to offend you or anything… but you called me ‘dear’ and I feel like we’re getting too close…”

He still seems peeved that you would suggest he isn’t doing his duties properly, but his gaze softens a great deal.

“I see… Well, you do not have to worry about that. We are friends, are we not? In fact, I am your only friend.”

You nod. It felt embarrassing to have him casually talk about how lonely you are. You really rely on him for everything at this point.

With everything finally calming down, you both sit silently, looking out at the dark empty church. It isn’t awkward. Fyodor is someone whose presence you can enjoy even when you’re not talking.

Slowly, you both grow closer and closer. Maybe leaning your head on his shoulder is too intimate but you can’t seem to care anymore. Fyodor doesn’t seem to mind and the wine is messing with your sense of balance and judgment.

Fyodor’s hand slowly slides from your shoulder down to your waist, pulling you closer. You suddenly feel too warm in your own skin. You feel restless but you don't dare move from where you are.

Looking up at him, you notice he’s already looking down at you, studying your expression, looking at your features so lovingly. The tension in the room rises. You don’t know what to do, but you don’t want to look away. You can’t let this opportunity pass.

“Fedya…”

Your voice sounds much softer and weaker than you thought it would. It’s clear you're nervous, even to yourself, and especially to someone as receptive and smart as Fyodor. Your heart is racing. You can barely even speak. A warm, heavy feeling pools in your stomach.

“Yes, dear?”

The pet name makes you feel warmer and causes your skin to prickle. You sit up, you’re so close now that his breath is fanning over your face.

“Fedya… I… love you.”

Those words hang in the air, echoing throughout the vacant room. Fyodor doesn’t react. After a few seconds, his gaze travels down to your lips before looking back at your eyes again.

“I see…”

He looks away. Your stomach drops. This can’t be. Did you read things wrong? Why were you so stupid?? Your eyes are starting to water, even your nose is burning. This is so embarrassing. How could this happen??

“I am truly sorry… I-I think we had too much to drink.”

His voice is soft and understanding.

“I am a part of the clergy, we are not allowed to be in relationships.”

Despite the reasonable explanation, you feel upset. After all, emotions aren't rational are they? You can't even look at him anymore. The humiliation is too much.

“Please dear… It is not your fault, but the Lord comes first to me. I would never do anything to jeopardize my position.

He notices your expression and body language, pulling you into a hug. You can’t help but break down. The embarrassment and guilt finally catching up with you. You just wanted to be loved. Is that too much to ask? Even when you thought you had a connection, of course it had to be with a man who is unable to return those feelings.

“You are beautiful, you have a great personality. I am sure that one day, you will find someone who can love you back, but that person can not be me. With time, these feelings will pass.”

After a while of Fyodor comforting you and holding you close, you finally calm down. You both sit quietly. Even with the rejection fresh in your mind, even with your heart feels like it’s been beaten and abused, you can't find it in yourself to hate him. You should’ve known this would happen.

Fyodor and you sit silently. He reassures you that this has nothing to do with you, and after a while, he leaves. You sit alone in the dark empty church, feeling much more alone than when you first came in.

You decide you can’t just let your friendship with Fyodor wither away. So you stick around, still talking and enjoying each others company as always. When you next visit Fyodor's office, you notice his vase lacks the same bright white glowing roses. Instead, they have all wilted and dried up.

[ariiadnes]

╭ ㅤ ⿻ ･ I DESIRE THE THINGS THAT WILL DESTROY ME IN THE END ( part i. )

THERE'S THIS SOMETHING INSIDE YOU THAT'S ROTTING AWAY & YOU FEEL IT ALL ALONG.

-ˋ ♡ ◞ zoya ･ hamel ･ m!chief ･ cabernet. path to nowhere. quote cr : sylvia plath. haruki murakami. repost.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ zoya

THIS CORPSEBORN IS MADE OF DESTRUCTION & VIOLENCE IS ALL SHE KNOWS, THIS SURVIVOR OF THE SYNDICATE. because it is much easier to wreak havoc than to speak strained words of diplomacy, so with bloodied knuckles and aching hands, zoya speaks volumes in her rise in the rankings of a place gone wrong with relentless betrayal and reckless abandon.

but in the haze of red, red, red violence, there is something akin to love that lingers in the heart. you wrap the bandages around her hands, touch gentle and tired. you are too familiar with this routine ; this is nothing new -- it's not, never will be, yet there is this foreign heaviness that settles on your chest : a far cry warning that you want to ignore and acknowledge all the same.

something is coming. something is brewing beneath it all, something has been here all along, something so terrifying is going to twist and turn everything and everyone into something they are not and never should be.

something is coming, should she continue down this route. something tells you, in this moment, in this air that should be made of tenderness and belonging, that you will lose her, that things will go wrong and her own strength and resilience will be her own damnation.

your hands tremble when you kiss those bandaged knuckles. zoya smiles, faint.

"don't overthink." she tells you, fingers lifting your chin ever so slightly as she looks at you with a quiet pride. "i'll be fine."

there's that confidence that always rings true, and you hope she will be right, for her own sake and for everyone's sake.

"you have to be." you whisper as she pulls you closer, and when her lips meet yours, you are afraid to let go.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ hamel

THIS IS A VERY LONELY PLACE, THE DEPTHS OF THE SEA, BUT THIS IS HER STAGE : AN ENDING, AN ILLUSION OF JOY THAT CRUMBLES BENEATH THE WEIGHT OF DESPAIR AND CORRUPTION.

this is the home of a dancer frozen in the pits of sorrows ; this is the home of a savior who knows nothing but selflessness. this is the home of someone you love, and if you let this continue on, this will become her burial site.

you feel like you are drowning. you feel like you are so far away from her, the seemingly calm waves a deception to the madness in the tides.

"this is not your home, hamel." you whisper the words like it is sacred, like you are afraid. because you are-- you are, because you know that you cannot win this battle, know that the return to shore will be a path you take alone. "it never was. your grief is not theirs. you can--" and your voice breaks. "you can come home, please."

time does not pass in this place. you feel frozen, as if your heart stills, only to beat once more when she laces her fingers with yours, offers the most gentlest of smiles. but on the curve of her lips resides a heartache, and you know that this will end in the shattering of the soul and the continuing decay of a dancer's spirit.

"you're right." she answers, and her voice is so light, almost drowned in the waves. "but who will carry it for them?"

she squeezes your hand. it is a dreadful feeling. you cannot speak, feel yourself succumb to devastation, so she does, instead.

"my grief is not yours, either. it's alright. please, go home." hamel tells you, and her smile grows, but it is a pained one, and it is one that you will remember until the end of time.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ m!chief

& FATE IS NOT MEANT TO BE LEFT IN THE CRIMSON SHACKLES OF REDEMPTION AND RENEGADES, BUT OH, HOW IT BINDS YOU SO. there is no call of the divine upon his awakening, his mind and body thrown to the wolves in the moment of consciousness. he does not understand it all, not entirely -- this burden, this pressure to do good, to be good, to follow his heart until the very end.

but righteousness and self-sacrifice are not meant to go hand in hand, but in the connections he's made to those deemed outcasts, he puts his life on the line, pushing himself further and further from the light and deeper and deeper into the darkness and corruption of black rings.

is it self-destruction if it is for the sake of others? he is not sure. it is not a question he deems worth thinking over, not when there are too many things to do, too many people to save.

but when is the savior saved?

"you're straying too far." you whisper, and there is a quiet fear in your voice, a fear of what if, when or how, and your hands cup his face, tender, forcing him to look at you. "you're going too far. what happens when we lose you? what happens when i lose you?"

he pauses, and you see that flicker of conflict in his eyes-- this is all he knows, sacrifice and foolish courage. it is a necessity. this is all he knows, memories of origins lost. what else can he do but save everyone but himself?

still, he smiles, though it is laced with reluctance and apology as his hands gently grab your wrists, lowering them before he kisses your forehead.

"the shackles are not the only thing that bind us." he murmurs, another kiss placed on your nose. "wherever you are, i'll be with you, no matter the distance." another kiss, but this time, his lips meet yours. "i don't break my promises."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ cabernet

BUT THE SOUL IS NOT ALWAYS BIRTHED FROM PURITIES AND INNOCENCE : LOVE A LESSON LEARNED , HONOR BESTOWED THROUGH SELFLESS MEANS. the soul is the heart, the vessel, the sacrifice, and for an insatiable sinner, it is meant for the DEVOURING.

cabernet knows of horrors & treacherous beings : human or sinner, sinner or saint. she knows of the bitterness that coats her tongue at the thought of a tarnished feast, knows of the desire that seeps through her veins in the consumption of another. there is glory in the hunt, just as there is glee in the reward.

but in the rot and decay contained in this sinner, there is a soul that does not bore the features she desires in the chosen, and if you look closely, you will learn she is made of everything god has admonished : pride . greed . wrath . envy . lust . gluttony . sloth.

she is so terribly forsaken yet not forgiven, but even you cannot deny her.

in this moment, rose colors her cheeks, and in those drunken eyes, there is a desire unspoken but told. she laces her fingers with yours-- slow, almost reverent, but you know you are not seen as a person, but rather, prey. still, your heart does not beat as quickly as hers does. you watch. you wait, cautious, though you know she will not hurt you.

when her gaze meets yours, she smiles, wanting, and she presses your hand against her cheek, leans into the touch as she lets out an amused hum.

"i’m yours." she tells you, and you almost wonder if your pulse quickens as she kisses the inside of your wrist. "i am yours until you allow me to devour you."

[shadykazama]

Did you get a request? It's headcanons for Haarlep, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor accidentally confessing to their gender neutral crush who likes them too. Thanks!

Sure thing! Sorry I took so long 🥲

Haarlep, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor accidently confessing...

Haarlep ❤️‍🔥

Was it even an accident? He's very calculated, wins every game he plays- at least in HIS eyes he wins and that's all that matters~

After you come to the house of hope and Raphael is dead, Haarlep goes back to his old master, Mephistopheles. But an archdevil like that rarely has need for an Incubus like him, so he's mostly free to play.

He uses your glamour often, but it's simply not the same as tasting your flesh himself.

He'd visit you every now and then, to get a "refreshment" on you, since you were so very sought after by his hellish clientele.

But one night in the midst of a mind numbing session, he let's slip, "Oh little mouse, if I could take you back to the hells and feast from you each night, I would~"

You'd both pause, and he'd make a perfectly surprised expression, complete with wide eyes and a hand covering his open mouth. His tail curled up deviously.

Whether his exaggerated expression was to cover up his own surprise or the fact that he'd planned to say it all along- you'll never know, but suffice to say the course of your relationship became much more... intense after that.

Dammon 💙

After the savior of Baldur's Gate told everyone who'd been supplying their gear on their adventures, Dammon was flooded with work!

He honestly couldn't thank you enough- but at the same time, there was a part of him that missed being your go-to. He rarely saw you these days, too collapsed with work to see you for long whenever you'd drop by.

But as fate would have it, he'd gotten a break on the very same day you'd decided to drop by.

Despite the promise of work, Dammon's eyes lit up upon seeing you, and he quickly wiped the sweat from his brow to greet you properly.

He was shocked to find however, that you hadn't come to ask anything of him. Rather, you'd remembered from one of your conversations that he'd said he loves the smell of a certain rare flower. That it would become more potent in the heat of his shop, and drown out the smell of iron and sweat. Aaand you'd just so happened to come across a few on your latest journey.

He'd laugh as he took them from you, holding them to his nose to take in the smell.

"Ah just as lovely as I remember, but not half as lovely as you, I'm afraid..."

Just as soon as the words left his lips, his cheeks lit up brighter than his furnace.

Despite your surprise, you still manage an endeared smile, he ends up scattering to apologize but you cut him off with a kiss.

Rolan 💜

Getting saved by you was starting to get old

You were just some stupid adventurer!

Some stupid, reckless, brave, incredibly hot adventurer.

So when his newly found position as the owner of Sorcerer's Sundries was threatened by some idiot who opened an entire wall of cursed tomes...

He shouldn't have been surprised that you showed up.

You were either messing with him or had some divine luck of being wherever someone needed help- ESPECIALLY when it was him. You were there on each of the worst days of his life recently, like some haunting good luck charm.

He grimaced as he watched you. This would take hours to clean up- but at least the entire building wasn't destroyed.

And here you came, sauntering up with that shit eating smirk to proclaim how lucky he was that you were dropping by today for a specific book.

And 'ohh he could give it to you for free as a reward~'

He couldn't roll his eyes harder, but he also couldn't help the smile that played his lips at your dramatic antics.

He didn't know what compelled him, but he leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on your lips, pulling back with a victorious smirk and a blush on his cheeks.

"There's your reward, hero~ You can pay for the book."

Zevlor 🧡

He'd left them. Gods he couldn't believe it.

In his own stupor of glory he'd left his people to the absolute's mercy.

How many died? He wondered, as he made his way out of the mind flayer colony.

He'd been saved, but did he deserve it? It didn't matter- he had people to protect right now and this time he wouldn't fail.

He greeted his people with relief- and with shame. His apologies could be endless, but what he did he could never forgive himself for.

"Zevlor?" A voice called out softly amongst the crowd.

His head tilted up in recognition, hope bubbling anxiously in his chest.

And there he saw you. His heart soared, and then sank all at once.

Out of everyone he'd meant to protect- everyone he'd failed, you were the one that stood at the forefront of his mind.

His head hung in shame as he greeted you, but he was met with no sharp words, nor disappointment. Rather, warm arms that drew him in close.

You were crying, he could tell from the way your body rocked against his, and you squeezed him like you weren't sure he was real. "You're alive."

Zevlor's heart melted as he embraced you, drawing you back to dry your tears. "I'm so sorry, my love."

Your face lit up at the name, and you squeezed him closer once more.

"Never stop calling me that, and we'll call it even."

Sorry if zevlor's seems lackluster 😅 I don't know much about him, but I tried to do him justice. Anyway, I hope you liked it 🫶

[sneezeywheeze]

Arcana headcannon shit

(Because that’s what this account is gonna be ong)

~~ Headcannons for: the m6 with a gender-fluid partner

🔮Asra🔮

- understands this part of you better than anyone

- their own gender is pretty fluid, so they get it

- probably feel when you’re leaning one way through heart connection, so may adjust pronouns to that if you want

- absolutely chaotic with pet names to affirm you

- “yes, pumpkin bread?”

- “of course, my ethereal”

- absolutely chaotic with pet names

- “long time, no see, my eldritch tome”

- “did you eat today, my horrifyingly phantasmal amalgamation?”

- will help you with illusion magic to change how you wish to present, based on how you’re feeling

⚙️Nadia⚙️

- has the most fun with the challenge of dressing you based on how you’re feeling

- “you’d look most dashingly beautiful in a suit at the next ball- ah, or, I imagine we could send for a dress that masculinizes you quite nicely. Would you like that, dear?”

- loves the confusion on peoples’ faces when she introduces you as her wife to someone who knew you as her husband, or vice versa

- would find a nice neutral title for you to take as the spouse of the countess, perhaps settling on simply court mage if you’d like to take it on.

- would definitely invent something to help you present how you wish to in the moment- something like a binder that turns into a corset with the pull of a ribbon, or a suit that can turn into a dress with a simple twirl

- if you have a pronoun preference for a day, she will do her best to ensure the whole palace (and then some) know of it to ensure utmost comfort, even if you don’t mind someone using a pronoun that you might not use that day (you’d need to assure her that it is not necessary to make such widespread news)

🗡️Julian🗡️

- calls you his bisexual dream

- you mean he gets to woo a beautiful maiden AND fall into the arms of a dashing savior AND they’re the same person AND they’re his love (you)????

- oh gods he is in heaven

- cannot figure out what to call you for the life of him. He already struggled with relationship titles, but now there’s another layer

- “Aha! I’d love for you to meet my, uhm… my (y/n).”

- “Has anyone seen my.. uh.. companion?”

- eventually gets the hang of it, leaning into the poetic aspect such a challenge provides

- “ah! There’s my divine soulmate. I’ve missed you, dear.”

- finds out he’s a little fluid with his gender with your help (drag. He does drag. He loves it.)

🌿Muriel🌿

- Words are hard.

- same problem as Julian, but since he’s shyer about labeling himself publicly (not shy about being your lover, of course, he’s just not the type to scream his affections to the whole world) he tends to just refer to you by your name

- stutters when someone asks what your relationship with him is

- “They’re my… uh.. we’re.. uhm.. l-lovers.”

- since societal expectations for gender don’t mean shit to him, he thinks nothing of when you explain it to him.

-literally does not understand why this would be a tough concept to anyone

- doesn’t understand why your switching gender changes things about your day (like how you dress), but supports you nonetheless.

- tries his best to affirm you on the topic

- “your hair looks.. uh.. man-ish like that. It’s… nice..”

🐈Portia🐈

- very fluid in her gender presentation !

- loves watching people try and figure out if you’re a wlw, mlm; or straight couple when you’re out together

- way too cheesy and sweet about it

- “well, you’re my everything, so of course you have to be every gender too.”

- makes jokes (never at your expense) and thinks she’s funny (she is and isn’t)

- “do you think if we put you in a block of ice you’d become a gender solid?”

- “ I saw the prettiest man, the handsomest woman, and a non-binary delight the other day- oh, look, there’s (MC) now!”

- loves doing your makeup to help with your presentation

- always tries to get a little gender-fucky with it tho

- “okay I know you’re wearing a dress and going for a feminine look, but wouldn’t it be so so cute if we have you a mascara mustache?”

👑Lucio👑

- gets it the least of everyone ngl

- “so.. You’re a man who likes to be a woman sometimes? Oh! Like a drag Queen!”

- “ what do you mean you don’t wanna wear matching outfits? Clothes don’t have gender, babe.”

- supportive in a way where he’s sometimes (most times) a little stupid

- would love to do your makeup as well, but would not grasp the concept of gendered makeup well

- “okay hold still I’m gonna do your eyeliner- a small wing?? It’s makeup, MC! It’s meant to be showy! Ugh, fine.”

- however, will verbally berate someone if they get your pronouns wrong for how you’re feeling, despite being told it’s not a big deal

~~~

If you liked these, feel free to suggest more HC’s!!

[gunchhorseman]

Blogs rated by how likely I am to beat them in combat.

@the-muppet-joker: Has already fallen in battle. Even before this I feel like I could easily beat him, in a scenario where he is hypothetically alive I give a 8.7 / 10, my valiant steed and companion could easily keep up with him speed-wise and I could easily goad him into a disadvantage approach using mental warfare and mockery. 8.7 / 10 chance of my victory

@statleragainstposers: An arrogant foe who believes himself to know more than he actually does. This does not mean that he is at all unintelligent, not at all, but his constant need to be perceived as the smartest in the room is a blindspot that I can exploit. By purposefully baiting him with blatantly false info spouted at full confidence which he cannot help but debunk I can distract him allowing me to go in for a fatal blow. I must be aware though, he is a notable user of traps, which could potentially immobilize my steed and force me to continue the battle on foot. 7.4 / 10 chance of my victory

@muppetjokernumbersixtyninefan: We would not fight, for I would never hurt an equine entity. N/A / 10 chance of my victory

@muppetjokernumbertwofan:Has inherited the same flaws and weaknesses from his so called savior. Lacks the speed advantage or leadership qualities the original Croaker had, 9.6 / 10 chance of my victory

@nextnumbermuppetjokerfan: Seems extra vulnerable to fire and heat damage based on one of their posts. Other than that I know little about their strengths which lowers their score by a bit, will likely increase as I gain my info on them. 7.8 / 10 chance of victory

@muppetjokerfannumberidk: French. I know their weaknesses inherently based on that single fact. 10/10 chance of victory, will be folded.

@muppetjokernumberfiftysevenfan: A worthy challenger at last, seems to be adept at tulpamancy and channeling divine light, which one of my major weakness. Also seems to be harboring a fallen god. 3.7 / 10 chance of victory, best strategy is take them by surprise and go all out on a single killing blow before they realize whats happening

@muppetjokernumberfivefan: Known studier of the blade. I am unsure of what he would do when backed into a corner which is a bad omen. 5.1 / 10 chance of victory, but its likely there would a mutual showing of respect after the battle regardless of victor

@muppetjokerfannumberfour: She scares me, 0 / 10 chance of survival

@olipopsoda: do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in do not let them in

@themuppetjokernumber420fan: Seems to avoid violence and prefer peaceful solutions to things. Ideally we would never have to fight but if we did I would crush them and their weak lungs. 10 / 10 chance of victory

@descimatedcroakernightmares: Another worthy challenger, has a decent head on her shoulders and is a master of psychic and mental warfare. Decent chance I would lose. 4.2 / 10 chance of victory

@descimatedpiggydreams: A scary opponent to face, has killed and will again. Emotional baggage related to Miss Piggy is material ripe for psychic warfare and mental warfare. This baggage is what will give me the edge in a fight. 6.7 / 10 chance of victory

@thenewscenemomuppetjokerfan: Hurts to look at. 4.1 / 10 chance of victory

@themuppetarchives: Also scares me, 0 / 10 chance of survival

@croaker-conspiracies:Mysterious, someone who seems powerful in ways I am unaware of, 3.2 / 10 chance of victory, which will either increase or decrease as I learn more about them.

[fisherrprince]

OK HERE ARE MY THOUGHTS ABT MAMOOK SINCE YOURE SO NICE. pardon me

mamook drove me a little insane because it is so, SSSSO close to being good but there’s these little flaws in dialogue/characterization consistency that were scientifically engineered to bother me. maybe no one else is bothered. but I AM so here’s the deal

bakool ja ja made a heel-face turn too fast and broke his character slightly while doing it

zereel ja did the same thing

the rest of mamook was said to be divided, but not really shown to be divided to the extent I wanted to see out of it

being the final tablet, the “things go differently” of the plot structure happened here. but it also didn’t happen here, for the above reasons, also because things go different is in solution nine sort of? and “solving the problem” equally happened too fast and in such a way that I felt simultaneously good and weird about

which again is scientifically engineered to bother me because on the surface I LOVE this. I love it being weird and bad in there I love the one billion dead egg twist and I love lamatyi attempting to approach it from a “is this a cultural difference we are accepting, or is this genuinely harmful” POV. something I kinda wish was stronger themewise with the regulators. BUT!!!!! we get no time for consequences. keep in mind that I understand a major theme of dt is learning and developing and I think mamook should end up with the ending it has now. but I cannot abide having no characterization consequences

NO. 1 bakool ja ja up until this point has been bowser. the cartoon bully. He’s done a bunch of very bowserish things including kidnapping lamatyi and releasing a monster, and he’s not very sorry about it. He’s not all that smart, he’s very tactical, he blows off competition with overconfidence, he’s THE one hope and champion and Divine Blessing from his hometown and it bothers me that he’s so fast to repent and so articulate of his issues! would that not get to your head at all? it has, demonstrably, gotten to his head already! would you not have conflict between what your mother tells you, softly and in tears behind closed doors, when the rest of your people praise you as a savior and a god amongst men. I just wish he was 1) consistently abrasive to us, still seeing us as sorta not on his side until the attack on Tural, I don’t think he should say sorry where he says sorry it should be later or not at all (when he’d apologize thru action not word), and 2) more in his head about it all. Obviously he’s of two minds. He has two heads. the heads should have slightly disagreed in the cenote when confronting wuk lamat but came to the same conclusion as in canon is what im saying I loved when he disagreed with himself that was rad

NO. 2 zereel ja. I know people like him. people like him don’t give up so easily. I know, in steven universe fashion, this is not a realism character, this is a plotline about unity. BUT! AGAIN every one of the previous trials was about unity and we can afford to take a risk with him. Maybe it would have been fine if he stayed mad and bad? maybe it would have been fine if he were just more reluctant? how does milaal ja feel about him?? Why did gulool ja choose him? We brought that up but didn’t really explore it. I don’t know if we should have killed him I think he’s allowed to grow. but he would not so quickly unless something else happened. I feel like the short thing later with him at the crowning of the dawnservants should have been a little tenser too how does bakool ja ja feel about him Now. Probably pretty complicated. How does the rest of mamook see him

NO. 3 I dunno I just wanted to see more of the mamool ja who lived there. what stokes their belief so so strongly… how do they feel… where are the kids? im getting distracted but what’s the birth rate of blessed siblings in contrast to normal kids out of hoobigo/boonewa pairs? does it always happen just with a very high infant mortality rate? Or does it happen half the time and there’s like, a whole NEW issue with kids running around who were not blessed? I know the vibe is rancid

NO. 4 this one is a little self explanatory the way I worded it. But also, I feel like importing nonnative crops in order to help those who want to stay and prosper is a good solution. Just the way that it’s… I dunno. I wish it was presented as more of just a part of the solution, because it was, just not emphasized enough that this won’t solve all your problems.

look (throws 3 ring binder out the window causing a huge crash and cat yowl sfx) this is a smaller part of a larger problem throughout dawntrail in that the ideas are very good but the dialogue put together to present these ideas to the audience is not and it creates a weird sense of goodbad, in that I feel like if I DIG AND PLAY, it’s great, but when first presented with anything I’m put off. But I DON’T CARE ABOUT THAT ANYMORE !!!!!! I’ve already said that piece! I’m going to think about sphene for the next THIRTY SEVEN HOURS! Thank you for listening

[beans-core]

At the age of six, Harry first finds himself thinking of God. It’s hard not to when the Dursleys go to worship Him in church around a few different holidays.

Every time they do, Harry stays locked in his cupboard until they get back to the house. He wonders, is God real? What does he teach? What has he done to make so many people love him?

Hopefully God can help Harry be less freakish. It’s only happened once or twice— whatever it actually was, he wasn’t sure, but the Dursleys hated it— and those few times got him the most harsh punishments he’d ever received. It’s easy to say that he has some motivation for what he does next.

He tries to nick Aunt Petunia’s Bible so he can read it that evening and discover more, but she catches him. She slaps him so hard it feels bruised, her manicured nails leaving a few scratches in its wake. She screams and screams at Harry for daring to touch The Holy Book until his ears are ringing and he’s left with a pounding headache alongside the scrapes on his cheek. Despite knowing how to hold back his tears, they brim his eyes anyway because he knows he deserves it this time.

That night, curled up on his tiny cot, Harry thinks maybe he doesn’t want to know much more if people like the Dursleys love God. If God loves the Dursleys back.

At age 8, he’s pretty sure that God is not real. Harry’s heard more about his ideals now, and what he is supposed to stand for.

Why would he stand for this? Harry thinks it as he is locked in his cupboard once again. It is the third day in a row without food. If God was real, would he really let this happen? Harry had done something freakish again, though now he could barely remember what it was. He didn’t even know he’d done anything until it was too late to beg for forgiveness— not that ‘sorry’ was ever enough for his Uncle and Aunt.

Harry didn’t do bad things on purpose. Surely he was still good enough to help— and wasn’t God supposed to help? Save those that need saving?

“I need saving,” Harry whispers to himself in the darkness, clutching his stomach through hunger pangs. He wants to yell it, shout so loud that the Dursleys and the neighbors and the whole entire world hears him, so loud that God hears and he comes to rescue Harry. But supposedly he doesn’t need to scream for God to hear him. God should be able to hear his pleas even as the hoarse whisper it comes out as.

And that settles it, really. God can’t be real, because if he was, surely Harry wouldn’t still be here.

(It angers him, but he can’t stop himself from praying. He copies what he sees Petunia do and does the same, prays desperately for the savior he’s been hearing of his whole life.)

(When Harry is finally, finally saved, prayers answered, he quietly wonders if God is magic too.)

(As he is introduced to this magical world where Harry Potter is the savior to those who believe in his supposed power, Harry feels like this is a chance to provide these people with the savior he was never given. Live up to the expectations, and be the person to save those who need saving.)

When Harry is 11 years old, and it is his first week back at No. 4 Privet Drive from Hogwarts, he is certain he knows the truth now.

God is real, there is little doubt in his mind. All the grace he’s been granted this past year had to have been divine intervention— Harry’s been at Death’s Door more times this year than he’d been his entire life. There was just no fathomable way even magic could render that type of skin-of-the-teeth dumb luck.

But then Harry remembers the feeling of flesh burning and bubbling beneath his hands, the wails of Quirrel-Voldemort writhing under Harry’s grasp. Remembers that unremarkable day in Spring, all those years ago, when Harry had asked Aunt Petunia if he could come to church with them: “You are devil spawn. If God ever looks your way, it would be to smite you.”

God is real, he has learned. God is real, has looked Harry’s way, and decided to curse him.

He’s cursed Harry with everything he’d ever wished for, but with awful twists around every corner. One step forward, two steps back.

Harry finally got his escape, but it wasn’t as much of an escape than it was a swap. He feels like his cupboard just got traded for a cage, and that all these people who are supposed to be like him have shut him in— are poking at him and rattling the bars.

He thinks back to what Petunia called him; devil child. He thinks back to what she said. Now, Harry would probably choose be smited. At least it’d be quicker.

[jjkeremika]

Express Divine Devotion

description: eremika moments over the years

inspiration: photo above: (“jane austen’s ‘if i loved you less i might be able to talk about it more’ plus sylvia plath’s ‘it seems i can only write you letters that i can never send’ plus lana del rey’s ‘there’s things i wanna say to you but ill just let you live’)

pairing: eren jaeger x mikasa ackerman, eremika (Aot/Snk)

**before they lived together as kids**

Carla stared out the window with an adoring smile on her face as she washed dishes, watching Eren and his new friends Armin and Mikasa play with fallen branches.

Grisha appeared behind her, placing his hands delicately on her hips, which startled her, causing her to jump a little.

He chuckled, “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” and pressed multiple soft kisses to her cheek.

Her smile returned and she turned her head, kissing her husband. Grisha pulled her closer with one arm around her waist, using his other hand to shut the faucet off, then cupped her cheek to attend to the kiss.

Eren, Armin, and Mikasa stood in a half-circle, watching Eren’s parents kiss through the window.

“Ha-have you guys ever k-kissed anyone?” Armin asked in a small voice, his head tilted to the side but his eyes were still fixed on Carla and Grisha, his fingers playing with each other.

“My mum kisses me a lot,” Eren answered with crossed arms, furling his face like he was grossed out, “and pinches my cheek…” He lightly touched his palm to his cheek.

“That… That’s not what I meant,” Armin returned softly, looking down to his feet, “It doesn’t matter; it’s silly.”

“Why do you ask, Armin?” Mikasa spoke quietly yet she always commanded their attention. Eren stared at the loose scarf around her neck.

His cheeks blushed and he dug the toe of his shoe into the dirt, keeping his eyes low. “Curiosity,” he practically whispered it, avoiding Eren and Mikasa.

“Kids, come inside! It’s getting dark!” Grisha called from the back doorway, staying in the doorway even as they made their way back.

About halfway back to the house, Eren grabbed Mikasa’s wrist and pulled her arm, dragging her to a stop. “Ere—”

His other hand started undoing the scarf halfway, then rewound it around her, letting the extra drape around her shoulder.

“Was bothering me,” he answered her unasked question with a light blush, and started dragging her along with the grip still tight on her wrist, “Let’s go eat dinner.”

**during the year they lived together as kids**

Eren was still awake when Mikasa jolted upright from her makeshift bed on the floor—the frame still in wood planks outside. She was breathing rapidly, and her hair was messy from having rolled around.

They made eye contact, Mikasa’s wide scared eyes connecting with Eren’s surprised gaze, and she softly apologized. Then she laid back down and rolled to the side, clutching the sheet a little more tightly.

“Are… Are you okay?” he whispered cautiously, sitting up from his bed, trying to peer at her through the dark.

He heard her sniffle. “Yes,” she answered quietly, sniffling again, “just a nightmare.”

Eren slipped out from his sheets and crossed the room to her bed, sitting down cross-legged. “When I have a nightmare, one of my parents will lie with me. I can go get one of them if—”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t wake them up,” she replied softly. There was a pause followed by a sniffle.

“I’ll do it,” Eren stated factually, moving and situating himself next to her, “and you can’t complain because i’m already awake.”

She blushed softly at the notion, at her friend’s comfort. It felt lonely at night, laying in a faux bed in a different house, her dreams and memories reminding her of the horrific events, haunting her at her loneliest hour.

Yet here’s the same savior, the same protection.

He placed his arm around her and let her cautiously settle in. “It’s okay,” he comforted, “nothing can happen to you when I’m with you.”

**second night after colossal/armor attack**

“Eren! Armin!” Mikasa called from across the shelter room, waving her arm for them to locate her. Armin spotted her first and grabbed Eren’s attention, waving back and heading over.

Armin hugged her when they reunited for the night, squeezing her a little tighter than he used to. She turned to Eren when Armin let go, whose arms were crossed and eyes were dull.

Mikasa reached out, barely grabbed his hand, held it lightly between her palms. “Eren…”

He met her gaze, the color the darkest she’d ever seen, tears held onto the waterlines. “I’ll be okay,” he croaked, like he’d lost his voice from shouting for answers, from crying, “you know… I was thinking…”

Mikasa tilted her head to the side curiously, his hand still between hers. “I told you nothing would happen when we’re together… and… I…” He swallowed tightly, his free hand clenching into an even tighter fist. Mikasa could feel his other hand start to shake. “I couldn’t do anything.”

“We’re alive, Eren,” she quickly responded to soothe his visible pain, to ease the load and carry the burden with him, “Healthy and alive and together. As long as we’re both alive…” She held his hand a little closer, soothed the shaking. “That’s good enough for me.”

**first year as cadets**

Eren watched Mikasa and Reiner spar in preparation for the hand combat exam. From first glance, onlookers would expect that tall and muscular Reiner would easily win; when in reality, Reiner worked twice as hard to dodge the fast and powerful Mikasa, to figure out where she’s going to strike next.

He was watching her form, looking at the way her arms were positioned in her offense, when he noticed the buttons on her shirt starting to pull. Her shirt was too small now that she’d grown from training.

“Reiner!” Eren shouted, which caused the boy to turn around and fail to avoid Mikasa’s punch, knocking him to the ground from the surprise attack.

“Eren!” Reiner shouted angrily from the ground, slamming his fist against the hard dirt, “This is your fault!”

Eren ran over to Mikasa, holding her jacket in his hand, stepping over Reiner. “Mikasa, come with me,” he suggested, putting her jacket over her shoulders and starting towards the dorms.

“Is something wrong?” she asked when they finally were inside, nobody else visibile.

Eren dug through the wooden drawers under his bed for a larger buttoned shirt. “Your shirt is too small. It’ll restrict your movement,” he stated, standing back up with multiple white shirts in his hand, “That could be dangerous in a dire situation.” He held up the shirts.

She hesitantly took them from him. “Don’t… Don’t you need these too?”

He shrugged and blushed lightly. “I have plenty… And I’ll give you more if you need them.”

**day of regiment selection**

“Eren?”

Eren heard her calling his name, but stayed silent as he sat on a rock near the lake. He couldn’t bring himself to speak without memories and tears flooding in. “Eren?”

Mikasa asked again before emerging from the woods to the left of him, spotting him almost immediately. “Eren!” she shouted again as she ran over, collapsing to her knees in front of him.

He looked at her, at the growing morning light reflecting on her skin. He was cold from having forgotten a jacket, but her arrival made him warm.

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking up at him with anxious, caring eyes, “I noticed you weren’t in your bed for a while. I thought maybe you’d gone for a walk, so…”

“Thank you for coming here,” he uttered quietly, leaning back and spreading his legs wider.

She smiled more to herself and moved to sit next to him. Mikasa said nothing, just enjoyed his presence.

“Mikasa, you should join the military police,” he spoke strongly, with more weight behind his words than he weighed, “you shouldn’t be in the scouts.”

Mikasa nodded along with his words, angling her head slightly so she could see him better. “Are you?”

“What?”

“Are you?” she asked again, staring at him directly this time. The eye contact sent a chill down Eren’s spine, and he smiled at the way she wore the moonlight. “Joining the military police?”

He dropped the eye contact and stared ahead at the lake, leaning his elbows into his thighs.

“I can’t. You know I can’t.” He sounded exhausted, determined yet already beaten down by weary trainings. “I have to see the rest of the world. I have to avenge mum. You should—”

“Be with you,” Mikasa interrupted, finishing his sentence for him. He sighed, but she spoke before he could, “You told me everything would be okay as long as we’re together.”

She waited for a reply that never came.

“If you join the military police, I will too. If you join Scouts, then I’m joining too. I… I can’t lose anymore family.”

**first week as scouts**

Eren sat on his assigned bed, near the pillow, watching as Mikasa folded his and her clothes into separate piles at the other end. Armin, Sasha, and Christa sat on their beds around them.

“I heard we’re going on our first expedition soon! Isn’t that exciting?” Christa exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

Sasha pulled a chicken drumstick from inside her jacket sleeve. “Celebratory bite!” Sasha shouted, then took a large bite of the meat.

Armin stared at Sasha in awe. “The statistics on returning aren’t… promising,” he added lowly, sadly, “we really shouldn’t get so excited that we become reckless.”

“We will be inside the walls still, so at least we’ll be able to use our gear,” Christa returned, trying to remain optimistic for the upcoming horror.

“But—”

“It’s what we trained for,” Eren interrupted, glaring at the folded clothes, “it’s our duty as soldiers. It’s what we’re dedicating our heart to. It’s—”

Jean scoffed and the door slammed behind him, “He’s on one of his rants again?”

“Shut up, Jean,” Eren muttered, looking down at his clenched fists. He watched Jean walk behind Mikasa, watched and clenched his fist a little tighter when Jean sniffed her hair.

When Mikasa finished folding the clothes, she sat next to Eren on the bed, inspecting the scratches on his arms he’d acquired from failing the balance tests.

Eren smiled at the warm tickle under her touch, a lingering familiarity that settled deeply in his brain. He wished he could ask his mum about the feeling.

“You should be all set,” she said and smiled, “I think you’ll be able to do it tomorrow.”

**mikasa gets sent on a dangerous mission**

“Jean, Reiner, Connie: you three will be responsible as outer watch,” Erwin dictated, pointing with a stick to the squad formation for this next mission, “Bertoldt and Armin will make up the rear guard.”

Hange stepped forward. “Since our primary goals are to capture titans and avoid causalities,” they started, glancing around the thinning Scout regiment, “Mikasa, you’ll be our sole bait. Levi will render it immobile and the rest of my squad will capture it.”

Mikasa nodded affirmatively. Eren stared at her with his eyes wide and mouth agape, moving to look at Armin, whose face had fallen solemnly.

“What about me?” Eren stood up abruptly, eyebrows furrowed in thought and alternating his gaze between Hange, Levi, and Erwin, “I can lure them too. They love my titan form, and I can atta—”

About half the rook rolled their eyes or slumped in their chair at his outburst. “Sit down,” Levi commanded, glaring at Eren, “We’ll speak later.”

The meeting concluded and everyone but Eren and Levi filed out of the room. Levi walked up to him, slapped his fist against Eren’s chest, ordered, “You’ll be cleaning the barracks,” in a huff and exited the room.

“What’s wrong, Eren?” Armin asked when they were at the dining hall later, just the two of them. Other soldiers from various regiments sat at the surrounding tables, and while Eren occasionally received whispers and glances and glares, they paid them no mind.

Eren sighed in frustration, a hearty breath disturbing the soup, and slumped slightly. “I’m irritated I’m not on the mission,” he answered, clenching a fist near his thigh, “again.”

“It’s for the best,” Armin urged, “We can’t have our best weapon being used as bait. And we can’t risk anything happening to you if it’s not absolutely necessary.”

Eren groaned, “So I have to clean instead?”

They both turned their heads at Connie’s loud laughter. “Haha! So that’s what Captain has you doing instead?”

Jean snickered, “Heh, a nice, clean place to return to after our heroic, dangerous miss—”

“Fuck you,” Eren spat, ignoring Jean’s beady eye contact, swatting at the air like there was a bug.

Mikasa sat next to Armin, across from Eren, and he spent most of the rest of the conversation wondering what to say to her, if he should say anything at all. If this were to be the last dinner together, then…

They all had left the dining hall together, heading back to the Scout barracks early to prepare for the big voyage tomorrow. Eren fell out of pace, fell to the back of the group.

“Uh, Mikasa,” Eren expressed shyly, stepping back and turning to the side to imply that he wanted her to follow him elsewhere.

She turned around, silently understanding and nodding, heading off with him without another word to the group.

She obediently followed him to a small clearing between a few trees, granted invisibility from the rest by shadows and dusk.

“I,” Eren started hesitantly, regretting having not thought of what to say beforehand, his hand fisted, “I’m not going on the mission, so…”

Mikasa stared at him quietly as he trailed off, willing to wait all night if he needed the time.

“So…” He met her gaze, tears threatening to line both of their eyes. He swallowed, raising his hand to take hers. “Please come home.”

**after discovery of the ocean**

The younger scouts all snuck away from camp one night, running off with the new map in the direction of the tiny rocks and wet sky.

Mikasa and Eren watched from the beach as everyone else discarded shoes and clothing and ran into the water, crying joyfully and screaming vibrantly—a welcome contrast to the past.

The moon was almost near the center of the sky when Eren stood up and offered a hand to Mikasa. “Should we…” He stared off at the ocean, smiling peacefully as he stared at the glistening landscape, at the stars in the sky.

He looked back at her when she placed her hand in his and stood up, smiling. Neither of them moved.

“Do you remember,” he started softly, so quietly that Mikasa’s ears tuned out all background noise just to focus on his voice. Tears lined his eyes and he choked on the lump in his throat, “when my mum would kiss us goodbye?”

A tear slid down his cheek at the mention of Carla, of a fond memory of her instead of…

Mikasa’s free hand twitched like it threatened to wipe the droplet away. Eren let it slide to his jaw.

“Remember when… my dad would come home,” he took a shaky breath, “and my mum would kiss him too?”

She nodded, still fighting back the tears. The pink blush on Eren’s face was making Mikasa blush too.

He smiled. “I used to wonder which way I was supposed to…” His blush deepened slightly as he paused briefly before coyly continuing, “…kiss you, but… I think I…”

“Hey, you two! Get your sorry asses over here!” The voice sent shivers down their spines and their hands dropped. They looked over at the source to find Levi and a few more soldiers standing angrily. “Where’s everyone else?”

**during Paradis-Country negotiations**

Unearthing the Founder’s powers came at a heavy mental and physical toll, and sometimes Eren refused to leave his room. Which wasn’t always a solution, because being alone meant exploring his mind, exploring memories and futures that he couldn’t place, of people he couldn’t name.

“Eren, how are you feeling?” Mikasa asked softly through the door after knocking. “I brought you some soup. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind the company for the day.”

Eren debated not opening the door, but he determined her company was better than anyone else’s, his own included. He opened the door and walked away, right back to bed.

Mikasa entered and closed the door, placed the food on the table, and followed him to his bed. She sighed when she saw the morose sight of Eren collapsed in bed, the blankets pulled over his head.

Mikasa sat at the foot of the bed, her hands in her lap. “Eren?” she asked, and she saw him shuffling under the blankets in response, “Remember when I used to have those nightmares?”

His head poked out near the pillow. “Yes,” he answered, nodding simultaneously.

“Are you having nightmares now, Eren?” she asked as a follow-up, shifting closer to the top of the bed.

He paused. “Yes,” he answered again, nodding only once, and looked up at her.

There was no need to speak any further. They shared a short, knowing look, the type of telepathic conversation that comes from collected experience and shared loss.

Mikasa sat upright and Eren moved the blanket, shifting over slightly to provide a clear space for Mikasa to lay. She did, and she delicately draped her arm around Eren’s shoulders, letting his head rest between her shoulder and breast.

He settled into her side, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her ever so closer, snuggling ever so deeper into her neck. Her scent and touch were so familiar, calming.

“It’ll be okay, Eren,” she whispered into his hair, using her hand to move a couple strands, “nothing can happen to us when we’re together.”

**during their visit to Marley**

Eren stared at her mouth while she licked at the ice cream cone, unable to take his eyes off her lips. A little stream of melted cream started to melt down her chin and he immediately reached his thumb out, wiping it away.

Mikasa blushed, avoiding Eren’s gaze. But he kept his hand on her jaw.

“You should try some,” she offered to change the subject, to remove his hot attention from her, and tilted the cone towards him.

“Okay,” he mumbled without moving, without taking his palm away. Instead, he rested it further on her jaw, cupping her cheek lightly and leaning down.

It was light. Barely even a light tap. The kiss felt like a buoyant feather floating in water, a tingling sensation remaining on excited nerves, cells reaching out for more. As fast as his lips had tapped hers, he’d pulled away.

“I don’t think I taste it,” Eren whispered, staring at her shiny eyes and red cheeks and pink lips.

Mikasa airily gasped. “Ma-maybe we should try again. For longer this time, so that you can really—”

**first reunion in Marley after eren left**

“Mikasa…” Eren gasped when he saw her, the woman he’d been dreaming of since he’d left, the woman he desperately wanted to return home to.

She stood in front of him, the black uniform suiting her frame so nicely. His heart beat faster than it had in a long time, and he lamented his haggard appearance before her.

She looked the same as in his dreams—better, even. The moon kissed her so beautifully, and he thought back to the last time they were together in Marley; his heart beating faster.

He wondered if he opened his arms if she’d embrace him back, the way he so heavily craved these lost years.

“Eren!” His name came out of her mouth in a half-sob, and she ran to him, practically jumping onto him. She held him close, and he reciprocated, holding her tighter than he’d ever held anyone, the way he’d relished in paths. She mumbled against his chest, her tears dampening his shirt. “Please come home.”

**at the cabin in paths**

A white cat rubbed against Mikasa’s swollen ankle as she sat back in the chair, whistling and rubbing her growing belly as she watched her husband chop wood out the window.

Mikasa sighed and picked up the cat, who purred loudly and snuggled his head into her belly. She smiled in adoration and let the cat settle on her lap.

She must’ve fallen asleep because she woke up with Eren knelt in front of her, his hand caressing her thigh.

“Nice nap, my loves?” he asked tenderly, glancing down at her belly before returning her gaze.

She blushed and smiled, rubbing her hands up and down her sides. “Yes, I think so. Woodchopping okay?” Mikasa placed one hand over Eren’s on her thigh.

He started the stand up, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Yes, we should have plenty for a while. I found a waterfall, though. Maybe we should take a trip when,” he placed a hand protectively over the baby bump, “he’s out.” He winked. “Make another.”

Mikasa giggled and blushed, initially pushing his hands away in shyness before pulling them back. She nodded.

He helped her stand up, placed a hand on her lower back as the other held hers. He let his hand rest on her lower back and brought his other one to the long strands of hair near her face.

“You don’t have to help me, you know,” she urged for the hundredth time, “I’m pregnant, not incapable.”

“I know,” Eren responded, smiling, “but I like to.” She blushed, kissed him, then walked by to grab water.

Eren stared at her as she walked away, tears threatening to fall from his eyes as he watched his pregnant wife move around their house. He smiled in the knowledge that, at least here, she was his to tend to, his to care for.

His to love.

[fantasyinvader]

@yanderefairyangel

Yeah, that’s been a thing for a long time. Whenever it comes to Edelgard, some people want to make her out as this Christ-like figure while ignoring the stuff that says otherwise, such as:

Amyr, a weapon crafted specifically for her, bears the Crest of Maurice, also known as the Crest of the Beast. This would indicate that Edelgard is more of an anti-Christ figure than an actual savior. The fact she continuously lies to her supporters only furthers this, as well as how the weapon isn’t a Hero’s Relic. It’s a Crest Stone Weapon, one that requires Agarthanium in order to repair.

The Crest of Maurice is tied to the Devil Arcana in the Tarot, symbolizing allowing oneself to be corrupted and giving in to earthly desires. It usually depicts the demon Baphomet.

People are turned into Demonic Beasts as war assets for her army.

In Azure Moon, she takes her ideals to what is said to be their end point when she turns herself into a Demonic Beast. Said beast form has horns, boobs and Wings much like Baphomet is depicted with.

The fact Dimitri goes on to be given the title of SAVIOR King.

Or that the Agarthans live under the ground, fleeing there after their war against Sothis led to them scorching the Earth. This is coupled with the fact Sothis is tied to the heavens through the Japanese name of the Sword of the Creator, the Sword of the Heavenly Emperor.

The word nemesis means “adversary.” Satan also means “the adversary.”

Her route’s ending has a picture of her raising a variation of the Hand of Justice, a symbol of divine right to rule. However, the hand is a reflection of the real thing from France. It’s reversed, and not only that it’s in the same pose Baphomet’s raised hand usually is in.

The scene where Byleth and the Black Eagles pledge themselves to Edelgard is called Path of Thorns, a reference to the Bible indicating that it’s a path of sin (specifically sloth, indicating a failure to do some form of duty)

Edelgard is a demonically-coded character, but her supporters refuse to acknowledge that. Or if they do, they claim it’s so that he can subvert expectations and be the real hero in the end. They’ve also tried to claim that her ending portrait is an allusion to Washington Crossing the Delaware, and if you point it out that it’s based on Napoleon’s coronation picture as emperor of France they go with the most positive interpretation of Boney they can.-They’ll raise hell if someone calls Edelgard a fascist or compares her to the world’s angriest Charlie Chaplin impersonator, while claiming the Church are clearly inspired by said impersonator’s fan club.

The fact that the game’s developers called Edelgard a villain, which would mean that her actions or motives are meant to be seen as evil, flies over their head as they try to claim she’s just “an antagonist.”

[sugar-grigri]

You make a lot of comparison with Christianity and then say a god doesn't live, while in Christianity the thing with God is that he came and lived as humans. In many religions, gods have lives too, they're born, they live, and in some religions they even die. So I don't really understand the thing about god not living, just being there 🤔

We're getting into spiritual territory and I'm going to answer you as a non-Christian who was taught religion as a child, so all I'm going to say is things as I see them, I'm not a specialist, nor a believer.

What I wanted to say is that God doesn't live, he's much more than that. He is the beginning, the end, the present, the future and the past all at the same time; death does not reach him, since he belongs to all temporalities, to the earth he created as much as to the heavens in which he sits.

I think Denji expresses this divine side well, since on numerous occasions, especially in part 2, he is shown to be unhappy, glimpsing happiness through the window as he watches humanity cheer him on. Whether it's admiring the crowd chanting or clashing like the insignificant teenager he is, in secret, whether it's through television. Denji is not among men, yet Chainsaw Man is a solution for all, an image that resides in all.

The nature of Jesus is complex, and the answer is not clear-cut, there are arguments that support him having a human nature, a divine nature or both, the question of his own individuality is a debate that has gone on for centuries and I'm certainly not going to answer it. Only I think one teaching was clear. Why did God choose to take the form of a man? He had to, so that he could forgive mankind. If he had been "only" God, he wouldn't have been able to identify with men and pay for them. Jesus' dualistic nature is what made it possible to keep God's link, to be able to express himself in their name, while dying for us, his death was a great enough sacrifice for divine justice, just as his link with us justifies the existence of our sins and the need to forgive us.

I'm not here to make a silly statement that Denji = Jesus, I wouldn't dare. But Chainsaw Man's fascination with different worlds, and the way Denji always seems so far away from men, reminds me of a certain divine solitude. Living for, in others without having a light existence for oneself.

Denji was born to answer his father's debts. He was resurrected to follow orders, then to play the role of savior and figure of hope. He died again. And was resurrected to fight the apocalypse.

When he asks to see his little sister, that is, his part of individuality, his own needs.

Barem gives him one condition: first, save us.

[ghostinthegallery]

Time to overthink another necron guy!

Anrakyr the Traveler! Overlord of Pyrrhia (Pyrhhia? I never get it right, hang on...okay it's Pyrrhia). Blue guy who's good with machines and drew the short stick when it came to necron nicknames (Silent King! Stormlord! Diviner! Infinite! Traveler...sorry it just doesn't have a same vibes)

To get a little meta right off the bat, when I'm analyzing a character (a thing I just do for fun in my spare time because I'm a normal person), I generally start with the question most authors are going to frame that character's story around: what does this person want and why? Sometimes that's easy. An author (or multiple authors) has already written that character in a way that clearly outlines their goal+motivation so I just start there and let my thoughts run wild. Trazyn wants to collect things for his museum because he is a kleptomaniac gremlin believes in the inherent value of culture and history. Szarekh wants to reverse biotransference because it sucks and its his fault. That is the seed from whence all rambling blooms for me.

Anrakyr...does not have that clarity.

We do know what he wants! To awaken and unite all the sleeping necron dynasties. That's where his name comes from: traveling the galaxy, seeking out tombworlds to bring them up to speed on the state of this messed up galaxy we call home. Okay cool. Why does he want to do this? Uh...

Even in-universe, this question doesn't have a clear answer. To some, he's incredibly noble. He left behind his homeworld, sacrificing his throne, to help his people adjust to a tumultuous new era. A lot of these tombworlds are waking up damaged, or occupied by hostile alien species that didn't exist when they went to sleep. Maybe their planet is in a different part of space. It sure would be nice to have someone explain everything before an ork eats your face.

The opening paragraphs of Devourer refer to Anrakyr as "would-be overlord of the necrons." Does that just refer to the dynastic rank of overlord (if so, why add on the "would-be" since he literally is an overlord?) or does that line hint at higher ambitions? Is he trying to unite the dynasties under him? That's certainly possible! Ambition is not exactly unusual for necron nobility. It explains his suspicion towards the triarch prateorians who follow him around (put a pin in them). He thinks of them as spies, servants of a rival...and that rival is The Silent King. That's one hell of an enemy to choose.

Cool, right? Except there's another side to Anrakyr. Because he doesn't just go around helping other tombworlds, he demands a price: weapons, legions, other tributes. To some, who have just woken up and had lifesaving information dangled in front of them only to have it ripped away if they don't pay up? That doesn't seem strictly altruistic.

Anrakyr is fine killing his own subordinates for failure (see the Carnac campaign where he sets up his own general to die for the crime of not killing space elves with suitable efficiency). Of course, given that most of Anrakyr's armies are tributes, most of his forces aren't loyal to him per se. Aside from the immortals that left Pyrrhia with him. But overall he's in an awkward spot within his own army.

Except if Anrakyr wants to rule...why leave behind Pyhrria, the planet he literally ruled?

You see my problem here?

Okay then, where does that leave us? A goal with a bunch of conflicting motivation, actions, and no clear answers. And I admit, I was stuck here with Anrakyr for a while! I kind of wrote him off as "The Stormlord we have at home" and moved on.

Until I started writing for him myself. At which point "this dude is an inconsistent mess" doesn't really cut it.

The thing about people (and by extension characters) is that people change. Especially when a bunch of different unconnected writers major, violent events happen across millennia. So what if both versions of Anrakyr are true? What if the well-intentioned savior and the would-be conqueror are each aspects of the same person.

Going back to those three triarch praetorians.

For those unaware, Anrakyr has the joy of hosting three emissaries from the triarchy. Three praetorians whose names he does not know, so he literally just named them the necron equivalent of A, B, and C. He assumes they are spies for Szarekh, to whom he has no interest in pledging service, but he still keeps them around. They are mysterious, they literally hang random trinkets from their head pieces like Christmas ornaments, and they give cryptic advice.

What the heck are these three doing here?

I guess they could be spies, but why the heck would Szarekh send three praetorians to keep an eye on Anrakyr who really is not that important in the grand scheme of necron politics? Don't get me wrong, he's not a nobody, but...he's got a ragtag army, a planet he doesn't visit, and some Blood Angels he teamed up with one time. This is not someone the Silent King desperately needs to watch out for.

But hey, speaking of Blood Angels, remember The Word of the Silent King? The one short story where Szarekh has an active presence. Guess who else is in that story?

Anrakyr the Traveler.

He's in the first line! The necron half of the story is being told to him by one of the praetorians. Why draw such an intentional parallel between these two characters? Sure, sets up Anrakyr's involvement in the Devastation of Baal lead up (ngl I don't know the order these stories were published it could be the other way around, either way GW is tying up their lore in a bright little bow) but narrative continuity is a BORING answer for CHUMPS so LET'S GO DEEPER!

What might three weird little triarch praetorians see in Anrakyr that they also see in Szarekh?

Tragedy.

Szarekh's entire character is defined by tragedy (see my ramble about him for details). What if Anrakyr is in a similar position? What if he started his journey with all those good intentions? The desire to save his people, free them from alien invaders? And overtime those intentions got corrupted, turning him into the harsh, suspicious, bitter person we see in Devourer? The Anrakyr in that story doesn't care about the tombworld he's supposedly saving. He hates organic life, he needs the reinforcements from that world...but never does he truly express concern about it. Or sorrow when he finds it consumed by the flayer virus. But consider how many tombworlds he's seen fall to the flayer virus? Or infighting, or madness, or aeldar, or orks, or humans, or a random supernova or a million other things? Imagine how many worlds he found but could not save? This is a person who has lost the plot.

But the person who inspired those stories of nobility still exists. He still organized a massive campaign of different dynasties to save the tombworld of Carnac. He still defended necron tombworlds against the Silver Skulls (who are a real space marine chapter and not just a Trazyn goof!). He still fought Tyranids alongside the Blood Angels and the Mephrit.

Anrakyr's praetorian buddies have told him the Silent King won't speak to him. Yet. But Szarekh will if Anrakyr proves worthy. Anrakyr probably doesn't care either way, but for a praetorian to say this about their king is huge. To me it shows that they believe Anrakyr could be worthy, one day. They think he's worth watching. Not as a ruthless crusader, but as another person who suffered for their good intentions and came through it with a renewed purpose.