#but in a darkly ironic twist of fate

[not-poignant]

Hello! Wanted to ask about Ream. You said that you set your tiers a long time ago, and with current horrors of Patreon and such will you add some tiers to Ream so that once-a-month payers on Patreon could find a tier with same price on Ream and would be comfortable moving? Thanks!

Hi anon!

So this is something I've been thinking over for months actually.

At first I was like 'yes of course' and then a very good friend sat me down and I realised that...actually maybe not.

Here's the reason (tl;dr I haven't increased my income in 10 years and actually cost of living has gone up in that period of time and I need to eat too):

Those prices haven't changed in a decade. I haven't had a 'wage increase' on that front in a decade. You can't change tier prices once they're made, they're locked in place forever (until you delete or retire the tier).

Not only that, but I offer about...3-4 times as much as I used to.

In the end, I increased my prices on Ream (a semi-midway point between charging once and charging twice) because of inflation and cost of living.

I know that everyone reading this is impacted by that too, and that might mean some people can't subscribe to Ream (or can't subscribe on the same tier) for a few dollars more because it's just too much, but I am now drastically undercharging compared to so many other authors on the market who do subscription.

Where I charge $5 USD for base early access, most charge between $10-20. I settled on $9 USD on Ream. Some authors have tiers of like... $100-200 per month, and I couldn't ever dream of doing that. But this is my career, and it's the money I use to pay for food, bills, etc. I don't make a minimum wage with the hours I work, and the idea of just hitting the country's average yearly income feels like a distant dream.

Granted, some of that could be down to my marketing options (like maybe I'd make more if I took all my writing offline and made people pay for all of it, but I don't want to do that, I like the model I do now, but it's dependent on those who can comfortably afford to support it... supporting it - if they want!!)

When I set up Ream, and set up the new tiers, I set them up with how much the cost of living has changed in a decade and how much other authors are charging on the whole. And I thought about it and came to the conclusion that I have 10 years behind me, I'm offering 3-4 times as much as I used to and am only charging about 50-80% more, cost of living has changed, and since I don't rely on book royalties (I love Perth Shifters but royalties work out to about $30 every 3 months), subscription is where the changes need to happen.

I'm not super happy about that, like, obviously I don't want people to feel hard done by, but all I can do is remind myself - and remind you and others anon - that unlike 99% of other authors in subscription, almost all of my writing becomes freely available if folks just have patience. That's something I know for a fact some other authors think I'm stupid for doing, lol, but I prefer doing it this way because it feels fandom and community friendly in a different way.

So even if folks can't afford a few dollars more to subscribe on Ream (you can become a follower though and still get email notifications - no one needs to pay to follow me on Ream, that's completely free), you just need to be patient. Like I get it, that few dollars is the difference sometimes between a bill getting paid and not getting paid - I feel and live that myself. I'm so angry at the Patreon situation, because honestly, if my account goes tomorrow and I get banned there, I may have to quit writing if Ream can't pick up fast. I cannot work for like... 50c an hour.

And I need to make some posts about this on Patreon obviously, but the stress of it is so overwhelming, because it's like staring down the barrel of a potentially career-ending policy decision.

Anyway, re: tier prices, the one exception to not changing / offering half-priced or lower-priced tiers is the merch tier, where I have thought about approaching Ream with getting an ongoing discount code, since I calculated sending merch on the merch tier at the $25 USD rate with the awareness that some people would be paying twice as much, and the leap there is the most significant one. That's a place where I'm willing to compromise if I can work that out, and Ream is typically very accommodating.

Folks who can't afford it still get access to nearly everything eventually - and not in a year, but like...in a few months, or even just a handful of weeks.

Folks who don't think my writing is worth a modest increase can choose to bow out whenever they want (or sign up to a lower tier and still get access to nearly everything eventually)!

I am grateful to any and all folks who choose to support my writing whether it's financially or not, and I do get that like, sometimes the budget just does not allow for an increase of any kind. Or maybe you only signed up this year and don't believe in paying more than what you do already, and so it doesn't matter that my prices have been the same for a decade. Most artists / creators / writers have put up their book prices / art prices / etc. Ream is the first time I've ever done it.

Anyway on the matter of the merch tier, I'll talk to Ream about organising some kind of perma-discount and offering it specifically in that tier. For the rest, I'll keep thinking about it, and maybe talk to Ream to see what they suggest too.

fdsalkfkdjsa

Anyway, I'm just... I am sorry anon, in a perfect world, I would have been able to incrementally increase my tier prices all along with a lot of warning in advance. And I'm also like, extremely and intensely hoping that I can just stay on Patreon, but that seems less and less likely with their new policy changes. I'm not uprooting, I will keep posting on Patreon until the lights metaphorically go out. It's just, they could kick me in an hour and I'd have no recourse and there'd be no point in appealing. Or they could kick me in 5 years, or 10.

In some ways this isn't a problem until Patreon makes it a problem for all of us, but yeah, that's where I'm at. A friend basically reminded me that it's okay for me to value my writing and my 10 years of experience and my track record and my stories a bit more, and I took their advice to heart, and then have felt terribly guilty ever since, lol. I'll keep thinking about my options here, and what I can do, because I obviously don't want to leave a lot of people behind, either.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

How would The Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) & Demise respond to this game of Kiss, Marry, Kill: King of Hyule, Link, Tingle?

Just to forewarn, they all had the... exact... same... answers... which is hilarious. They give similar reasonings, but I just had to share.

A game like "Kiss, Marry, Kill" would deeply amuse and annoy characters like Ganondorf and Demise. These are powerful, serious figures whose goals often revolve around conquest, destruction, or immortality. Being reduced to something as trivial as a party game would either spark outrage or amusement depending on their personalities.

Let’s break down how each of the Ganondorfs (and Demise) would react to being asked to play Kiss, Marry, Kill with King of Hyrule, Link, and Tingle:

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Reaction: Wind Waker Ganondorf is one of the more thoughtful and complex versions, as he has a deep resentment toward the fate that befell his people. He would be bemused by the game, seeing it as beneath him, but the absurdity of the choices would amuse him in a dark, ironic way.

Response: He leans back in his chair, an amused smirk crossing his face. "What a childish game. But if I must humor you…"

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "He had the gall to drown Hyrule under the sea. A kiss before I crush him beneath the waves would be appropriate."

Marry: Link. "He is the only one worthy enough to be tied to my fate. Even in marriage, I would enjoy watching him squirm under my power."

Kill: Tingle. His smirk twists into a look of disgust. "That pathetic little wretch? There is no better fate for him."

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Reaction: Ocarina of Time Ganondorf is driven by ambition and conquest, so the idea of playing this game would infuriate him at first. However, his sadistic side would enjoy toying with such ridiculous concepts, turning the game into an opportunity to mock his enemies.

Response: His expression darkens immediately as he glares at you for daring to ask him such a question. "You would waste my time with this nonsense?" But after a pause, a cruel smile spreads across his lips.

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "A kiss before his inevitable betrayal would be most fitting, as the king always schemes in the shadows."

Marry: Link. He chuckles darkly. "Binding the Hero to me in such a way would be endlessly amusing. His suffering would be eternal."

Kill: Tingle. "That fool would serve no purpose other than being erased from this world."

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Reaction: Twilight Princess Ganondorf is one of the darkest and most ruthless iterations, seeing himself as a god. He would be insulted at first, his pride deeply wounded by the triviality of the game. But after considering it, he’d respond with cold, calculated malice.

Response: His gaze narrows, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I will play this game once, but only because it amuses me to think of their fates."

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "The king, foolish and weak. I would kiss him before taking his throne, as is my right."

Marry: Link. His voice drops into a menacing whisper. "To marry the Hero, to bind him to my will… Yes, that would be fitting. His spirit would break over time."

Kill: Tingle. "The weak have no place in my kingdom. His life is worthless."

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Reaction: Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf is warlike, with a lust for battle and dominance. He would laugh at the absurdity of the game but would answer with a twisted sense of humor, taking advantage of the opportunity to impose his will on others even in a fictional scenario.

Response: He laughs deeply, crossing his arms over his chest. "Foolish. But if I must choose…"

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "He presumes to rule over a land that is mine by right. A kiss before I crush him would be amusing."

Marry: Link. "To bind the Hero to my will would be a victory greater than any battlefield conquest."

Kill: Tingle. "Tingle? A weak, laughable fool. His death would be merciful, for I have no patience for his kind."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Reaction: This version of Ganondorf, steeped in power and madness, would find the game amusing in a twisted, mocking way. He sees the world as his plaything, and a game like this would give him the opportunity to further express his cruel dominance over those who stand in his way.

Response: A cruel grin stretches across his face as he contemplates the choices. "What a delightful waste of time…"

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "A kiss before his inevitable fall would taste of sweet victory. The king is a symbol of everything I wish to destroy."

Marry: Link. His grin widens. "To bind the Hero to me? I can think of no greater pleasure. I would take joy in watching him wither under my control."

Kill: Tingle. "His existence is a joke. It would be satisfying to see him snuffed out."

Demise

Reaction: Demise would be utterly insulted by the mere mention of this game. As a being of pure hatred and destruction, to even contemplate something as ridiculous as "Kiss, Marry, Kill" would seem beneath him. But if forced to answer, he would do so with venom and disdain.

Response: He glares down at you, flames licking around him as he seethes with irritation. "You dare ask me such a question?"

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "A kiss would be the last thing he feels before I crush him into oblivion."

Marry: Link. His expression twists into one of cruel amusement. "The Hero? To bind him to me for eternity… His suffering would be eternal."

Kill: Tingle. "I don’t even need a reason. His life means nothing."

Each version of Ganondorf (and Demise) would react with varying degrees of amusement, disgust, or irritation, but ultimately, they’d all answer with the same air of superiority, twisting the game to suit their dark desires.

[darkhearthorns]

The Dragon's Betrayal

In the dark depths of the dungeon cell, a flickering torch cast eerie shadows on the cold stone walls. Ulysses, the warlock, sat hunched in the corner, his hands bound by magical restraints. Serves him right, he thought to himself. Unless Maverick had an explanation for his imprisonment after he so selflessly helped in battle, Ulysses was going to wait and clear his mind of the thought of betrayal he never saw coming.

Throw him in the dungeons!

The words from Maverick still stung within Ulysses.

As the heavy iron door creaked open, the silhouette of Maverick, the dragon fae prince, appeared, his regal presence contrasting sharply with the grim surroundings. Maverick's emerald eyes glinted with arrogance and satisfaction, his dark wings folded tightly against his back. The prince approached Ulysses with measured steps, his voice dripping with superiority.

"Well, well, Ulysses," Maverick sneered. There was a cruel edge in his tone. "I must say, you were quite useful in the battle. A mere warlock, but your powers proved ... somewhat valuable."

Ulysses glared at Maverick, his jaw clenched. "You used me, Maverick. I thought we were friends, allies. I trusted you."

Maverick chuckled darkly, his voice echoing through the dungeon. "Friends, allies? You were merely a pawn, a tool to achieve my victory. Your naivety is astounding, Ulysses."

Ulysses' eyes burned with defiance, his magical aura pulsating faintly around him. "You will pay for this, Maverick. I won't rest until I've escaped this cell and wrap my tentacles around you-."

The prince's smirk widened. "Escape? Oh, Ulysses, do you truly believe you can outwit me? I am the dragon fae prince, destined for greatness. You, on the other hand, a cephalopod who doesn't know how to stay underwater, will rot in this cell."

Ulysses let out a hollow, bitter laugh that echoed in the confines of the dungeon cell. It was a sound devoid of mirth and a touch of self-deprecation. There was nothing else to do now. Dark magic, stronger than his own- somehow- was keeping him from doing anything without feeling searing pain. Ulysses was in despair and resignation, that one time he decided to trust someone, he faced a cruel twist of fate.

"What has happened to you, Maverick? What changed?"

That one statement made the prince's amusement fade, his lips pressed now to a thin line.

"You don't want to know."

@deepseawarlock

[lunastarhawk]

WIP... Thursday?

It's been a while since I posted much of anything, for a bunch of reasons. But! I'm now 13.7k words into ToM part 25. As proof of life, here's a little snip.

“Lucio.” Asra blinked at Muriel in surprise, even as a shot of anger raced through him just at hearing the name. “What about him?” “Where is he?” “What does that have to do with anything?” Asra’s anger turned to irritation, but Muriel’s gaze remained steady. “The shadows,” he said darkly.  “They feel the same.” “The same as what?” “The same as Lucio.  His ghost, when he used to come to the forest.”  Muriel’s eyes shifted uneasily to the trees beyond Asra, almost as if he expected Lucio to appear.  “When he was trapped, between realms.” Cold dread crept through the base of Asra’s skull to his spine.  “What do you mean, the same?” “I wasn’t sure,” Muriel said, eyes dropping again.  “But the same warding magic works on them.” Asra’s mind raced to find the dots to join up, but came up short.   “He’s in the Devil’s realm,” he said.  “We banished him.  Nadia banished him, so he can never come back to Vesuvia.”  His eyes widened.  “Is he back?  Are the echoes something to do with him?” Muriel shook his head.  “I don’t think so.  But they’re from the void between.  And if they can come from the void between, then–” “So can he.  But he’d have to escape from the Devil’s realm first.  He can’t do that, can he?” Muriel shrugged his massive shoulders.  Asra turned his face skywards and closed his eyes, exhaling heavily.  Anger mixed with frustration - partly at Muriel for bringing it up, partly at himself for letting Lucio just run off, but mostly at Lucio for, well, being. Eventually he looked back at Muriel and said, “I’m not going to worry about him until I have to.  The disruption to the void between realms is because the Fool is gone, it’s nothing to do with him.” A heavy silence hung between them for a moment.  Because the absence of the Fool was because of Lucio - and Asra.  And now, in a darkly ironic twist of fate, Altheia had to pay the price for it.

[sidhewrites]

whoop some more of the unnamed fairy wip from tonight!

[They get to the elk]

Her breath caught. She couldn't help it. The elk was a magnificent beast. It was silver from head to toe, with a twelve-point rack of antlers. She had never seen such a large animal in the woods before, and certainly not one like this. [It's beautiful, breathing heavily, with two arrows in its side]

"This is a fairy steed, isn't it?" she asked, stepping out from the treeline. The elk's keen eyes bored into her, but she bit back any fear. Its blood shone darkly in the moonlight, as brilliantly as its silver fur, and she wasn't about to let it bleed out alone and afraid.

"Polly," Jack said, a hand on her arm. "We need to get you out of here."

"Don't be ridiculous. It is from the [fairy world] isn't it? You told me some of the animals there can understand us."

"Polly, wait--"

But she didn't listen. Polly shook Jack off and approached the elk with hands raised before her. "It's all right. I'm a friend. I'm not here to hurt you." She spoke gently, moving slowly and carefully.

Jack hesitated in the shadows, looking into the dark for any hint of movement. "Polly, please. It's dangerous."

"I'm not leaving it alone. Look. It's scared." She hesitated before kneeling besides the elk. "It's all right. I'm going to help you. All right? I'm here to help." She reached a single hand out first, palm up. The elk huffed, eyeing her warily. It raised its head with difficulty, and Polly felt sure that it understood. It didn't trust her, not yet, but it knew she was unarmed.

The elk sniffed her, then lay its head down once more, surrendering to its fate. She reached out hesitantly, laying her hand on the side of its neck. It flinched, stiffened, but fought not to move. "There, see? It's all right." She stroked its fur gently, eyeing the arrows with dread. Her mother had taught her some basics in healing, but Polly did not have the strongest constitution when it came to blood. Already she felt her stomach twist, and she hesitated just long enough that Jack sighed and gave in.

"Move over." He knelt beside her and she shuffled to the side, cradling the elk's  massive head in her lap. "These are...These are fey arrows. They're poisoning it."

"What can we do?"

"We should leave," he tried, but wilted under Polly's glare in an instant. "Listen, Polly. If there are fairies out here hunting an elk, neither of us stand a chance."

"But you're a fairy."

"Not one who can hold his own against this." He shook his head. Still he adjusted his grip on his knife and set his jaw. "Hey...um. Goodly elk? Sir...Sir Elk?" He glanced to the side to confirm his guess, but the elk snorted its displeasure. "Uh -- ma'am? Miss Elk, hi, hello. I'm -- I'm going to help get the arrows out of you, but it's going to hurt. Do you understand that?"

The elk sighed warily. Get it over with, it seemed to say.

"Right. Polly, maybe you should step back?"

She simply gave him a look, adjusting the elk's head in her lap.

Jack nodded. "Right. Of course. All right. Look, Miss Elk, I'm really, really sorry about this. Please know I'm trying to help." He examined the first of the two arrows, more shallow than its twin and easier to extract. Jack almost held his breath as he gripped the shaft, clenched his jaw, and pulled.

The elk screamed and kicked out. Jack leapt out of the way, apologizing frantically, but Polly remained where she was, leaning over its face as if to protect it. But the arrow was out, cold iron and ash wood turning its blood black. The wound was already festering, however new it was. Slowly, however, the elk calmed down. It was hard to say if it was breathing more easily or not, but it was better than leaving the arrow in.

"Right." He threw the arrow away. "One more left. Ready?"

The elk sighed. Polly stroked its face. "You're doing very well. Just one more. Can you handle it?"

Jack bit back the twinge of jealousy, far more used to Polly speaking to him like that than anyone else. Then again, he wasn't used to any kind of company that wasn't her own, and didn't quite know how he felt at having to share her attention. There was still more work to be done. He could get caught up in his feelings later.

Slowly, he approached the elk again, kneeling and examining other arrow. "It's pretty deep in there. I'm sorry. This is...this is going to be worse."

"It'll be all right," Polly whispered, still leaning over the elk's head. "Just one more, and then they're gone. No more arrows in your side."

Jack was sure he saw the elk nod.

"All right," Polly said. "Go ahead."

Jack held his breath as he gripped the arrow. The elk tensed in anticipation, which could only serve to make it worse. He tried to work slowly at first, doing his best not to move the arrowhead around more than was necessary, but the elk kicked and yelped again.

"Hurry up, Jack. She's in pain."

"She?" He echoed, dodging a hoof, and gritting his teeth one more time. One more good pull. He just needed the right angle and --

A flash of silver light filled the glade. Jack fell backwards, arrow in hand, and Polly flinched back, holding the elk closer in a subconscious attempt to protect it. But the weight shifted grip, the elk shifting and changing. And as the light slowly dimmed, Polly dared to open her eyes.

There was no elk in her lap, but a woman.

A naked fairy woman, with silver hair and delicate wings, broad-shouldered and muscular.

She groaned in pain. "We have...to hide..." She managed to say, before the pain overcame her, and she blacked out.

[animemocha]

Is Floch Erwin's True Successor? (Attack on Titan Essay)

In Attack on Titan, the tragic state of the world forces characters into situations where they must act against their nature to achieve something the story refuses to give them.

Peace, Happiness, and Freedom.

Isayama writes the characters so well that many of them already realise that to achieve their dreams, they must do things they don’t want to do. But they need to.

However, there is one character who defies this pattern and willingly becomes the exact kind of prick the story needs to achieve its intended complexity.

Devils

Floch Forster stands out because he fully embraces the role of a devil, showing no hesitation when doing what is necessary. And as the story evolves, we see him also evolve, becoming more and more cruel.

This explains why many viewers dislike him.

But there are numerous characters in fiction that people hate. However, that’s not because they’re bad characters.

But because they’re so good at being bad.

Because that’s how well-written they are.

Floch fits this category perfectly and his presence in Attack on Titan offers a much-needed contrast to the more heroic and compassionate characters we're used to.

Finding His Call

What's so intriguing is that Floch's journey didn't start this way.

He was pretty much a background character that was used to highlight the stark contrast between the new recruits and our more battle-hardened protagonists.

A popular opinion is that Floch really developed in season 4, but I’d argue that he started to change much sooner than that.

Through all the tears and fear, Floch started to change when he first faced the fear of dying meaninglessly.

He confessed to being a complete coward, a trait that became evident when he faced the possibility of a pointless death.

But who could blame him? It was a miracle that Erwin convinced the scouts to ride to certain death. But that’s part of the reason he was such an amazing commander.

Floch's main drive is quite simple and relatable; he doesn't want his life to be meaningless, and he wants the freedom to choose what is worth dying for.

The thought of leaving no impact on the world terrifies him.

After witnessing the bloodshed, he understood the kind of impact he wanted to make. He desired to contribute to a significant change in the world and liberate Eldia from its nightmare.

He wanted to make a difference.

In Floch's perspective, Commander Erwin's daring actions brought purpose to what would have otherwise been utterly pointless deaths.

This might be why Floch respected him.

He despised Erwin for leading everyone to their deaths, but he also realised that someone like Erwin was necessary to survive and pave the way to freedom.

Seeing Erwin's determination to advance at all costs, Floch started to appreciate the need for a devilish leader like him.

After that mission, Floch quickly developed a hatred for anyone outside the walls who contributed to imposing this hell on them, which is quite understandable.

He survived the same mission as the others, and even if he hadn't, his opinion is as valuable as anyone else's.

Just like everyone else, Floch has the right to fight and advocate for what he believes will create the best world for him and his people. He has the right to make his own decisions.

He has the right to freedom.

He feels guilty and finds it ridiculous that a coward like him survived the massacre of Shiganshina while everyone else perished. He sees this as a darkly humorous twist of fate.

However, the reality remains that, for whatever reason, he DID survive. And this instils him with a desire to fulfil his purpose with the time he has been given and not lead a pointless existence.

So, if he was going to do anything with his life, he was going to dedicate it to what he believed was the right cause.

He believed that the only way to win was by relying on a devil to lead them, and ironically, the same person he criticised became that devil.

The Right to Choose

Eren's plans gave him what Floch considered a second chance at life, so it's not surprising that he fully commits to this path without any doubts.

However, his words also hint at another idea: he values honesty.

After his ordeal, Floch becomes very direct and candid in expressing the harsh truth.

He plainly tells Hitch that Marlow and the others who died probably regretted dying like that, and he is straightforward in saying that Levi and Eren were too emotional in their decision to save Armin.

And he does all of this during a funeral for fallen scouts.

While many would consider this disrespectful, Floch likely believes that the entire funeral is a betrayal in the first place, because it glorifies all of these deaths as heroic when, in reality, they all probably died wishing they had never volunteered in the first place.

In season 4, we see Floch tell the Jeagerists about Eren’s imprisonment, a fact that was supposed to be a secret. You could argue that he did this solely for the benefit of the Jeagerists, but I think think he believed that people deserved to know the truth about what was behind the scenes.

He thinks they have the right to decide what to do after knowing the whole story, a privilege he never had in the Shiganshina mission.

The interesting thing here is that all of this is understandable. It may be dark, and he may have grown to completely ignore and dismiss the suffering they cause on the way to their goal, but I think it's understandable if you consider the hell he's witnessed and the people he cared about who have been torn apart.

Similarly, not everyone can or wants to see other perspectives when they've experienced something like that, and this is the result. I think all of this makes him realistic, resonant, and even a bit sympathetic.

At this point, I don't think Floch is evil for seeing everyone outside the walls as an enemy. Given the things he's witnessed, it may not be the best approach, but it's not an unimaginable mindset for someone like him to have.

But I have to emphasise, “At this point”.

Because, this is where the almost coherent side of Floch falls away to reveal someone who not only has no reservations about being the person to help lead the Eldian empire, but who takes pride in it and revels in it.

He crosses the line from an understandable yet unlikable character into a genuine threat when he starts showing his borderline sadism.

He uses Keith Shadis as a symbolic personification of stamping out the old ways by beating him up without any hint of remorse.

But he could never have done all of this alone, and he was enabled by clinging to the ideal hero he believed in through an almost parasitic attachment to this devil.

The concept of devils is rife within Attack on Titan.

The story needs devils.

The story needed Erwin.

It needed Eren.

And it needs Floch.

Humanity

One thing that is crucial about Floch is that when it comes down to it, he isn't a complete coward.

He had courage.

He gathered enough bravery to join Erwin's charge, stood up to Mikasa with his newfound ideals, and didn't hold back in defending what he believed was right.

After the time skip, you can accuse him of many things, but cowardice isn't one of them. I wouldn't go as far as to say Floch represents us, partly because that's too cynical.

But he's more like someone we could become if we lived through the hell he did. He embodies the idea that this story keeps highlighting: that life has meaning simply because you were born into this world.

Even someone like him should have the freedom to choose how to live and die, and to defend that freedom, he did what he did.

He doesn't care about being kind or open-minded. He's just a regular, vulnerable guy trying to live in a way he can be proud of. Sometimes, that's all it takes to turn someone into something unrecognisable.

He represents the perspective of the everyday person and how they can be influenced by different factors. He shows how, in response to bloodshed and the desire to have a meaningful life, one can become radicalized and extreme through warfare, becoming desensitised to tragedy and unwilling to see other perspectives.

It's no surprise that someone like him emerged from this chaos.

Despite his cruelty, we can learn a lot from him. His character is so human and so perfectly flawed.

And without him, Attack on Titan would not be the masterpiece that it is.

-----

I'm really sorry this came out so late.

I hope this doesn't feel rushed. I tried to put the same amount of care and effort into it as always, but I wasn't able to spice it up with nice screenshots and quotes this time.

It's been a really tough week for me, but we keep moving forward :)

The next essay (or maybe the one after that lol) will be something super special.

As always, I would greatly appreciate it if you could check out the full video essay.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Monday: Jak and Daxter

Meddling Mar au: In Which Jak's younger self had no intention of staying in the past

The Rift Rider disappeared through the gate, and already Jak felt a sense of loss. There was, he decided, something darkly ironic about the kid turning out to be his own former self. It meant that he really was the only person who unconditionally cared about him. Kind of pathetic sounding when he thought about it that way.

"I should've warned him about Errol," Jak realized after a moment, heart twisting in his chest. "I didn't warn him about Errol!"

"Errol?" Keira looked confused.

"You couldn't, Jak," Samos said sternly. "If he knew and remembered the past, it would jeopardize the future. Everything must play out as fate has designed it."

Something cold wormed through Jak's gut as he turned slowly to face the sage. "You knew what was going to happen to me," he realized, "You were just okay with what they did? You couldn't even try to warn me?!"

Samos leaned on his staff and gave Jak a disapproving look. "I told you "be ready for whatever happens". It's not my fault you never listen to me!"

The dark eco was rising in him, depleted and exhausted though it was. Jak struggled to keep his voice level, and even so it came out as a low growl.

"You let me get into that craft knowing Errol was going to kidnap me off the street and experiment on me for two years. You sent that innocent little kid back in time knowing he's gonna suffer the same thing."

He drew away from his old mentor in disgust. "What makes you different from Kor?"

"Now that's going too far!" Samos gasped.

Behind him, Keira stood frozen. Numbly, she whispered, "Errol did that to you?"

Daxter grimaced. "You never noticed how that pea-brained peacock talked to Jak?"

"Precursors..." Keira dropped to crouch on the ground, holding her head in her hands. "Jak, I-"

Whatever she had been about to say was cut off suddenly by the glow of the Rift Gate intensifying. All at once, something shot out of the portal and over their heads, landing with a spectacular crash. They all whirled to find what appeared to be the Fisherman's boat from Sandover, with some extra bits welded on. It was all thoroughly smashed now, but Jak could have sworn he saw a Time Map affixed to the prow.

"Ah-ha, oof, that smarts!" a voice groaned from the wreckage.

Jak blinked. "Uncle Erasmus?!" He sputtered.

"Eh? Whozzat, who said that?" Parts clattered and a skinny arm appeared. "Pah! So much dust! I say, Mar m'lad, do you see my monocle down there?"

It was the Explorer! But what in the name of all the Precursors was he doing here?

Jak waded through the rubble and began tossing debris aside. His adoptive uncle's dusty face appeared only a moment later, looking older than he remembered.

"Who? Who? What?" The man squinted at Jak for a moment, then let out a jovial laugh. "Bless my soul! Jak! You made it after all!"

Erasmus the Explorer hauled himself up to slap Jak heartily on the back. "Poor form, y'know, leaving your poor old uncle without a word like that -- and not telling me about the tyke, wot! Look at you, lad! Barely grown at all in five years? What sort of rubbish have you been eating?!

"What the...five- five years?" Jak stammered, "It's only been two!"

Erasmus jumped like he'd been electrocuted. "Sink me!" He exclaimed, "Elocution? Verbosity? Sink me, things have changed!"

The older man turned to call towards the rattling still coming from the wrecked boat. "See here, you young rip? Keep practicing and you'll get to it eventually like your brother, eh?"

His what.

Out from under what used to be a bench seat popped a head of tousled green curls. Before Jak had time to properly feel relief, a scrawny child no older than eight or nine hauled himself from the wood and metal, brushing off his arms in annoyance.

"Yeah yeah, Uncle E. Or maybe you keep up practicing and you'll learn to say more than "I want food", huh?" The child signed quickly and fluidly, but with more than a little sass in his gestures.

"What the-?!" Daxter tightened his grip on Jak’s shoulder to keep from falling off. "Jak! It's- It's-!"

"It's the Kid!" Jak whispered.

His younger self looked up upon hearing Daxter's voice. An instant of confusion crossed his face, followed by recognition. Then his eyes narrowed.

In an instant, he'd shot across the space between them to land a vicious kick to Jak’s shin. Jak yelped and grabbed the boy's arm.

"What was that for?!"

"That's for sending me away with Grandpa Green!" The little boy retorted before winding up for another kick. "You're the worst brother ever!"

"Hey!" Offended on Jak’s behalf, Daxter leaped down to land on the boy’s head. "Show some respect, Junior! We busted our tails to find somewhere without any Krimzon Guards or metalheads!"

"Metalheads?" Erasmus interrupted, "Oh! Those creatures that have been trying to eat Sandover? Hm. The name's a bit on the nose, isn't it?"

Keira blanched. "What do you mean "trying to eat Sandover?!"

Samos hurried forward. "That's impossible! The metalheads didn't enter Sandover until the day we left!"

The younger version of Jak eyed Samos suspiciously. "Yeah, and you dropped us off the same day, genius."

Samos blinked and turned to Jak. "What did he say?" he demanded.

"Uh..." Jak stared down at the boy. "Did you set the Time Map coordinates to the last used jump, or the one before that?"

The green sage paled. "Did that shrub pick the wrong coordinates?" he gasped, "That puts everything in danger! The past- the future!"

Daxter groaned. "Oh don't tell me we gotta do more time travel to fix this! If I gotta defeat the Acherons again, so help me-!"

The smaller Jak -- the one the Explorer had called "Mar" -- pried Daxter off his head and set him down gently.

"Those dark sages? Uncle E told me how you guys beat them up to free the Lurkers."

The Explorer surveyed the cavern around them as the Rift Gate shut down and collapsed. He leaned on his walking stick and nodded several times in satisfaction.

"Never been to this place," he mused, more to himself than to the others. "At last! Places in the world I haven't been!"

Erasmus hobbled over to Jak and squeezed his arm affectionately. "Awfully glad I found you, young chap! Look after that rascally brother of yours, eh? I'm off on a new expedition!"

"Wait-! You can't-!"

Erasmus wasn't listening. Whistling cheerfully, he dug around the shattered boat and came up with a wicked looking harpoon. He settled it on his shoulder and all but sashayed into the tunnels.

"He's gonna get himself killed!" Daxter squawked, "There's still metalheads in there!"

Little Jak -- Mar? -- scoffed. "He's okay. I told Uncle E and the Warrior how you used to kill those. If you harpoon the gem from a distance, they can't get to you."

Well. Jak supposed that was fair enough. If Uncle Erasmus really had been watching over his younger self for five years, he would've had to have learned how to defend them from metalheads.

Samos began to pace, on the verge of panic. "This isn't what was supposed to happen," he mumbled, "He isn't supposed to- and he knows his name-!"

He turned sharply. "Jak, bring the boy, quickly! We must consult with Onin!"

Jak and Daxter exchanged meaningful looks. "Why? You can't throw him back in again, it's too late for that."

"Time will be thrown out of order! The timeline will fracture!" Samos tugged at his ears in distress. "Jak, you must trust me!"

Jak stiffened. He took a step back, placing himself between the sage and his time twin.

"I did," he said quietly.

No more blind trust. Whatever was going on here, Jak would figure it out without meddling seers and sages. He'd already gone through hell for them once. He wasn't about to let it happen twice.

"Dax, Kid, let's go."

He had no idea what he was doing, what they would do next. But it had to be better than staying in the ruined nest with someone who had for all intents and purposes betrayed him. He would untangle it all later, when they were somewhere safe.

They had time. The worst was over now, right?

[slasherhaven]

Bo Sinclair X Reader

Part 1 HERE

People wanted a part 2, so here you go!

Soulmate AU: shared pain and shared scars part 2:

What had started with you and some friends trying to get a fan belt for their car and maybe some mild flirting with the man who owned the garage, had all ended in hell breaking loose. Bo had been charming and helpful, you had felt an instant connection to him, the type of connection that soulmates so often talked about.

At first you had been disappointed that he didn't seem to recognise your scars, proving he wasn't your soulmate, but now you were thankful for it. At least you weren't cosmically tied to the man who had just turned and attacked your friends.

He had shot Wade and Carly had disappeared. You had been dragged to a basement beneath the garage and left there, him promising to deal with the rest of the group you came with before returning.

Out of the people you came on the road trip, you only really knew Carly. She was the only one you would truly have to mourn but seeing Wade shot like that and knowing the others were next was undeniably traumatic.

Left alone in the basement, you tried to find a way out but there was only a heavy locked door between you and your freedom. When trying to open it failed, you settled for banging on it and shouting for help. You hoped that some other of Carly's friends would come looking for the three of you when you were gone for so long, maybe they would hear you and you could get out of here.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed, hands becoming bloodied from repeatedly hitting the door, throat becoming sore from shouting. But you were finally interrupted by the sound of a car approaching. You stopped and stepped away from the door, looking up at the ceiling as the car came to a stop.

God, you hoped it was somebody from the camp...

You began to panic as you heard feet descending the stairs outside of the locked door, moving yourself further away from it. You heard the lock clicking before the door was pushed open, Bo stepping into the dimly lit basement.

"Stop banging on the fucking door" Bo snapped, clearly frustrated despite likely not having heard it if he was out in his truck...

You didn't respond but he moved closer and you noticed that he had left the door open. At this point, you had run out of options and had to take every opportunity that presented itself.

You suddenly darted towards the door, trying to pass him, but it was fruitless. Bo quickly caught you, grabbing you by the arms and standing in front of you to further block your path. You thrashed and fought against him but it was no use.

"The others?..." you asked, dread clear in your voice.

"My brother is dealing with them" Bo informed you, like it was nothing.

"...are you going to hurt me?" you were already sure of the answer, you just didn't know what he wanted from you. Why had he left you in the basement rather than just disposing of you like he had done the others.

"No. That would be, quite literally, self destructive" he chuckled darkly. He was too calm, you just knew what he had done to your friends...he had done before.

"What?" you didn't understand his comment.

Bo grabbed your wrist, his bloody hand wrapped completely around the scarring on your wrist, almost like it was instinctual. As he released your other arm, you tried to pull your hand away but his grip was too tight. With his free hand, he pulled up the sleeve his coveralls, revealing scarring that was identical to yours.

You stared at the twisted skin, processing what this meant. You had been right from the beginning when you first saw him, this was your soulmate.

"No...no" you shook your head, trying harder to pull your wrist out of his grasp. You just kept repeated the word 'no' as tears streamed from your eyes. How could you soulmate be somebody who did such awful things.

"Shhh, it's alright" Bo cooed, almost ironically. He continued to shush you as he pulled you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

Your brain told you that you should be a far away from him as possible, to kick and scream, but his embrace was strange comforting. Of course it was, you were fated to find comfort in his arms. Destined to meet him and love him. The universe wanted you both together, it was meant to be.

Maybe that was why your body began to relax as you cried into his chest, clutching at his coveralls. You hated him, you wanted to hate him, you needed to hate him. Yet, you were destined not too.

Bo kept you held against his chest and you couldn't even find it within yourself to pull away, finding comfort in the source of your pain.

Slowly, the sinking realisation settled. If you were Bo's soulmate, there was no way he was letting you leave. He had already made sure that there was nobody left to tell anyone where you were. If anyone eventually worried about your group going missing, they would assume you all ran off somewhere or eventually decide that you were the next mysterious case of missing people. It was unlikely anyone would track you down to a random, deserted, little town.

"You're home now" Bo whispered into your hair.

You sobbed at the realisation, and yet you clung tighter to him. He just held you tighter.

Bo smirked to himself as he ran a hand over your hair, only to have you shift closer to him. He knew that you hated him but he was confident that would change over time. Just from the way you were acting now, he knew he could win you over, and he knew you wouldn't be leaving him.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up" you didn't respond as he pulled away, grasping your arm before guiding you out of the basement.

He kept hold of your arm as he walked you through Ambrose, towards the house he had taken you too earlier that day. As you were walking along the road, a familiar truck pulled up beside you both, bringing you to a halt.

Lester, the man who had brought you into Ambrose in the first place, hopped out of the truck.

"Everything's cleaned up" he informed Bo before looking at you and grinning. "they're your soulmate?" Bo just nodded, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side. "It must be your lucky day" Lester teased his brother, who only rolled his eyes. You frowned a little. Meeting your soulmate was meant to be a good, a lucky, day...unfortunately this had also been one of the worst days of your life.

"Go see how Vincent is doing, alright?" Bo asked, sending his younger brother away.

Lester just rolled his eyes before climbing back into his truck. He had wanted to stick around and get to know his brother's soulmate a bit more, but he understood that you were probably shaken.

Finally, you and Bo returned to his house and he led you into the kitchen, where he sat you down in a chair. You stayed silent, processing, as he washed his hands in the sink, washing the blood away.

Once his hands were clean, he wet a cloth and returned to you, pulling a chair out opposite you before sitting down.

He grasped your hands and you allowed him too, letting him pull them into his lap as he began to wipe away the blood.

"You're in shock and you're angry but you'll come around" Bo sounded sure about that but you supposed he had every right to be, you were his soulmate after all. You had to come around. "You know I can't hurt you, or let anyone else hurt you, right?" he asked and you just nodded. Of course he can't hurt you, it would only be hurting himself. Literally. At least you had that peace of mind.

You watched as he cleaned your hands, it was almost tender. A complete contrast to the cruelty he had treated the rest of your group with.

"Why did you do all this?" you asked quietly when it fell silent.

"I'll explain everything later" Bo promised, knowing he had a lot to explain and that he had to tell you everything. You would find out one way or another.

You just nodded, hanging your head. "Hey, c'mon now, the worst is over" he reassured you, lifting a hand to wipe a tear from under your eye with his thumb. "I know this probably ain't how you expected to meet your soulmate but you're gonna be just fine, darlin'" he did sound genuinely sympathetic, at least to some extent.

Removing his hand from your face, Bo stood from his chair, going to drop the now bloodied rag into the sink.

You weren't sure what came over you but you quickly grabbed his hand, stilling him. You just felt safer, the closer he was. A instinctual part of you wanted him to remain close, as if it didn't understand the nuance of the situation. He seemed a little surprised but turned to you expectantly.

"How did you get those scars?" you asked. Something you had wondered all your life.

"You still feel bad for me?" Bo asked, almost sarcastically, like he couldn't imagine you having any sympathy for him anymore.

"You were a child...I would never blame you for that" you shook your head.

"...I'll tell you later, okay? When you actually want to talk to me" Bo promised. You opened your mouth but quickly shut it again, knowing he was right. How could you talk to him about something like that after what he just did? You shouldn't have even asked.

You reluctantly released his hand, letting him dispose of the cloth.

You didn't want to admit it but you knew that eventually you would want to talk to him, that your fated connection would become much stronger than your determination to hate him for the horrible things he has done. There would come a day when you simply...didn't care anymore, and you would want him by your side despite it all.

[the-last-kenobi]

Brain: this is your first day off in weeks you have things to do

Also brain: angst fic angst fic angst fic—

Qui-Gon did not draw his lightsaber. Not yet. It wasn’t safe yet, it wasn’t necessary, either.

Words would do, for now.

He kept his hands safely by his sides as he examined the man across from him — the one holding Obi-Wan tightly to his chest, the boy’s hands bound behind him, a mess of bruises already blossoming darkly across his face and neck.

“There is no need for this,” said Qui-Gon. He infused his voice with all the serenity he could summon, long familiar with its ability to charm and to soothe. “Let the boy go. He’s done you no harm.”

“No,” the man agreed, his voice a contrast, all panicked breaths and strained tension. A cord about to snap. “But you have. You will.”

A warning was now required.

Qui-Gon’s hand drifted slowly to his saber hilt, though his expression remained calm, his blue eyes steady.

The man stiffened, and the hand holding the blaster at Obi-Wan’s shoulder shifted sharply. The weapon was now pressed against the boy’s skull, no doubt cold against the soft hollow behind his ear, and very shakily, too.

One wrong move, one push too far, and —

“Then talk to me,” Qui-Gon said, enforcing his tone with a hint of steel, placing just a touch of inflection on the word ‘me.’

Me, not him.

“I am talking to you!” the man shouted. The blaster shook harder, and he shoved it deeper into Obi-Wan’s skin.

The boy let out a muffled cry, a small sound he bit back almost before it was out, but it was still heard.

His captor tightened his iron grip around the Padawan’s waist, and Qui-Gon slipped his saber free from his hilt, keeping it unlit and held loosely in his hand.

Moves. Countermoves. Actions and reactions.

Obi-Wan’s life on the line.

And beyond that, the fate of the mission, but — one step at a time.

He can’t see past the first step right now.

He’s frightened he’ll miss it, that his foot will slip, and—

All these years of training, of curving his tongue for diplomacy, of learning the rules so thoroughly that he no longer considers them as anything but a baseline, a place to begin and then break away from, and this feels like where everything has been leading to.

Everything.

Qui-Gon’s apprenticeship with a hard man, an inscrutable man, an intelligent and able teacher. His love for his first apprentice, and the anguish that followed Xanatos’ betrayal. The lonely missions, the solo traveling of the universe, and then a spark of light in the form of a small, stubborn boy who saw straight through him.

Now this person, unnamed and unknown, who had stolen his apprentice from the rooms where he had been meant to be resting peacefully, preparing for another day of learning.

“We can talk,” Qui-Gon said. “I give you my word, you will have my full attention, as much time as you need. I will not trick you. Just let my apprentice walk free.”

“You only listen to the politicians, not the people!” the man hurled back, his voice rising almost hysterically. “What about us?”

This was false. Qui-Gon had spent an inordinate, almost diplomatically inappropriate amount of time amongst the civilians, talking to them, listening, learning — this man was a radical, and he was angry.

Apparently he couldn’t shove the blaster any deeper into Obi-Wan’s head, so he squeezed his gauntleted arm brutally under his ribs, lifting the youth off the ground, and Obi-Wan gasped, bucking in the cruel grip instinctively, his wide eyes searching frantically for Qui-Gon’s. The Master reassured him at a glance.

Obi-Wan settled.

“I’m listening,” Qui-Gon said. “Turn my apprentice over to me, and I will continue to listen. But I warn you, delay any longer and I will be forced to stop listening.”

“You’ll listen,” the man panted. “You’ll listen if I have your boy, you won’t have a choice. He’s your responsibility, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Qui-Gon replied in a low tone. “Release him. Now.”

“Master—” Obi-Wan tried to say, but the man holding him jerked his arm harshly into his abdomen again, and he broke off as the air was punched from his lungs.

“Take your hands off my Padawan or there will be no discussion,” said Qui-Gon, and his thumb ignited his green blade with the tiniest motion. Power hummed in his hands. Power to kill, power to protect, power he has learned to control and make harmony with over decades of practice.

“You’re still not listening!”

The man’s grip shifted on the handle of his blaster, and Qui-Gon acted at once, plunging his will deep into the Force and tugging the weapon away so quickly that even he hardly saw it happen. The blaster clattered harmlessly in a corner, and Obi-Wan struggled, throwing his weight forward and kicking his foot deliberately between his captor’s legs. The kick landed, but before he could get away properly he was grabbed again.

The man’s hands scrabbled in thin air and then caught Obi-Wan by the neck, and his face contorted in an expression of desperation and fury. One hand moved to the boy’s jaw, and the other to his skull—

“No!” Qui-Gon cried, pulling again just as Obi-Wan, sensing his impending fate, looked to him in shock.

A blur of motion, a cry, and the unknown man went crashing into the wall, and Obi-Wan fell into Qui-Gon’s extended arm.

Qui-Gon drew him into his chest immediately, reassuring himself that the boy was alive, still breathing, and watched the now unconscious criminal warily, still stunned at the violence of his last, aborted action.

“Master,” Obi-Wan muttered against his tunics.

“It wasn’t your fault, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said firmly, feeling the boy’s head shift against his chest, felt his soft red hair brushing his beard. “The mission isn’t compromised. You did well.”

“Master...”

Qui-Gon pushed the boy’s shoulder a little, trying to step back and look at his face, but Obi-Wan sagged against him, his voice slurred. “Master... I’m sorry... I tried to tell you. I should’ve said it. I...”

“What?” asked the Jedi, his eyebrows drawing together in concern and confusion. “What happened?”

“You... you didn’t have to bargain...” Obi-Wan said, still mumbling into his tunics. Still slumped against him. “I’m glad he didn’t... extract any promises from you. For nothing.”

“For—?” Qui-Gon shook his head, bewildered, and looked down to unbind the boy’s hands.

First he saw the rope, biting deep into the soft flesh of the slender wrists, the burns blistering beneath.

Then, as his own hand moved down to touch the knots, he saw something else.

His stomach turned over so sharply that he felt lightheaded.

Like missing the last step on a flight of stairs.

His foot had slipped.

“Obi-Wan— what is this?” he asked, voice turning upwards in a question that did not need to be asked. “What is — when did this — no.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan murmured, sinking further into the one-armed hold that was now all that was keeping his small frame upright. “He didn’t mean to. I fought him too hard. He was desperate to make you negotiate, he needed to bargain... quickly...”

The desperation. The panic. The way he had kept cutting off his hostage’s speech, keeping him pinned against his chest.

Because his hostage had a growing red stain spreading steadily down his back.

“No,” Qui-Gon repeated, putting both arms around his apprentice, careful not to touch the blood, not to touch its source, the gape in the tunics halfway down his back. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered.

“You need healers—” Qui-Gon moved to walk his Padawan swiftly from the room, but Obi-Wan collapsed, dragging them both to the floor in a tangle of robes and limbs, his small face coming to rest against his Master’s collarbone, faint breaths puffing unevenly against his skin.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan echoed. “I’m sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t have...”

“You did everything right, I swear it,” Qui-Gon rebutted. “I have to carry you, it will hurt but I have to carry you.”

“I don’t want to be carried,” Obi-Wan mumbled, his words slurring together. “It’s too cold. Can I... can I borrow your cloak? It’s cold. Where’s my cloak?”

“It’s in our rooms.” Qui-Gon staggered to his feet, feeling like he was still falling, still slipping past that last step with nothing to catch his descent. “We have to see the healers first. They’ll warm you up. It will be all right.”

He ran, feeling hot liquid staining his sleeves.

Too much. Too quickly.

How had he not noticed, how had he not guessed—?

Obi-Wan moaned uncomfortably, twisting in his arms, and more hot blood coated Qui-Gon’s hands.

“Hurts,” his Padawan whispered faintly. “Where’s the cloak?”

“I’ll find it for you,” Qui-Gon promised.

“Okay,” Obi-Wan said simply, his voice too young, and too trusting.

He rested his head against his Master’s chest, his forehead bumping against it in time with the thundering strides Qui-Gon was taking, sprinting through the deserted halls, leaving red stains in his wake.

And then Obi-Wan sighed, coughed wetly, and went utterly limp, his body growing so very heavy in his Master’s arms, his head lolling away, dangling helplessly over the crook of one arm.

Qui-Gon’s foot slipped.

He crashed to the ground and held Obi-Wan to his chest. His knees collided painfully with stone.

Something inside him broke and slipped away and fell down, down, down, and he tumbled after it, seeking something that was never coming back.

(He waited just long enough to watch his boy burn on the pyre.)

(And then he Fell the rest of the way down, down, down...)

>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<

[tomurasprincess]

Thrill of the Chase (Villain!Shouto x Reader)

Warnings: Noncon, predator/prey, forced orgasms, overstimulation, yandere Word Count: 4.3k Note: Thank you @bnhaxxassociates​, for helping me with this damned ending.  I was totally stuck and you had a great idea.

~~~~

The sound of your boots hitting the pavement and the pounding of your own heart are the only things you can hear as you run. You can still smell the smoke, parts of Kamino Ward on fire with both blue and red flames. The whole area was swarming with villains, the heroes overwhelmed and scattered. You already knew the casualties were high.

You had been in the area, doing your usual hero patrol when the attack happened.

Shoto Todoroki and his group of villains. He used to be a pro hero, one of the best. Graduated from UA as a member of the Big Three in his class. He was expected to do amazing things as a pro hero.

But then he found out the fate of his assumed to be dead brother. He was consumed with the need for revenge, and descended into villainy alongside his brother. Together, they now rule the underworld with an iron fist, causing the deaths of countless heroes.

And now he was chasing you through the back alleys of Kamino. You had been in the area when the attack started, and had rushed to go help in whatever way you could. But you were forced away from your fellow heroes by fire and ice, being corralled by Shoto into a single path. The path you were now running down at full speed. You don’t know what you did to catch his attention and you don’t intend to find out.

I must have finally lost him, you think, as you slow down to catch your breath. You’re in very good shape as a hero, but between the constant battles between the villains and the running, your lungs absolutely burn. And then you hear it. Footsteps, heading in your direction.

“You don’t actually think you can get away from me, do you, hero?”  He hisses the word hero, his tone full of disdain.

“What do you even want with me?  Leave me alone and I’ll go away. I won’t bother you.”  You try to sound more confident than you feel. You’re no stranger to fighting villains. But you have never fought anyone of Shoto Todoroki’s caliber, not alone. Even with his focus solely on you in previous encounters, it took all of the heroes from your agency working together just to drive him off.

“Little hero, leaving you alone is the last thing I want.”  His tone is sinister, and you don’t want to stick around to find out what he means.

You push yourself back up from the wall you were leaning on and begin to run again. The alley you’re in is narrow, without much room to maneuver.  Your quirk is strong, but not suited to fight in these conditions, or against this opponent. Your only option is to run.

You hear the footsteps behind you picking up as well. They sound even closer than they did before, and you wonder just how fast Todoroki is compared to you.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it. Just run, don’t hesitate.

“You can run all you want, I will always find you.” His voice sounds incredibly close, and it’s full of dark amusement.

You are running up on a branch in the alley. A path going left and one going right. This section of town is not on your usual patrol route, so you are unfamiliar with the layout. You make a quick second decision to turn left.  This would have been the right path, leading back into the main thoroughfare of the city. If it wasn’t for the wall of ice blocking the path.

A sense of unease comes over you. How did he know I would run this way, you wonder.  Is he deliberately herding and corralling me into a specific area?  No real time to think about it with him still bearing down on you, so you turn on your heel and run down the other path. You realize that your instinct was correct, as the right hand path gets even more narrow.

You spare a quick glance behind you, and see no one following you. It’s a trap, it’s got to be, you think. Just keep running.  But as you turn around, you realize you’re too late. Ice is spreading all along the wall, completely blocking off your path. You’re trapped.

You spin back around and see the man himself. He doesn’t look that far off from when he was in UA, you note. His hair and eyes are his most striking feature, his hair split down the middle in red and white and his eyes two different colors.  Eyes that are staring at you like the cat that caught the mouse. He’s wearing his usual villain outfit, fireproof for his quirk. When he became a villain, he modified his original hero costume as a mockery of his former origins.

So unfair that a villain looks that good. And that costume probably costs more than you make in a year, you think bitterly. Villainy does pay well, you muse, and Shoto Todoroki is one of the most wanted criminals in Japan.

“Speechless, hero?  I would be too, if I were you. Your quirk doesn’t favor such cramped conditions, does it?”  His tone is pure mockery, and it disturbs you that he knows that fact about your quirk.

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t intend to try. I’m not just gonna let you kill me!” Cold fear slides down your spine as he begins to chuckle.

“Kill you?  I don’t intend to kill you.”  He starts to saunter closer to you. You slowly inch backwards, until you hit the wall of ice. Nowhere else to go.

“If you don’t intend to kill me, then…”, you trail off, not able to finish the sentence. Fear grips you as you consider what he may want.

“You’re a smart hero. Figure it out,” he smirks, and gets even closer. Panic finally hits you, and you run to attack and get around him.

You can’t use your quirk in such close quarters, so you use all the speed you have to try and throw a punch. Before you can even get close, he’s rushing to meet you, catlike quickness allowing him to grab your arm. He uses your momentum to swing you front first into the brick wall, twisting your arm around your back while pressing his body weight against you to hold you in place.

“You graduated from UA, and that’s the best you’ve got?  The quality of heroes must have really diminished since I went there.”  He presses his body weight more firmly against you.

“How do you know I went to UA?  You graduated before I did,” your voice sounds shaky even to your own ears.

“Because I’ve been watching you for a long time, hero,” he leans in close to whisper in your ear.  He grinds himself into your backside, and your eyes widen at the feeling of the hardness under his clothes.

He notices your look and chuckles darkly. “Now you’re getting it. Why do you think I just happened to attack your patrol while you were on shift?”

A sick feeling of dread settles into the pit of your stomach. “I saw your damned brother catching buildings on fire, your gang attacking people. Civilians are dying!  Are you telling me you did that just to get to me?”  

“That is exactly what I’m saying, dear little hero,” he leans in even closer to nip at your neck. “Maybe if you had just fought me one on one without calling in your pathetic agency, I wouldn’t have had to resort to such measures.”

You think back to the times you’ve encountered him in the past. What you thought was simply trying to separate the heroes must have actually been trying to separate you. The guilt must have shown on your face, as Shoto begins to laugh.

“You heroes are so predictable,” he says, as his hand begins to trail slowly down your body. He starts to plant small kisses down your neck before suddenly biting down hard.  You let out a hiss of pain as you feel his teeth break your skin, and blood starts to run down your neck. You try to shove him away but only succeed in pushing yourself even harder into him.

You realize you need to make a last ditch effort to get out of this or things are going to get even worse for you. You try to catch him off guard, bringing your boot up to try and kick down on his ankle. But he feels you tense up for an attack and simply shoves his knee in between your legs, preventing the action.

He grinds his knee into your core, and you gasp at the sudden friction. “Struggle all you want, little hero. It only turns me on more,” he growls as he rubs his knee even harder into you. You let out a gasp of surprise and pleasure as you feel yourself getting turned on despite yourself.

“Such a dirty hero, getting turned on by a villain in a back alley.  You secretly wanted this. Wanted to be pinned down and dominated by someone stronger than you.”

“Go to hell,”  you choke out between clenched teeth.  You feel him shift a bit and try to turn around to see what he’s doing. But before you can, his hand comes down hard on your ass. You let out a sharp hiss of pain.

“Is that any way to talk to the man who holds your fate in his hands?”

“No, but that’s how I talk to perverts who -,” your words are sharply cut off as he spanks you again. It has more force behind it this time, and you wince at the stinging pain.

“Do you want to try that again?”  Your eyes narrow at the sadistic glee behind the words. He’s enjoying your resistance, you think to yourself.

You realize this. You also realize he has you at his mercy. But you still can’t help the next words that come out of your mouth. “Didn’t like pervert?  How about depraved?”  

His arm swings down again, faster this time. You brace yourself for the pain, but still let out a small scream when he connects with your already sore ass.

His hand moves from its position on your ass, trailing around the front of your body. He slides past your stomach all the way down to your lower abdomen, before cupping your clothed sex.

Your urge to run reignites inside you, and you catch him off guard as you shove yourself from the wall as hard as you can. He’s quick to recover however, growling as he slams you back into the wall.

“Tsk tsk. You’re being such a brat. I should make this easier for the both of us.”  He turns you around quickly, making your head spin as you’re pushed against the wall again, this time with your back against it.

Your arms are pulled above your head with one of his hands, pinning you again. His other hand moves up to his mouth, as he removes the glove on his hand with his teeth and tosses it aside. He switches his grip, grabbing you with his other hand as you feel the air temperature lower.

Your arms start to become cold, and you look up to see ice spreading across them, attaching them to the wall. You pull experimentally against the ice. There is no give whatsoever. Your arms are completely frozen into place.

“There, that’s so much better. You can no longer run and I have both arms free to do whatever I want to you.”

He grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him as his other hand begins to drift down your body. He runs past your breasts, stopping long enough to tweak a nipple through your costume before ripping your suit open.

He leans down to take one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud before sucking. He sinks his teeth gently around the hardening nipple, working and pulling on it and causing you to let out a moan. With the gloved hand, he tweaks and pulls at the other nipple until it’s also hard.

He continues down past your stomach, grabbing your thigh hard enough that you’re sure he left bruises as he pulls your legs apart.

You feel a sudden flash of heat, and a slight burning smell. You quickly look down and see he has burnt a hole into your hero outfit. He douses the flames in his hand before gripping the hole and ripping. Your bottom half is laid bare, only your panties still covering you.

He slides a gloved finger under your panties, stroking a finger up your folds and causing you to let out a gasp.

“Just as I thought. You’re soaked, little hero.”  He lifts his fingers up to your face to show you the slick coating them.  You flush in embarrassment and try to turn your head, only for his grip on your jaw to tighten.

“Don’t look away from me, or I’ll have to punish you,” he warns in a low tone.  His hand dips back under your panties, gathering the slick there and using it to stroke your clit in tight circles.

You bite down on your lower lip to try and stifle the moans, but Shoto simply smirks and strokes your clit faster. His gloved hand moves down to shove two fingers into your tight pussy at once, your wetness making it easy to slide right in. The feel of the leather pushing against your walls causes you to let out a gasp.

The texture of them rubs against your walls, dragging slightly as he pulls his fingers almost all the way out only to shove them back in rough. He curls up against that soft, spongy place inside you and you squeal and clench down hard on his fingers.

”I want you to cum on my hand, naughty little girl.”  His voice is low and dark, and you hate yourself when you realize that you’re not going to be able to resist.

You frantically shake your head no, not wanting the humiliation of cumming over the villain assaulting you. But as your muscles start to tighten, you find yourself gasping and pushing down against the fingers inside you.

He chuckles as he slams his fingers harder into your wet pussy, using his other hand to continue to stroke your throbbing clit.  You can feel all the ridges of the glove inside you and it’s driving you insane with pleasure. He leans in and starts nibbling at your collarbone, leaving more bruises on your skin.

The tension inside you finally breaks and you feel your walls start to pulse around his fingers as you cum hard. He moves his hand that’s been rubbing your clit around to press his palm against it, grinding it hard against the still aching bead.

His fingers inside you pick up the pace as he pushes a third inside, stretching you out even further, the thickness of the gloves making it an even tighter squeeze. You start to moan, sounding even louder in the cramped confines of the alley as he lengthens your orgasm.  

His fingers continue to fuck into your now dripping pussy, your slick running down his fingers. The lewd wet noises are humiliating, proof of just how much you’re enjoying this.

You feel a second orgasm approaching and try to squirm away from his hands. But your back is already pressed against the wall and there is no where for you to go. Nothing to do but take the pleasure he’s forcing on you.

He lets out a mocking laugh. “That boyfriend of yours isn’t taking very good care of my precious little hero, are they?  You’re going to cum again already.”

Boyfriend, you think to yourself with dawning horror. How does he know I have one?

“How do you know I have a boyfriend?”  You try to sound demanding but the fear leaks into your voice.

He simply smirks at you as he leans in close. “You don’t have to worry about that. You shouldn’t be thinking of anything but me and how good I’m making you feel,” he coos in your ear, his voice full of dark malice.

And then his fingers curve inside you again, ruthlessly abusing your g-spot and causing you to wail and try to writhe away. The ice binding you to the wall refuses to give, scraping your wrists and causing blood to trickle down your arms.

The feeling of him pressing against that soft spot inside you has your head spinning, the ridges of the glove helping to grind against your walls and increasing your pleasure. You feel a weird sensation building up inside you, everything feeling too sensitive.

“Fuck, please stop,” you beg. “Too much, I can’t take it!”

“Oh you can take it, hero. Just relax and submit to me.  I want to feel that pussy cum around my fingers again.”

That intense pressure builds and builds before it finally explodes as he hits your insides just the right way, fingers pounding your g-spot again.  There’s stars behind your eyes as you feel your muscles start to clench. You let out a loud squeal as you cum, clear liquid gushing out of you and drenching Shoto’s hand.

He lets out a condescending laugh. “Such a good girl. You look so beautiful squirting all over me.”

He pulls back from you, leading you to lay your head back against the brick wall, still panting and trying to come down from your high.

You turn to look at Shoto as he removes one of his gloves, glistening with your essence. He grins and takes the leather up to his mouth, licking the evidence of your arousal off.

The sight makes something low in your belly tense, causing you to let out an unintentional moan. “Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet. I’ve been waiting too long to bury my cock into that needy cunt.”  His voice sounds predatory as he removes his coat and tosses it aside.

“What?!  You can’t be serious,” you say in disbelief. “You can’t actually mean to…” you trail off your sentence at the amused look on his face.

He cocks his head to the side and says “would you rather me take you somewhere private?”

“No!”  The single word comes out sharply.

He chuckled. “I didn’t think so. Besides, it’s common courtesy isn’t it?  I got you off, so it’s time for you to return the favor.”  His tone sounds so reasonable, and you find yourself scowling at it.

He begins to unbutton his shirt slowly, watching your expression closely. As he gets to the last button, he slides out of the shirt and tosses it aside carelessly.

You can’t stop your eyes from wandering down his now bare chest. He’s toned but not bulky, with several scars littering the skin that do nothing to detract from his attractiveness. You realize he catches your staring when he snickers.

“Do you like what you see, my little hero?”  You open your mouth to respond, but you’re cut off by his lips on yours. He wastes no time sliding his tongue into your mouth, giving you a deep and passionate kiss. His tongue massages yours before he pulls away, biting your lower lip as he does.

He stops to run kisses down your jawline before reaching your neck. He sucks on your skin all the way down, nipping and biting and causing your neck to sting and dark marks to appear.

You hear the sound of a zipper, and look down to see him pulling his hard cock out of his pants. You notice the head is already leaking pre-cum, and you hurriedly look away in embarrassment.

He rubs his length up your folds, collecting your wetness onto it before reaching down to pump himself in his hand.  You know what’s about to happen, a sick thrill coming over you as you lick your lips. You hear a dark chuckle, and your eyes snap to Shoto.

“That’s it, look at me as I make you mine,” his tone so possessive that it makes you shiver. He begins to push into you, and you whimper at the feeling of your walls stretching around him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hisses into your ear, leaning in to nibble at the lobe.

He grabs your outer thighs roughly before using them to slam you down hard, impaling you all the way onto his length. You let out a strangled groan at the sensation of being fully filled up by him, your pussy clenching hard around his cock.  He grunts at the feeling, starting a fast pace as he begins to thrust up into you.

“Your pussy is clamping down so hard on this cock. Feels so damned good, so wet and tight for me.”  The dirty talk causes you to flush bright red.

The force of his thrusts pushes your back further into the wall, the brick scraping against your skin.  It only adds to the pleasure, and you find yourself throwing your head back and moaning.

“Shit, that’s it. You’re mine. You’ve been mine for a while, you just didn’t know it,” he purred, his hips continuing to snap into you. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the alley, the wet noises of his cock slamming into your sopping pussy all you can hear.

He takes his hand down to your clit, activating his quirk enough that you can feel the heat spread through you as he rubs on your swollen bead. Your clit is already sore from your previous orgasms, and you let out a whine.

“Hmmm, would you prefer cold?”  He switches hands before activating his other side, the chill of ice spreading through your entire body and causing you to shiver. He pushes down hard against your clit, his cock continuing to pound your pussy into submission.

He begins to alternate the heat and the cold, and your head spins as another orgasm builds up. The pleasure is too much, too blinding, but you can do nothing but take it.

“Mine,” he growls, as he grabs your ass and pulls you out towards him, shifting position and deepening his penetration. You wail at the new angle, his grip on your already sore ass tightening as he uses it to slam you even further down onto his length.

Your pussy is soaked and throbbing, your juices running down the length of his cock to further lubricate his thrusts.

He activates his quirk one more time as he reaches for your clit, heat spreading outwards as you let out a choked gasp. It’s too much, and your walls begin to flutter around him, the third orgasm of the evening hitting you hard.

He lets out a moan at the feeling of you clamping down on him, speeding up his thrusts as your pussy continues to pulse around his cock. You can tell he’s close as he leans in to growl against your neck, hips snapping even harder.

“Mine, you’re fucking mine. God, I am going to fill you up with my cum, over and over, until you realize who you belong to.”  His voice comes out in breathy pants.

His hips stutter against you as he lets out a loud groan, and you whine as you feel liquid heat filling you up, his cum overflowing inside you as it begins to drip slowly out onto the pavement.

He pulls out of you gently, reaching up to melt the ice encasing your arms. He lowers you down to the ground and you try to stand, but your knees buckle and give out. Before you can fall to the dirty floor, Shoto catches you in his arms.

“You came inside,” you whisper to him, and he simply smiles.

“No need to pull out when you’re mine. I’ll take good care of you, I promise. Much better than that useless boyfriend of yours.”

Ice floods your veins, and you look at him with horror. “Did you...do anything to him?”

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t get my hands dirty with scum who thinks he can take what’s mine.”  

You relax slightly until you hear malicious laughter. Your eyes snap to his face as you see a grin overtaking his features. “I had my brother take care of him while I was busy with you. He should be ash by now,” he says nonchalantly.

Your eyes widen in shock, unable to process what he just said. Shoto reaches out to push a lock of hair out of your face before leaning in to kiss the tears running down your cheeks.. I don’t even know when I started crying, you think in a haze.

Shoto shifts you around a bit in his arms as he reaches into a pants pocket, pulling out a phone and dialing a number. The call is answered on the first ring, but it’s too quiet for you to understand what’s being said.

“Yes, I have what I came for,” he glances down at you and smirks. “Tell everyone to call off the attack, and send a portal to this location.”  He doesn’t wait for an answer before he hangs up the phone.

“What are you going to do with me,” you whimper the question quietly, looking up at his face. You regret it instantly, the pure satisfaction on his face causing your blood to run cold. Behind you, you hear the distinctive sound of a portal opening.

“I told you already. You’re mine, and I’m keeping you.  I do hope you enjoyed your last night as a hero. Because I’m never letting you see the outside world again,” he coos into your ear as he puts his arm under your knees and shifts you completely into his arms.

You bury your face into his shoulder, crying weakly as you look at the city on fire, the last time you’ll ever see it.

“I should have told you from the beginning, little hero,” he chuckles darkly as he steps fully through the portal, “I always get what I want.”

[prick-o]

I don't know if this is allowed?? (Since I asked for the part one of this) But I'd really love to see a part 2 for the Yandere Reader x Senpai one-

you got it! and yeah, i’ll always do part two’s to stories :))))))

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Senpai woke up extremely drowsy and out of it, tied to a pole in a dark, damp basement. Typical of a Yandere. His head ached as he raised it up, his eyes seeing nothing but darkness.

Footsteps descended down into the room he was being held captive in, his dangerous and twisted friend, y/n. They smiled a crooked smile as a flickering fluorescent light was turned on.

“You’re awake! I didn’t even know if you’d wake, sleeping beauty. Emphasis on the beauty, my porcelain doll.” they walked over and stroked his cheek a bit.

Senpai spat on them, moving his face so they wouldn’t be touching it anymore. “You’re sick. Why the hell am I here?” he spat, his words venom from his mouth.

They scowled again, grabbing him by his hair. “That is not how you will talk to me. I am yours, and you are mine. I’ve done everything for you! I’ve worked so hard to get us to this point! I’ve sacrificed everything!” they screamed in his face.

“I don’t give a shit what you’ve sacrificed! You killed them! You killed so many people! You killed the people I care about!” he was crying now, his attractive voice breaking.

They smiled that smug, sickening smile again and touched his chin, moving it up slightly so he would look at them. “I’m the person you’ll care about now. I’m all you’re gonna need, and all you’re gonna want. Just wait, beautiful.”

“Keep your disgusting hands off of me.” he snapped at them. They smacked him across the face hard. “You’ll learn to love me, Senpai. You’ll learn. We’ll be the beautiful couple we were meant to be.” they said. A noise could be heard from upstairs.

They sighed a bit and grinned. “I’ll be back. Think on it, yeah?” they walked back up the stairs and tuned the lights off, heaving open the iron door and leaving.

Senpai cried softly to himself, wondering how he got here and what his fate was at the hands of this darkly ephemeral love.

[loverofthousands]

Ceaseless Despair// Dazai Osamu

"Tell me, Dazai-san. What causes tragedy? What causes despair? How can one truly call something as tragic?"

The glass was cold to your lips as you drank the golden liquid it contained, bitter yet sweet to your tongue. Alcohol had never been your friend. Shattered, empty bottles of it were lined up in your childhood home, cutting you with its sharp shards, but your father never seemed to care. He piled it up, higher and higher until you saw a stranger who once called himself your father. Only bad memories came from alcohol. How ironic that you now seek its bitter taste in the darkness of the night, haunted by memories you'd rather forget. You turned to the bandaged man standing at the steps of the stairs, beckoning him to come sit beside you. Dazai smiled and walked on over, no doubt fighting against painful memories as well. This might have been the reason why you two got along so well. Your fights were different, but similar in nature.

He sat next to you and ordered a drink of his own, though he barely drank it during the entire encounter. "What do you mean? Tragic, by definition, is when something incredibly, irreversibly bad has happened. Tragic is the broken, the shattered, the irreparable. In other words, something like me." He smiled then, playing with the ice in his drink. You were sure you will never forget the sound of the ice clinking against the glass. You shifted in your seat, leaning against the wooden counter, your head resting at the palm of your hands. "Ah, yes. The tragic story of Dazai Osamu. If you wrote a book loosely based on your life, it might sell for some good money." He laughed, but you can tell it was devoid of any emotions. You knew won't be able forget that too.

"But what of the fairy tales?" You asked. Dazai tried to meet your gaze, but you were already caught up in your own fantasy world. "By that logic, every story is tragic. Snow White was chased out of her own home and was poisoned by her own stepmother. Aurora was cursed from the moment of her birth and then never met her parents until the moments before the curse was fulfilled. Cinderella was treated as less than human by her own stepmother and stepsisters all the while mourning her father's death. Those traumas and heartbreaks are sure to torture them all throughout their lives. But still they had their happy endings." Dazai Osamu, the former executive of the renowned Port Mafia, Demon Prodigy, and a man who was barely considered a human. He is broken like shattered glass, but still, you didn't believe he was tragic.

"Happy endings, huh? I never pegged you to be the type to believe in those." You merely shrugged at him in response. Your mother used to read to you every night, all curled up in your pink blanket, a teddy bear in hand, her voice drowning out the nightmares that came with the dark. He hummed as he nodded his head, a cynical smile still plastered on his lips, playing with a thought in his mind. For awhile, you two sat there in silence. No one, but you and him at the expanse of this bar, finding a twisted sense of comfort in each other's company. "But, you see, it is because they have their happy endings that they are not considered as tragic. They were reparable. That's the difference between me and them. I am not..." Dazai trailed of his words with grim finality.

"Dazai-san," You can feel his dark brown eyes look at you, but you didn't turn back. You stared head on to the selves of alcohol in front of you, not daring to even catch a glimpse of him, your eyes filled with fervor, burning with a flame that threatened to burn him alive. He looked at you with awe like a moth drawn to a flame. "Do you think there are things in life that are irreparable? Objects are often broken, but given time and patience, will be repaired. With cracks and scars, yes, but still repaired." You paused, gathering your thoughts, latching unto an idea, desperate to not let it slip your mind. "Humans are even more so. They have vitality and resilience, granting them the power to bulldoze through the toughest times."

He laughed a broken sort of laugh containing disbelief instead of humor. "Don't you think that all fairy tales are tragic? After all, despite the golden castles and gowns, death will soon take them all. Life is a tragedy. It gives then it takes with no remorse. Death is its inevitable ending." His face grew darker and darker as the conversation passes. You took a deep breath and let let it out as if letting go of an extremely heavy burden that nestled itself deep into your bones. "First of all, fairy tales aren't usually tragic, but they are dark and morbid. After all, they carry that truth of reality, designed to teach young children. Secondly, how could you say they are tragic if they had once found happiness in their lives? Happiness, despite it being called a happy ending, is usually found in the journey rather than the ending."

Dazai shook his head, an empty smile never disappearing from his face. "Pretty words for a pretty girl. How fitting. So what do you call a tragedy then, hm?" Pressing a finger to your lips, you stared at one of the yellow lamps that hung from the ceiling of the bar. "Sakunoske Oda..." You muttered under your breath, but he heard it. Dazai's face contorted to that of anguish and despair as if he had just been slapped in the face, but in a blink of an eye it was gone, hidden under the many masks he has perfected his entire lifetime. He held his breath, listening carefully to what you had to say with narrowed eyes. You chose your next words carefully, not wanting to offend the memory of his dearest friend. "I believe that tragedy is an ending and the sadness that followed up to it before. Humans, in all their vitality and resilience, have the potential to find happiness all throughout their lives. And although Sakunoske-san wanted to, he still chose death without truly reaching happiness and contentment. That is what I call a tragedy." You felt like melting under his gaze, but still you held your ground. He fell silent, the atmosphere getting heavier and heavier by the second.

"What's your point? If you want to say something to me, just say it." Dazai snapped at you. He shook with anger, but it was barely noticeable, almost as if you merely imagined it. You steadied your breath, your heart pumping loudly in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. "A while ago you said that you were tragic. I don't believe that's true. You, after all, despite not believing it yourself, still have the potential to find the happiness in your life. Tragedy is sad from start to finish, but your story isn't over yet. You can still shape how you want it to end. You know why?" You turned to him with eyes as clear as day. "Because, even if you don't realize it yourself, you, Dazai Osamu, are still undeniably human." His breath hitched, and although he tried to desperately hide it, he was clearly shaken by your words. It cut him deep in the heart.

Silence fell once again. His gaze never went up to you, but instead stared at the drink on the counter, its ice already halfway melted. "Is that why you've come here? To torture me and then scold me for my patheticness?" He laughed darkly. From your point of view, you can clearly see the hollow shell of a man. You almost felt pity for him, but you dared not to. Pity wasn't what he wants, nor does he need it. What he does need is love and understanding, things that he was depraved of as a child. You weren't sure whether you are able to give him these things, but you're sure as hell going to try. Was it out of pity? No, it was out of empathy, because you too made friends with the very darkness that drowned him now. Sometimes you still felt trapped under it, but it wouldn't hurt to shine a bit of light unto a fellow companion.

"Do you remember what you said to me the second time we met?" You started, your gaze distant as you walked through memory lane. You and Dazai only met three times, all of which took place in this very bar. First was when he went here to meet up with Ango and Sakunoske, but found you instead. The second was the wretched night his best friend died. And the third was now, when he found you sitting at his friend's designated seat, waiting for him. Dazai composed himself, shifting in his seat. "Yes, of course. How could I forget? That was the time I anguished at the fact that you are unable to erase my painful memories due to the nature of my ability, right?"

Forget-Me-Not: The ability to tamper with one's memories. That was your ability and you hated it so. It can tamper with everyone else's memories, except yours and Dazai's. How truly loathsome. It was a curse that took everything from you, as well as the happiness of only one you had ever loved your entire life. "Yes. Do you still believe that forgetting them would make you happy?" He opened his mouth, and closed it again in quiet contemplation. A few seconds had passed before he broke the silence. "Well, it's much better than to be haunted by them constantly, right?" He waved his hand in the air in a disregarding manner. His eyes dropped once again to the glass.

"I met my mother today," You started. Dazai didn't move to look at you, but you knew he was listening, an unreadable expression on his face. "Well, not exactly met. I meant, I saw her from afar at the train station. She carried herself pretty well in public, but you can clearly see the dark circles in her eyes. She probably is still unable to sleep due to her misery." From your second meeting, you had opened up to Dazai about your mother. When your drunkard of a father passed away, it took a heavy toll on your poor mother. In his drunkenness, he had abused both you and your mother, but she still cried out to him every night since his passing. That was until the fateful night, the night your ability activated. Your mother shook from the nightmares that haunted her, and you consoled her, but deep inside your heart you wished for something you regret up to this day. You wished your mother would just forget him. A bright light blinded you and the next thing you knew, your mother was screaming "Who are you? What are you doing here?" Yes, she forgot about your father, but along with him, you were forgotten too.

"I had accidentally erased her memories of us that night, of the heartbreak and trauma and pain. So why is she still miserable?" Dazai didn't answer, or rather, he couldn't. He didn't know the answer. "Seeing her today reminded me of you, and a certain fairy tale I had read a long time ago. It's called "The Boy Who Fed On Nightmares." Do you want to hear it?" He was silent, but soon found the courage to look at you, solemnly nodding. You smiled at him. It was genuine this time, filled with warmth. You told the story from memory. "It starts like this: The Boy woke up from another awful nightmare. Bad memories of the past that he wanted to erase from his head were replayed in his dreams every night and haunted him nonstop. The Boy was terrified of falling asleep. So one day, he went to the Witch and begged "Please, get rid of all my bad memories, so that I won't ever have a nightmare again. Then I will do everything you ask." Years went by, and the Boy became an adult. He no longer had nightmares. But for some strange reason, he wasn't happy at all. One night, a blood moon filled the sky and the Witch finally showed up again to take what he has promised in return for granting his wish. And he shouted at her with so much resentment. "All my bad memories are gone, but why... Why can't I become happy?" Then the Witch took his soul as they had promised..."

You paused, grabbing the glass and drinking the alcohol in one gulp. Your throat burned and your tongue cringed at its bitterness, but at that moment you didn't care. You stood up from your stool. "And?" Desperation leaked from his voice. Dazai no longer bothered to hide the anguish from his deep, brown eyes. "What happened after that? Why didn't he become happy?" You turned to him, still smiling the same smile of warmth. "The Witch told him this, "Hurtful, painful memories, memories of deep regrets, memories of hurting others and being hurt, memories of being abandoned. Only those with such memories buried in their hearts can become more stronger, more passionate, and emotionally flexible. And only those can attain happiness." So don't forget any of it. Remember it all and overcome it. If you don't overcome it, you'll always be a kid whose soul never grows old... That's how the story ends." Back then, you didn't fully understood the tale. You did now.

You turned your back to him, walking towards the stairs. At the third step, you looked back. "Dazai-san, in every fairy tale bad things happen, yes? But those with happy endings have always defeated every adversary. They didn't run, nor did they hide. They slayed the dragon, defeated the wicked witches and created a happy ending for themselves. I hope, with all of my heart, that you find the courage to create yours..." And with that, you left, your words still hanging on the silence of your departure. Dazai was alone once again, staring at the space you had once stood on proudly. He sat there in silence, replaying your last words over and over again in his head. After a few minutes, he smiled and left the bar, leaving his drink completely forgotten and untouched in the wooden counter.

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A/N: I’ve recently watched the Kdrama, “It’s Okay Not To Be Okay” That’s where I got the inspiration for this one shot. The fairy tale, “The Boy Who Fed On Nightmares” is from there too. Thank you for reading <3

[insanityclause]

There are few directors who toy with the conventions as Guillermo del Toro does, and there’s no question that he puts his own unique stamp on several genres he clearly adores in the 2015 film Crimson Peak. Gothic romance, horror story, twisted fairy tale, and bodice-ripper – the film has it all. Del Toro’s vision comes through in every frame, much like the eponymous location, which oozes red and looms above all else, including the characters.

We learn the name of the rotting estate far before we learn the name of our heroine Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska), the demurely optimistic, aspiring writer who is the child of a self-made business tycoon (Jim Beaver) in early 20th century America. She may take after her father in her disdain for those who inherited their wealth – ironic being that she’s an heiress herself – but she’s nevertheless swept off her feet in a passionate whirlwind romance when the English baronet Tom Hiddleston… errr… Thomas Sharpe comes to town, the very man her (dead) mother warned her about.

Hardly surprising it didn’t take, given Hiddleston’s charms, and the fact that the film takes pains to state that Edith could be the belle of many a ball… if she didn’t scorn the frivolities all the other female characters take so seriously, often belittling Edith for her bookish interests. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how often female characters lacked friends of the same gender until about 2016.

When Edith and Thomas marry and she’s taken to her to new husband’s ancestral estate, the titular Crimson Peak, that’s when del Toro is in glorious peak form. It’s also when the film’s flaws really rise up, much like the specters who immediately make themselves known to Edith and guide her in deciphering the various secrets Thomas and his sister Lucille (Jessica Chastain) are hiding.

And they’re clearly hiding something. Crimson Peak may have plenty of modern touches and make full use of all the effects thereof, but there’s not a sneer or a smirk to be found. The film wears its bloody heart on its sleeve, unafraid of its own sincerity as the plot unfolds, with plenty of revelations, but few surprises. There’s no doubt that “ghosts are real,” as Edith states in the beginning, and anyone expecting shocking, upending plots twists will be quite disappointed.

There’s also little doubt as to who the real villain is, and why many reviewers cited Rebecca and Jane Eyre (one version of which also starred Wasikowska) as clear influences. Both feature young, strong, yet naive heroines who must contend with older, worldly, deeply sexual women as obstacles to the happiness awaiting them, and Edith is certainly in that heroic mold. With her bright blonde hair, yellow dresses, the way her hands tremble as she wanders fearfully alone through her creepily oppressive home holding aloft a lit candelabra, she is the innocent virgin, the victim we always sympathize with. How could we help ourselves?

Since this is a film with few surprises and no subtlety, it’s hardly shocking that her main oppressor Lucille Sharpe isn’t just Edith’s opposite, but everything society tells women not to be: deeply sexual, filled with rage, and perhaps most crucially, older, unmarried, and sans children. From the moment we meet her, black-haired and wrapped in a red dress as she plays a darkly beautiful tune on the piano with icy precision, she embodies the Sharpe home and its unsavory history.

Thomas may be a fully aware, willing participant in their crimes, but Lucille is the one who gets her hands dirty and disposes of their many victims, with Chastain throwing herself into the role and quickly becoming the standout as Lucille and Edith play their deadly game, each trying to survive the other.

Make no mistake, it’s not just Edith battling for survival as the siblings slowly poison her on their isolated estate, which seems to ooze blood as it slowly sinks into the red clay beneath. What Crimson Peak fails to recognize, even as it provides plenty of motives for Lucille’s actions and occasionally grants her moments of vulnerability, is that Lucille’s life is at stake too, and not just for her crimes, which have been many and grisly.

For all her privilege, she is a woman with few resources and opportunities, who endured a childhood of physical and emotional abuse. Conversations reveal how much physical violence was a fixture in the life of her and her brother, with their mother regularly beating them both with a cane, and whose father beat her so severely he broke her leg and left her bedridden for a time.

And yet Lucille is the one society expects to nurse her abuser back to health (and did). She also receives the majority of the blame not just for the crimes she and her brother commit, but for their incestuous relationship. Thomas has the face of a tortured angel as he becomes more and more conflicted, even partly redeemed when he eventually attempts to save Edith from his sister. Hiddleston is more than up to the challenge, and it’s hard to picture other actors so convincingly pulling this off and earning our sympathy.

That Edith does survive (women like her always make it to the end) is mostly thanks to her childhood friend Alan (Charlie Hunnam), who harbors an unrequited love for her and investigates. Edith may have deduced what was happening, but she’s no match for Lucille, who not only outwits her at every turn but is fully aware of how toxic the love she and Thomas have for each other is.

The truth is that Lucille is the character who most closely resembles a victim of abuse. Lucille is constantly in survival mode, believes that love is finite in a fundamentally harsh and unjust world, and most tragically, continues the cycle of violence by inflicting it upon others, whether it’s her own mother, or the women Thomas marries for their money and she disposes of, and whose situations bear an unsettling resemblance to her own. All of them were wealthy women with no living relatives to look for them, with their dreams of a better life long since abandoned.

Similarly, Lucille’s solace both during and after her abuse is Thomas, the only one who shared her pain. The night he and Edith spend away from Crimson Peak and consummate their marriage is when Lucille has a small breakdown as she realizes she’s losing the only person she was ever able to love, as well as her sole source of economic support.

Pick up any Jane Austen novel and you’ll find entire plots set in motion by young brides who were less than sympathetic to their husbands’ spinster relations. And Chastain isn’t just more interesting than any blushing bride, it’s compulsively fascinating to watch her smile and be a villain in the mold of the best Shakespeare antagonists. So larger than life is she that even the decaying mansion which creaks and groans at every turn as if mourning the various sins it houses can swallow her up. No wonder the ghosts aren’t that frightening — they’re merely the direct results of the evil deeds the living commit, many of whom are just as frozen in time as the deceased who haunt their halls.

Not that Edith doesn’t deserve our sympathy, but how could she really compare? Del Toro knows it, and he’s fully aware of who should have the last word, if not the last lines. Lucille may not find peace even in death, but it’s nevertheless her fate to remain a formidable presence in the place where her greatest pain and her greatest joys are gruesomely intertwined, determined to remain in the past in a world that left her behind long ago.

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 21- The Seer

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count:4640

Warnings: None

AN: This one’s kinda boring, but it moves everything along.

20- Always A Hero Comes Home

...

A new thrall bounces quietly about the room, lighting all the candles in the chambers now that darkness has descended over Kattegat.

Her name was Geirdis, a frightened little thing, possibly a few years younger than Artemis herself. She was dutiful, doing what was expected of her, except Artemis felt she was in no position to be giving the poor girl orders. Even now she felt a slight discomfort with her presence, knowing she could do all these simple tasks herself.

Artemis was once in her place, serving a haughty prince, but somehow, that all felt so long ago. As far as she was concerned, she was just Kattegat's blacksmith, second only to Arvid's father and his young apprentice. She preferred it that way as it resembled the simple life she once had. Her only privilege was that she slept beside the king, nothing out of the ordinary here in Kattegat, but something shameful where she was from.

There was a chill in the air that night, the signs of winter rearing its head. Clusters of ravens cawed into the night sky loud enough to spark her curiosity, pulling at the fur draped over the window for a glance. The dark creatures circled about the trees and were hard to make out in the darkness. The more intently she stared, the closer they seemed to be, until suddenly one appeared opposite the glass, its large wings flapping wildly as it cawed, its beady black eyes looking straight at her.

She lets out a yelp, stepping back while placing a hand to her chest in an attempt to calm her beating heart.

"My lady?" Geirdis calls out to her. She turns her attention away from the window in favor of looking at the young blonde girl, her chest slightly heaving. Geirdis eyes her for a moment, a look of confusion clouding her face.

Did she not hear the cawing of the raven?

"Please, there is no need to address me in such a way." Artemis finally says to her with a sigh, shaking her head to dispel the sudden shock that ran through her bones. Such titles were a nuisance, why should she be regarded in such a way? She was no lady.

Her eyes landed on Geirdis's hands, in which she held two luxurious garments, one a rich red, the other a soft blue. 

"You are the kings intended, my lady, I must," Geirdis says, walking over to place the dresses upon the bed, "The seamstress has made these for you upon the king's orders."

Both dresses were exceptional in design and beautifully crafted. Made of wool, they were meant to fight the chill that would soon take over Kattegat. Embroidered in a delicate way, with precious stones stitched within, they were fit for a woman of noble birth. Artemis gravitates towards the blue dress, admiring the small sea pearls and the delicate silver stitching that she could never have mastered herself. The wool was soft, much softer and prettier than anything she'd ever owned.

"When did he request these?"

"About a fortnight ago, my lady." Ivar seemed eager to plan the festivities. It made her smile.

"My lady!" Aria's familiar voice calls from behind the leather curtain. The redhead peaks her head in, waiting for permission to enter.

"Aria, it is far too late," Artemis rolls her eyes but motions for her to come in, "How did you manage to slip away under Erik's nose? And don't call me that!" Aria laughs, quickly glancing at Geirdis's nervous form before answering.

"He is asleep, quite exhausted from certain activities," The younger thrall blushes but says nothing while Artemis shakes her head,"And Dafi let me in, of course. I like him by the way, the king has given you a handsome guard." Artemis snorts at Aria's obvious promiscuity.

"I only wanted to let you know, the Jarl intends to go back to his lands after your wedding ceremony." Aria says with a sad smile. Artemis frowns, but nods in understanding. She hadn't had the luck of making many friends, and Aria was the best of them, besides Helga.

"But," Aria continues, "At least I will see you as a bride before I go. It feels like only yesterday that I was teaching you to mend, and now you are to be marrying a king." The green eyed girl laughs, quickly taking Artemis into a tight embrace.

"I wish there was something I could do for you." Artemis says sadly. The Jarl would never dare part with his favorite thrall. Geirdis's light eyes widened at their interaction before turning her head at the sounds of her mistress's dog barking in glee, followed by the familiar thumping of a crutch.

"My king!" Geirdis bows her head, with Aria immediately following suit. Ivar carefully walks in, pushing past the leather curtain. He looked massive standing at his full height. He wore his usual leather, but it was simplistic. Upon his shoulders was a small pelt of grey fur, giving him the appearance of a giant wolf. He purses his lip, surprised at the red head's presence before his eyes fall to Artemis.

"Why don't you just buy her from Erik?" He asks nonchalantly, making his way over bed and gently moving the dresses away, "Leave us." He says to both the thralls with a lazy hand gesture. They bow before him once again, making a quick exit.

"I don't think the Jarl would appreciate that very much," Artemis answers him with a smile, "She has her...duties."

"And yet, I always find her in your company." Ivar replies, yawning as he leans back against his elbows. He had risen early that morning, out scouting with Hvitserk and Heahmund on the whereabouts of his other two brothers. Still no luck.

"I happen to enjoy her company." She says, grabbing his crutch and kneeling before him to remove his metal cages. He hisses silently, the pain inevitable, but let's her finish the job.

"Wear the blue one." He grunts suddenly.

"Hmm?" She moves from the iron to focus on how the candlelight illuminated his features perfectly.

"For the wedding," He says quietly, "Wear the blue one."

“What of the red one?”

“Blue is more your color,” Ivar shrugs, “I just wanted to give you options.” Artemis grins, cocking her head at the timid little look he was trying to hide.

"If that is what you wish," She says to him teasingly, "Thank you for the lovely dresses." She smiles when he waves his hand with a light snort, a flush spreading over his cheeks. She places his braces and crutch aside for easy access in the morning before climbing atop the bed behind him, working the braids and twists out his hair. Her nails scratch lightly against his scalp, and he groans in delight, like a kitten purring in her arms.

"You will make a lovely queen." He says, eyes closed as he lowers his head to her lap, a sweet smile on his playing on his lips.

"You think so," She sighs, gently pulling at the small knots that had formed during the day, "But will I be the right queen?" She says this more to herself than to him, but Ivar cracks a blue eye open in response, his brow pulling together in that innocently confused fashion.

"You are worried," He states, perhaps knowing more than he let on. He knew that the prospect of marriage frightened her, her usual nervous antics in plain sight. It was not because she felt any less for Ivar, he knew that. He guarded her heart as she guarded his and it was absolute, a life line that the fates wouldn't dare to cut. A love had blossomed where no one thought a seed to grow.

"How is a foreigner to rule your people?" She asks him.

"They will become your people too, baby bird. Do not be so fearful."

"Why do you make it seem so simple, hmm?" Artemis scoffs but continues massaging his scalp, effectively releasing the sighs and groans of a hard day, "You have been a prince all your life, and now a king. Your people have always respected you."

It was Ivar's turn to scoff.

"You think my legs have given me any respect?" There was something in the way he said those words, almost like a twinge of anger, maybe even sadness. When they left his mouth she knew she'd said something wrong.

"The children always laughed at me, the people spoke ill of me, my own father left me on a hill to die," Ivar chuckles darkly, placing an arm over his face, as if the physical action would guard him against his memories. "I have been underestimated my entire life, and yet, I've earned the respect of the army, and I've earned the respect of the people. Now who do they follow? A cripple, but a true son of Ragnar." He removes his arm away from his face, his eyes searching hers. What he saw was uncertainty. He brings a hand to trace a finger down her soft cheek, causing her eyes to flutter gently.

"A true follower of the gods." He says softly, swiping the very tip of his finger over her lips. Closing her eyes, she removes her hands away from his silken dark strands, letting them fall over her lap.

"I’m sorry," She says weakly, "I did not mean-"

"You'd make an excellent queen." He cuts her off, grunting as he pushes forward to lean against his elbows again. Carefully, he turns his torso to face her. His loose hair in waves shape the sides of his face, a brightness in his large eyes. In that moment he did not appear to be Ivar The Boneless who so many have created fearsome stories of.

"What makes you say so?" She questions stubbornly, sliding off the bed and taking hold of the dresses to carefully store in her brown chest at the foot of the bed.

"You are not selfish, nor prideful," Ivar lists, "And you have worked along side the people of Kattegat. You know of their struggles and they know of yours. Your hands bare the mark of hardship. Who will understand their needs better than you and I, hmm? Come here." He extends his hand out for her to take, and when she does, he gently pulls her into an embrace.

"You have been blessed by the gods," He says against her hair, a repetitive of his. She closes her eyes at his warmth surrounding her, "You may not see it now, but you will in time. This is where you were meant to be. Right here."

Artemis cracks a smile, sitting beside him. Her hand follows a path that led from his leather covered chest, to his broad shoulders. She removes the fur, her hands finally settling on the nape of his neck, absentmindedly weaving her fingers in his hair. She burrows her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent deeply.

"You mean in your arms?" She asks knowingly, and could feel the smile growing on his lips before he placed a kiss atop her head, and then shifting to bend lower, molding his lips with hers.

"Mhm. In my arms."

...

"That dog of yours is no hound." Heahmund comments in Greek, watching with lazy eyes as the once abandoned creature stomps about with large paws, his black wrinkly face covered in drool. The beast quickly sniffs at the dying grass before turning to Heahmund as if he heard and understood the comment.

Artemis smiles, watching as the bishop bends low, beckoning the large pup over with his hands. The dog wastes no time in stomping over, large tongue hanging out his mouth as he ran, almost taking down the bishop with his brute strength.

"Then what is he?" She asks, raising her bow and aiming her sharp arrow at the target hammered to the tree. Taking a deep breath, she lets go of the tight bow string, hurling the arrow into its destination with ease. The arrow head pierced the center of the wooden target, and she cheered. Her aim was nearly perfect, and the new arrow heads she had forged had done its job.

"He's a mastiff, a guard dog. The Lords in England use them to protect their castles."

"Hmm.” That explained why he guards the chamber entry with Dafi. She whistles, and the pup forgets Heahmund in favor of his mistress, who scratches behind both his floppy ears lovingly. In his excitement he barks in glee, tongue lapping out at her.

"What did you name him?"

"Heracles."

"A famous Greek." Heahmund hums in approval. Heracles was almost as large as Ivar's adult elkhounds, and far from the little abandoned pup she had found back in York. Left behind in Vestfold along with Ivar's hounds, King Harald's men had brought the beasts back once Ivar had established his rule in Kattegat.

He did not sniff the ground rigorously, nor fetch things as hounds would, but his massive size was extremely intimidating, and he had a fierce loyalty and sense of protection towards the woman that took him in, as well as the king, who had now grown a softness for the english creature.

Readying her bow, Artemis takes her stance once again, straightening her back in well practiced movements. Another arrow shot perfectly, but before she can prepare the next one, Heahmund clears his throat.

"Ivar has been speaking of plans for the wedding."

His tone was so nonchalant, that Artemis missed it at first, pulling the arrow from her quiver. She hesitated, turning to him to give her full attention. She knew it was a matter of time before he'd mention that he knew.

"Has he?"

"Is this what you want?" Heahmund countered back, his steady eyes on her, making her feel quite small. He always had that effect, and was one of the reasons why she had disliked him so much from the start.

"Why? Will you try and change my mind?" She challenges. Heracles immediately sensed her foul mood forming, bouncing over to sit by her feet.

"You are a Christian," The bishop  starts, "A union between a Christian and a heathen is unheard of."

"Ivar has told me his uncle married into Frankish nobility."

"For that to be finalized he had to be baptized as a Christian. And what will you have to do? Convert to their pagan ways?"

"I recall you speaking to me of destinies." Artemis forms her stance again. The next arrow flies but slightly misses its mark. She sucks her teeth, pulling out a another arrow. "And for once, you may have been right." Her eyes were so focused on the target that she had missed the skeptical look on the older man's face. She had not seen, but he raises a brow.

"What are you talking about?"

"A raven."

"A raven." Heahmund repeats, unimpressed.

"I am told they are a symbol of the god Odin."

"What of it?"

"The day of the battle I was visited by a raven..." She trails off, lowering the bow as she tried to figure out how to continue without sounding like a mad woman. Heahmund crosses his arms, still unimpressed.

"What happened?"

"I saw him." The bishop was quiet for a moment as if in thought, until he shook his head with a chuckle.

"Do you hear yourself?"

"I saw him." She insists, "He changed the outcome of the war."

"You speak blasphemy," He says. He wasn't wrong in saying such things, but it still annoyed her greatly. In response, Artemis prepares her bow and shoots the arrow at him without warning. The arrow struck the tree behind him, and he flinched when he heard it whizz by. If it were any closer, it would have grazed his cheek. He glares at her.

"You irritate me." She says with a shrug.

"You are already losing your way. You do not wear your cross." Her hand shoots up to her collarbone, fingers grazing her skin bare of any significant trinkets relating to her faith. She rolls her eyes in the way she learned so well from Ivar.

"Do you think it wise to give such opinions when the King had elevated you to a commander and an advisor. He could have killed you."

"I did what was necessary to survive."

"And look at you now," She let's out a sarcastic laugh that further infuriated Heahmund, "Alive and well, with much privilege. Do not try to sway my mind again, Heahmund. These decisions are mine to make."

"You act like these warrior women." The bishop shakes his head, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. "Pray for deliverance." He says, brooding in his usual manner as he mockingly bows to her, walking away like a sulking child that didn't get their way.

Artemis huffs, sticking her tongue out at his retreating figure before pulling another arrow and aiming it towards the target.

...

Prayer had often been her source of comfort when she had nothing left to do but recite the Lord's Prayer over and over again in her mind as they taught her in church on Sunday mass.

She'd pray in the darkness when the howling winds of Kattegat would shake the foundations of the Ragnarsson's old cabin. She felt an emptiness that could not be filled, often muttering the familiar words to herself as she lay in her cot.

Usually no answers came, but it still made her feel even the smallest hints of warmth and safety, especially in her darkest times when she felt trapped and alone. So Artemis did exactly what Heahmund had suggested: She prayed.

She prayed with eyes tightly shut and hands clasped together, though she felt she didn't know exactly who she was praying to. Her mind focused on the familiar ways of worship, visualizing the paintings on the walls of the church that displayed the biblical stories one learned as a child.

But her focus wavered and her heart stung and ached. It told her what she had seen the day of the battle was real, and while the stinging and aching pulled her into the direction of something unfamiliar, the bishop tried to keep her grounded.

He had set up a makeshift crucifix made of old twigs, impaling it deep into the earth, located deep in the forest where no one but he and Artemis would know of. She visited the grounds that he consecrated less, and instead, found herself learning and exploring the ways and culture of the northern people, sinking in the knowledge of their beliefs that were as tightly rooted into the earth as an ancient tree.

Artemis knew what she'd seen. How could she deny the man with the bloody eye and his band of ravens? How could she deny the death of Lagertha's men and the death of Lagertha herself?

Sometimes she would envision the face of the dead queen, blue skin and empty eyes. At times it would keep her up into the late hours of night, when Ivar was fast asleep in a dream state. She wouldn't have done it, she wouldn't have had the courage, nor the strength to even think about ending a life, but it had come to her so easily in those moments, that it had to be divine intervention.

Weeks earlier Hvitserk had returned to her the golden cross and the silver hammer. They were placed neatly atop her wooden chest of clothes, shining like holy relics in the flickering candlelight.

Ivar would step into their shared chambers at night, finding Geirdis has long been dismissed. Artemis would sit at his desk, rubbing her thumb over the pendant of Mjölnir in an almost trance like state, while the golden cross lay abandon atop the old wood he had stabbed and carved with a knife one too many times in his youth.

"You ought to go visit the seer," He finally says to her one night, comfortably tucked in bed, "He may help you."

"Is he the man that reveals prophecies and futures?"

"Mhm."

"No." Artemis mutters into his side, her eyes fluttering close in her weariness.

"And why is that?" Ivar questions, placing a toned arm behind his head and settling into the furs, "Our marriage is in a week. I do not want you to run away because you are unsure of what you want."

She ponders his words for a moment. She'd never put into account that Ivar was worried as well. She had been so preoccupied in her own troubles of faith that she hadn't thought perhaps he was worried she'd leave him. When it was obvious she was distracted, Ivar brings his other hand to gently play with her hair, enjoying the little sighs that escaped her. After a few minutes, he brings a finger to playfully tap her temple.

"Your mind will be the death of you, baby bird."

"I'm not running away," She says suddenly, shifting her body to look at him. He had this look of uncertainty she'd never seen before.

"Go to the seer," He insists, "It may ease your mind, and mine." He mutters the last part.

"Very well." She huffs, placing the pendant in her hand beneath the mounds of pillows for another night of safe keeping.

"Good." Ivar murmurs tiredly. He gently pecks her cheek with drooping eyes, turning to blow out the flame of the candle beside him.

...

She stares at the hut before her, repulsed by its appearance. It was dirty, even from the outside. The wood was rotting away and the plants that weaved themselves between the planks of rotting wood were withering and dying.

It was not an inviting sight.

Heracles sniffed about her feet, curious of the smells surrounding them.

"I fear I will not like what he has to say." She says to herself, her beast staring up at her. Shen sighs in defeat, dropping her head with eyes closed.

The seer was well known around Kattegat, a most revered man, yet the most feared. He had a power beyond human understanding, blessed and cursed by his gods to a life servitude.

Artemis has heard of his kind before. In ancient Greece they were known as oracles, priestesses of Apollo with the divine power of prophecy and interpreting the future. Of course, in the Christian world, it was viewed as the devil's work, but pushing those thoughts aside, she takes a deep breath, wiping her clammy hands down her skirts.

"You stay here." She looks down at her large pup. He tilts his head, blinking at her. Leaving him with a pat, she enters into what she felt was like decending into hell.

She was met with a dark ambiance, the type of place any Christian would identify as a witches lair or perhaps the home of the devil himself. Seashells and dried herbs hung from the low ceiling and the smell of smoke and other things she could not identify invaded her nose. Candles were lit just enough to see the steps one took, and just enough for her to want to turn back. Before she could make that decision, a voice calls out to her.

"Why does the foreigner visit me?"

Artemis stops in her tracks. It was her first time she had heard his voice. It reminded her a bit of Heahmund, scratchy and breathy, almost painful for him to speak.

"Well?" The seer awaits her answer.

She slowly turns back, searching for the source of the voice. She finds him laying upon a bed of furs, his hands interlaced over his cloaked covered body.

She'd never forget such a face, void of emotion, sickly looking, with severe scars for eyes and soot colored lips. He was malformed, creature like, with spindly fingers and skin resembling the melting wax of the candles that surrounded him.

"I was told you have answers." Her voice sounded so small compared to his, eaten up by the small fire blazing under a cauldron bubbling with something that contributed to the unpleasant smell.

"I only see what the gods allow me to see, child." The seer moves, sitting up slowly. He extends a hand out with his palm open.

Artemis grimaces. This was the part she had not been looking forward to. Stepping over the scattered furs on the floor, she grasps his hand. She hesitated, lips hovering over the waxy skin before tentatively poking her tongue out to lick a stripe across his palm.

The seer takes his hand back, grunting in approval before speaking.

"What does the future queen wish to know?" She didn't know how to respond. It was strange to hear the title from someone else besides Ivar. She steps back slowly, plopping down upon the old fur rugs before answering.

"I wish to know of your gods," She starts hesitantly, "I was raised as a Christian-"

"I know of your twisting faith, child."

"-But I have seen your god." She continues.

"The All Father reveals himself to whom he wishes." Artemis frowns.

"But why?"

"It is not our right to question the will of the gods." Was all the seer said.

"I questioned everything since arriving to Kattegat," Artemis says, placing her hands on her knees and squeezing them in frustration, "What have I to do with them?"

"The gods work in mysterious ways, is that not what you Chrisitans believe about your God?"

"Yes, but-"

"The same principle applies here. The only problem is that you are afraid to accept what is real and what is not." She turns away from the ancient man, letting out an shuddering breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in.

"But why me? I was just a slave-"

"You have the ability to see, yet you are blinded." He rasps out.

"Well then, what is it that you can tell me?" She bites out. The seer grunts out a bitter laugh at her impatience, his own wearing thin.

"A shadow looms over you, whether good or bad, I cannot see," Artemis swallows roughly, a lump lodging itself into the center of her throat. The seer let's out a tired and sickly breath before continuing.

"A child shall be born, the eye of the raven. Winter draws near and so will the enemy, lurking like a pack of wolves in the dark night. They wait for Sòl to set,"

The birth of a child? But Ivar is incapable-

Artemis remains quiet, interrupting her own thoughts. Her brows furrow and the deformed man immediately chuckles, as if reacting to her confusion.

"You will find hardship beside the crippled king, foreigner. Being his queen will not be easy."

"Then who am I to be his queen?" She responds quietly, her eyes reflecting the colors of the fire as she stares intensely into its flames.

"It has already been written," The seer replies, laying back down upon his scattered rugs, "The king has been touched by the gods despite what anyone thinks, and they have chosen you to be his partner. None of this is by chance. You have given him a heart, and for that, the All Father has given you his favor. Trust in the gods, and they will have trust in you."

"But what must I do?"

"Honor the gods, invoke the All Father, and you shall be blessed. Now, go and face your fate," The seer says to her, "Leave me to rest,"

Artemis's legs shook as she stood, glancing at the seer who heaved and coughed, his breathing hard and harsh. She gives him a nod of respect, knowing that despite his lack of vision, he would know.

"Foreigner," He rasps out to her before she could make it to the splintering door. She looks back at him, her eyes lingering on the black hood that hung over his deformed face. The corner of his dark lips lift up ever so slightly into an almost taunting smile before speaking.

"Lagertha may be dead, but her spirit lives on."

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @ostra814 @leilabeaux @zumzum96​ @rastakami23

[atcostmag]

Yr Familiar - Breathe

In an ironic twist of fate, Breannen Stanbridge, Shem Allen and Shane Rudken of Brisbane, Australia formed after the dissolution of personal relationships. Out of a need to create music that was expressive and honest, “Breathe” is the first song the band had written alongside singles that fused their goth and electronica influences to their indie pop sound. A slow and suspenseful single, “Breathe” nudges with its stalking tread that follows Breannen’s darkly vocal call. Visceral in its cutting lyricism and its wavering retreat, “Breathe” is a bleak fantasy that ultimately serves as catharsis.

"Breathe” is accompanied by the glowing piano elegance of “Lavender Gold” and the frosty jive and wispy raps of “Cluster Lover”:

“Breathe

Yr Familiar · Breathe

“Lavender Gold"

Yr Familiar · Lavender Gold

"Cluster Lover"

Yr Familiar · Cluster Lover (Radio Edit)

[pilot-boi]

Five Injuries Hidden: Chapter Five

Reunited

He could hide from his teammates one on one. All he could hope for was that if they were all together, he could still shrug them all off

AO3 LINK

It had been three hours, stumbling through to their assigned mission points, and there was still no sign of their wayward friends. Jaune didn't know whether to be relieved or scared out of his mind.

He settled on a happy medium.

Another growing concern was if he'd be any help at all soon, as his leg had not stopped bleeding and his lightheadedness had gotten progressively worse. At least Ren wouldn't have to worry about him too, with his concussion making it difficult to summon up the concentration necessary to check Jaune for injuries.

Thank the gods for severe head trauma.

They had finished their own missions as quickly as two Huntsmen in a fortress swarming with guards could, and then started checking the places where the others had been sent.

But no such luck. There was no sign that they had even made it there in the first place.

Roughly running a hand through his hair, anxiety through the roof, he watched Ren peer through the small vent down into yet another room. This time it was a small storage room. Looking up, Ren shook his head, silently conveying that their friends weren't there either. 

Letting his hand fall limply to his side, Jaune scowled darkly at the far wall of the steadily narrowing vent they had been making their way through.

Closing his eyes and resting the back of his throbbing skull on the chilled wall, Jaune suppressed a teeth-chattering shiver that rushed through his bones. That wasn’t a good sign.

The knight stiffened at the sudden cool hand on his shoulder, his eyes snapping open and his hand jerking to the hilt of his sword before he made himself relax. It was only Ren. "-d you hear anything I said? Jaune?" 

Shaking his head -gently, mind you, no need to make things worse- to hopefully clear some of the fuzziness that was slowly growing in size. "Y-yeah, um, yeah, sorry could you repeat that for me?" 

If anything, this made his teammate look even more concerned. "I was asking if you were okay, as I cannot properly check myself. Are you okay to continue looking for the others?"

Shaking Ren’s hand off his shoulder, Jaune marched onwards to the next vent without answering, forcing himself to not wince every time he put his weight onto his injured leg. There was no way he was going to stop because of a stupid iron bolt through his leg..

Fate must have decided that this had gone on long enough after the umpteenth room or hallway they peered down into, because the shrill sound of an alarm screamed through the air and echoed twice as loudly through the vents, causing both teens to cover their now deafened ears.

No longer concerned with being loud, they hurried down the vents, following the stream of guards from above. Jaune's limp became more and more predominant the faster he went, but he forced himself to walk perfectly normal every time he saw Ren even twitch in his direction, which probably messed his leg up even more.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw though, through the vent right above all the commotion.

Lined up in a row on their knees were their friends glaring defiantly up into their captor's and the guard's eyes, prisoners to be executed and looking more than a little roughed up.

The rage was instant and fierce, roaring through his system and clearing away the exhaustion, pain, and fuzziness with all the power of a howling wild-fire. He didn’t notice that he was tearing through the grate with his bare hands. Not until he was suddenly tipping forwards and Ren yelped as he tried to catch him, but to no avail.

The world slowed. His mind, at this very moment, was as clear as it had been in hours, but he knew it wouldn't last long. But it would last long enough to at least get his siblings out of here, and complete their mission.

He could work with that time limit.

He was currently falling from a rather high place, so no matter how he landed, it was going to hurt. A lot.

But, if you really looked, his current position was also the greatest place to do the most damage. Yes. He could work with that. He could definitely work with that

Jaune happened to have surprise on his side, though not for very long. This would have to be done quickly.

Luckily, Ren and he had happened to have the common sense to place the extra bombs that they had brought, which would serve to both complete their original mission and serve as a distraction. Perfect.

Plan formulated, the world resumed its previous speed. And then Jaune released nearly every ounce of his pent up aggression down upon the gathered soldiers and machinery in one blinding flash of Aura. 

If they survived this, and he ever saw him again, Jaune might have to thank Cardin for being the unwitting guinea pig to that particular move.

The yelps of shock and pain was music to his ears.

Oh, there's the ground. Hello ground. It was nice to see you again. He’d need his face back, thanks.

The wind was painfully knocked out of him as he landed awkwardly onto the metal flooring, but other than more serious bruising, he would be fine. Luckily for him, he landed on his good side. The one without the horribly inconvenient bolt of steel still brokenly sticking out of it.

Forcing himself up, with the help of a wayward crate, Jaune gasped for air as he hobbled along the sidelines of the chaos that he had created and back behind where his friends were being forced to kneel, noticing Ren doing the same.

Quickly ridding them of their shackles and waving off their concern, they all used the growing pandemonium to make their escape.

As soon as they were in the clear and the base was evacuated, Yang pushed the button.

The fortress blew and it made a beautiful picture.

Then Jaune turned around and punched Oscar in the arm. Hard. Before he could even open his mouth to question what his problem was, the exhausted knight threateningly pointed a figure into his brother's face. "You are to never. EVER. say 'What could possibly go wrong' before a mission ever again. Clear?"

Properly abashed, Oscar sheepishly nodded while still rubbing his arm. "Clear."

Jaune sighed and briefly rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder before nodding deeper into the forest that surrounded the mountain where the factory fortress had previously been located. "Let's go find a good place to set up camp for the night." No one argued.

Blake helped Ren onto Nora’s back so that the valkyrie could carry her injured partner, and then allowed Weiss to use her as a crutch. Sharing a meaningful glance with her sister, Ruby zoomed ahead to look out for Grimm as Yang led the way into the darkness. 

All of which Jaune was silently thankful for as it distracted any of them from examining him closer and making a big deal out of his injuries.

Which they weren't. A big deal, that is.

Nope.

Definitely not.

He was quite sure that it was actually getting colder because the sun was setting and not because he was going into shock. He was perfectly fine.

...He was in serious trouble, wasn't he?

A soft whine made everyone freeze and whip around to the maker of the sound. It was Ren, looking miserable and in pain. Through pained, squinted eyes, he weakly waved them off. "Apologies. Please do not mind me."

Frowning, but only out of worry and not true anger, Jaune shook his head. "Nuh uh. No way, man.”

“This is as good a place as any to set up camp,” Ruby interjected, zipping back into view in a flurry of petals. “Weiss, could you make some sort of hut thing? It doesn’t have to look nice,” she said, passing the heiress the few Earth Dust rounds she had remaining. 

Weiss nodded and winced, having twisted her ankle during their capture. "Don’t worry, I’ll have a shelter up in no time," she groaned, leaving her weight resting against Blake so she could focus on her work.

Ruby nodded to Weiss to start setting up the stone shelters as Nora settled the groaning Ren against the trunk of a tree. She waved Oscar over, and, grabbing him, the two of them zipped further into the dark forest to hunt for firewood.

Jaune thanked the growing shadows that hid his leg when Nora gave him a searching look before focusing on tending to Ren. 

He knew that he wouldn't be able to avoid her forever, and giving her tasks that kept her away from him was sure to make her suspicious sooner rather than later. But they had so much more to worry about than something that might not even be that bad.

It was, and he knew it. 

Jaune might be stupid, but he wasn’t dumb. He couldn’t pull the rest of the bolt out in the middle of the forest, and healing his leg would just encase the damn bolt inside. The pain had settled into a low pulsing ache that sent waves of nausea and dizziness crashing over him every time he shifted his weight. 

So yeah. He was not having a good time.

Gingerly leaning against the same tree Ren was and resting his eyes for a moment, he could feel the last of his adrenaline trickle out of his system, leaving him beyond exhausted, disoriented, and pained. And this time it was ten times worse. Feeling sick, a few full bodied shivers sneaking past his self control. 

Jaune shoved it all away, locked into a tiny box at the back of his mind to deal with later. Or preferably, never. Never dealing with it was infinitely preferable.

Paying no heed to his shaking hands, Jaune fumbled with his battered Scroll and flicked it on. "Jaune to the Qrow. Jaune to Qrow Branwen. Can you hear me?" Signal was patchy at best, but they couldn’t afford to wait for the established rendezvous tomorrow afternoon.

"I hear ya, kid. Where are you guys?" came the gruff reply, voice turned tinny by the speakers.

Relief swept through his bones, taking more strength than Jaune could spare. Grunting as he sat down, he knew he wouldn't be moving for a while, whether he wanted to or not. "South, down a ways from the main gates I think. We'll keep a fire burning until you can get an airship or some kind of transport here. The quicker, the better.” 

Jaune glanced at the pale face of his teammate, and then over at Weiss, whose teeth were gritted in pain from putting weight on her injured ankle. “Weiss and Ren aren’t looking so hot, and we'd feel a lot better if we had some actual medical supplies to help them."

"Sure thing, I'll be there as quick as I can. And I’d hope that Ice Queen Jr. doesn't look hot. Wouldn't fit with her whole thing." 

Jaune huffed a laugh at the attempt of humor, and tried to not let his voice betray how much even that hurt. "Heh, that's true. I'm going to let you go now, I'm not sure how much longer the signal will hold."

"Gotcha. Stay safe you guys." With that, the transmission cut out.

Sighing and resting the back of his head on the tree, Jaune once again closed his eyes. It would be so easy to fall asleep... 

"Jaune?" Biting back a long suffering groan, the knight blinked open his eyes, having to briefly rub at them to clear the blurriness. Ruby settled onto the forest floor beside him, but not where she could see his leg, thank goodness.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and without looking at him, simply staring off into the forest in front of them, she quietly questioned. "You alright?"

Jaune blinked down at the top of her head. "Yeah, why do you ask?"

He felt her shrug. "You look really pale. Sick, even. Pained,” Ren groaned, as Nora flopped down on Jaune’s other side. Ruby shifted so that she could look him in the eyes, silver on blue.

"Did something happen on the mission?"

He stayed quiet, every fiber of his being screaming at him to avert his eyes, but then she’d know he was hiding something. To tell her, or not to tell her?

In the end, Ruby looked away first, her shoulders slumping. "It did, didn't it." She said it as a statement. A fact.

He didn't deny it. "Wasn't your fault."

She shoved him away, suddenly glaring. "No, it was my fault! I was the one to come up with the plan. I was the one who made the mistake! Don't you dare try to tell me otherwise Jaune Ar-mpth!" 

Ruby suddenly found her voice muffled as Jaune pulled her into a hug, drawing his most effective de-escalation tactic from many years of living with sisters. She fought it for a minute, before leaning into his embrace and quietly crying.

"I th-thought I had lost you guys... There were so many signs of a fight, a- and then Weiss got hurt, and then we got caught, and t-then..."She hiccuped, and he just pulled her closer, humming some tune Saphron used to when he’d have a nightmare.

After she had calmed down and wiped away any remaining evidence of tears, Jaune brought his Semblance up to heal the few srapes Ruby’s Aura hadn’t managed to. “Thanks,” Ruby muttered, leaning away.

“Eh, what are friends for,” Jaune said, biting back a groan of pain.

A bang and a whoop of triumph from Yang indicated that the fire had been started, if by rather less than conventional means. And some fish had been fried up and eaten, courtesy of Blake.

The Faunus had gone and caught them as soon as Weiss was finished setting up camp and no longer needed to stand. Jaune barely touched his food, but made sure that it seemed like he did. Then everyone headed into the shelters Weiss had cobbled together, unaware of just how much drama was about to unfold the coming morning.